The Story of Antony Grace Part 77

"No, no, no," cried Linny, throwing her arms round her brother's neck; "I am better, Steve, better now. It is only sorrow that I have been so blind."

"So blind, my darling?"

"Yes, yes," she sobbed excitedly, pressing her brother's dark hair from his forehead, and covering his face with her kisses, "that I was so blind, and weak, and young. I did not know who loved me, and who did not; but it's all over now, Steve dear. Dear brother, it's all over now."

"My darling," he whispered, "let me send for help!"

"No, no," she cried, "what for? I am better--so much better, Stephen.

That is all taken off my mind, and I have nothing to do now but love you, love you all, and get well."

Poor little thing! She lay there clasped in her brother's strong arms, sobbing hysterically, but it was as if every tear she shed washed away from her stricken mind a portion of the canker that had been consuming her day by day.

It was more than I could bear, and if it had not been that I was called upon to speak to and comfort poor, weak Mrs Hallett, who had been awakened by Linny's pa.s.sionate sobs, I should have run out of the room and away from the house; but somehow I had grown to be part and parcel of that family, and the weak invalid seemed to love me like her own son.

At last, to my inexpressible relief, I saw Linny calm gradually down and sink to sleep in her brother's arms, like some weary, suffering child.

Hallett did not move, but sat there fearing to disturb her, and as the evening wore on, his eyes sought mine inquiringly again and again, to direct my attention to her look: and as I watched her in that soft evening glow--a mellow light which told of a lovely evening in the country lanes--a soft, gentle calm seemed to have come upon the wasted face, its old hard angularity had gone, and with it that wistful air of suffering and constant pain, her breathing was faint, but it was soft and regular as that of a sleeping child, and at last there was a restful smile of content upon her lips, such as had not been there for years.

"What had you been saying to her, Antony?" whispered Hallett sternly, as I sat there by his side.

"She asked me questions about Lister and Miss Carr," I said, "and I think that she woke up for the first time to know what a rascal he is."

Hallett looked anxiously at his sister before he spoke again, but she was evidently plunged in a deep sleep.

"You are very young, Antony, but you are getting schooled in nature's secrets earlier than many are. Do you think that is over now?"

"I am sure of it," I said.

"Thank G.o.d!" he said fervently, "for I was in daily dread."

"She would never--there," I said excitedly; "she prayed herself that she might never see his face again."

"But they say women are very forgiving, Antony," he said with a tinge of bitterness; and then, with his brow furrowing but a cynical smile upon his lip, he said, "We shall hear next that Miss Carr has forgiven him, and that they are married."

"For shame!" I exclaimed indignantly. "You do not know Miss Carr, or you would not speak like that."

He half closed his eyes after glancing at where his mother lay back in her easy-chair, asleep once more, for so she pa.s.sed the greater part of her time.

"No," he said softly, "I do not know her, Antony."

I don't know what possessed me to say what I did, but it seemed as if I was influenced to speak.

"I wish you did know her and love her, Hallett, for she is so--"

He started as if he had been stung.

"Are you mad?" he exclaimed angrily.

"No," I said quietly, "but I think she likes you."

"How could she?"

"I have talked so much about you, and she has seemed so interested in all you do."

"You foolish fellow," he said, with his face resuming its old calm.

"You are too young yet to thoroughly understand such matters. When you grow older, you will learn why it was that I could not play, as you seemed to wish, so mean a part as to become John Lister's accuser. It would have been contemptible in the extreme."

"I could not help feeling that Miss Carr ought to know, Hallett."

"Yes, my lad, but you shrank from telling her yourself."

He was silent for a minute.

"Ah, Antony," he said, "Fate seems to have ordained that I am always to wear the workman's coat; but I console myself with the idea that a man may be a poor artisan and still at heart a gentleman."

"Of course!"

"My father was a thoroughly honourable man, who left us poor solely from misfortune. The legacy he left to me, Antony, was the care of my dear mother and Linny."

He looked down tenderly on the sleeping girl, and softly stroked her hair; the touch, light as it was, waking her, to smile in his face with a look very different from that worn by her countenance the day before.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

MISS CARR HEARS THE TRUTH.

I was surprised one morning by my weekly letter from Miss Carr containing the welcome news that she was coming back; in fact, that she was following the letter, and it expressed a wish that I should meet her at the terminus and see her home.

It was with no small feeling of pride that I found myself chosen for this duty, and quite an hour before it was possible for the train to come in, I was waiting at the station.

Soon after I saw the carriage drive up, and at last, after looking endless times at the clock, I saw the train come gliding in, and the next minute I was hurrying along the platform, looking eagerly at each carriage in turn, when I found myself brus.h.i.+ng by John Lister, who started and scowled at me as I pa.s.sed.

Just then I caught sight of Miss Carr, looking from one of the carriages, and handing a bundle of wraps to her maid.

I ran eagerly up, but only to find myself rudely thrust aside by John Lister, who, in his excitement, studied nothing so that he could reach her first.

"At last," he whispered pa.s.sionately. "Let me be the first to welcome you back."

Flushed and angry, my fists involuntarily clenched, and I felt ready to strike him as I started forward once again.

I had my recompense, though, directly, for I saw Miss Carr draw down her veil, and; completely ignoring the extended hands, she beckoned to me, and, summoning up as much importance as I could, I said sharply:

"Will you have the goodness to stand aside?"

He was so taken aback by the determined refusal of Miss Carr to renew their acquaintance that he stood back involuntarily, recovering himself though, directly, and approaching once more; but he was too late: Miss Carr had taken my arm, and I led her to the carriage, the footman, who had seen her, taking the wraps and a case or two from the maid, whom he ushered to a cab, which was then being loaded with luggage, as I sprang in beside my patroness, and gave the word to the coachman, "Home!"

I was too young not to feel excited by the importance of my position, and as the horses started and the carriage moved forward, think now that I must have been more than human if I had not darted a look of triumph at John Lister, as he stood there just beneath one of the swinging lamps, his brow furrowed and a furious look of disappointment and malice upon his face.