“I think it is an excellent idea,” she said. “All the gaieties will be over on the Riviera, and Félicia will enjoy a quiet restful time.” Maimie could have told her differently, but held her peace. “I will speak to my husband at once, and if he agrees with me, I will write to Usk to-day.”
The idea did not approve itself quite so strongly to Lord Caerleon as to his wife, and his comments opened her eyes to a truth which she had successfully hidden from herself hitherto. Her relief sprang chiefly from the hope that, after all, Félicia might not marry Usk. With Lady Caerleon, to discover such a piece of self-deception was instantly to impose punishment, and while she still suggested to Usk that he should extend his travels, she confessed plainly that the idea was inspired by Maimie, and sprang from a suspicion that Félicia did not really care for him. She added also that his father and she left the matter entirely to his own discretion, and this intimation had the unlooked-for result that Usk promptly cancelled his remaining engagements in America, and sailed for home by the very first steamer. It was with the greatest reluctance that he had left Félicia in her trouble to the care even of his mother, but it had comforted him to feel that he was doing something for her in seeing her father’s body laid in the grave he had chosen. The extension of his exile he had accepted with some unwillingness, feeling that he could trust himself to be near Félicia without forcing his hopes upon her in her time of grief. However, if his presence would embarrass her, if she did not know him well enough to trust him, he was content to stay away. But this last menace to his happiness was too much. He must know the worst. If Félicia did not love him, it was better to hear it from her own lips, and bear it like a man, than wander about the American continent tortured with uncertainty, and murmuring, “She loves me—loves me not,” like a girl pulling a daisy to pieces.
It was a sunny afternoon in early February when Usk arrived at the little wayside station near Llandiarmid. No one was expecting him, for the letter he had posted in New York, announcing his return, had travelled by the same vessel as himself, and had only reached the Castle that morning. At this moment it was lying on Lord Caerleon’s table, in company with the telegram Usk had sent from Liverpool on his arrival there; for Lord and Lady Caerleon had started at an unearthly hour in the morning on a long cold drive into Oldport, where a temperance convention was being held. Disregarding the stationmaster’s eager invitation to step into his office while he sent to the nearest farm and borrowed a trap to take his lordship up to the Castle, Usk left his luggage to be fetched later, and struck off across the fields. He had a feeling that if he met Félicia now, he would win her, and he hurried on, his country-trained senses noting the springing wheat in the autumn-sown fields, the pleasant smell of the rich red plough-lands, the brown and crimson buds in the hedges, and the twittering of the birds in the mild sunshine. Everything spoke of life and love and hope, and Usk whistled gaily for sheer gladness of heart as he renewed his acquaintance with the many short cuts, less remarkable for their shortness than their complexity, which he and Philippa had long ago discovered, and definitely laid down as the quickest way home. The shrubbery gate was locked, of course, but he had climbed the wall at this point too often for that to be any obstacle, and he went on up the well-known paths. At the long wild border under the sunny wall which marked the limits of the garden proper he cast an involuntary glance. Philippa would have been there, on such an afternoon as this, looking for early violets, or gathering handfuls of snowdrops from among the grass on the opposite side of the walk, and perhaps Félicia——? But Félicia was not to be seen, and he turned to the old arched doorway leading into the garden and rattled at it vigorously, nearly frightening the wits out of a meek gardener’s boy who was at work just inside, and opened the door timidly. On being questioned, however, the boy recovered his senses sufficiently to volunteer the remark that he ‘see one of the young ladies, the prettiest one, on the top terrace by herself about five minutes back,’ for which he received a munificent reward.
Climbing the long worn flights of steps which led from one to another of the broad terraces in front of the Castle, Usk kept purposely in the shade of the bushes which rose behind the balustrades. This was his chance, to find Félicia alone and take her by surprise. He reached the terrace next below the highest, and stopped suddenly. The steps which faced him turned sharply at a right angle, and on the small landing thus formed stood a sun-dial. Leaning against the sun-dial was Félicia, her long black robes trailing on the stones, her face almost hidden by the furs in which she was muffled.
“Félicia!” Usk had sprung up the steps and appeared at her side. She turned with a little scream, then a smile crept over her face.
“Well, do you know,” she remarked deliberately, “I was just thinking about you. I sort of felt you were not far away.”
“You wanted me? Oh, my darling!”
It was necessary for Félicia to free herself, which she did without undignified haste. Then she straightened her hat, and looked reproachful. “I don’t know what I said to give you the notion of doing that, Lord Usk,” she said severely.
“Only that you missed me.” Usk’s arm was round her again.
“Well, I don’t know but I have felt lonesome at times. But I never said it was on your account, any way.”