During his days of convalescence Sir Lester found in Winifred a constant companion who never failed to interest and amuse him.
He thought she deserved every happiness this life could give, and knowing what was dearest to her heart, he longed for Jack Redland to come home. He cared not now whether he returned rich or poor; in any case he would offer no opposition, and as Winifred was his only child, there would be sufficient for them when he was gone, and he could look after them during his lifetime.
He had great faith in Jack, and something told him he was prospering, and that when he came home it would not be with empty hands. Winifred guessed his thoughts, and was happy. The colour returned to her cheeks, and she was soon her light-hearted merry self again, although his illness had made a deep impression upon her that would never be effaced. It is in times of sickness and sore distress that the best feelings in our natures are roused. There is the need to act, the necessity for self-denial, duties to be done that cannot be evaded, annoyances that will not be thrust aside. There must be no putting off for to-morrow what can be done to-day, for delay means death maybe, and that ends all in this life.
Sir Lester's illness put the finishing touch to Winifred's womanhood; it brought her to maturity; it roused in her the feelings of maternity, which reliance upon herself always brings to a woman. Her father had been as helpless as a child, and she had nursed him, attended to his every want, anticipated his unspoken wishes, ministered to his pain, and did all that a brave woman knows so well how to do in battling with death, in peace or in war.
She felt the change in herself, but did not quite understand it. Something had been given to her that she lacked before, and it was very wonderful, strangely beautiful and satisfying. She was as gay and light-hearted as ever, but there was more depth in her, a firmness she had hitherto lacked possessed her, and she felt better able to grapple with the world.
Sir Lester was amused. He noticed all these traits and knew the little girl he so fondly loved had developed into a very beautiful woman. He had watched her grow year by year, and hungrily begrudged the advancing age which must make her less reliant upon him. Man-like, he wanted her to be solely dependent upon him, and yet now the time was come, when she was a woman, he loved her better than ever. What a prize she would prove to Jack Redland; he thought of no other man in connection with her: the mere idea seemed desecration. Had he been glad when Jack went away? He doubted it. Relief was the feeling he experienced. And he would again feel it on his return.
Roaming about the country lanes one day, Winifred chanced to linger on the spot where she had last seen Jack turn and wave his farewell. Was it a chance she came there? She tried to convince herself such was the case, but it proved a failure, for she knew she had deliberately walked in that direction.
Was it by chance that the self-same gypsy woman came along at the time and saw her? Probably it was, for she seldom wandered that way. The woman hesitated, and then approached. She knew it was Winifred Dyke, and was aware that Sir Lester disliked liked her and all her tribe. She had not forgotten the handsome young man she had met not far away some year or two before, and something told her there was a connecting link between them. They are wonderfully shrewd, the women of her class, and have a marvellous way of putting things together and weaving elegant and generally acceptable little romances therefrom.
Winifred started when she saw her, and at once it flashed across her mind that this might be the same woman Jack had told her about. The thought interested her strangely. If this were the woman then she had much to do with Jack's going away, ridiculous though it appeared.
"May I look at your hand?" said the gypsy, as though it was the most natural request in the world.