Wee Wifie Part 25

"Yes, yes; it must be she," murmured Raby, and then for the moment he seemed able to say no more; only Margaret watched him, with tears in her eyes.

Erle's interest and curiosity were strongly excited. There must be some strange mystery at the bottom of this he thought. He had always been sure that Miss Davenport had some history. She was wonderfully handsome; but with all his predilection for pretty faces he had never quite taken to her; he had regarded her with involuntary distrust.

He looked at Mr. Ferrers as he stood evidently absorbed in thought.

What a grand-looking man he was, he said to himself, if he would only hold his head up, and push back the ma.s.s of dull brown hair that lay so heavily on his forehead.

There was something sad in that spectacle of sightless strength; and to those who first saw him, Raby Ferrers always seemed like some patient giant oppressed and bowed down, both physically and mentally, but grand in a certain sublime resignation that endured because he was too proud to complain.

"It must be so," he observed at last. "Margaret, I see light at last.

Mr. Huntingdon"--turning to his guest--"I have been very rude, very uncourteous, but your words have given me a shock; you have touched accidentally on a deep trouble. Now, will you be good and kind enough to sit down and tell me all you can about Miss Davenport, as you call her."

"Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Ferrers." And, with very few interruptions from either the brother or sister, Erle gave a full and graphic description of Crystal's present home and surroundings--all the more willingly that his listeners seemed to hang breathlessly on his words.

He described eloquently that shabby room over Mrs. Watkins's, that was yet so pleasant and home-like; the mother with her worn, beautiful face, who moved like a d.u.c.h.ess about her poor rooms, and was only the head teacher in a girls' school. He dismissed the subject of the gentle, fair-haired Fern in a few forcible words; but he spoke of little Florence, and then of Percy, and of the curious way in which all their lives were involved.

Only once Mr. Ferrers stopped him. "And Miss Davenport teaches, you say?"

"Yes, both she and Miss Trafford have morning engagements. I think Miss Martingale, where Mrs. Trafford is, has recommended both the young ladies. There are not many gentle people living there; the Elysian Fields and Beulah Place are not exactly aristocratic neighborhoods. But Miss Trafford goes to the vicarage; there are young children there; and by good luck the senior curate, Mr. Norton, wanted some help with his two little boys. Miss Davenport is a Latin scholar, and they took her on the Traffords' recommendation."

"And only her mornings are occupied? Excuse these seemingly trifling questions, Mr. Huntingdon"--with a sad smile--"but you are speaking of one who is very dear to us both."

"I will tell you all I know," returned Erle, in his kind-hearted way; "but I am only a visitor at Mrs. Trafford's. I think, at least I am sure, that they do a good deal of needle-work in their spare time--embroidery for shops; they are very poor, you see. There is always work about; sometimes they are making their gowns. They are never ashamed of anything they do, they are such thorough gentlewomen.

I do not think you could find a prouder woman than Mrs. Trafford anywhere, and yet she is frank, and generous to a fault."

"They must be charming people," observed Margaret, thoughtfully.

"Crystal has told us all this in her letters, Raby. Mr. Huntingdon's account most fully indorses hers."

"Yes," he returned, quietly, "she is in good hands; our prayers have been answered, Maggie. But now dear, if we have heard all that Mr.

Huntingdon can tell us about our poor child, will you leave me with him a little, for I want to take him into our confidence; when he knows all, he may be willing to help us." And Margaret rose without a word; but her beautiful eyes rested on Erle a moment, wistfully, as though to bid him to be patient.

And then, as the twilight crept over the room; while the girls were laughing and chatting round Fay's couch, and wondering--Dora especially--what could have happened to detain Mr. Huntingdon so late; and while the blazing pine knots threw a ruddy glow over Raby's pale face, Erle sat listening to one of the saddest stories he had ever heard.

And when it was finished they had a long talk together, and Erle told Raby about Percy's hopeless pa.s.sion, and of the impatience and loathing with which Crystal seemed to turn from her handsome young lover.

