Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Had I not been in their secrets, and shown them that I was, I should not have been admitted an inmate of that east wing," she answered. "Do you know, when the police came last night—but I had better hold my tongue, or I may say too much."

To avoid doing so, possibly, she quitted the room. But there were few women—as I believed—less likely than Mrs. Penn to be betrayed into speaking on impulse what it might not be expedient to speak.

The adventures of the day were not over for me. I wish they had been! I finished my gloves; I practised; I did a little German; and in the afternoon, when it was getting late, I strolled out with my book, the "Heir of Redclyffe," and sat down between the house and the lodge-gates in a sheltered seat; where I could see who passed to and from the house, without being seen.

The morning had been very lovely; the evening was setting in less so; a sighing wind whistled amidst the trees, clouds passed rapidly over the face of the sky, and the autumn leaves fell and were whirled about the paths. Did it ever strike you that there is something melancholy in these dying leaves? Many people like autumn the best of the four seasons; but I think there is in it a great deal of sadness. It brings our own autumn of life too forcibly to the mind: as the leaves of the trees decay, and fall, and die; so must we when our time shall come.

I was listening to the rustle of the leaves, and watching—if this is to be a true confession—for Mr. Chandos, when he rode by to the house. Inclination would have led me after him; common sense and propriety kept me where I was. Presently, I saw Lizzy Dene advancing quietly along one of the dark and private paths. She wore her cloak and bonnet, and had a basket on her arm, as if she had been on an errand to the village. In a moment some gentleman had met her and they were talking together. It was Edwin Barley. There were so many outlets from the broad walk that almost any of these private paths could be gained at will.

Lizzy Dene came on almost directly; she seemed to be in a hurry, and turned off towards the kitchens. The next to appear in the same walk was Mrs. Penn, striking right across the steps of Mr. Edwin Barley.

I was so sheltered by surrounding trees that they could not see me; but as they came nearer, walking side by side, Mrs. Penn's eye caught mine. She quickened her pace, and Mr. Edwin Barley turned back, raising his hat to her. "Here you are with your book," she began. "Is it not too dark to see to read?"

"Almost. Have you been for a walk, Mrs. Penn?" I asked, hoping she'd not mention the name of Edwin Barley.

"I have been to the village post. I don't care to entrust my letters now to the hall-table. Did you notice a gentleman with me down there, Miss Hereford?"

"I think I did see some one walking with you. It is dark amid all those trees."