'Yes, you shall go,' returned Mrs. Blake in a stifled tone. 'I have not been generous, I have spared you nothing, and yet it is not your fault. You have not played with my boy's heart; you never tried to win his heart. Cyril said so himself.'
'No, you have not spared me,' was Audrey's answer, and then the two women parted without kissing each other—Audrey was too sore, too bewildered, for any such caress. They stood holding each other's hands for a moment, and then Mrs. Blake walked to the other end of the room and threw herself down upon a couch. Audrey looked at her for an instant, then she turned and went slowly down the stairs. But as she closed the green gate after her, she told herself that she must be alone for a little, and with a sudden impulse she turned into the courtyard that led to the school-house and chapel. There was one spot where she would be in perfect seclusion, and that was the school library; even if some stray boy were to make his appearance in search of a book—a very unlikely thing at this time in the afternoon—her presence there would attract no notice: she had several times chosen it as a cool, quiet retreat on a hot summer's afternoon. The sight of the big shabby room, with its pillars and book recesses and sloping desks, gave her a momentary sense of relief. The stillness soothed her, and the tumultuous singing in her head and ears seemed to lull. She sat down in one of the inner recesses and looked out on the row of ivy-covered studies and the little gate that led down to the town. A tame jackdaw was hopping among the stones, and a couple of fan-tail pigeons were strutting near him. The mellow brightness of the October sunshine seemed to flood the whole court. Oh, how peaceful it looked, how calm and still! and then Audrey suddenly put down her face on her hands and cried like a baby. 'Oh, if it were only not my fault!' she sobbed; 'but I cannot, cannot bear it,' and for a time she could do nothing but weep.
CHAPTER XXIII
'DADDY, I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU'
| 'To his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him.' Chapman. |
Audrey never knew how long she sat there, shedding those healing tears, every one of which seemed to relieve her overcharged heart; it was a luxury to sit there in that cool shadowed stillness. Presently she would rouse herself and go back to her world again; presently, but not just now! By and by she would think it all out, she would question her own heart more closely. Hitherto she had feared any such scrutiny—now it would be selfish, cowardly, to avoid it any longer; but at the present minute she was only conscious that she and everyone else were miserable.
At this moment she heard footsteps crossing the courtyard. Then, to her dismay, they entered the lobby. She had only just time to drag down a book from the shelves and open it haphazard; it was a volume on natural history. Anyone would have thought her absorbed, she pored so attentively over that plate of gaudy butterflies, never raising her head to look at the new-comer, who stood a few yards off regarding her with unqualified astonishment. Cyril Blake—for it was he, and no other, who had entered the library—would willingly have withdrawn without attracting her notice; but one of the boys in the sanatorium wanted a certain fascinating book of adventures, and he had promised to fetch it. He knew the volume was in this very recess, and he saw with some annoyance that it would be necessary to disturb her.
'Miss Ross,' he said, in that quiet, guarded tone in which he always addressed her now, 'may I trouble you to move just for one moment? I am so sorry to disturb you, but Willie Taylor—' and then he stopped as though he were suddenly petrified.