"Oh, I shall have a cup of tea with auntie, and then walk home," said Aldyth.
"Walk!" exclaimed Gladys. "All that long, dull road!"
"Oh, I shall not keep to the road," said Aldyth. "There is a shorter way across some fields. It is a pleasant walk, and I shall enjoy it this evening."
"What, all alone!" said Gladys. "I should be scared to walk by myself in the country."
"That is because you are not used to the country," said Aldyth. "I can assure you, the open fields have no terrors for me."
"But you will be very tired; surely it will not be wise of you to do so, Aldyth," said her mother, feeling more reluctance to the idea than she could easily have accounted for.
"I am not afraid of fatigue," said Aldyth. "I have often walked here from Woodham—sometimes with Guy, sometimes by myself. You will see I shall come in as fresh as a daisy."
Aldyth had set her heart upon having a talk with her aunt, and she was not disposed to lightly relinquish her plan.
Mrs. Stanton looked annoyed, and talked about remaining at home herself, in which case Aldyth would have felt constrained to keep her company. But in truth, Mrs. Stanton was longing to escape for a while from the house where her consciousness of the hidden will seemed an intolerable oppression. No doubt after awhile this nervous, restless feeling would pass, and she would cease to dread self-betrayal, or that strange reluctant impulse to confession which came to her in Aldyth's presence. But whilst she felt thus, it was impossible to sit inactive in rooms in which she had no right to sit. The long drive offered a relief which she could not reject, so she let Aldyth persuade her to get ready, and took her place in the carriage, whilst Aldyth arranged some cushions for her comfort, with more than ever of the air of a banished queen.
It was a pleasant day, and to Aldyth, whose heart had a burden which no one could share, the calm, restful beauty of the autumn day was soothing. Every peaceful country scene on which her eyes fell had its preciousness for her. Here the last load of a late harvest was being lifted, but for the most part the stubble fields lay white and bare, surrounded by the green pastures; here was a cottage orchard, with its gnarled trees bowing beneath a weight of rosy apples; there was an old moss-grown well, with its bucket and pulley; and there a woman whose bees had swarmed in a neighbouring elder-tree, and who was endeavouring to attract them to a hive by means of a jingling performance with a key and a frying-pan.