[CHAPTER XXI.]
GUY MAKES A DISCOVERY.
ALDYTH did not remain at Wyndham for more than a week after her uncle's death. There was something oppressive in the quietness of the old house, where Guy's gay voice and whistle and the stir of his comings and goings were greatly missed, and Miss Lorraine, though she drove into the little town almost every day, pined for the neighbourly interests of her life at Woodham.
"Let us go back to the cottage, auntie," Aldyth said; "we shall feel so much more at home there, and we can come out here constantly to see that things are all right, though there is no doubt Mrs. Rogers will keep everything in perfect order. Yes, let me go home with you till mother and Gladys can come to me. Then I will return and endeavour to rightly discharge my duties as the mistress of Wyndham."
This suggestion was so entirely to Miss Lorraine's mind that she was at once convinced of its wisdom. Aldyth was in no way bound to take up her abode at the Hall forthwith. So a day or two later she was again domiciled in her aunt's home, occupying her old bedroom, and taking up with a new zest, born of a sense of impermanence, the simple, homely duties she had always performed. She was living the old life again; but the familiar surroundings only made her the more conscious of a certain change in herself. The last few months had enlarged her knowledge of life; some hopes had been disappointed, some illusions swept away, and certain grim realities belonging to human lives had been painfully thrust upon her notice.
As she sat at her writing-table, old thoughts, associated with the objects, that met her view, came back to her with somewhat of pain in their memory; the future, so different from anything she had expected, inspired her with some dread, yet, through all, her inner nature kept its deep calm. Her heart was too sound for any disappointment to render her cynical. Perhaps it is not too much to say that no experience can embitter the heart of a woman who is set upon living the highest life possible to her, and who thinks less of winning happiness for herself than of bestowing it on others.
Aldyth had not long returned to Woodham when an event occurred which cast a shadow on the social life of the little town. Mrs. Greenwood, the banker's bright, clever wife, had never been a strong woman, though her remarkable energy hid the fact from ordinary acquaintances. Her sudden death, from an unsuspected heart disease, was a sad shock to her friends. A woman of keen intellect and cultured tastes, she had taken the greatest interest in Mr. Glynne's lectures, and done her utmost to make them a success. She was ready to lend her help to any scheme that would promote the social welfare of the town. Without children of her own, she found intense enjoyment in the society of young people, and many a party of them she gathered in her large drawing room or in the fine old garden which lay behind the bank. Aldyth Lorraine had been a great favourite with her, and the girl felt that she had lost a friend whom she could ill spare.
Much sympathy was felt for Mr. Greenwood, a man verging upon sixty years of age, whose home must now be so desolate.
It was manifested on the funeral day, when many persons met in the pretty cemetery just beyond the town on the London road, to see the coffin, with its pall of flowers, lowered into the earth. Aldyth had come with her aunt, and, the brief service over, she caught sight of Kitty Bland standing at a little distance, who beckoned to her to join her.
"Let us wait till the others have gone," she said, as Aldyth approached her; "I don't want to walk back with them and hear them talking it over."