Olive Part 48

"Why, that is kind, and like yourself, my son. How thoughtfully you have been planning everything for Olive."

"Olive will not be angry with me for that?" he said, and stopped. It was the first time she had ever heard him utter her Christian name. At the sound her heart leaped wildly, but only for an instant. The next, Harold had corrected himself, and said, "_Miss Rothesay_" in a distinct, cold, and formal tone. Very soon afterwards he went away.

Mrs. Gwynne persuaded Olive to spend the day at the Parsonage. They two were alone together, for Harold did not return. But in the afternoon their quietness was broken by the sudden appearance of Lyle Derwent.

"So soon back from Brighton! Who would have thought it!" said Mrs.

Gwynne, smiling.

Lyle put on his favourite sentimental air, and muttered something about "not liking gaiety, and never being happy away from Farnwood."

"Miss Rothesay is scarcely of your opinion; at all events, she is going to try the experiment by leaving us for a while."

"Miss Rothesay leaving us!"

"It is indeed true, Lyle. You see I have not been well of late, and my kind friends here are over-anxious for me; and I want to see my aunt in Scotland."

"It is to Scotland you are going?--all that long dreary way? You may stay there weeks, months! and that while what will become of me--I mean of us all at Farnwood?"

His evident regret touched Olive deeply. It was something to be missed, even by this boy: he always seemed a boy to her, partly because of olden times, partly because he was so boy-like and unsophisticated in mind and manner.

"My dear Lyle, how good of you to think of me in this manner! But indeed I will not forget you when I am away."

"You promise that?" cried Lyle, eagerly.

Olive promised; with a sorrowful thought that none asked this pledge--none needed it--save the affectionate Lyle!

He was still inconsolable, poor youth! He looked so drearily pathetic, and quoted such doleful poetry, that Mrs. Gwynne, who, in her matter-of-fact plainness, had no patience with any of Lyle's "romantic vagaries," as she called them, began to exert the dormant humour by which she always quenched his little ebullitions. Olive at last considerately came to the rescue, and proposed an evening stroll about the garden, to which Lyle gladly a.s.sented.

There he still talked of her departure, but his affectations were now broken by real feeling.

"I shall miss you bitterly," he said, in a low tone; "but if your health needs change, and this journey is for your good, of course I would not think of myself at all."

--The very expressions she had herself used to Harold! This coincidence touched her, and she half reproached herself for feeling so coldly to all her kind friends, and chiefly to Lyle Derwent, who evidently regarded her with much affection. But all other affections grew pale before the one great love. Every lesser tie that would fain come in the place of that which was unattainable, smote her with only a keener pain.

Still, half remorsefully, she looked on her old favourite, and wished that she could care for him more. So thinking, her manner became gentler than usual, while that of Lyle grew more earnest and less dreamy.

"I wish you would write to me while you are away, Miss Rothesay; or, at all events, let me write to you."

"That you may; and I shall be so glad to hear all about Harbury and Farnwood." Here she paused, half-shaming to confess to herself that for this reason chiefly would she welcome the letters of poor Lyle.

"Is that all? Will you not care to hear about _me_? Oh, Miss Rothesay,"

cried Lyle, "I often wish I was again a little boy in the dear old garden at Oldchurch."

"Why so?"

"Because--because"--and the quick blood rose in his cheek. "No, no, I cannot tell you now; but perhaps I may, some time."

"Just as you like," answered Olive, absently. Her thoughts, wakened by the long-silent name, were travelling over many years; back to her old home, her happy girlhood. She almost wished she had died then, while she was young. But her mother!

"No, I am glad I lived to comfort _her._" she mused. "Perhaps it may be true that none ever leave earth until they are no longer needed there.

So I will even patiently live on."

Unable to talk more with Lyle, Olive re-entered the Parsonage. Harold sat reading.

"Have you long come in?" she asked in a somewhat trembling voice.

He answered, "About an hour."

"I did not see you enter."

"It was not likely; you were engaged with my brother-in-law. Therefore I would not disturb you, but took my book."

He spoke in the abrupt, cold manner he sometimes used. Olive thought something had happened to annoy him. She sat down and talked with him until the cloud pa.s.sed away.

Many times during the evening Lyle renewed his lamentations over Miss Rothesay's journey; but Harold never uttered one word of regret. When Olive departed, however, he offered to accompany her home.

"Nay--it is such a rainy night--perhaps"----

"Very well, since you choose it so," and he sat down again. But Olive saw she had wounded his pride, _only_ his pride; she said this to her heart, to keep down its unconscious thrill. She replied, hesitatingly:

"Still, as we shall not have many more walks together, if"----

"I will come," he said, smiling.

And he came. Moreover, he contrived to keep her beside him. Lyle, poor fellow, went whistling in solitude down the other side of the road, until at the Dell he said goodnight, and vanished.

Harold had talked all the way on indifferent subjects, never once alluding to Olive's departure. He did so now, however, but carelessly, as if with an accidental thought.

"I wonder whether you will return before I leave Har-bury--that is, if I should really go. I should like to see you once again. Well, chance must decide."

Chance! when she would have controlled all accidents, provided against all hindrances, woven together all purposes, to be with him for one single day!

At once the thought broke through the happy spell which, for the time, his kindness had laid upon her. She felt that it was _only_ kindness; and as such he meant it, no more! In his feelings was not the faintest echo of her own. A sense of womanly pride arose, and with it a cruel pang of womanly shame. These lasted while she bade him good-night, somewhat coldly; then both sank at once, and there remained to her nothing but helpless sorrow.

She listened for the last sound of his footsteps down the road. But she heard them not; and thought, half-sighing, how quickly he must have walked away!

A very few days intervened between Miss Rothesay's final decision and her departure. During this time, she only once saw Harold Gwynne. She thought he might have met her a little oftener, seeing they were so soon to part. But he did not; and the pain it gave warned her that all was happening for the best. Her health failing, her cheerful spirit broken, even her temper growing embittered with this mournful struggle, she saw that in some way or other it must be ended. She was thankful that all things had arranged themselves so plainly before her.

There was planned no farewell meeting at the Parsonage; but Mrs. Gwynne spent at the Dell the evening before Olive's departure. Harold would have come, his mother said, but he had some important matters to arrange; he would, however, appear some time that evening. However, it grew late, and still his welcome knock was not heard. At last one came; it was only Lyle, who called to bid Miss Rothesay good-bye. He did so dolorously enough, but Olive scarcely felt any pain.

"It is of no use waiting," said Mrs. Gwynne. "I think I will go home with Lyle--that is, if he will take my son's place for the occasion. It is not quite right of Harold; he does not usually forget his mother."

Olive instinctively hinted some excuse. She was ever p.r.o.ne to do so, when any shadow of blame fell on Harold.

"You are always good, my dear. But still he might have come, even for the sake of proper courtesy to you."

Courtesy!

Mrs. Gwynne entreated Olive to call at the Parsonage on her journey next morning. It would not hinder her a minute. Little Ailie was longing for one good-bye, and perhaps she might likewise see Harold. Miss Rothesay a.s.sented. It would have been hard to go away without one more look at him--one more clasp of his hand.