Nell, of Shorne Mills Part 62

But she wanted you to go? Don't deny it!"

Nell's pale face flushed.

"Yes. She wanted me to go; but I would not. I am going to remain at Beaumont Buildings," said Nell resolutely.

As she spoke, the door opened, and d.i.c.k entered quickly. His face and hands were smudgy, but his eyes were bright in their rings of smoke and s.m.u.t.

"Hallo, Nell; hallo, Falconer!" he cried. "Eaten all the tea? Hope not, for I'm famishing. Nell, I've got some news for you--wait till I've cleaned myself."

"No, you don't!" said Falconer, catching him by the arm. "What is it?"

"Oh, not much. Only there's a chance of our leaving these beastly Buildings. I've got to go down to a place in the country to manage some water works, and install the electric light."

Falconer's face fell for a moment, then he smiled cheerfully.

"Congratulations, old fellow!" he said. "When do you go?"

"Oh, in about a fortnight. That's what kept me late. Think of it! The country, Nellakins! Jump for joy, but don't upset the tea things!"

"Where is it, d.i.c.k?" she asked, as he went to the door.

"At a place called Anglemere. One of the ancestral halls, don't you know. 'Historic Castles of England' kind of place."

"Anglemere?" said Nell, wrinkling her brows. "I seem to remember it."

CHAPTER XXVI.

d.i.c.k, having "cleaned" and "stoked" himself with tea and toast, vouchsafed for further information:

"Anglemere's in Hampshire. It's a tremendous place, so a fellow at the works says, who's seen it; one of the show places, you know; 'a venerable pile,' with a collection of pictures, and a famous library, and all that. Lord Angleford----"

"I remember!" Nell broke in, "I met Lady Angleford at Wolfer House; a little woman, and very pretty. She was exceedingly kind to me."

"Sensible as well as pretty," murmured Falconer. He had drawn his chair to the window, and was gazing down at the crowded street rather absently and sadly. In a fortnight the girl who had brightened his life, who had transformed Beaumont Buildings into an earthly paradise for him, would be gone!

"Oh!" said d.i.c.k. "That would have been the late earl's wife. The present one isn't married. He's a young chap--lucky bargee! The late earl died about eighteen months ago, suddenly. I heard old Bardsley talking about it while I was in the office with him. He's been away traveling----"

"Who--old Bardsley?" asked Nell.

"No, brainless one," said d.i.c.k; "the young earl, Lord Angleford. Rather a curious sort of customer, I should fancy, for n.o.body seems to know where he has been, or where he is. Left England suddenly--kind of disappearance. They couldn't find him in time for the funeral, and he's away still; but he's sent orders that this place--the beggar's got three or four others in England and elsewhere, I believe--should be put in fighting trim--water supply, new stables, electric light--the whole bag of tricks. And I--I who speak to you--am going to be a kind of clerk of the works. No need to go on your knees to me, Falconer; just simply bow respectfully. You will find no alteration in me. I shall be as pleasant and affable as ever. No pride in me."

"Thank you--thank you," said Falconer, with exaggerated meekness.

"But--pardon the curiosity of an humble friend--I don't quite see where Miss Lorton comes in."

"Oh, it's this way," said d.i.c.k, reaching for his pipe--for your engineer, more even than other men, must have his smoke immediately after he has stoked: "the place is empty--n.o.body but caretakers and a few servants--and the agent has offered me the use of one of the lodges.

There is no accommodation at the inn, I understand."

"I see," said Falconer.

"Just so, perspicacious one. It happens to be a tiny-sized lodge, with two or three bedrooms. My idea is that Nell and I could take possession of the lodge, hire a slavey from the village, and have a good time of it."

"Pleasure and business combined," said Falconer. "And it will be nice, when the Buildings are as hot as--as a baker's oven, to think of Miss Lorton strolling through the woods--there must be woods, of course--or sitting with a book beside the stream--for equally, of course, there is a stream."

"Get your fiddle and play us a 'Te Deum' for the occasion," said d.i.c.k suddenly.

When Falconer had left the room, Nell told d.i.c.k of Lady Wolfer's visit.

"Oh!" he said, by no means delightedly. "And wants you to go and live with her; or offered to make us an allowance, I suppose? At any rate, I won't have anything of that kind, Nell," he added, with fraternal despotism.

"You need not be afraid. I shall not go--there are reasons----" She turned away to hide the sudden blush. "And I am as proud as you, d.i.c.k. I should like to ask Mr. Falconer to come down to us at this place. He has not been looking well lately."

d.i.c.k shook his head.

"No, poor beggar! I'm afraid he's in a bad way. Do you hear him cough at night? It's worse than he pretends."

"Hush!" said Nell warningly, as the musician reentered, his violin held lovingly under his arm.

Soon the small room was filled with the strains of jubilant music--a "Te Deum" of thanksgiving and rejoicing.

"That's for you," he said.

Then suddenly the tune changed to a sad yet delicious melody whose sweetness thrilled through Nell, and made her think of Shorne Mills--and Drake; and as he played on she turned her face away from him and to the open window through which the wailing of the music floated, causing more than one of the pa.s.sers-by in the street beneath to pause and look up with wistful eyes.

"And that is for me," said Falconer; "for me--and the rest of us--whom you will leave behind. Good night." And with an abrupt nod he left the room.

As a rule he played, in his own room, late into the night; but to-night the piano and violin were silent, and he sat by the window looking at the stars, in each of which he saw the beautiful face of the girl in the room below.

"She doesn't even guess it," he murmured. "She will never know that I--I love her. And that's all right; for though she wouldn't laugh at the love of a pauper with one leg in the grave, she'd pity me, and I couldn't stand that. She'd pity me and make herself unhappy over my--my folly; and she's unhappy enough as it is. I wonder what it is? As I watch her eyes, with that sad, wistful look in them, I feel that I would give the world to know, and another world on top of it to be able to help her. Sometimes I fancy that the look is a reflection of that in my own eyes, and that would mean that she loved some one as I love her. Is that the meaning? Is there some one of whom she is always thinking as I think of her? The look was in her eyes while I was playing to-night; I saw it as I have seen it so often."

He sighed, and hid his face in his long, thin hands.

"They paint love as a chubby, laughing child," he mused bitterly. "They should draw him as a cruel, heartless monster, with a scourge instead of a toy dart in his hands. If I wrote a love song, it should be the wail of a breaking heart. Only two months! It seems as if I had known her for years. Was that look always in her eyes? Will it always remain there?

Oh, G.o.d! if I could change it, if I could be the means----Yes; I'd ask for nothing more, nothing better, but just to see her happy. They might carry my coffin down the stairs as soon as they pleased afterward."

He stretched out his hand for his violin, but drew his hand back.

"Not to-night. They are talking over the brother's slice of luck, and I won't break in upon their joy. Good night, my love--who never will be mine."

Every evening d.i.c.k came home with fresh items of information about the work to be done at Anglemere, and Nell began to catch something of the excitement of his antic.i.p.ation.

Sometimes Falconer came down to listen, and he tried to hide the pain the prospect of their departure cost him, as now and again he joined in the discussion of their plans; but more often he sat gazing out of the window, and stealing glances at the beautiful face as it bent over some needlework for d.i.c.k or herself--more often for d.i.c.k.

But one night--it was the night before they were to start--he almost betrayed himself.