Up The Hill And Over Part 36

Callandar found himself remarking that it was a fine day. Esther said that it was beautiful--but dusty. A little rain would do good. She fanned herself with her broad hat, and stopped fanning to examine closely a tiny stain on the hem of her frock.

"Dear me," she said, "I'm afraid it's axle grease! Mournful Mark gave me a lift this morning."

"Oh, I hope not!" anxiously from Aunt Amy, and referring, presumably, to the grease.

The doctor looked at the little stray curl on the nape of the graceful neck and wished--all the foolish things that lovers have wished since the world began. But he had a great longing to see her eyes. If he were to say sharply, "Look at me!" would she look up? Absurd idea! And anyway he couldn't say it, or anything else, for the first time in his life Henry Callandar was tongue-tied.

Did she, too, feel strange? Was that why she kept her eyes so persistently lowered? No, it could hardly be that. She laughed and talked quite naturally--seemed entire mistress of herself.

"I know I am late, Auntie. It's Friday, you know, and I walked slowly. I forgot that I had promised to help Jane wash the new pup. But there is time yet. Supposing we have tea, English fas.h.i.+on, out here. I'll tell mother--"

"She is at the Ladies Aid, Esther."

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Well, then you must entertain Dr. Callandar while I see about tea."

"No tea for me, thanks," said the doctor hastily. He didn't know why he said it except that he wanted to say something, something which might make her look at him.

But she did not look. His refusal lost him a cup of tea and gained him nothing whatever.

"No tea?" Her tone was mildly wondering, but she was looking at Aunt Amy while she spoke. "I'm sorry you are in a hurry. Bubble said you were busy."

"Not busy exactly. But it's office hours, you know. My partner grows quite waxy if I'm late, and I'm late now."

"Another day, then?" Esther's tone was charmingly gracious, but she seemed to be addressing the gate post, as far as he could judge from the direction of her gaze.

Callandar picked up his hat, gloomily. There was nothing to do now but take his leave. And if he had had any sense he might have been going to stay for tea. Office hours be hanged!

"Thank you, another day I shall be delighted." He took the hand she offered and bowed over it. Delightful custom this of shaking hands!

Esther's hand was cool as a wind-blown leaf. Would she actually say good-bye without looking at him? He held the hand firmly but she did not seem to be conscious that he held it. She was smiling at some children who were going by on the sidewalk.

"Good-bye," said Callandar in a subdued voice.

"Good-bye," said Esther sweetly.

He dropped her hand, they bowed formally, and the foolish, poignant little tragedy of parting was over. Not once had they looked into each other's eyes.

When he had gone Esther sank down upon the elm tree seat.

"Oh, Auntie!" she said with a little sob in her voice. "I want--some tea!"

Aunt Amy glanced irresolutely from the open letter in her hand to the girl's face, and decided to postpone the matter of the letter. "I'll get it, Esther. You sit here and rest."

When she returned the girl seemed herself again. She took the tea-tray and kissed the bearer with a fervour born of remorse. "I am a Pig," she declared, "and you are a darling! Never mind, we'll even up some day."

"When you have had your tea, Esther, I've got a letter I want you to read."

"A letter? Who from? I mean, from whom? Gracious! I'll have to be more careful of the King's English, now that I'm a school teacher."

"I don't know. It is signed just 'H' and it's written to 'Dearest wife.'

You don't know who that could be, do you?"

"Mother, perhaps?"

"No. It's not in your father's writing and his name did not begin with 'H.'"

"Where did you find it, dear?"

"Up in an old trunk of your grandma's--I mean of Mary's mother's. One of the trunks that were sent here after she died. Mary asked me to put moth b.a.l.l.s in it. This letter was all crushed up in a corner. I took it out to smooth it, because I knew it was a love letter. You don't think any one would mind?"

"N--o." Esther, who knew Aunt Amy's feeling about love letters, could not find it in her heart to disagree. "I think we may fairly call it treasure-trove. It's only a note anyway." Her eyes ran swiftly over the two short paragraphs upon the open sheet.

"Dearest wife:--

"At last I can call you 'wife' without fear. Our waiting is over. Brave girl! If it has been as long to you as to me, you have been brave indeed. But it is our day now. Even your mother cannot object any longer. I am coming for you to-morrow. Only one more day!

"Dear, I think that in my wild impatience I did you wrong. But love does not blame love. No wife shall ever be so loved as you. May G.o.d forget me if I forget what you have done for me...."

"What a strange letter!" Esther looked up wonderingly.

"Is that all, Esther?" Aunt Amy's face was vaguely disappointed. "The one I read was much longer than that."

"That is all that is written here, Auntie. But it is a beautiful letter.

They had been separated, you see, and she had been brave and waited. One can imagine--"

The click of the garden gate interrupted her.

"Here's your mother," said Aunt Amy, in a flurried tone. "Don't let her--"

"Is that the mail, Esther?" Mrs. Coombe's high voice held a fretful intonation. Aunt Amy seized the letter and hid it in her dress. "She shan't see it," she whispered childishly.

"Is that the mail?" repeated Mrs. Coombe, coming up the walk.

"No, there is no mail," said Esther, "No one has been to the post office. Perhaps Jane had better run down now."

"But you had a letter," suspiciously. "I'm sure I saw it. Where is it?"

"Don't be absurd, mother. I have no letter. Nor would I think it necessary to show it to you if I had. I am not a child."

"You are a child. And let me tell you, a clandestine correspondence is something which I shall not tolerate. Let me see the letter."

Esther was feeling too happy to be cross. Besides it was rather funny to be accused of clandestine correspondence.

"I think I'll go and help Jane with the pup," she said cheerfully. "Too bad you didn't come in sooner, mother. Dr. Callandar was here."

"Then you do refuse to show me the letter?"

"If I had one I should certainly refuse to show it. Why do you let yourself get so excited, mother? You never used to act like this. It must be nerves. Every one notices how changed you are." She paused, arrested by the frightened look which replaced the futile anger on her step-mother's face.