The accomplished dissembler hesitated, yielded. They passed through
the yard and out at the back door, which Alfred had so often looked
wistfully at; and by-and-by reached a delicious pasture. A light golden
haze streamed across it. Nature never seemed so sweet, so divine, to
Alfred before; the sun as bright as midsummer, though not the least hot,
the air fresh, yet genial, and perfumed with Liberty and the smaller
flowers of earth. Beauty glided rustling by his side, and dark eyes
subdued their native fire into softness whenever they turned on him; and
scarce fifty yards in the rear hung a bully and a mastiff ready to tear
him down if he should break away from beauty's light hand, that rested
so timidly on his. He was young, and stout-hearted, and relished his
peep of liberty and nature, though blotted by Vulcan and Rooke. He
chatted to Mrs. Archbold in good spirits. She answered briefly, and
listlessly.
At last she stopped under a young chestnut-tree as if overcome with a
sudden reflection, and turning half away from him leaned her head and
hand upon a bough, and sighed. The attitude was pensive and womanly. He
asked her with innocent concern what was the matter; then faintly should
he take her home. All her answer was to press his hand with hers that
was disengaged, and, instead of sighing, to cry.
The novice in woman's wiles set himself to comfort her—in vain; to question her—in vain at first; but by degrees she allowed him to learn that it was for him she mourned; and so they proceeded on the old, old plan, the man extorting from the woman bit by bit just so much as she wanted all along to say, and would have poured in a stream if let quite alone.
He drew from his distressed friend that Dr. Wolf for reasons of his own had made special inquiries about the Dodds; that she had fortunately or unfortunately heard of this, and had questioned the person employed, hoping to hear something that might comfort Alfred. “Instead of that,” said she, “I find Miss Dodd is like most girls; out of sight is out of mind with her.”
“What do you mean?” said Alfred, trembling suddenly.
“Do not ask me. What a weak fool I was to let you see I was unhappy for you.”
“The truth is the truth,” gasped Alfred; “tell me at once.”
“Must I? I am afraid you will hate me; for I should hate any one who told me your faults. Well, then—if I must—Miss Dodd has a beau.”
“It is a lie!” cried Alfred furiously.
“I wish it was. But she has two in fact, both of them clergymen. However, one seems the favourite; at least they are engaged to be married; it is Mr. Hurd, the curate of the parish she lives in. By what I hear she is one of the religious ones; so perhaps that has brought the pair to an understanding.”
At these words a cold sickness rushed all over Alfred, beginning at his heart. He stood white and stupefied a moment; then, in the anguish of his heart, broke out into a great and terrible cry; it was like a young lion wounded with a poisoned shaft.