A Tale of a Lonely Parish Part 32

"Yes," said she, kindly. "How glad you must be! To have done so splendidly too--you must feel that you have realised a magnificent dream."

"No," said John. "I cannot say I do. I have done the thing I meant to do, or I have good reason to believe that I have; but I have not realised my dream. I shall never write any more odes, Mrs. G.o.ddard."

"Why not? Oh, you mean to me, Mr. Short?" she added with something of her old manner. "Well, you know, it is much better that you should not."

"Perhaps so," answered John rather sadly. "I don't know. Frankly, Mrs.

G.o.ddard, did not you sometimes think I was very foolish last Christmas?"

"Very," she said, smiling at him kindly. "But I think you have changed. I think you are more of a man, now--you have something more serious--"

"I used to think I was very serious, and so I was," said John, with the air of a man who refers to the follies of his long past youth. "Do you remember how angry I was when you wanted me to skate with Miss Nellie?"

"Oh, I only said that to teaze you," Mrs. G.o.ddard answered. "I daresay you would be angry now, if I suggested the same thing."

"No," said John quietly. "I do not believe I should be. As you say, I feel very much older now than I did then."

"The older we grow the more we like youth," said Mary G.o.ddard, unconsciously uttering one of the fundamental truths of human nature, and at the same time so precisely striking the current of John's thoughts that he started. He was wondering within himself why it was that she now seemed too old for him, whereas a few short months ago she had seemed to be of his own age.

"How true that is!" he exclaimed. Mrs. G.o.ddard laughed faintly.

"You are not old enough to have reached that point yet, Mr. Short," she said. "Really, here we are moralising like a couple of old philosophers!"

"This is a moralising season," answered John. "When we last met, it was all holly-berries and Christmas and plum-pudding."

"How long ago that seems!" exclaimed the poor lady with a sigh.

"Ages!" echoed John, sighing in his turn, but not so much for sadness, it may be, as from relief that the great struggle was over. That time of anxiety and terrible effort seemed indeed very far removed from him, but its removal was a cause of joy rather than of sadness. He sighed like a man who, sitting over his supper, remembers the hard fought race he has won in the afternoon, feeling yet in his limbs the ability to race and win again but feeling in his heart the delicious consciousness that the question of his superiority has been decided beyond all dispute.

"And now you will stay here a long time, of course," said Mrs. G.o.ddard presently.

"I am stopping at the Hall, just now," said John with a distinct sense of the importance of the fact, "and after a week I shall stay here a few days. Then I shall go to London to see my father."

"No one will be so glad as he to hear of your success."

"No indeed. I really think it is more for his sake that I want to be actually first," said John. "Do you know, I have so often thought how he will look when I meet him and tell him I am the senior cla.s.sic."

John's voice trembled and as Mrs. G.o.ddard looked at him, she thought she saw a moisture in his eyes. It pleased her to see it, for it showed that John Short had more heart than she had imagined.

"I can fancy that," she said, warmly. "I envy you that moment."

Presently the squire came over to where they were sitting and joined them; and then Mrs. Ambrose spoke to John, and Nellie came and asked him questions. Strange to say John felt none of that annoyance which he formerly felt when his conversations with Mrs. G.o.ddard were interrupted, and he talked with Nellie and Mrs. Ambrose quite as readily as with her.

He felt very calm and happy that night, as though he had done with the hard labour of life. In half an hour he had realised that he was no more in love with Mrs. G.o.ddard than he was with Mrs. Ambrose, and he was trying to explain to himself how it was that he had ever believed in such a palpable absurdity. Love was doubtless blind, he thought, but he was surely not so blind as to overlook the evidences of Mrs. G.o.ddard's age.

All the dreams of that morning faded away before the sight of her face, and so deep is the turpitude of the best of human hearts that John was almost ashamed of having once thought he loved her. That was probably the best possible proof that his love had been but a boyish fancy.

What the little party at the vicarage would have been like, if John's presence had not animated it, would be hard to say. The squire and Mr.

Ambrose treated Mrs. G.o.ddard with the sort of paternal but solemn care which is usually bestowed either upon great invalids or upon persons bereaved of some very dear relation. The two elder men occasionally looked at her and exchanged glances when they were not observed by Mrs.

Ambrose, wondering perhaps what would next befall the unfortunate lady and whether she could bear much more of the excitement and anxiety to which she had of late been subjected. On the whole the conversation was far from being lively, and Mrs. G.o.ddard herself felt that it was a relief when the hour came for going home.

