The Story of Antony Grace Part 76

"I have seen that man hanging about here once or twice."

"Mr Lister?"

He nodded.

"Oh, but surely that is all over. He would never dare."

"He hates me, I am sure, Antony," he replied, "and would do anything to injure me; and, besides, such a man as that would not lightly give up his plans."

"But Linny dislikes him now, I am sure," I said.

"I am not," he replied sadly; and no more was said.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

LINNY AWAKES.

But those words "I am not," made no little impression on me, and a day or two later, when I had taken Linny in some flowers, I was thinking very deeply about them, and perhaps my thoughts may have influenced the mind of the poor girl, for she suddenly laid her thin white hand upon my arm and said: "Antony, do you ever see Mr Lister now?"

"No," I said; "I have never seen him since the day of that scene with Miss Carr."

"Tell me about it--all about it," she said sharply. I stared at her aghast, and tried to excuse myself, but her eyes looked at me so imploringly that I felt compelled, and related all that I had heard and seen.

She lay with her eyes half-closed during my recital, and when it was ended the poor, weak, wasted girl took one of my hands between both of hers, and held it to her breast, caressing it silently the while.

"Oh, Linny, dear," I said, "what have I done! I ought not to have told you all this. You are going to be worse. Let me call Stephen!"

"No, no, no," she wailed. "Hush, hush! You must not wake poor mamma?"

"Let me call up Mary."

"No, no," she sobbed; "sit still--sit still, Antony dear; you have always been to me like a brother, and you have known all. I have no girl friends of my own age, but I can talk to you."

"No; let's talk of something else," I said earnestly. "You must not think about the past."

"I must think about it, or I shall die," she said, adding pathetically, "no, no, don't get up. I shall be better now. There, you see, I have left off crying."

She seemed to make an effort over herself, and in a few minutes she looked up at me smiling, but her poor face was so wasted and thin that her smile frightened me, and I was again about to call for help.

"No, no," she said; "I am better now. Antony dear, I could not get well, but felt as if I was wasting away because I could not see him.

Oh, Antony, I did love him so, and I felt obliged to obey him in all he wished. But it was because I thought him so fond and true. I have felt all these long months that he loved me very dearly, and that if I could only see him--if I could only lay my head upon his arm, and go to rest, I should wake up well. I always thought that he loved me very dearly, and that some day he would come and say I was to be his wife. Stephen thought I hated him for his cruel ways, but I did not, I could not. I do not even hate him now. I am only sorry."

"But you don't want to see him again, Linny?" I said.

"No, no: not now," she replied with a shudder. "I know now that he never loved me. I never understood it all before, Antony. I pray G.o.d I may never see his face again."

There was something very impressive in her words, and, closing her eyes, she lay back there so still that I thought she was asleep, but the moment I tried to withdraw my hand she clung to it the more tightly, and looked up at me and smiled.

"Antony," she said suddenly; and there seemed to be a new light in her eyes as she opened them wildly, "I am going to get well now. I could not before, for thinking about the past."

"I hope and pray that you will," I said, with a strange sensation of fear creeping through me.

"I shall," she said quickly. "I can feel it now. Last week I thought that I was going to die. Now talk to me about Miss Carr. Is she very beautiful?"

"Yes," I said eagerly, "very beautiful."

"More handsome than I used to be?" she said, laughing.

"Oh, she's very different to you, Linny," I said, flushing. "She is tall and n.o.ble-looking, and dark, while you are little and fair. One could not compare you two together."

"It was no wonder, then, that Mr Lister should love her."

"Oh no," I said. "Any man who saw her would be sure to love her."

She sighed softly.

"Is she--is she a good woman?"

"Good?" I cried enthusiastically; "there could not be a better woman."

"And--and--" she faltered, moistening her dry lips, "do you think she will marry Mr Lister?"

"I am sure she will not," I said indignantly.

"But she loved him."

"No," I said thoughtfully; "I don't think she did much."

"But he loved her."

"Ye-es, I suppose so," I said; "but he could not have loved her much, or he would not have behaved as he did."

There was a pause then, during which Linny lay playing with my hand.

"Antony," she cried suddenly, "Miss Carr will forgive him some day."

"Forgive him!" I said. "Yes, she is so good a woman that I dare say she will forgive him, but everything is over between them now."

"I am very glad," she said dreamily, "for I should be sorry if anything else took place."

"What! should you be jealous, Linny?"

"No," she said decidedly, "only very, very sorry for her. Oh! Antony,"

she said, bursting into pa.s.sionate tears, "I was very ignorant and very blind."

"Linny, Linny, my child, what is the matter?" cried Hallett, entering the room, and flying with all a woman's solicitude to the couch, to take the light wasted form in his arms. "Heaven help me, she's worse. The doctor, Antony, quick!"