“That is what he did last Sunday,” continued Miss Williams. “And he alluded to ‘his unfortunate position’ as putting a barrier between you and any wish he might have to assist you. Why should he speak like that if he knew himself to be innocent of either charge?”
Olivia was silent. She did not care to let the other lady see how deeply this matter affected her. She was, indeed, surprised at the keenness of her own feeling. It was a great relief to her that at that moment voices were heard at the top of the staircase, and Miss Williams jumped up, saying that she would have to excuse herself for playing truant. Olivia shook hands with her almost mechanically, and promised to go to see her without knowing what she said. As soon as she was left alone, the young girl abandoned her work, and sat staring before her in most unusual idleness. One sentence was ringing in her ears:
“Why didn’t he clear himself if he could?”
And to this question it was impossible to suggest an answer.
CHAPTER X.
Any one who could have seen into the workings of Olivia Denison’s heart and mind when she was left to herself would probably have pronounced her to be “in love” with the Reverend Vernon Brander. This was not quite true. She did indeed feel a very strong interest in the hermit vicar and his mysterious history; and such interest in a young girl’s mind cannot exist quite apart from sentiment. But, then, the sentiments awakened by the overheard interview in the churchyard and by Miss Williams’ suggestions were so largely mingled with doubt, disgust, and horror, that on the whole she felt she would infinitely prefer, in spite of his kindness, never to meet him again. She felt very thankful, however, as the days went by, that no story and no rumors about the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s reached Mrs. Denison’s ears. That lady was too much wrapt up in herself to trouble herself much about her neighbors; and beyond expressing great indignation that he had not called upon her, she expressed no great interest in the vicar’s deputy.
Olivia was taking to the country life with much zest. Besides her household duties, she found time to occupy herself greatly with the live stock on the farm, and to take the poultry under her especial care. Mat Oldshaw used to slip round, on one pretence or another, in the early morning when she was busy with her poultry, and, leaning over the fence, used to give her advice about the management of them, trying to check her extravagance.
“Ye doan’t need to give ’em all that coorn, Miss Denison, now they aren’t laying,” he said to her one day reproachfully as she distributed grain with a wildly lavish hand. “What profit will ye be likely to get if ye feed ’em oop like that? Every egg ye’ll get this year ’ull cost ye twopence, and ye’ll lose on every chicken ye sell.”
“Well, I can’t starve them just because they’re not bringing in a profit just now,” said the girl. “If they’ve any sense of gratitude, they’ll grow beautifully plump and fat, and sell at fancy prices.”
“That there’s regular lady’s farming,” said Mat, shaking his head dubiously. “And it’s of a piece wi’ t’ way t’ master’s goin’ to work himself. It’s very pretty, but it ain’t like practical work, and it doan’t pay.”