"He makes his way with other girls, but not with her," went on Erle; "and yet he is clever and fascinating, and will be rich, too, some day. It seems strange, does it not. Mr. Ferrers?"

"Not to me," returned Raby, quietly; but there was a smile on his face as he spoke. "Crystal will never care for your friend, Mr. Huntingdon; it is no use, his persecuting her with his attentions."

"If I could only get Percy to believe it; but he seems absolutely crazy on that point. Miss Davenport--Miss Ferrers, I mean--is not quite the style I admire; but she is superbly handsome, one must own that."

"Yes," replied Raby, with a sigh; "I always said her face would do for Vashti's. She has Italian blood in her veins; her mother was a Florentine. Oh, here comes Margaret," as the door opened and she reappeared. "Maggie, what do you think? Mr. Huntingdon has invited me to Belgrave House."

"My uncle is very hospitable, Miss Ferrers," observed Erle, with a smile at her surprise; "Percy and I can always ask our friends. He is old, and has his own rooms; so we never interfere with him. Mr.

Ferrers would find himself very comfortable with us, and I would take great care of him."

"You are very good"--but rather doubtfully. "You will not go to London without me, Raby?"

"I think it will be better, Maggie. Mr. Huntingdon has promised to take me over to Beulah Place; we shall go there one evening. Oh, yes, it is all arranged. Please G.o.d, I shall bring her home with me," and there was a strange, beautiful smile on his face as he spoke.

CHAPTER XIX.

AMONG THE SHADOWS.

When no more the shattered senses round the throne of reason dwell, Thinking every sight a specter, every sound a pa.s.sing bell; When the mortal desolation falleth on the soul like rain, And the wild h.e.l.l-phantoms dance and revel in the human brain.

PHILIP STANHOPE WORSELY.

It was nearly dinner-time when Erle reached Redmond Hall; Sir Hugh had not returned from London, Ellerton told him; he had telegraphed that he might be detained all night--my lady was in the damask drawing-room, and the young ladies had left an hour ago. Erle listened to all this, and then rushed up to his room to make himself presentable; and the dogs slunk off, evidently on the same errand.

He had to dine in solitary state by himself, while Fay ate her chicken in the big drawing-room, where the old-fas.h.i.+oned mirrors always reflected the tiny figure.

Fay was looking very pretty to-night, but just a trifle sad at the thought that Hugh might not be home. She had put on his favorite gown, too, to do honor to her first appearance in the drawing-room; it was a lovely gown, and she looked a perfect fairy queen in it, as Erle told her when he came into the room; but somehow Erle's praise was rather flat to-night. Fay was longing for her husband; and she had only dressed to please his eyes. She played with her wedding-ring rather restlessly while Erle talked his nonsense, and then she remembered that he must be amused.

"The girls were so dreadfully disappointed," she said, trying to rouse herself; "they were very good and kind, and stayed with me until six, and then Dora said they must go; she kept looking at the door, and fancying she heard Nero bark; and then the younger one, Connie--no, not Connie, it was Addie--asked so many questions about you--where you lived, and if I had ever been to Belgrave House? trying to find out things, you know; and, Erle--I don't believe you are listening a bit,"

with a stamp of her little foot.

"I don't believe I was," returned Erle, frankly. "Don't be vexed, my Fairy Queen, I can't bother about the girls to-night. I want to tell you about my visit to the Grange--it is no secret, Mr. Ferrers says, and I thought you would be interested, it is such a strange affair altogether."

Well, it was not such a dull evening after all: neither of them could tell how the time had pa.s.sed when Ellerton came in to say the last train had been due for some time, and, as Sir Hugh had not returned, would my lady have the house shut up; could it actually be past eleven, and Erle and she still talking about this wonderful story.

