'He has a good face,' replied Dorothy, musingly recalling it.
'Yes; but you should see his friend, Gilbert Strange.'
CHAPTER III.—VISITORS.
It was not long before Stafford Melton became quite at home; his grave manner was only the indication of a thoughtful mind, and in nowise implied a want of cheerfulness. Cordial as his relations with his uncle became, it was at the Rectory he found the most sympathy. The Squire was a politician of the old school, with a wholesome dread of anything newfangled, while the young man had imbibed some of the rising spirit of the age. 'I,' Mr Linley was wont to say, 'am a man of peace, and to avoid storms, eschew politics;' but he lent a willing ear to all that was stirring men's minds—social questions, new inventions, and the wonders beginning to be worked by the marvellous power of steam. There was often another listener too; Dorothy followed these new tracks of thought, and it was in the light of a new experience, every day becoming deeper. She never asked herself what it might be that made her feel such gladness, only when Stafford spoke of his travels in prospect, her heart sank at the thought of what life would be like when he had gone.
September came, and then she saw Gilbert Strange, Stafford's close friend, whom the Squire had cordially invited to come and join their sport when the vacation should set him free, for he was a young barrister. Used to a life in town, he threw himself with almost boyish ardour into their country pursuits; and his high spirits and courteous ways soon endeared him to the little circle. He won the Squire's heart, and many a cover they shot over together, for often Stafford, who was no sportsman by choice, abandoned the gun for more peaceful rambles with the Rector and deep discussions on the new theories of Culture.
'You see, Mrs Linley,' said Gilbert, as he joined them one evening to find his truant friend, 'Fortune committed an error in casting our lots in life. Stafford ought to have worn my wig and gown; while I—can you not fancy the country Squire I should have made?'
Dorothy, who was sitting near, looked up from her work. 'Do you not think, Mr Strange,' she asked, 'that it is better to improve your acres than to shoot over them?'
'Miss Dorothy,' he said, in mock-appealing tones, 'I always remark that you are severe upon my follies, and the worst part is, your arguments are unanswerable. Stafford is happy in having so staunch a supporter.' It was a random shot, but Dorothy felt the colour rise to her face; and her mirthful adversary continued: 'I must retire from the field.—Miss Juliet, will you be more lenient, and accord me a shelter?' Juliet moved her seat to allow him to take one near, with a smile of welcome, but said nothing. I think Gilbert was beginning to read even her silences, and another heart too guessed their meaning.
Days flew by, but still the young men lingered. October was dying out with such a flush of glory, it seemed like the last kiss of Summer. 'Oh, must it ever change to winter?' sighed Dorothy as from their window she watched Juliet start on some kindly errand to a cottage near. Only a little while she stepped out of the every-day world into the ideal; her youth's golden dreams were passing away as swiftly as that autumn time. Presently, her sister was again in sight, but this time not alone. Oh, cruel picture set against the fair sky! what sharp instinct like a quivering stab made it so clear? The little downcast figure lifting its softened eyes in mute apology for the pain it gave, and Stafford's well-known form bending towards it with sad earnest pleading. They pause at length, and he crushing his hopes in a last grasp of the little hand, turned and walked quickly away. Dorothy's heart went out to him in pity and unknown sympathy—those two, so far apart, and yet both passing through their baptism of fire. She could not stand idle; she would go to meet her sister; there was nothing strange in that; they often did so to each other; and swiftly she hurried down the avenue into which Juliet had turned. She was met almost sharply.
'Why, Dorothy, why did you come? Do you not see it is raining?'