At luncheon-time she was unusually silent, while Jeanie questioned Godfrey as to the events of the day before, and at last remarked, as she cut up her peach, “How funny it is that Guy should be such friends with Mr Staunton!”
“Why?” said Mrs Waynflete, abruptly. “Mr Staunton seems a very well-conducted young man.”
“Oh yes, aunt; but don’t you know that he is descended from the wicked old Maxwell who ruined the Waynfletes. Constancy Vyner told us all about it. She said it was so interesting—to be friends with your hereditary foe.”
“What’s that?” said the old lady. “I ought to have been told, Godfrey; it’s a very singular fancy on the part of your brother.”
“Oh, I dare say Guy has very good reasons for the friendship,” said Godfrey, sulkily.
Mrs Waynflete made no reply. She released Jeanie from the duty of accompanying her on her afternoon drive, and before she started, she wrote a note to Guy.
She drove into Rilston, gave her directions to the solicitor, and arranged to have the new will made out, and brought for her signature on the next day. Then she went back, and, dismissing her carriage at the bridge, prepared to inspect the needful repairs that were being made in the farm-buildings and stables.
Godfrey, hanging listlessly about, saw her tall, upright figure, walking steadily over the bridge, and then, whether she caught her foot in a stone, or lost her balance, suddenly she tripped and fell.
With a shout of dismay he rushed towards her.
“Auntie! Auntie Waynflete! Are you hurt?”