“I knew that was what it would come to,” Mrs. O’Shaughnessy said.
“And I never thought Despard (saving your presence, my dear) could have been such a fool!” cried the Major.
“Oh, sure, Major, you’re old enough to know that every man is a fool where a woman’s concerned.”
But what was Lottie to do? They petted her and condoled with her, soothing her with their sympathy, and all the tender words they could think of; but they could throw no light upon one point: what could the girl do? Nothing, but put up with it. They shook their heads, but could give her no comfort. If Law had but been doing something instead of idling all his time away! But then Law was not doing anything. What was he good for, any more than Lottie?
“Mary can get another place. Her mother will not let her stay, and she can get another place, she says; but here are two of us, Law and I, and we are good for nothing!” cried Lottie. How her thoughts were altered from the time when she thought it necessary to stay at home, to do no visible work, for the credit of the family! Lottie was not young enough to feel that it was necessary to be consistent. “We are young and strong and able to work, but we are good for nothing!” she said. And they both looked at her blankly, not knowing what to say.
By-and-by Lottie escaped again into the open air, notwithstanding their anxious invitation that she should stay with them. She was too wretched to stay, and there had come upon her a longing to see another face in which there might be comfort. As she went out she almost walked into Captain Temple’s arms, who was walking slowly along looking up at her window. The old man took both her hands into his. “My poor child!” he said. He was not so frankly inquisitive as the good people she had just left, but he drew her hand through his arm and walked with her, bending over her.
“I do not want to tempt you from your duty, my dear; you’ll do what is right, I am sure you will do what is right. But I can’t bear to think you are in trouble, and we so near. And my wife,” said the old man slightly faltering, “my wife thinks so, too.” He was not quite so sure of his wife. She had the restraining effect upon her husband which a more reserved and uncommunicative mind has over an impulsive one. He knew what he would like to do, but he was not sure of her, and this put hesitation into his speech.
“Oh! Captain Temple,” cried Lottie, moved at last to tears, “what am I to do? If I cannot bear it, what am I to do?”
“Come and speak to my wife,” he said; “come, dear, and see my wife. She can’t talk about everything as I do, but she has more sense than anyone, and knows the world. Come with me, Lottie, and see what Mrs. Temple says.”
He thought the sight of the girl in her trouble would be enough, and that his wife would certainly say what it was on his own lips to say. Just then, however, there was a sound of doors opening, and old Wykeham came out and looked upon the world with a defiant countenance from the south door of the Abbey, which was a sign that service was over; and the notes of the voluntary began to peal out into the air. Lottie drew her arm from that of her old friend—she could not bear the eyes of the crowd. “Another time, another time; but I must go now,” she cried, escaping from him and turning towards the Slopes. The old Captain’s first impulse was to follow. He stood for a moment gazing after her as she sped along, slim and swift and young, up the deserted road. It was beginning to grow dark, and the evening was colder than it had been yet. Where was she going? To her favourite haunt on the Slopes to get the wind in her face; to let her thoughts go, like birds, into the wide space and distance? If that had been all! The old man thought of an alternative which filled him with alarm. He took a step after her, and then he paused again, and shaking his head, turned back, meeting all the people as they streamed out of the Abbey. Poor child! if she did meet him there, what then? It would comfort her to see her lover; and if he was good, as the anxious old Chevalier hoped, had not the lover more power to save her than all the world? There was no question of taking Lottie from her father and mother, separating her from her home. If this young man were to offer her a home of her own, where could there be so good a solution to the problem? Captain Temple turned and walked home with a sigh. It was not his way of delivering Lottie, but perhaps it was the way that would be most for her happiness, and who was he that he should interfere? He let her go to her fate with a sigh.