“No, no, no,” cried the girl, crimson with confusion and distress. “I am going indoors. I—I am tired, cold. Good-morning, Mr. Heritage.”
While Freda was crossing the meadow which lay between the ruin and the Abbey-house, she saw Nell at an upper window, watching her with an uneasy expression of face; by the time she reached the side-door, the housekeeper was there to admit her.
“Who was that I saw you talking to up there in the ruins?” asked Nell sharply. “Come, I know, for I saw you.”
“Why do you ask me then?”
“After all the trouble I’ve taken too, to prevent those young rascals getting at you! Why, they’ve been pulling the bell nearly off every day and sometimes twice a day.”
“Oh, they’ve been to see me before then?”
“Yes, at least Bob Heritage has, and everybody knows what a nice acquaintance he is for a young girl! But they won’t see any more of you, if I can help it. A pretty mess I should get myself into if they did!”
Freda passed into the house and, without waiting for another word, went straight into the library, which was in the west wing, away from the rest of the inhabited part. The fire was burning very low, and the room looked cold, dusty and forlorn. A great pile of the books with which she had been amusing herself the night before still lay undisturbed on the hearth-rug. The books had almost become living friends to her, in the absence of sympathetic human beings. She threw herself down beside them and rested her arms on a stack of calf-bound histories and biographies.
What had Robert Heritage meant by those words about the “impression,” she had made on Dick, and “putting in a good word for him.” Innocent as she was, Freda could scarcely misunderstand the drift of these expressions, and they roused a thought which brought the blood to her cheeks, all alone as she was, and stirred her strangely. She did not believe Robert; who was she, a little lame girl, to rouse any deep interest in a big, strong, handsome man like Dick? And with a sigh, the girl sat up among her books and tried to stir the log fire into a blaze.
As she did so, a loud knocking on the wall behind her made her look round. The whole of the side of the room from which the sound came was filled with book-shelves from floor to ceiling. The knocking went on, until suddenly Freda saw some of the books begin to shake in a surprising manner, and a minute later six rows of books began to move slowly forward, and then a face peered out from behind them. It was that of Dick Heritage. Then she perceived that the books which he had appeared to disturb were sham ones, mere leather backs pasted on a door introduced among the genuine ones.