Peter's Mother Part 29

She was no longer dressed in blue cotton. Lady Tintern knew how to give such glorious colouring its true value. A gauzy, transparent black flowed over a close-fitting white gown beneath, and veiled her fair arms and neck. Black bebe ribbon gathered in coquettishly the folds which shrouded Sarah's abundant charms, and a broad black sash confined her round young waist. A black chip hat shaded the glowing hair and the face, "ruddier than the cherry, and whiter than milk;"

and the merry, dark blue eyes had a penthouse of their own, of drooping lashes, which redeemed the boldness of their frank and open gaze.

"If it is not that--why do you cry?" she demanded imperiously.

"It's--just happiness," said Lady Mary.

Sarah looked wise, and shook her head. "Oh no," she quoth. "Those aren't happy tears."

"You're too old, dear Sarah, to be an _enfant terrible_ still," said Lady Mary; but Sarah was not so easily disarmed.

"I will know! Come, I'm your G.o.dchild, and you always spoil me. He's not come back in one of his moods, has he?"

"Who?" cried Lady Mary, colouring.

"Who! Why, who are we talking of but Peter?" said Sarah, opening her big-pupilled eyes.

"Oh no, no! He's changed entirely--"

"Changed!"

"I don't mean exactly changed, but he's--he's grown so loving and so sweet--not that he wasn't always loving in his heart, but--

"Oh," cried Sarah, impatiently, "as if I didn't know Peter! But if it wasn't _that_ which made you so unhappy, what was it?" She bent puzzled brows upon her embarra.s.sed hostess.

"Let me go, Sarah; you ask too much!" said Lady Mary. "Oh no, my darling, I'm not angry! How could I be angry with my little loyal Sarah, who's always loved me so? It's only that I can't bear to be questioned just now." She caressed the girl eagerly, almost apologetically. "I must have a few moments to recover myself. I'll go quietly away into the study--anywhere. Wait for me here, darling, and make some excuse for me if any one comes. I want to be alone for a few moments. Peter mustn't find me crying again."

"Yes--that's all very well," said Sarah to herself, as the slight form hurried from the drawing-room into the dark oak hall beyond. "But _why_ is she unhappy? There is something else."

It was Dr. Blundell who found the answer to Sarah's riddle.

He had seen the signs of weeping on Lady Mary's face as she stumbled over the threshold of the window into the very arms of John Crewys, and his feelings were divided between pa.s.sionate sympathy with his divinity, and anger with the returned hero, who had no doubt reduced his mother to this distressful state. The doctor was blinded by love and misery, and ready to suspect the whole world of doing injustice to this lady; though he believed himself to be dest.i.tute of jealousy, and capable of judging Peter with perfect impartiality.

His fancy leapt far ahead of fact; and he supposed, not only that Lady Mary must be engaged to John Crewys, but that she must have confided her engagement to her son, and that Peter had already forbidden the banns.

He wandered miserably about the grounds, within hearing of the rejoicings; and had just made up his mind that he ought to go and join the speechmakers, when he perceived John Crewys himself standing next to Peter, apparently on the best possible terms with the hero of the day.

The doctor hastened round to the hall, intending to enter the drawing-room un.o.bserved, and find out for himself whether Lady Mary had recovered, or whether John Crewys had heartlessly abandoned her to her grief.

The brilliant vision Miss Sarah presented, as she stood, drawn up to her full height, in the shaded drawing-room, met his anxious gaze as he entered.

"Why, Miss Sarah! Not gone back to London yet? I thought you only came down for Whitsuntide."

"Mamma wasn't well, so I am staying on for a few days. I am supposed to be nursing her," said Sarah, demurely.

She was a favourite with the doctor, as she was very well aware, and, in consequence, was always exceedingly gracious to him.

"Where is Lady Mary?" he asked.

She stole to his side, and put her finger on her lips, and lowered her voice.

"She went through the hall--into the study. And she's alone--crying."

"Crying!" said the doctor; and he made a step towards the open door, but Sarah's strong, white hand held him fast.

"Play fair," she said reproachfully; "I told you in confidence. You can't suppose she wants _you_ to see her crying."

"No, no," said the poor doctor, "of course not--of course not."

She closed the doors between the rooms. "Look here, Dr. Blundell, we've always been friends, haven't we, you and me?"

"Ever since I had the honour of ushering you into the world you now adorn," said the doctor, with an ironical bow.

"Then tell me the truth," said Sarah. "Why is she unhappy, to-day of all days?"

The doctor looked uneasily away from her. "Perhaps--the joy of Peter's return has been too much for her," he suggested.

"Yes," said Sarah. "That's what we'll tell the other people. But you and I--why, Dr. Blunderbuss," she said reproachfully, using the name she had given him in her saucy childhood, "you know how I've worshipped Lady Mary ever since I was a little girl?"

"Yes, yes, my dear, I know," said the doctor.

"You love her too, don't you?" said Sarah.

He started. "I--I love Lady Mary! What do you mean?" he said, almost violently.

"Oh, I didn't mean _that_ sort of love," said Sarah, watching him keenly. Then she laid her plump hand gently on his shabby sleeve. "I wouldn't have said it, if I'd thought--"

"Thought what?" said the doctor, agitated.

"What I think now," said Sarah.

He walked up and down in a silence she was too wise to break. When he looked at her again, Sarah was leaning against the piano. She had taken off the picture-hat, and was swinging it absently to and fro by the black ribbons which had but now been tied beneath her round, white chin. She presented a charming picture--and it is possible she knew it--as she stood in that restful pose, with her long lashes pointed downwards towards her buckled shoes.

The doctor stopped in front of her. "You are too quick for me, Sarah.

You always were, even as a little girl," he said. "You've surprised my--my poor secret. You can laugh at the old doctor now, if you like."

"I don't feel like laughing," said Sarah, simply. "And your secret is safe with me. I'm honest; you know that."

"Yes, my dear; I know that. G.o.d bless you!" said the doctor.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Blundell," said Sarah, softly.

The deep voice which came from the full, white chest, and which had once been so unmanageable, was one of Sarah's surest weapons now.

When she sang, she counted her victims by the dozen; when she lowered it, as she lowered it now, to speak only to one man, every note went straight to his heart--if he had an ear for music and a heart for love.

When Sarah said, in these dulcet tones, therefore, that she was sorry for her old friend, the tears gathered to the doctor's kind, tired eyes.

"For me!" he said gratefully. "Oh, you mustn't be sorry for me.