'I am not quite sure,' he muttered at last, 'that I have done a wise thing in coming to Wyl's Hall!'
CHAPTER XI.
GOOD-BYE!
In the course of a few hours Theodore Trist was quite at home at Wyl's Hall. These three people had lived together before, and knew each other's little ways. Mrs. Wylie, the personification of comfort—Theo Trist, possessing no real comprehension of the word—Brenda, midway between them, with a youthful faculty for adapting herself to either. The narrow limits of a ship soon break down the smaller social barriers, and the memory of life on board the Hermione knitted the inmates of Wyl's Hall in a close and pleasant familiarity. At times, indeed, the union of the three around the fireside or at table seemed to emphasize the absence of the fourth, to suggest the vacancy caused by the stillness of a pleasant voice, the absence of a fine old face. But this slight shadow was not unpleasant, because it had no great contrast to show it up. None of the three was hilarious, but there was a pleasant sociability, which for every-day use is superior to the most brilliant flashes of wit.
Very soon the old, semi-serious style of conversation found place again. Brenda fell into her former habit of listening (too silently, perhaps) to Mrs. Wylie and Theo, accusing them at times of cynicism and worldliness. Old questions came to life again—unfinished discussions were renewed. Everything seemed to suggest the Hermione.
Again and again Mrs. Wylie found herself watching the two young people thus thrown together, and on each occasion she remembered how she had watched them before to no purpose. Since the pleasant summer days spent in the Heimdalfjord many incidents had come with their petty influences, and yet these two were in no way altered towards each other. One great difference was ever before her eyes, and yet she could not detect its result. Alice Huston was now a free woman, and if Trist loved her, there was no reason why he should not win her in the end; indeed, there was great cause to suppose that the matter should be easy to him. And yet there was no change in his manner towards the girl who, in all human probability, was destined to be his sister-in-law. The old half-chivalrous, half-brotherly way of addressing her and listening to her reply was still noticeable; and it puzzled the widow greatly. But Brenda seemed to take it as a matter of course. This man was different to all other men in her estimation; it was only natural that his manner towards her should be unlike that of others. And now a subtle change took place in Mrs. Wylie's mind. On board the Hermione she had been convinced that if any woman possessed an influence over Theo Trist, that woman was Alice Huston. (The widow was too experienced, too practical, too farsighted to attempt a definition of this fascination exercised by a woman of inferior intellect over a man infinitely her superior in every way.) Now she was equally sure that Trist was moved by no warmth of love towards the beautiful young widow who had so openly thrown herself in his path.
One trifling alteration seemed to present itself occasionally to the good lady's watchful eyes, and this was a well-hidden fear of being left alone together. Whether this emanated from Theo or Brenda it was impossible to say, but its presence was unmistakable, and, moreover, whatever its origin may have been it was now mutual. At one time they had possessed a thousand topics of common interest, and found in each other's conversation an unfailing pleasure. Now they both talked to her, using her almost as an intermediary.
On the Saturday morning, while dressing, the widow meditated over these things, and in the afternoon she deliberately sent her two guests out for a walk together. About three miles down the coast, in the very centre of the marsh lying to the south of Mizzen Heath Moor, was a ruined lighthouse, long since superseded by a lightship riding on the newly-formed sandbank four miles off the shore. In this ruin lived an old marshman, in whose welfare Mrs. Wylie appeared suddenly to have taken a great interest. For him, accordingly, a parcel was made up, and the two young people were despatched immediately after lunch.
Mention has already been made of Mrs. Wylie's nervous abhorrence of any interference in what she was pleased to consider other people's affairs. In this matter she had at last made up her mind to act, because she loved these two as her own children, and there was in her kindly heart a haunting fear that they were about to make a muddle of their lives.
A slight haze lay over the land as the two young people made their way across the moor towards the coastguard-path—a narrow footway forever changing its devious course before the encroaching sea. Before their eyes lay a vast plain, intersected here and there with watercourse or sluice; while away to the southward rose a blue barrier of distant hill. Inland, the meadows were green and lush; while nearer to the sea the grass grew sparsely, and there were small plots of sand and shingle nourishing nought but unsightly thistles.