"You see, you need not fear being solitary in this great house; your mother and sister are only waiting for an invitation."
"Oh, to be sure!" cried Aldyth, her face lighting up with unexpected pleasure. "I had not thought of that. Fancy my having mother and Gladys here as my guests! I should like that. And Nelly, too, must come; she is so fond of the country. And Cecil might come for the shooting. Oh, that is grand!"
Miss Lorraine was surprised to see what pleasure Aldyth derived from her suggestion. She wondered if it had ever occurred to old Stephen that Mrs. Stanton might largely benefit by Aldyth's inheritance. In his thoughts of what the future might bring forth, had he ever pictured that fair lady coming as a visitor to Wyndham? Probably not. But Miss Lorraine kept her reflections to herself. She would not cast a shadow on the first gleam of satisfaction Aldyth's fortune had caused her.
After a week full of strange and exciting experiences, the calm repose of Sunday was very welcome to Aldyth. She drove with her aunt to Woodham Church in the morning, and had an uneasy consciousness that she was much observed as she entered the building. Whilst at the close of the service, many of her acquaintances studied her furtively, but seemed shy of speaking to her.
She was glad to regain the shelter of the carriage, and was content to find herself passing once more along the straight, monotonous road between the quiet fields.
Miss Lorraine, fussily conscious of her fresh mourning, and the importance which their bereavement gave them in the eyes of their neighbours, had much to say, and had apparently observed every individual who had attended the service.
But Aldyth did not find it necessary to pay close attention to her aunt's remarks. A word now and then was enough to satisfy Miss Lorraine, and Aldyth's thoughts took their own course in the intervals, revolving chiefly about the query why Mr. Glynne, whom she had seen as she passed out of church, had chosen to stand at a distance, lifting his hat ceremoniously, when he might have come forward with a friend's greeting. He had been so kind and friendly the other day, was he going to be different now?
In the warm afternoon Aldyth wandered from the house, and crossing the garden and a meadow beyond, approached a knoll of trees, which seemed to promise a cool retreat. Seating herself in their shade, she threw down her hat and gave a little sigh of relief at finding herself in this cool, quiet spot. All about her lay the green, still country, breathing a calm which seemed to belong to the day. The fields an which she looked down were her fields, Aldyth told herself with a faint smile; those were her cows she saw going forth into the lane on their way to be milked; the woods to the right, rising against the sky, were her woods; yes, even that tiny rabbit, which whisked away as she raised her hand, belonged to her.
The thought of this great, unexpected inheritance weighed on Aldyth's mind. Her father had grown up with the expectation that at some future time it would be his; Guy, in his turn, had counted himself the heir; but she to whom Wyndham had fallen had never seriously imagined that such a possession would be hers. It brought with it a heavy burden of responsibility. Was it well to have so much, when many lives knew such want and privation?
His possessions had not brought her uncle happiness. He had been kind and generous to her; he had given Guy a liberal allowance; but in other quarters he had earned the reputation of being close-fisted, and it was certain that he had never spent much on his own pleasure. Aldyth had heard it said that he was in the habit of saving a third of his income each year, and it was owing to this fact that her own wealth was now so considerable. And he might have known so much of that best happiness which springs from making others happy! But there had been little love in his life. That was the pity of it. Aldyth could not but be aware that there were few persons in the neighbourhood who really regretted the death of her grand-uncle.