The vicar had ordered his dog-cart for her and Nellie, but as the night had turned out better than had been expected Mr. Juxon's groom had not come down from the Hall. Both he and John would be glad of the walk; it had not rained for two days and the roads were dry.

"Look here," said the squire, as they rose to take their leave, "Mr.

Short had better go as far as the cottage in the dog-cart, to see Mrs.

G.o.ddard home. I will go ahead on foot--I shall probably be there as soon as you. There is not room for us all, and somebody must go with her, you know. Besides," he added, "I have got Stamboul with me."

Mrs. G.o.ddard, who was standing beside the squire, laid her hand beseechingly upon his arm.

"Oh, pray don't," she said in low voice. "Why have you not got your carriage?"

"Never mind me," he answered in the same tone. "I am all right, I like to walk."

Before she could say anything more, he had shaken hands with Mr. and Mrs.

Ambrose and was gone. Perhaps in his general determination to be good to everybody he fancied that John would enjoy the short drive with Mrs.

G.o.ddard better than the walk with himself.

But when he was gone, Mrs. G.o.ddard grew very nervous. One of her wraps could not be found, and while search was being made for it the motherly Mrs. Ambrose insisted upon giving her something hot, in the way of brandy and water. She looked very ill, but showed the strongest desire to go. It was no matter about the shawl, she said; Mr. Ambrose could send it in the morning; but the thing was found and at last Mrs. G.o.ddard and Nellie and John got into the dog-cart with old Reynolds and drove off. All these things consumed some time.

The squire on the other hand strode briskly forward towards the cottage, not wishing to keep John waiting for him. As he walked his mind wandered back to the consideration of the almost tragic events which were occurring in the peaceful village. He forgot all about John, as he looked up at the half moon which struggled to give some light through the driving clouds; he fell to thinking of Mrs. G.o.ddard and to wondering where her husband might be lying hidden. The road was lonely and he walked fast, with Stamboul close at his heel. The dog-cart did not overtake him before he reached the cottage, and he forgot all about it.

By sheer force of habit he opened the white gate and, closing it behind him, entered the park alone.

CHAPTER XIX.

John's impression of Mrs. G.o.ddard was strengthened by the scene at the vicarage at the moment of leaving. The extraordinary nervousness she betrayed, the anxiety for her welfare shown by Mrs. Ambrose and the grave face of the vicar all favoured the idea that she had become an invalid since he had last met her. He himself fell into the manner of those about him and spoke in low tones and moved delicately as though fearing to offend her sensitive nerves. The vicar alone understood the situation and had been very much surprised at the squire's sudden determination to walk home; he would gladly have seized his hat and run after his friend, but he feared Mrs. Ambrose's curiosity and moreover on reflection felt sure that the dog-cart would overtake Mr. Juxon before he was half way to the cottage. He was very far from suspecting him of the absence of mind which he actually displayed, but it was a great relief to him to see the little party safe in the dog-cart and on the way homeward.

Mrs. G.o.ddard was on the front seat with old Reynolds, and John, who would have preferred to sit by her side a few months ago, was glad to find himself behind with Nellie. It was a curious instinct, but he felt it strongly and was almost grateful to the old man for stolidly keeping his seat. So he sat beside Nellie and talked to her, to the child's intense delight; she had not enjoyed the evening very much, for she felt the general sense of oppression as keenly as children always feel such things, and she had long exhausted the slender stock of ill.u.s.trated books which lay upon the table in the vicarage drawing-room.

"There is no more skating now," said John. "What do you do to amuse yourselves?"

"I am studying history with mamma," answered Nellie, "and that takes ever so much time, you know. And then--oh, we are beginning to think of the spring, and we look after the violet plants in the frames."

"It does not feel much like spring," remarked John.

"No--and mamma has not been well lately, so we have not done much of anything."

"Has she been ill long?" asked John.

"No--oh no! Only the last two or three days, ever since--" Nellie stopped herself. Her mother had told her not to mention the tramp's visit.

"Ever since when?" asked John, becoming suddenly interested.

"Ever since the last time the Ambroses came to tea," said Nellie with a readiness beyond her years. "But she looks dreadfully, does not she?"

"Dreadfully," answered John. Then, leaning back and turning his head he spoke to Mrs. G.o.ddard. "I hope you are quite warm enough?" he said.

"Quite--thanks," answered she, but her voice sounded tremulous in the night. It might have been the shaking of the dog-cart. In a few minutes they drew up before the door of the cottage. John sprang to the ground and almost lifted Mrs. G.o.ddard from the high seat.