The Missioner Part 41

"A little disagreement between us," he said, with an evil attempt at a smile. "We will settle it another time."

"You will settle it now," the lady of the Manor said, with authority in her tone. "Shake hands, if you please. At once! I cannot have this sort of thing going on in the village."

Macheson held out his hand without hesitation.

"The quarrel was not of my seeking," he said. "I bear you no ill-will, Hurd. Will you shake hands?"

"No!" Stephen Hurd answered fiercely.

Macheson's hand fell to his side.

"I am sorry," he said.

"You will reconsider that, Mr. Hurd," Wilhelmina said quietly.

"No!" he answered. "I am sorry, Miss Thorpe-Hatton, to seem ungracious, but there are reasons why I cannot accept his hand. He knows them well enough. We cannot possibly be friends. Don't let us be hypocrites."

Wilhelmina turned away coldly.

"Very well," she said. "Mr. Macheson, will you walk with me a little way? I have something to say to you."

"With pleasure," he answered. "I'm sorry, Hurd," he added, turning round.

There was no answer. Together they walked up the village street. Already the shock of seeing her had pa.s.sed away, and he was fighting hard against the gladness which possessed him. He had paid dearly enough already for his folly. He was determined that there should be no return of it.

"Which way were you going?" she asked.

"To the hills," he answered. "I can leave you at the church entrance.

But before you go----"

"I am not going," she answered. "I should love a walk. I will come with you to the hills."

He looked at her doubtfully. She appeared to him so different a person in her country clothes--a dark brown tailor-made suit, with short skirt, a brown tam-o'-shanter and veil. She was not much more than a child after all. Her mouth was a little sad, and she was very pale and seemed tired.

"If you care to walk so far," he said gravely--"and with me!"

"What am I expected to say to that?" she asked demurely.

"I think that you know what I mean," he answered, avoiding her eyes.

"Your villagers will certainly think it strange to see their mistress walking with the poor missioner who wasn't allowed to hold his services."

"I am afraid," she answered, "that my people have learnt to expect the unexpected from me. Now tell me," she continued, "what has brought you back to the scene of your persecutions? I am hoping you are going to tell me that it is to apologize for the shockingly rude way you left me last time we met."

"I did not know that you were here," he answered. "I came for two reasons--first, to collect materials for a short article in a friend's magazine, and secondly, to ask a question of Stephen Hurd."

"Apparently," she remarked, "your question annoyed him."

"He seemed annoyed before I asked it," Macheson remarked; "I seem to have offended him somehow or other."

"I should imagine," she said drily, "that that is not altogether incomprehensible to you."

So she knew or guessed who it was that had been Letty Foulton's companion in London. Macheson was silent. They walked on for some distance, climbing all the time, till Wilhelmina paused, breathless, and leaned against a gate.

"I hope," said she, "that you are collecting your impressions. If so, I am sure they must be in the air, for you have not looked to the right or to the left."

He smiled and stood by her side, looking downwards. The village lay almost at their feet, and away beyond spread the mist-wreathed country, still and silent in the November afternoon. The wind had fallen, the birds were songless, nothing remained of the busy chorus of summer sounds. They stood on the edge of a plantation--the peculiar fragrance of freshly turned earth from the ploughed fields opposite, and of the carpet of wet leaves beneath their feet, had taken the place of all those sweeter perfumes which a short while ago had seemed to belong naturally to the place.

"To tell you the truth," he said, "I have been thinking more about something which I have to say to you."

"Is it something serious?" she asked.

"Rather," he admitted.

Her eyebrows were faintly contracted. She looked up at him pathetically.

"It will keep for a little time," she said. "Let us finish our walk first. I am down here alone, and have been dull. This exercise is what I wanted. It is doing me good. I will not have my afternoon spoilt. See, I have the key of the gate here, we will go through the plantation and up to the back of the beacon."

She led the way, giving him no time to protest, and he followed her, vaguely uneasy. Through the plantation their feet fell noiselessly upon a carpet of wet leaves; outside on the springy turf the rabbits scampered away in hundreds to their holes. Then they began to climb.

Beneath them the country expanded and rolled away like a piece of patchwork, dimly seen through a veil of mist. Wilhelmina turned towards him with a laugh. There was more colour now in her cheeks. She was breathless before they reached the summit and laid her hand upon his arm for support.

"Confess," she said, "you like me better here than in London, don't you?"

"You are more natural," he answered. "You are more like what I would have you be."

She sat down on a piece of grey rock. They were at the summit now. Below was the great house with its magnificent avenues and park, the tiny village, and the quaint church. Beyond, a spreading landscape of undulating meadows and well-tilled land. The same thought came to both of them.

"Behold," she murmured, "my possessions."

He nodded.

"You should be very proud of your home," he said quietly. "It is very beautiful."

She turned towards him. Her face was as cold and dest.i.tute of emotion as the stone on which she sat.

"Do you wonder," she asked, "why I have never married?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"A matter of temperament, perhaps," he said. "You are inclined to be independent, aren't you?"

"There have been things in my life--a very secret chamber," she said slowly. "I think that some day I shall tell you about it, for I may need help."

"I shall be glad," he said simply. "You know that!"

She rose and shook out her skirts.

"Come," she said, "it is too cold to sit down. I am going to take you to Onetree Farm. Mrs. Foulton must give us some tea. I have a reason, too,"

she added more slowly, "for taking you there."