“My dear, he’s gone. That’s what troubles me now, for I am sure he can’t be well.”
“Gone!” Florence could not help repeating, in her astonishment at the unexpected announcement.
“Yes, my dear. He came in here and sat down, with his head on his hands, for ever so long; and I asked him twice if he were ill, but he did not seem to hear me; only after a while he got up, and said that he believed Miss Heriton had consented to take charge of his boys, and he thought we should get on a great deal better without him, and so he should go to Scotland for some shooting. And there was just five minutes to say everything, and then he mounted his horse and rode away; and I don’t believe,” she added, with real vexation, “I don’t believe he has been over the house or seen half of what we have done to it!”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE DISCOVERY.
Christmas had come and gone before Mr. Aylwinne returned to Orwell Court. The change those months had wrought in his wards was almost marvelous. Their frames, like their intellects, had expanded in the bracing air and healthy companionship they had been enjoying; and the shrinking nervousness of the past was scarcely ever discernible now.
Working out her own ideas of what was best for them, Florence had wisely made much of her teaching of the simplest kind. Nothing was ever allowed to interfere with the preparation of their lessons for Mr. Lumley; but when this was done, she walked with them, played croquet, and entered into their sports and plans with a heartiness that infused additional spirit into them. For a long time they could not conquer their dread of the daily visit to the vicarage and the sly taunts leveled at them by lads of their own age whose acquirements were far beyond their own. But Florence walked to Mr. Lumley’s with them, often awaited their return, and had so much sympathy for their troubles mingled with such brave, hopeful auguries for their future, that Walter grew too manly to fret over little difficulties, and Fred had too much boyish pride not to imitate him.
The winter had set in with some severity, and the delicate East Indians had been disposed at first to cower over the fires, and permit Mrs. Wilson to cosset them to her heart’s content. But, incited by Florence’s example, they were gradually induced to try the hardening system; and a few merry games at snowballing, a few afternoons on the ice of the pretty lake in the park, made them pronounce an English winter delightful. Florence herself grew rosier and stronger than she had been for years now that she shared in these outdoor amusements, and the trio were all panting and glowing with pleasurable excitement when they came into the house at the close of a January day to find Mr. Aylwinne standing on the hearthrug in the dining room, talking to Mrs. Wilson.
He bowed rather stiffly to Florence, and held out a hand to each of her pupils.
“Well, boys, this is something like! Where have you been to get such apple faces?”