The Star-Gazers Part 76

"He is ill," replied Lucy, "but it has been coming on so slowly that I am afraid we do not notice it so much as we should."

"But is he confined to his bed?"

"Oh, no!" cried Lucy. "He is going on with his studies just as usual."

"I'll come over and see him. I meant to come, but I--er--I hesitated, my dear. Do you think he would be pleased if I called?"

"I'm sure he would, Major Day," cried Lucy. "Pray come soon."

"Indeed, I will, perhaps to-morrow. Are you going my way?"

"No, major, I am going back to The Firs. I do not like to be away when Mr Oldroyd is going to see my brother."

The major shook hands warmly, and went his way, saying to himself,--

"What did she mean? She did not like to be away when Mr Oldroyd visited her brother? What she said, of course. Ah, how p.r.o.ne men are to put a second meaning to other people's words. How ready I was to think ill of the little la.s.sie and her brother; and I am as ready now to own that she is innocence itself. I used to think, though, that she cared for Oldroyd."

Meanwhile, Lucy was walking straight along by the side of the road, back towards The Firs, with Oldroyd, on his disreputable-looking steed, a yard or two upon her left.

By quitting the road and cutting across the open boggy land, amidst the furze and whortleberry scrub Lucy could have saved a quarter-of-a-mile, and left her companion behind; or even if he had elected to follow her, the softness of the soil and the constant recurrence of swampy patches about, which one on foot could easily avoid, would have necessitated so much care that he would have been left far behind.

But Lucy trudged steadily on with her pretty little face trying to look stern and hard, but failing dis--no, not dismally, for hers was a type of countenance from which the prettiness could not be eliminated try how one would.

Oldroyd was angry--bitterly angry. But he was in love. Once more jealous fear had attacked him. For had not he plainly seen Lucy's face held up in the most matter-of-fact manner for the major to bend down and kiss? Certainly he was an old man, old enough to be her grandfather, and the kiss had been given when he who witnessed it was two or three hundred yards away; but there was the fact and Oldroyd felt furious.

All this time had pa.s.sed since he had felt that he was growing very fond of Lucy, and his affection had been nipped and blackened like the top of a spring potato, by an unkindly frost, consequent upon the Rolph affair, while still like the spring potato, though the first shoots had been nipped, it was only for more and stronger ones to form and grow faster and faster than before. But Lucy had made no sign.

And so they went on towards The Firs on that delicious spring day, when the larks were singing overhead, the young growth of the pines shed a sweet odour of lemon to be wafted across the road, and at every step, Lucy's little feet crushed down a daisy, but the bright-eyed flower lifted its head again as soon as she had pa.s.sed and did not seem to be trampled in the least. Oldroyd did as Lucy did--stared straight before him, letting the reins--a much mended pair--rest on the pony's neck; while Peter hung his head in a sleepy, contemplative way, and sometimes walked, sometimes slowly ambled on, as if moved by his spirit to keep abreast of Lucy.

Oldroyd's brow knit closely as he mentally wrote out a prescription to meet his new case, and then mentally tore it up again, ending by at last turning quite fiercely towards Lucy, giving the pony's ribs a couple of kicks as he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the reins to force it forward, and then, as she started half frightened by his near approach, he said to her in a reproachful voice,--

"How can you behave so cruelly to me, Lucy?" According to all canons the rule in such a case was for Lucy to start, open her eyes a little more widely, stare, and say,--

"Mr Oldroyd, I don't know what you mean!" But this was out on a common, and not in a west-end drawing-room. Her heart was full, and she was not disposed just then to fence and screen herself with maidenly conventionalities. She knew well enough that Philip Oldroyd loved her very dearly, almost as dearly, she owned in her heart of hearts, as she loved him, and that he was alluding broadly to her conduct with Rolph, her long display of resentment, and also to her having given the major a kiss that day. He was very angry and jealous, but that did not annoy her in the least. It gave her pleasure. He spoke very sharply to her just then--viciously and bitterly; but she did not mind that either. It was piquant. It gave her a pleasant little thrill. There was a masterly sound about it, and she felt as if it was pleasant to be mastered just then, when she was in the most wilful and angry of moods.

"You know what I mean," he said, quickly, "you know how I love you."

"Oh!" said Lucy to herself very softly; but though every nerve tingled with pleasure, not a muscle stirred, and she kept her face averted.

