Part 53 (1/2)

Eliza stared, then lent her face to be kissed. She was surprised at the gentleness of his sparing caress, so surprised that when she lifted her head she stood stock still and watched him till he was out of sight, for, driven by the scourge of his feeling, he went away from her with quick, upright gait, never looking back.

She watched him till he disappeared into Trenholme's house. When she walked home she did not sob or wipe her eyes or cover her face, yet when she got to the hotel her eyes were swollen and red, and she went about her work heedless that anyone who looked at her must see the disfigurement of tears.

CHAPTER XIV.

In the latter part of that day Bates suffered a fierce attack of his malady. Everyone in Trenholme's house, including the master himself on crutches, became agile in their desire to alleviate the suffering, and he received their ministrations with that civility which denoted that, had conventionality allowed, he would not have received them; for to fling all that is given him at the heads of the givers is undoubtedly the conduct that nature suggests to a man in pain. Having need, however, of some help, Bates showed now, as before, an evident preference for Alec as an attendant, a preference due probably to the fact that Alec never did anything for him that was not absolutely necessary, and did that only in the most cursory way. When Alec entered his room that night to see, as he cheerfully remarked, whether he was alive or not, Bates turned his face from the wall.

”I think it right to tell ye,” he began, and his tone and manner were so stiff that the other knew something painful was coming, ”I think it right to tell ye that Eliza Cameron is alive and well. I have seen her.”

In his annoyance to think a meeting had occurred Alec made an exclamation that served very well for the surprise that Bates expected.

”Her father,” continued Bates, ”was decently buried, unknown to me, on his own land, as is the custom in those parts of the country. The girl was the person ye saw get up from the coffin--the one that ye were so frightened of.”

This last word of explanation was apparently added that he might be a.s.sured Alec followed him, and the listener, standing still in the half-darkened room, did not just then feel resentment for the unnecessary insult. He made some sound to show that he heard.

”Then”--stiffly--”she took the train, and she has been living here ever since, a very respectable young woman, and much thought of. I'm glad to have seen her.”

”Well?”

”I thought it right to tell ye, and I'm going home to-morrow or next day.”

That was evidently all that was to be told him, and Alec refrained from all such words as he would like to have emitted. But when he was going dumbly out of the room, Bates spoke again.

”Ye're young yet; when ye feel inclined to give your heart to any young thing that you've a caring for, gie it as on the altar of G.o.d, and not for what ye'll get in return, and if ye get in answer what ye're wanting, thank G.o.d for a free gift.”

Then Alec knew that Sissy had been unkind to Bates.

The night being yet early, he willingly recognised an obligation to go and tell Miss Rexford that their mutual solicitude had in some way been rendered needless. It was easy for him to find the lady he desired to see, for while the weather was still warm it was the habit in Ch.e.l.laston to spend leisure hours outside the house walls rather than in, and Alec Trenholme had already learned that at evening in the Rexford household the father and brother were often exhausted by their day's work and asleep, and the mother occupied by the cribs of her little ones. He found the house, as usual, all open to the warm dry autumn evening, doors and windows wide. The dusk was all within and without, except that, with notes of a mother's lullaby, rays of candle light fell from the nursery window. As his feet brushed the nearer gra.s.s, he dimly saw Miss Rexford rise from a hammock swung on the verandah, where she had been lounging with Winifred. She stood behind the verandah railing, and he in the gra.s.s below, and they talked together on this subject that had grown, without the intention of either, to be so strong a bond of interest between them. Here it was that Alec could give vent to the pity and indignation which he could not express to the man whose sufferings excited these emotions.

In spite of this visit Sophia sought Eliza again the next day. As she entered the hotel Mr. Hutchins begged a word with her in his little slate-painted office, saying that the young housekeeper had not been like herself for some time, and that he was uneasy, for she made a friend of no one.

”Are you afraid of losing her?” asked Miss Rexford coldly, with slight arching of her brows.

He replied candidly that he had no interest in Eliza's joys or sorrows, except as they might tend to unsettle her in her place. Having, by the use of his own wits, discovered her ability, he felt that he had now a right to it.

Sophia went upstairs, as she was directed, to Eliza's bedroom on the highest storey, and found her there, looking over piles of freshly calendered house linen. The room was large enough, and pleasant--a better bedroom than Sophia or her sisters at present possessed. Eliza was apparently in high spirits. She received her guest with almost loud gaiety.

”What do you think's happened now, Miss Sophia?” cried she. ”You remember what I told you about Mrs. Gla.s.s? Well, there's two young gentlemen come to the house here yesterday morning, and she's entertained them before at her house in town, so they struck up great friends with her here, and yesterday she had her supper served in the upstairs parlour, and had them, and me, and n.o.body else. She says one of them saw me out yesterday morning, and was 'smitten'--that's what she calls it.”

Eliza gave an affected laugh as she repeated the vulgar word, and coloured a little. ”She says if I'll come to see her in town she's no doubt but that he'll 'propose.'”.

”But I thought you were not going?”

”I don't care for her,” said Eliza, as if ingrat.i.tude were a virtue, ”but I rather like the young gentleman. That makes a difference. Look here! She says he's getting on in business, and would give me a carriage. How do you think I should look driving in a carriage, like Mrs. Brown? Should I look as grand as she does?”

”Much grander, I daresay, and much handsomer.”

”They all give dinner parties at Montreal.” Eliza said this reflectively, speaking the name of that city just as an English country girl would speak of ”London.” ”Don't you think I could go to dinner parties as grand as any one? And, look here, they showed me all sorts of photographs the Montreal ladies get taken of themselves, and one was taken with her hair down and her side face turned. And Mrs. Gla.s.s has been up here this afternoon, saying that her gentlemen friends say I must be taken in the same way. She was fixing me for it. Look, I'll show you how it is.”