She ran toward him with a little cry; but something in his look checked her, and she stood hesitating and coloring as he came up to her and offered his arm.
“Ellerton has announced dinner,” he said, quietly; “draw your scarf round you, for the Hall is cold. You look very nice, dear,” he continued, kindly, looking at the dainty little bit of loveliness beside him with critically approving eyes; “you should always wear white in the evening, Fay;” and then, as they entered the dining-room, he placed her at the head of the table.
Poor child, it seemed all very solemn and stately, with Ellerton and two other footmen to wait on them; to be divided from her husband by silver épergnes and choice flowers, to have to peep between the ferns and flowers for a sight of the golden-brown beard. No wonder her little talk died away, and she stammered in her replies, and then blushed and felt discomposed. She thought she was playing her part very awkwardly, and was ashamed of herself for Hugh’s sake, never dreaming that the very servants who waited on her were wondering at the radiant young creature. Everything comes to an end in this world, and so did this ordeal; for after what seemed to her endless courses, the door closed on the retiring servants, and she and her husband were left alone together; and when Sir Hugh woke up from a brief musing fit he found Fay at his end of the table watching him.
“Why! what brings you here, Wee Wifie?” he asked, smiling; “have you finished your grapes—am I keeping you waiting?”
“Oh! I am in no hurry,” she returned, calmly. “I am going to enjoy my grapes here; it is so dull at the other end of the table;” and she chattered merrily to him, while Hugh drank his coffee, and then coaxed him up into the “blue nestie.”
Hugh took all her thanks very graciously. He was pleased that her innocent tastes should be gratified; he never imagined for a moment that she thought he had chosen all the pretty knickknacks round them.
He had said everything suitable to a lady’s boudoir was to be provided, and the people had done it very well. He had given them carte blanche, and it was certainly a very pretty little room; and then he watched Fay presiding over her tea-table, and listened placidly to her ecstasy over the lovely old china cups, and the dear little antiquated silver cream-jug, and the tiny spoons; and for a little while her brightness infected him. But presently, when she came and nestled against him and told him how happy she was, and how dearly she meant to love her new home, the old look of pain came back on his face; and telling her that he knew his Wee Wifie was tired and must go to bed, he kissed her twice, and then putting her hurriedly from him, went down-stairs.
And when he got into his library and saw the lamp lighted, and the fire burning brightly, he gave a sigh of relief at finding himself alone, and threw himself down in his easy-chair.
And that night, long after Fay had prayed that she might be worthy of Hugh’s love, and make him happy, and had fallen asleep in the old oak bed with a child’s utter weariness, did Hugh sit with his aching head buried on his arms, thinking how he should bear it, and what he would do with his life!
And so the home life began, which was far more tolerable to Sir Hugh than his Continental wanderings had been; when he rode over his estate and Fay’s—the Wyngate lands adjoining, from morning until late afternoon, planning, building, restoring, or went into Pierrepoint on magisterial business; happy if at night he was so weary with exercise that rest was a pleasure and his little wife’s manipulations sweet. All the surrounding gentry for miles round came to call at the Hall, and were loud in their praises of the sweet-faced bride; but the Ferrers were not among them—all those winter months Sir Hugh never saw Margaret. No, though the Grange and the Hall were but two miles apart, they never met; though many a time Sir Hugh had to turn his horse into some miry lane, or across a plowed field, to escape her as she went to and fro among the wayside cottages.