Fay's cheeks were quite pink when she bade Erle goodnight; her eyes s.h.i.+ning like stars. Oh, these dear people, she thought, how strange and sad it all was, and yet how interesting; she had made Erle describe this Crystal over and over again. She must be an odd girl, she thought--so pa.s.sionate and so undisciplined, and to think she was living with the other one, with the fair hair and the pretty smile; but when she had said this there had been no answering smile on Erle's face.

"Yes," he had returned, seriously, "I have often wondered to see them such friends; they are so utterly dissimilar. Fern--Miss Trafford, I mean--is gentle and yielding--more like you, Fay; and Miss Ferrers--as I suppose I ought to call her--is so high-spirited and proud. I often wonder how Percy dares to make love to her, but he seems to dare anything."

Well, Fay thought about it all when she went to bed; she had got used to her big shadowy room by this time; she lay wide awake watching the fire-light flicker and dance on the walls; how odd that people who loved each other so much should misunderstand each other so strangely; of course Crystal loved this grand-looking Raby, and yet of her own accord she was hiding from him; and Fay thrilled with pity and affectionate sympathy, as she pondered over the sad story. She tried to tell Hugh when he returned the next day, but he was too busy or else unwilling to listen to her.

"Yes, I know all about it--I never cared very much for the girl," he said, hastily; and then, as Fay looked intensely surprised, he added rather irritably:

"I told you we were old friends once, and of course I saw Miss Crystal when I visited at the Grange; she was never my taste--handsome, of course, but one could see she had a bit of the devil in her--she had a temper of her own if you like; and Mr. Ferrers spoiled her; he was terribly infatuated--I dare say he is still--men will be fools sometimes. There, don't keep me talking, Fay; of course every one in Sandycliffe and Singleton knows the story. I am not so sure that it was not wise of the girl to run away, after all."

"Hugh must have been very intimate with them all," thought Fay when she was left alone. "How I wish he were not always too busy to talk to me. Erle says he is sure he is killing himself rus.h.i.+ng about as he does, and he does look terribly ill. I wish he would see Dr. Martin, but of course my asking him to do so would only make him angry. It is very wrong of me, I am afraid; but I can not help longing to know why Hugh has quarreled with them so. I don't like to vex him, but it seems to me as though I have a right to know all that concerns my husband"-- and Fay's throat swelled and her eyes grew a little dim. "Perhaps when something happens he will think me older and talk to me more," she said; and though she was alone a rosy flush came over her face.

Fay was very sorry when the time came for Erle to go back to Belgrave House; she would miss him sadly she knew. They had resumed their old walks and drives, and Fay paid visits to Bonnie Bess in her stable, and taught the pretty creature to follow her over the place like a dog.

Erle was sorry to go too; he had grown very much attached to his new cousin. Mr. Ferrers was to join him a little later at Belgrave House, and he promised to write and give her full particulars of their visit to Beulah Place. In his heart he had a secret longing to feel Fern's hand in his again, and to see her bright welcoming smile. "I have been here a whole month," he grumbled; "no wonder Hugh is tired of me by this time."

Fay was rather surprised then to receive a letter from him two or three days afterward telling her that Mr. Ferrers's visit was indefinitely postponed.

"Everything has gone wrong," he wrote; "and the fates, those mischievous cross-grained old women with the one eye between them, are dead against us.

"I went over to Beulah Place the first evening just to reconnoiter, and was much disgusted to hear that Miss Davenport--Miss Ferrers, I mean, only I stick to the old name from habit--was nursing one of her pupils with the measles. The little rascal--it is a boy--had refused to be nursed by any one else; and there she is in the curate's house kept in durance vile; and, to make matters worse, there is some talk of her going out of town with them.

"I wrote off to the Grange at once, and Miss Ferrers answered me. Her brother would defer his visit for the present, she said, until Miss Davenport was back in her old quarters. He was much disappointed, of course, at this delay; but he was satisfied to know that she was in good hands, and he was used to disappointments. I did feel so sorry for the poor old fellow when I read that." And the rest of the letter was filled with lively descriptions of a ball where he had met Miss Selby, and danced with her half the night.