Lover or Friend Part 34

'I hope your son enjoyed his holiday?' she asked, as she picked a little sprig of scented geranium.

'I am afraid Cyril is not quite in the mood for enjoying himself,'

returned Mrs. Blake in rather a peculiar tone. 'Mollie, run and put on your hat, as Miss Ross told you; and for goodness' sake do brush your hair. My boy is not looking like himself,' she continued when they were alone. 'I am rather uneasy about him; he has grown thin, and does not seem in his usual spirits.'

'He wrote very cheerfully to Kester,' returned Audrey, taken aback at this.

'Oh, letters never tell one anything,' replied Mrs. Blake impatiently.

'I daresay you thought I was as happy as possible from mine, just because I must have my little jokes. We Blakes are all like that. I daresay, if Cyril were here, you would see nothing amiss with him; but you cannot blind a mother's eyes, Miss Ross.'

'I am very sorry,' returned Audrey gravely; 'perhaps Cornwall did not agree with him; but he seemed very gay.'

'Oh, as to that, he was gay enough; people always make so much of him--he has been a favourite all his life. I never knew any young man with so many friends. He has gone up to London now to bid good-bye to one of them who is going to India. We do not expect him back until quite late to-morrow.'

'Indeed,' was Audrey's brief reply; but as she walked up the hill with Mollie she was sensible of a feeling of relief. She liked Mr. Blake, she had always liked him; but she had begun to find his quiet, persistent watchfulness a little embarra.s.sing--she felt that it invaded the perfect freedom in which she delighted. Nevertheless, she was sensible of a vague curiosity to know why Mr. Blake was not in his usual spirits--could it be Miss Frances, after all?

'Mamma sent me away because she wanted to talk about Cyril,' observed Mollie, with girlish shrewdness; 'she is worrying about him, because he looks grave, and does not talk quite so much as usual; but I am sure he is not ill. He was terribly vexed when Mr. Plumpton telegraphed for him.

I don't think I ever saw Cyril so put out before. He was quite cross with mamma when she wanted to pack his big portmanteau. He declared he did not mean to stay away longer than one night; but mamma said she knew he could not be back until to-morrow evening. Just before he went away he asked what time you were expected, and----'

'Never mind about that,' interrupted Audrey; 'we shall be at Hillside directly, and I have heard nothing about yourself. Were you very dull without Kester, Mollie? and were our letters long enough to satisfy you?'

'Oh, they were just lovely!' returned Mollie enthusiastically; 'only mamma complained that everyone had forgotten her, for even Cyril did not write half so often. I used to read them over in the evening, and try and imagine what you were doing; and I was not always dull, because I had so much to do: but that Roman history--oh, Miss Ross!'

'You have worked hard at that, have you not, Mollie?'

'You would say so if you had heard us,' returned Mollie with a shrug; 'we used to grind away at it until I was quite stupid. Sometimes I wanted to practise or to go on with my French. But no: mamma had promised Cyril, and there was no help for it. I have filled one note-book, but I am not sure I remember half. Mamma reads so fast, and she is always vexed if I do not understand; but,' with a look of relief, 'I don't think we shall do so much now. Mamma has got her walking mood again.'

Audrey tried not to smile. 'Next week we shall resume our lessons, Mollie.'

'Oh, that will be delightful,'--standing still, for they were now entering the shrubberies of Hillside; 'somehow, no one teaches like you, Miss Ross: you never seem to grow impatient or to mind telling things over again; but mother is always in such a hurry, and she is so clever herself that she has no patience with a dunce like me.'

'My dear Mollie, please do not call yourself names--you are certainly no dunce.'

'I don't mean to be one any longer,' replied Mollie, brightening up.

'Oh, Miss Ross, what do you think Cyril says! that I am not to help Biddy any more, and that we are to have a woman in to do the rough work.

I don't think mamma was quite pleased when he talked about it. She said it was uncalled-for extravagance, and that we really could not afford it; that a little work did not hurt me, and that I ought to be glad to make myself useful. Mamma was almost annoyed with Cyril, but he always knows how to soothe her down. Of course it will be as he wishes, and mamma has promised to speak to you about a woman; and so I shall have plenty of time to do my lessons; and it will be my own fault if I am a dunce now,' finished Mollie, with a close hug, as the thick shrubs screened them from any prying eyes.

