Ombra came forward to the doorway, very pale, even to her lips, but smiling, and shook hands three times, and repeated that it was her fault. And then the procession streamed away.
‘That girl looks very unhealthy,’ Mrs. Hardwick said, when they were walking down the avenue. ‘I shall try and find out from her mother if there is consumption in the family, and advise them to try the new remedy. Did you notice what a colour her lips were? She is very retiring, poor thing; and, I must say, never puts herself the least in the way.’
‘Do you think she is pretty, Bertie?’ said the sisters, together.
‘Pretty? Oh! I can’t tell. I am no judge,’ said Bertie. ‘Look here, mamma, I am going to see old Stokes, the keeper. He used to be a great friend of mine. If I don’t make up to you before you reach home, I’ll be back at least before it is dark.’
‘Before it is dark!’ said Mrs. Hardwick, in dismay. But Bertie was gone. ‘I suppose young men must have their way,’ she said, looking after him. ‘But you must not think, girls, that people are any the happier for having their way. On the contrary, you who have been educated to submit have a much better preparation for life. I hope dear Bertie will never meet with any serious disappointment,’ she added, with a sigh.
‘Oh! mamma, serious disappointment! when he has always succeeded in everything!’ cried the girls, in their duet.
‘For he could not bear it,’ said Mrs. Hardwick, shaking her head. ‘It would be doubly, doubly hard upon him; for he has never been trained to bear it—never, I may say, since he left the nursery, and got out of my hands.’
At this time it was nearly three o’clock, a dull Winter afternoon, not severe, but dim and mournful. It was the greyness of frost, however, not of damp, which was in the air; and Kate, who was restless, announced her intention of taking a long walk. She was glad to escape from this heavy atmosphere of home; she said, somewhat bitterly, that it was best to leave them together to unbosom themselves, to tell each other all those secrets which were not to be confided to her; and to compare notes, no doubt, as to how he was looking, and how they were to find favourable opportunities of meeting again, Kate’s heart was sore—she was irritated by the mystery which, after all, was so plain to her. She saw the secret thing moving underneath the cover—the only difficulty she had was to decide what kind of secret it was. What was the relationship between Bertie and Ombra? Were they only lovers?—were they something more?—and what had Bertie Eldridge to do with it? Kate, indignant, would not permit herself to think; but the questions came surging up in her mind against her will. She had a little basket in her hand. She was carrying some grapes and wine to old Stokes, the disabled keeper, who was dying, and whom everybody made much of. On her way to his cottage she had to pass that little nook where the brook was, and where she had first seen Bertie Hardwick. It was the first time she had seen it since her return, and she paused, half in anger and bitterness, half with a softening swell of recollection. How rich, and sweet, and warm, and delicious it had been that Summer evening, with the blossom still on the hawthorns, and the grass like velvet, and the soft little waterfall tinkling! How everything was changed!—the bushes all black with frost, the trees bare of their foliage, with here and there a ragged red leaf at the end of a bough, the brook tinkling with a sharp metallic sound. Everything else was frozen and still—all the insect life of Summer, all the movements and rustlings of grass and leaves and flowers. The flowers and the leaves were gone; the grass bound fast in an icy coat. ‘But not more different,’ Kate thought, ‘than were other matters—more important than the grass and flowers.’
She was roused from her momentary reverie by the sound of a footstep ringing clear and sharp along the frosty road; and before she could get out of the shelter of the little coppice which encircled that haunt of her childhood, Bertie Hardwick came suddenly up to her. The sight of her startled the young man—but in what way? A flush of delight rushed over his face—he brightened all over, as it seemed, eyes and mouth and every feature. He came forward to her with impetuous steps, and took her hand before she was aware.
‘I was thinking of you,’ he cried; ‘longing to meet you just here, not believing it possible—oh, Kate!—— Miss Courtenay, I beg your pardon. I—I forget what I was going to say.’