Windyridge Part 25

"Yes," I whispered.

"I think I should like to go home," he said. "I believe I could manage it, after all."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PARABLE OF THE HEATHER

We left Zermatt on the following day. I must say that I entered the squire's room with some trepidation, but it was quite unnecessary. He smiled as I bent over to kiss him, and relieved my apprehension at once.

"It's all right, Grace," he said; "the heather pulls. You know, don't you?"

Dr. Grey was splendid. Motor cars are of no use in Zermatt, except to bring you there or take you away, so the smell of petrol does not often draw the tourist's attention from the sublime to the--nauseous; but it was characteristic of the almost impudent audacity of the man that he commandeered the only one there was at the Victoria.

"How have you managed it?" I asked, when I learned that we were all to travel as far as Lausanne in the Marquis d'Olsini's luxurious automobile.

"Oh, easily enough," he replied in his hearty way; "the marquis is no end of a decent sort, and when I explained matters, and pointed out that the car was rusting for want of use, he placed it at my disposal with the grace and courtliness that distinguish your true Italian n.o.bleman."

It was a veritable little palace on tyres, and we reached Lausanne quickly and without inconvenience. The squire was not a bit worse for the effort, but the sight of old Gottlieb turning away from the door when he had bidden us good-bye, with a shrug of the shoulders that said as plainly as any words could have done that he washed his hands of all responsibility and was disgusted at the capriciousness of the mad English, afforded me much delight and remains with me still.

It took us four days to reach Folkestone, and we stayed there a couple of nights before we went on to London. Dr. and Mrs. Grey remained with us until we reached the St. Pancras hotel, where the Cynic was waiting to receive us. The squire will see a good deal of the Greys, as the doctor is a Manchester man and can easily run over. The Cynic took to them at once, and Mrs. Grey, or "Dot" as I have learned to call her, confided to me that my friend was a very nice fellow of whom she would be desperately afraid. Fancy any woman being afraid of the Cynic!

Mr. Derwent is, in his way, quite as good an organiser as the doctor, though he goes about his work so quietly that you hardly realise it.

Instead of our having to change at Airlee he had arranged for a saloon to be attached to the Scotch express, so that we travelled with the utmost possible comfort. The squire was by this time so accustomed to travelling, and had borne the fatigue of the journey so well, that I should not have hesitated to accompany him alone, but it was very pleasant to have the Cynic's company and to feel that he shared the responsibility. He seemed pleased to see me, I thought, and congratulated me warmly on the success of my mission.

"You must thank Dr. Grey for all this," I said; "it was his persistence that brought Mr. Evans home."

"Nay, child," said the squire, "you and your word pictures sent me home."

Webster met us at Fawks.h.i.+ll with the pair of bays, and his eyes shone as he greeted the squire. It was good to observe the sympathy that exists between the two as they grasped hands at the station gate. One was master and the other servant, but they were just old friends reunited, and neither of them was ashamed of his emotion.

When we entered the lane the squire closed his eyes. "I will play at being a boy again, Grace. Tell me when we reach the brow of the hill, so that I may see it all at once."

I knew what he meant, and none of the three spoke a word until Webster pulled up his horses at my request. It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, and the warm August sun was well on his way to the west. A thin haze hung over the distant hills, but the moors were glorious in brown and purple, and there was here and there the glint of gorse.

"Now, sir," I said, "look and rejoice!"

He stood up in the carriage and looked around; and as he looked he filled his lungs with the sweet moorland air. Then he said, with deep emotion:

"Thank G.o.d for this!--Drive on, Webster, please."

I was anxious to see the motherkin, and leaving the squire to the companions.h.i.+p of Mr. Derwent I hastened to the cottage. It would be more correct to say that I did my best to hasten, but so many of the villagers stopped me to offer their greetings and inquire the news that my progress was considerably r.e.t.a.r.ded.

When I was nearing the cottage I met Farmer Goodenough, whose hearty hand-grasp I accepted cautiously. After the usual preliminary questions had been asked and answered his voice became rather grave as he said:

"Miss 'Olden, I don't want to worry ye, knowing 'at you're an extra speshul hand at findin' trouble, but I don't altogether like the looks o' Mrs. Hubbard. She's gone a bit thin an' worn, in a manner o'

speakin'. Ye'll excuse me saying ought, I know, but 'a st.i.tch in time saves nine,' as t' Owd Book puts it."