'Poor little soul! I must help her all I can,' thought Audrey, as she walked on to the house. 'I am glad her brother takes her part;' and then her brother-in-law met her in the porch and took her into the morning-room, where the two ladies were sitting, and where Geraldine welcomed her as though months, and not hours, had separated them.

Audrey's first visit had always been paid to the O'Briens; so the following afternoon she started off for Brail as a matter of course.

'Perhaps you will come and have tea with mother, Gage,' she had said on bidding her sister good-bye; 'my Brail afternoons always keep me out until dinner-time;' and Geraldine had generously a.s.sented to this. She admired Audrey's benevolence in walking all those miles to see her old friend; the whole family took a lively interest in honest Tom O'Brien, though it must be allowed that Mrs. Baxter was by no means a favourite.

Audrey would have enjoyed her walk more if she could have kept her thoughts free from Mr. Blake; but, unfortunately, the long gra.s.sy lanes she was just entering only recalled the time when he had carried Booty and had walked with her to the gate of Woodcote; and she found herself wondering, in a vexed manner, as to the cause of the gravity that had excited his mother's uneasiness.

But she grew impatient with herself presently.

'After all, what does it matter to me?' she thought, as she stopped to gather some red leaves. 'I daresay it was only Miss Frances, after all.'

And then she recoiled with a sort of shock, for actually within a few feet of her was a tall figure in a brown tweed coat. She had been so busy with her thoughts and the red and yellow leaves that she had not seen Mr. Blake leaning against the gate that led into the ploughed field. She might even have pa.s.sed him, if he had not started up and confronted her.

'Miss Ross,' grasping her hand, 'please let me gather those for you; they are too difficult for you to reach--the ditch is so wide. How many do you want? Do you care for that bit of barberry?'

'Thank you; I think I have enough now,' returned Audrey very gravely.

She was quite unprepared for this meeting. She had seen the flash of joy in his eyes as he sprang forward to meet her, and she was annoyed to feel that her own cheeks were burning. And she was clear-sighted enough to notice something else--that Mr. Blake was talking eagerly and gathering the coloured leaves at random, as though he hardly knew what he was doing, and that, after that first look, he was avoiding her eye, as though he were afraid that he had betrayed himself. Audrey's maidenly consciousness was up in arms in a moment. The gleam in Cyril's eyes had opened hers. Some instinct of self-defence made her suddenly entrench herself in stiffness; the soft graciousness that was Audrey's chief charm seemed to desert her, and for once in her life she was a little abrupt.

'There is no need to gather any more, thank you. I have all I want, and I am in a great hurry;' and she held out her hand for the leaves.

But Cyril withheld them.

'Let me carry them for you,' he returned, evidently trying to speak as usual; but his voice was not quite in order. 'I know where you are going--to that pretty, old-fashioned cottage with the jasmine-covered porch; it is not far, and I have not seen you for so long.' Then he stopped suddenly, as though something in Audrey's manner arrested him.

'That is, if you do not object,' he finished, with a pleading look.

But for once Audrey was obdurate.

'Thank you, I would rather carry them myself. There is no need to take you out of your way.'

Audrey felt that her tone was cold--that she was utterly unlike herself; but her one thought was to get rid of him. But she need not have feared Cyril's importunity. He drew back at once, and put the leaves in her hand without speaking; but he turned very pale, and there was a hurt look in his eyes. Audrey put out her hand to him, but he did not seem to see it; he only muttered something that sounded like 'Good-morning,' as he lifted his cap and went back to the gate. Audrey walked on very fast, but her cheeks would not cool, and a miserable feeling of discomfort hara.s.sed her. She was vexed with him, but still more with herself. Why need she have taken alarm so quickly? It was not like her to be so missish and disagreeable. Why had she been so cold, so unfriendly, just because he seemed a little too pleased to see her?

