Her tone implied that she wished her niece to say no, which she accordingly did, while Mrs. Browning continued:
“Then, I think I shall ask Miss Burton if she can come to me for two hours five days in the week, and read to me either in English or French, as I may choose at the time. I will give her a pound a week for the winter. Will you come for that?” and she turned now to me. “Come between eleven and one, so as to lunch with me in my room.”
I had hidden nothing of my needs from her, and I felt sure that she included the lunch for a purpose, and my heart swelled with a gratitude so great that it was positive pain, and kept me from accepting the generous offer for a few moments. I had indeed found friends where I least expected them, and when a little later I arose to go, my heart was lighter than it had been since I bade good-by to one favorite pupil in Paris. I was to have a pound a week, with lunch, and what was better yet, Archie’s friends were mine at last. I was sure of that, and was not foolish enough to question their motives or to suspect—what was perhaps the truth—that inasmuch as I was in no way connected with them, and they were not at all responsible for my appearance, they could afford to be kind and lend me a helping hand; and then, I might have been the lady of Briarton Lodge, and lived in as grand a house as that of Lady Fairfax or Miss Lucy Elliston. I passed the latter on my way to the station, knowing it by the number which Mrs. Trevyllan had told me, and which I found was the same which Tom had sent me long ago.
The short November day was drawing to a close, and already the gas was lighted in the parlors of No. —, and in the dining-room, where the butler was arranging the dinner-table. He had not yet closed the shutters, and I could see the silver, and damask, and flowers, and wondered if they were expecting company besides the son just returned, or were their table surroundings always as elegant and grand. Then I remembered Mr. Gordon, and said: “He is to be there too,” just as the figure of a young lady passed before the window of the parlor. It was Miss Elliston, in blue silk evening dress, with white roses in her hair and a soft fall of lace at her throat. She was dressed for dinner, and I stood watching her a moment as she walked up and down for two or three times, restlessly as it seemed, and then came to the window and looked out upon the street. Did she see me, I wonder?—the forlorn little woman who hurried away in the fast-gathering darkness. If she did she thought it some maid or shop-girl, no doubt, and continued her watch, while I sped on my way to the station and was soon mounting the stairs which led up and out to High street, Kensington.
It was not far to No. — Abingdon road, but a heavy mist was falling, and I was wet, and bedraggled, and cold when at last I reached the house, and finding the door unfastened, walked in without ringing, and hurried directly to my room. From the basement below one of the Misses Keith called to me softly, and thinking it was some inquiry about my supper which she wished to make, I answered back:
“I have had something to eat, and do not wish anything more.”
Then I ran on up the next flight of stairs, at the head of which was the door of my room. It was partly open, and a flood of light and warmth streamed out into the hall, causing me to stand perfectly still for a moment, while my eyes took in the view presented to them. Such a fire as was roaring in the grate had never been seen there since I had been mistress of the apartment, while in the middle of the floor the table was spread as for a gala dinner, with celery and jelly, and even the coffee-urn which I never had used. What did it mean? Why had the Misses Keith taken this liberty with me, and plunged me into such extravagance, when they knew the low state of my finances? I think I felt a very little indignant at the good, kind old souls, as I pushed the door wide open and advanced into the room, starting back and stopping suddenly, at sight of a man—a big, broad-shouldered, tall man—muffled in a heavy coat, and sitting with his back to me, his feet resting on a chair, and his hands clasped behind his head, as if he were intently thinking. Who was he that dared thus intrude? I thought, and my voice had a sharp ring in it, as I said:
“Sir, what are you doing here? You have made a mistake. This is my room.”
He started then, and sprang up so quickly as to upset the chair on which his feet had rested, and which he did not stop to pick up, as he came rapidly toward me. What a giant of a fellow he was, in that shaggy coat, with all that brown, curling beard! and how my heart beat as he caught me in his strong arms, and, kissing me on both cheeks, said:
“I have made no mistake, Norah, and I am here to see you. Don’t you remember spindle-shanks?”