‘No, you didn’t!’ said Nell, panting. ‘It was given to you!’
‘What an extraordinary girl you are,’ replied Nora, as she stooped to recover her ring. ‘If it were given to me, you may be sure I have every right to pass it on to you if I choose. But what makes you say so?’
‘Who gave it you?’ asked Nell, without apologising for her strange behaviour.
‘My husband,’ replied Nora, without thinking.
‘Your husband? Mr Lumley? And from whom did he get it then?’ persisted the farmer’s daughter.
‘Really, I don’t see what right you have to question me after this fashion,’ said Nora. ‘I don’t know whom he got it from. The jewellers, I suppose. But pray don’t let us say another word upon the subject. It is evident that, instead of giving you pleasure, I have done just the other thing. All my stupidity, I suppose. I thought, as you would not take money, that the ring would have been more acceptable to you, but I was mistaken. Now, pray don’t be angry. Let us drop the subject altogether. Ah, here comes your mother with the tea-tray. Mrs Llewellyn, your daughter and I have been having quite a little quarrel over this affair. She won’t take money from me, and she won’t take a present, so I don’t know what to do. Perhaps you will be able to make her a little more reasonable after I have gone.’
‘Ah, ma’am, she’s very queer at times, poor lass,’ said Mrs Llewellyn, for Nell had taken the occasion of her entrance to escape to the upper storey again. ‘She’s been so pulled-down and weakened by the fever, that father and I say we hardly know her. Sometimes I think she’ll never be the same girl again as she was before she left home. But you mustn’t think nothing more about giving her a present, ma’am. What she did for you, you was most heartily welcome to, as her father would say, too, if he was here. Sir Archibald has been a good landlord to us for many years past; and if he hadn’t taken it into his head to raise the rent, we shouldn’t have anything to say against him. But pray let me give you a cup of tea, ma’am, with cream and sugar to your liking.’
And, over the discussion of Mrs Llewellyn’s excellent tea, Nell and her abrupt behaviour were spoken of no more. But Lady Ilfracombe, though she did not like to vex the earl by mentioning the subject to him, could not banish it from her mind for some time afterwards.
CHAPTER II.
Whilst Nora was walking thoughtfully back to the Hall, Nell was raging up and down the circumscribed limits of her bedroom, with her heart and brain in a tumult of suspicion and suspense. ‘The ring! the ring!’ was all she could say to herself. It was the earl’s ring, she was sure of that—she had always seen it on his finger—had so often drawn it off playfully, and placed it on her own. She recognised the very colour of the sapphires; they were so darkly blue, and yet clear as a summer sea; she remembered Lord Ilfracombe having told her the gems were flawless, and had been presented in another form by an Eastern potentate to some ancestor of his, who had been Governor-General of India. She would have sworn to them amongst a thousand! How then had this woman, this Mrs Lumley, got hold of them? Was she a friend of Ilfracombe’s, and had he given them to her? Nell thought it unlikely. The earl had never been a cavalier des dames; besides, he was married now, and his family heirlooms belonged to his wife. At that her thoughts flew to Mr Portland. He was at the bottom of the mystery perhaps. He had obtained the jewel from Lord Ilfracombe, either by an appeal to the latter’s generosity, or by his odious habit of gambling, laid a bet with the earl about it, or won it as a stake. And then he must have given it to this lady—this Mrs Lumley. What was she to him then? Was their combined presence at the Hall by accident or design? Nell thirsted to learn the truth of it. She felt it a desecration to have seen his ring on the hand of another person, and to have had it offered to herself in that careless fashion, as if it were of no intrinsic value. The ring that she had known for so long—that had been clasped in her hand by day—that she had lain with her head on by night. Poor Nell sobbed aloud in the agony of remembrance as she recalled the fact that she had no further part nor lot in it. It was something more than mere suspicion that was worrying her. We have a sixth sense, called intuition, which, as a rule, we pay too little attention to. The influences to which we have been subject, the experiences we have passed through, all leave a subtle something behind them, which is patent to the intuition of our acquaintances, as theirs is to us. We may not recognise it, but it guides, in a great measure, our feelings and ideas, our likes and dislikes. It was intuition that drew Lady Ilfracombe to Panty-cuckoo Farm, and made her conceive such an unusual interest in Nell Llewellyn. It was intuition that made Nell shrink from the friendly advances of the woman who had supplanted her in the affections of her lover, and burn to discover the reason that she was in possession of his ring. It was fate—the fate that, laugh at it or despise it as we will, still goes on silently but surely, weaving the web of all our destinies—that had drawn these actors in the tragedy of life together to one meeting-place, to fulfil the appointed end of the drama which they had written for themselves. The Countess of Ilfracombe went back to Usk Hall rather depressed than otherwise, for it is not pleasant to have an intended kindness thrown back in your face; and intuition told her that there was something more beneath the surface of Nell’s manner than she chose to let her know; and Nell Llewellyn was vexed with herself as well as the stranger, because intuition told her that Nora was not at fault, however the circumstances of her life might have become entangled with her own. She wished now that she had not been so hasty, that she had asked a few questions about the ring and where it came from. By that means she might have gained what she so longed for—news of Lord Ilfracombe—without betraying her own identity. Now that the opportunity was past, Nell blamed herself, and wished it might come over again. Was it possible that she could bring about another interview with the lady?—induce her once more to speak of her gratitude for the service rendered her—and so bring the conversation round, without direct inquiry, to her refusal of the sapphire ring. Her next thought was, how should she gain speech of Mrs Lumley without encountering Jack Portland? Nell thought it would be pretty safe to visit the Hall in the evening. The beautiful warm nights they were having then were very likely to tempt the ladies of the party to walk about the grounds after dinner, whilst she knew from experience that that was the very time the gentlemen would commence to play billiards or baccarat. If she went that way about eight o’clock that evening she might have a chance of encountering Mrs Lumley; at all events, some force, of which Nell knew not the name, drew her that way, and, as soon as their early supper was over, she threw a light shawl over her head and stole out, as she told her mother, ‘for a breath of fresh air.’ The Hall stood on an eminence crowned with wood. To the back of it was a copse of fir trees, which formed an admirable shelter from the north wind, and extended down either side for some distance. It was under cover of this plantation that Nell approached the house. It was not so thick but that she could see from it if anyone was walking in the open grounds that surrounded the Hall, and it was on this plantation, naturally, that the back premises, through which she gained access to Mrs Hody’s apartments, looked. The way to it, unless one used the drive, was through some large meadows belonging to the estate, and Nell had traversed the whole length of these and gained the back of the plantation, when she was startled by seeing the figure of a man approaching her. Her first impulse was to turn and fly, forgetting in her simplicity that it was the very mode to attract attention. She had turned her back upon the stranger, and was walking rapidly the other way, when she heard him say,—