“The sketch of the cottage? Oh, I should like to keep that. It contains the picture of a lady whom I should certainly not like to forget.”
Then, while the glad light danced in Dora’s eyes again, he rose and took her hand, as he said—
“Good-bye, Miss Greatheart. When I said I should forget the village and the people I was wrong. Your kindness and hospitality I shall always remember.”
So he crossed the threshold of the happy little schoolhouse, to stroll out again into the sunshine; and again he thought very bitterly of the woman who had effectually taken all the sunshine from his life.
He need not have thought so bitterly of her. If she had wounded him she was receiving her punishment.
Having left Walter in the churchyard, Edith flew home like one walking on air. She had accepted his decision gleefully, never attempting to alter it by word or look, for she was thinking all the time of the invitation she had received from Mr. Santley, and which had cost her such a pang to refuse. Walter’s sudden determination left her free—free to spend a few hours in the company of the man who was more to her than the whole world. Lighthearted and happy, she hurried home, gave Walter’s message to her aunt, and then sat down and made a very hearty meal. After it was over, and a reasonable time had elapsed, she again put on her hat, and told her aunt she was going down to the Vicarage.
“I shan’t be back till late, aunt,” she added, “for, as I have to go to the Vicarage, I may as well walk to evening service with Miss Santley. If Walter changes his mind and comes, you will look after him well, won’t you?”
And Mrs. Russell, promising implicit obedience, kissed her niece fondly, and watched her go down the road. On reaching the Vicarage, Edith was admitted at once. There was no necessity to take her card and keep her waiting while she ascertained if master or mistress was at home. She was known to the servants as a visitor who was always welcome—at any rate to the mistress of the house. So, without any preamble at all, she was shown into the sitting-room, and into the presence of Miss Santley.
The room was as luxuriously furnished as any in the Vicarage, and charmingly decorated with the choicest of hothouse flowers. The lady sat in a low wicker chair, with a book in her hand, and at her elbow a little gipsy table, holding a tea-service of Dresden china. The opening of the door disturbed the lady. She let her book fall upon her knee, and looked up dreamily; but the moment her eye fell upon Edith she rose, smiling brightly, gave the girl both her hands, and kissed her fondly.
“My dear Edith, I am so glad!” she exclaimed; and there was a ring of genuine welcome in her voice. “Why, you are a perfect stranger.—Jane, bring a cup for Miss Dove.—Now, dear, select your chair, take off your hat, and make yourself comfortable.”