"You know," continued Oldroyd, "how long I have loved you; but you take delight in trampling upon my best feelings. I suppose," he added bitterly, "it is because I am so poor."

"Indeed it is not!" cried Lucy with spirit, as she kept her back to him; "how can you think me so pitiful and mean!"

"Well, then, why do you treat me so badly?"

"I don't treat you badly."

This was very commonplace, and Lucy's continuous stare straight before her did not give it dignity.

"You do treat me badly--cruelly--worse," exclaimed Oldroyd, kicking his pony's ribs so viciously, that the poor brute resented it by shaking his head, and wagging his tail.

"You have treated me shamefully, Mr Oldroyd," cried Lucy.

It was getting terribly commonplace now.

"Indeed I have not," he replied. "How could I help feeling hurt when I saw you as I did with that horse-jockey foot-racing animal?"

"You might have known that I had a reason for it, and that I was behaving so on behalf of my friend," said Lucy.

"How was I to be able to a.n.a.lyse the secrets of your heart?" said Oldroyd, romantically.

"Then you looked insultingly at me just now, when dear old grandfatherly Major Day spoke to me, and behaved to me as he did. Why--oh, I haven't patience with myself for speaking about it all as I do. It is degrading and weak; and what right, sir," she panted, "have you to ask me for such explanations?"

"I do it in all humbleness, Lucy," he whispered, with his voice softening. "I have nothing to say in my defence, only that I love you so dearly that it cuts me to the heart to think that--that--oh, my darling, look at me like that again."

It was all in a moment. Lucy's eyes had ceased to flash, and had darted out such a confession of forgiveness, and love, and tenderness, all mingled, as made Oldroyd forget all about the laws of equitation, and fall off his pony on the wrong side, to catch Lucy's hand in his and draw it tightly through his arm.

Peter began to nibble placidly at shoots, and everything was more commonplace than ever, for they walked slowly along by the roadside, with their heads down, perfectly silent; while the pony browsed along, with his head down, and the rein dragging on the ground, till after a bit he trod upon it, gave his head a s.n.a.t.c.h at the check, and broke it, making it very little worse than it was before.

And so they went on, with the larks singing overhead, the gra.s.s and daisies springing beneath their feet, and the world looking more beautiful than it ever did before; what time Glynne was sitting, pale, large-eyed, and thin, in her own room, reading hard--some heavy work, which she jealously placed aside whenever she had finished perusing; and Moray Alleyne was alone in his observatory, gaunt, grey, and strange, busy over the calculations respecting the star he had been watching for nights past, that bright particular star that seemed somehow connected with the woman he had ventured to love.

"Are you very angry, Mrs Alleyne?" said Oldroyd, as he took Lucy's hand in his and walked with her to where the mistress of The Firs was seated, busily st.i.tching, in the very perfection of neatness, the pleats of a new garment for her son.

"Angry?" said Mrs Alleyne, starting and flushing, and then turning pale as she dropped her work, and her hands began to tremble. "Does this mean--does this mean--?"

"That we love each other?" replied Oldroyd, glancing sidewise at Lucy.

"Yes, madam, it does, and I feel dread and shame, I scarcely know what, when I speak to you like this, for I am so poor, and my prospects so extremely wanting in brightness."

"We are used to being poor, Mr Oldroyd," said Mrs Alleyne, sadly.

"Then you do not object?"

"Why should I?" said Mrs Alleyne. "It is natural that my child should some day form an attachment. She has, I presume, done so?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, mamma," cried Lucy, "a long time now."

"Then, knowing as I do, that the attachment is to a man of sterling worth," said Mrs Alleyne softly, as she held out her hand, "what more could I wish?"

Oldroyd caught the hand in his and kissed it, hesitated a moment, and then bent down and kissed Mrs Alleyne's thin pinched lips.

"It has given me the stimulus I wanted," he said, proudly. "Mrs Alleyne, Lucy shall not be a poor man's wife, but--Ah, Alleyne."

"Ah, Oldroyd," said the astronomer, in his soft, deep voice, and he smiled sadly; "come to prescribe for me again. And I'm better than ever now--but--is anything wrong?"

For the positions of the three occupants of the room he had entered struck him as being singular.

"Yes," cried Oldroyd, "very wrong. I, being a poor surgeon and general pract.i.tioner, have been asking your mother's consent to Lucy's becoming my wife."