The fragrance of honeysuckle, rich and over-powering, greeted me as I passed along the lane. I stopped to gather some of the sprays, wet with dew, that flung their blossoms lavishly over the hedge.
Miss Drury had always been fond of honeysuckle. I suddenly determined to gather a good handful and carry it to the rectory. Then I would ask for her, and put the flowers into her hands, and tell her that little Louie had come back, sick and weary, to beg for a night's rest.
Feeling almost glad again, I broke off cluster after cluster, softly singing an old song to myself all the while. It was a song about the fleeting joys of childhood, and the little lovers who came with their simple gifts to win the heart of the merry child. Quite suddenly, while I was singing it, I remembered another lover, older and sadder, who had won me with the magic of his melancholy Spanish eyes, and whispered words of sad yearning. And then I burst out into a wild sob which put an end to the song.
Carrying my light burden of flowers, I went onward through the old lanes, quietly weeping. But the sweet breath of the fields, and the calm of the deepening dusk, tranquillised my spirit, and made me even as a little child.
Still pressing on, and still trying vainly to disentangle my brain from the web that was wound about it, I found myself at the end of the lane. It opened out upon a space of green sward, and then began to narrow again. But on my right, in the clear twilight, arose the familiar outline of a massive tower; and, protected by a low flint wall, were certain dark yews, whose evening whisper recalled other childish memories. On the left were more trees, beeches and sycamores, and a great cedar which stood as a patriarch among his brethren. I knew those trees quite well. The cedar boughs darkened the study window where the rector sat to write his sermons, and shadowed that very "guest chamber" wherein I hoped to sleep to-night.
And, indeed, it was time for me to go to sleep. I was so tired that my limbs seemed to be clogged with iron fetters, and my feet found it hard to keep to a straight line. The gate of the rectory garden stood wide open, and the friendly old trees rustled a welcome as I passed under their boughs and made my way, feebly and unsteadily, to the house door.
After some searching, I found the bell-handle, hidden somewhere in the thick ivy leaves, and gave it a pull. A muffled peal met my dull ears, and at length there were footsteps, and the heavy oaken door slowly opened. I was conscious of a dim light shining out of a dark entry, and of the face of an elderly woman-servant, whose eyes looked inquisitively into mine.
Gathering up all my forces, I spoke in a clear voice, eager to make myself known and understood at once.
I BROKE OUT INTO AN EXCEEDING BITTER CRY.