He paused for a moment, and even in the midst of his exasperation at her indifference, and in spite of his sympathy with Bob, he felt a rush of kindly feeling towards her. There she was amongst them in a foreign land, with none of her own people and none of her former interests,—no, she had not come out to anything very cheerful: and at twenty-four, and three weeks married, one has a right to expect some satisfaction out of life.
“But I am not a very gay companion,” he said, with sudden cheeriness. “You have had enough sadness for one day, and here am I doing my level best to add to it. Holles always says that if I had chosen, I could have written an admirable Book of Lamentations.”
“He is a most amusing boy,” Hilda said, smiling in spite of herself.
“One day when he is in good form you must make him tell you his adventures on a fishing expedition,” said Ben. “And some day you must ask him about his famous quarrel with the ear-trumpet lady, your only neighbour. He does just what he likes with us all, and we’re ridiculously fond of him. That is his place right over there, across the river. And now what do you think of the river? Stay, let me go first and test the way across the meadows, and you must follow exactly in my footsteps, and we will get up to the very bank of the torrent. Don’t choose your own path. The ground is fearfully soft, and you may be mired if you’re not careful. Would you rather not go?”
“Indeed not,” she said eagerly; “I am ready for anything.”
She had forgotten all her troubles and depression, and, buoyant with vitality and eagerness, followed after him, calling out sometimes when he looked back, “I’m all right, Mr. Overleigh.”
At last they stood together by the side of the river, and were able to see the wholesale destruction which the storm had wrought. Three days ago there had been no water in the river; now there was a raging torrent, which was cutting down the banks, tearing up the trees, and bearing them away in fierce triumph.
First the topmost branches of a fine sycamore shuddered slightly; then they trembled, and those who were watching them, knew that the tree was doomed. The roots cracked and groaned, and something snapped. And the tree fell. Perhaps there was a moment of resistance even then—but all in vain. The torrent rushed with redoubled fury on its victim, and whirled it away.
“HILDA COULD NOT LEAVE THE SPOT.”