I thanked him, and hurried home, feeling very troubled and uneasy, but when the dear old lady came tripping down to meet me my fears retired into the background. She was so bright and sweet and altogether dainty, and she looked so happy and so well, with the pink flush of pleasure on her cheeks, that I concluded the worthy farmer had for once deceived himself.

"Yes, love!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around my neck as I stooped to kiss her; "but you are so brown, love, and you are really handsome. Do come in and have some tea."

She hovered about me all the time I was removing my hat and coat, anxious to render me service, and seizing every opportunity of stroking my hands and cheeks.

"You foolish old p.u.s.s.y-cat!" I said at length, as I forced her into her easy-chair and placed the hot toast before her. "Give over petting and spoiling me, and tell me all about yourself--the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

She evaded all my questions, however, and insisted that I should describe for her every incident of my journey.

When we had cleared away the things and drawn our chairs up to the fire I returned to the attack. Perhaps she was a little thin, after all, and there was a tired look about the eyes that I did not like.

"What have you been doing in my absence?" I asked; "not working yourself to death in the vain attempt to impart a brighter surface to everything polishable, eh?"

"No, love, I have taken things very easily, and have just kept the cottages and your studio tidy. I have spent a good deal of time at Reuben's, where they have been very kind to me; but I have missed you very much, love."

"Well, I am back now, and not likely to leave you again for a long time. We must have another full day's jaunt on the moors and see the heather in all its royal magnificence."

Her eyes brightened, but I noticed they fell again, and there was doubt in her voice as she replied:

"Yes, love. That will be nice. I think the heat has been very trying, and you may find it so, too. You must take care not to overtire yourself."

Then I knew that there was something wrong, and was glad that I had not consented to live at the Hall. It had been a disappointment to the squire, but he had not pressed the point when he saw that I was unwilling, and I had, of course, readily agreed to spend a good deal of time with him. I know he would have welcomed my old lady as a permanent guest for my sake, but she would never have consented to abandon her own little Hall of Memories, though she would have sought by every cunning artifice which love could devise to induce me to leave her, and would have suffered smilingly. I registered a mental vow that she should never know, if I could keep the secret from her, and that I would do all in my power to make her declining days happy.

"Why are you so weary, dear?" I asked.

"Oh, it is nothing, love," she replied. "It is just the heat. I shall be better when the days are cooler. Indeed, love, I am feeling better already."

I slept soundly enough, in spite of my new anxiety, but the morrow brought me no alleviation. The old lady's vigour was gone, and she moved about the house without energy. But her cheerfulness never failed her, and her patience was something to marvel at.

Dr. Trempest pulled up his horse at the gate and stopped to have a chat one day, and I took the opportunity of mentioning my uneasiness.

"I'll pop in and look at her," he said. "Why don't you give her the same magic physic you've poured down the throat of my old friend Evans?

He's taken on a new lease of life. I tell you it's a miracle, and he says you did it, but he won't divulge the secret. Dear! dear! we old fogeys are no use at all in compet.i.tion with the women! But come, let's have a look at the old girl."

He walked brusquely in and sat astride a chair, leaning his chin on the high back, and talked with her for ten minutes. Then he came out to me again.

"Can't say much without an examination, but appears to me the machinery's getting done. We can none of us last for ever, you know.

Keep her still, if you can, and tell her she needn't be up every two minutes to flick the dust off the fireirons. Drive her out, now and then, and let her have exercise without exertion; and don't you pull a long face before her or get excited or boisterous."

I pulled a face at _him_, and he grinned as he mounted his horse.

"I'll send her up a bottle," he said; "works wonders, does a bottle, if it's mixed with faith in them that take it;" and the caustic old man moved slowly away.

The bottle came, but so far it has wrought no miracle, and there has crept into my heart the unwelcome suggestion of loss. I have tried not to admit it, not to recognise it when admitted, but the attempt is vain. Dr. Trempest shakes his head and repeats his sagacious remark that we can't live for ever, and the squire presses my hand in sympathy, being too honest to attempt to comfort me with hollow hopes.

Only Mother Hubbard herself is cheerful, and as her physical strength decreases she appears to gain self-possession and mental vigour. When the squire suggested that she should be asked to accompany us on the drives which he so much enjoys I antic.i.p.ated considerable opposition, and felt certain that she would yield most reluctantly, but to my surprise she consented without demur.

"This is very kind of Mr. Evans, love," she said, "and if you do not mind having an old woman with you I shall be glad to go."