“How lovely!” Zella exclaimed under her breath. “I had no idea that there were flowers at this side. Naturally so, for of course we couldn’t see it from the road. We have no spring show to compare with this at the Manor-house, Regina!” And she was moving on eagerly, forgetting in her excitement for she was a great gardener—that we were trespassers, when suddenly there broke on our ears the peculiar sound of “tap tap” coming round the other side of the house, and in another moment we caught sight of the slowly approaching figure of the younger Mr Grey, the cripple brother, with his crutch.
In less time than it takes to tell it, we had fled—fled ignominiously—too startled to know whether we were ashamed of ourselves or only alarmed.
But as soon as we had reached the friendly shelter of the farther side of the bushes, my audacity reasserted itself.
“Stop, Isabel,” I whispered. “Do let us see what he is going to do. He can’t possibly have caught sight of us.”
“I don’t know that,” returned Isabel, who was all in a quiver. “He may have heard us, if he didn’t see us—the sound of our skirts as we rushed off, in this perfect silence.” And so it appeared. For, as we stood there peeping out, we saw that the newcomer stopped short and seemed to be listening attentively.
“Good gracious?” I ejaculated, “he has heard us. There is something rather uncanny about him. I dare say he has extra-acute eyes and ears—delicate people often have—for we made next to no sound. But we must stay here for the present,” I continued, rather pleased, in spite of our alarm, that we were forced into remaining where we were, as with care it was quite possible to watch the newcomer.
“Do be quiet,” said Isabel in a whisper, speaking, for once, almost crossly. “Your voice will be heard if you don’t take care.”
I subsided meekly enough, for I felt conscious that in my excitement I had not been very cautious. So we stood there like two naughty children, as indeed in a sense we were, furtively watching the poor man’s movements. It was touching to see him. He walked and stooped with difficulty, but his heart was evidently in his work as he carefully removed any dead flowers and leaves and raised here and there a drooping tulip in need of support, standing still now and then, while he drew back a few paces, to enjoy apparently the whole beautiful effect of the lovely colours.
“I dare say,” I thought to myself, for I did not venture to speak at all,—“I dare say he is an artist as well as an amateur gardener. If so, he is not so much to be pitied after all, though he must long sometimes to pull down that hideous house!”
He went on quietly attending to the borders for some little time, having apparently reassured himself as to the sounds he had heard. And at last, when he had moved on a little, Isabel touched my arm, whispering—