“Very well,” he said, “I will drive back at once—there is not too much time—and meet you as you say. Good-bye.” He kissed her forehead, and as before, swiftly drew back again.
“Will you order a waggonette for me too, Alfred?” she asked as she followed him to the door. “I shall want one to take me to the station. Tell them to put it all down to me.” He did not answer till the door was open, and he saw the dark trees against the sky, and the withered leaves beneath lying on the garden pathway. Then a smile crossed his lips, his face wore an air of relief, he looked like a free man. He crossed the threshold with a light step, and stopped and looked over his shoulder at her.
“Good-bye,” he said. “I will order the waggonette. It is lovely weather. We shall enjoy the journey to town.”
“My darling,” she said, with a world of tenderness in her voice, “I shall enjoy anything with you as long as I live.” He looked at her for a minute with the strange dumb expression that was so peculiarly his own, and walked away.
Mrs. Baines went back to the drawing-room, and shut the door with a manner that conveyed to the whole house that she wanted to be alone for a little space. She stood thoughtfully beside the chair on which he had sat. Suddenly she caught sight of her own face in the chimney-glass. She looked at it critically and winked slowly, she pulled the white handkerchief up a little higher round her throat and turned away satisfied. “He loves me,” she said, “I know he loves me, and no power on earth shall separate me from him. I will marry him if I walk to church without my shoes. I was faithless once, but this time I will be true.” She crept softly upstairs, and when she came down an hour later she was dressed and ready to depart. She went to the dining-room, where Florence in despair had had a little luncheon-tray brought in with sandwiches and biscuits on it.
“My love,” she said, “I have finished the preparations for my journey; will you permit your servants to bring down my luggage? Steggalls’ man is coming immediately to drive me to the station. Thank you, but I do not need any refreshment.”
“Aunt Anne, I can’t bear you to go,” poor Florence said in dismay.
“I must go—I cannot stay,” the old lady answered solemnly, “and I beg you not to ask me to do so again.”
“But you will come back?” Florence entreated.
“No, I cannot,” Aunt Anne answered in the same voice. “You did not mean it, but you cut me to the quick last night; I have had no sleep since, my love. I must go away, I want to be alone. Besides, I have private business to transact. Thank you for all your goodness and hospitality to me, yours, and your dear ones. It has been a great privilege to be with you and the dear children since Walter went away, and to come here and see your second home.” She sat down for a moment by the buttery-hatch, turning a quick sharp glance as she did so to see that it was well closed, for one of her firm beliefs was that “servants were always ready to listen to the private speech of their employers.” As she seated herself, she looked as if she were trying to practise some of Mr. Wimple’s firmness.