And now she had hurt him terribly--she was quite sure of that--she who never willingly offended anyone. He had been too proud, too gentlemanly, to obtrude himself where he was evidently not wanted; but his pained, reproachful look as he drew back would haunt her for the rest of the day. And, then, how splendidly handsome he had looked! She had once likened him to a Greek G.o.d, but it may be doubted whether even the youthful Apollo had seemed more absolutely perfect when he revealed himself in human form to some Athenian votary, than Cyril Blake in the glory of his young manhood. Audrey had not recognised this so keenly before.

'I must make it up to him somehow. I cannot bear to quarrel with anyone.

I would rather do anything than hurt his feelings,' she thought; and it needed all her excellent common-sense to prevent her from running back to say a kind word to him.

'I was in a hurry--I was too abrupt; I did not mean to be unkind'--this was what she longed to say to him. 'Please come with me as far as the cottage, and tell me all you have been doing.' Well, and what withheld her from such a natural course--from making her amends in this graceful and generous fashion? Simply that same maidenly instinct of self-preservation. She did not go back; she dare not trust herself with Cyril Blake, because she was afraid of him, and perhaps--though this was not quite so clear to her--she was afraid of herself. But, all the same, she was very miserable--for doing one's duty does not always make one happy--and she felt the joy of her home-coming was already marred; for, with a person of Audrey's temperament, there is no complete enjoyment if she were not in thorough harmony with everyone. One false note, one 'little rift within the lute,' and the whole melody is spoiled. So Audrey's gaiety seemed all quenched that afternoon, and though her old friend testified the liveliest satisfaction at the sight of her, and Priscilla could not make enough of her, she was conscious that, as far as her own pleasure was concerned, the visit was a failure.

But she was aware that no one but herself was conscious of this fact.

Certainly not honest Tom O'Brien, as he sat smoking his pipe in the porch, and listening to her descriptions of Highland scenery with a beaming face; neither was Mrs. Baxter a keen observer, as she testified by her parting speech.

'You have done father a world of good, Miss Ross,' she said, as she walked down to the little gate with Audrey. 'I think there is no one he so loves to see, or who cheers him up in the same way as you do. You are young, you see, and young people take more cheerful views of life; and it is easy to see you have not a care on you. Not that I begrudge you your happiness, for no one deserves it more; and long may it continue, Miss Ross,' finished Mrs. Baxter, with her usual mournfulness.

CHAPTER XXI

'HE IS VERY BRAVE'

'Ah! life grows lovely where you are; Only to think of you gives light To my dark heart; within whose night Your image, though you hide afar, Glows like a lake-reflected star.'

MATHILDE BLIND.

For the first time Audrey closed the little gate of Vineyard Cottage with a sense of relief that her visit was over. The two hours she had just pa.s.sed had been quite an ordeal to her. True, she had exerted herself to some purpose: she had talked and amused her old friend; she had partaken of Mrs. Baxter's cakes; she had even summoned up a semblance of gaiety that had wholly deceived them. But all the time her heart had been heavy within her, and her remembrance of Cyril's grieved look came between her and enjoyment.

It had been a lovely afternoon when she had started for her walk, but now some heavy clouds were obscuring the blue sky. The air felt heavy and oppressive, and Audrey quickened her steps, fearing lest a storm should overtake her in the long unsheltered lanes that still lay between her and home. She drew her breath a little as she approached the place where she had parted with Cyril more than two hours ago. Then she gave a great start, and again the blood rushed to her face, for through a gap in the hedge she could see a brown tweed coat quite plainly. He was still there--still in the same position. She could see the line of his shoulders as he stooped a little over the gate, with the peak of his cap drawn over his eyes.

Audrey slackened her pace. She felt a little breathless and giddy. She would have to pa.s.s him quite close, and, of course, if he meant to speak to her----But no: though he heard her footsteps, and half turned his head and seemed to listen, he did not move his arms from the gate. He evidently meant to take no advantage, to let her pa.s.s him if she wished to do so. Audrey could read this determination in his averted face. Most likely he wished her to think that his abstraction was too great to allow him to notice her light footfall; he would make it easy for her to pa.s.s him--a man's eyes can only see what they are looking at. But this time Audrey's prudence counselled her in vain; her soft heart would not allow her to go past him as a stranger. She stopped and looked at him; but Cyril did not turn his head.