wouldnaturally tell her that Annie had cashed the cheque for twenty pounds.
Annie was positively sure that her uncle would forgive her even so greata sin as this, but she did not want to be in the house when he knew ofher guilt. She resolved, therefore, to leave the Rectory on Mondaymorning, of course first writing a little note to her uncle telling himwhat she had done--in fact, making her confession to him, and begginghim to forgive her.
"There is nothing else for it," she thought. "I know the dear old manwill be dreadfully disappointed, but he will forgive me; I know hewill."
That evening Annie neglected even to say that semblance of prayer whichshe was accustomed to utter before she laid her head on her pillow.Somehow, she dared not pray.
The next morning she was up, bright and early, singing gaily about thehouse. Mr Brooke had quite recovered. He came to meet her as she randown into the garden.
"Why, Uncle Maurice!" cried the girl. "Oh, you are naughty!"
"I am quite well," he answered, "and I have good news for you. Who doyou think is coming to stay here to-day?"
"Whom?" asked the girl. "My cousin's son from Australia--John Saxon. Ihave not seen him since he was a baby. You will have some fun now,Annie, with a young person in the house."
"Is he really young?" said Annie.
"Young, my dear? I should think so; about five or six and twenty. He'sas good a lad as ever walked. I had a long letter from his mother. Shesays he is going to pay me a visit, and I may expect him--yes, to-day.You will have something to look forward to now, Annie, if LadyLushington's character as a worldly-minded woman prevents my sending youto Paris."
"But I think I shall go to Paris," said Annie. She looked very prettyand expectant. The rector uttered a slight sigh.
"Come in, uncle; I must give you your breakfast, even if fifty JohnSaxons are coming to pay you a visit. Oh yes, of course I am glad."
But she did not feel so; she had a dim sort of idea that this young manmight interfere with her own plans.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
ANNIE'S APPEAL.
John Saxon was big and square and muscular. Under ordinarycircumstances Annie would have been charmed with his society. He wasfrankly glad to meet her, and they had not been half-an-hour in eachother's company before they were chatting together as the best offriends.
"We are distant cousins, you know," said the young man. "I am so gladyou are here, Miss Brooke."
"I am glad to be here, too," said Annie, "to welcome you; but you won'thave much of my society, for I am going to Paris in a few days."
"Are you? I am sorry for that."
"Oh, you won't stay long either," said Annie; "you won't be able tostand the place."
"But I think I shall like it very much," he replied. "I love thecountry, and have never seen English country life before; this placedoesn't seem at all lonely to me after our life in Tasmania. Youhaven't an idea what real loneliness is in any part of England; but ifyou lived fifty or sixty miles away from the nearest neighbour, thenyou'd have some idea of it."
"It must be horrible," said Annie, who was standing that moment in thesunlit garden with an apple-tree behind her and her pretty little figuresilhouetted against the evening sky.
"Not for me," said young Saxon; "I love the life. Your England seems tosuffocate me. In London I hadn't room to breathe, and in that Paris towhich you are going, Miss Brooke, I really felt ill."
"Oh dear!" said Annie; "then you have not my sort of nature."
He looked at her tentatively. She was fresh and young, and he had nevertalked to a real English girl before. But, somehow, she did not quitesuit him. He was a keen judge of character, and those eyes of hers didnot look long enough at any one. They soon lowered their lids as thoughthey were keeping back a secret; and her pretty little mouth could alsolook unamiable at times. He hated himself for finding these flaws in acreature whom the rector worshipped, but nevertheless he could not helpobserving them.
Saxon arrived at the Rectory on the afternoon of Saturday, and he andAnnie had already become, to all appearance, excellent friends.
When Sunday dawned he accompanied her to church, where the old rectorpreached one of the best sermons his affectionate congregation had everlistened to. Saxon and Annie were both long to remember that sermon andall that immediately followed, for on the afternoon of that same day theold man had another attack of drowsiness and giddiness. The doctor wassent for, and shook his head.
"He is not at all well," said Dr Brett; "he is in no condition to standthe slightest shock. He did far too much when he preached to-day. Oh,Miss Annie, you need not look so dismal; I make no doubt we shall pullhim round, but we have got to be _very_ careful."
Annie felt puzzled. Of course she was sorry for her uncle, but she hadby no means reached the stage when she would give up her pleasure forhim. She was, however, alarmed when the doctor said that the old manwas in no condition to stand a shock. Was not a shock being preparedfor him? Annie knew well how he loved her. She also knew how strongwere his opinions with regard to right and wrong, with regard togoodness and wickedness. To old Mr Brooke Annie's deed would bring suchsorrow that his life, already in danger, might go out under the shock.
The girl felt herself trembling. She turned away from Saxon. Henoticed her agitation, and went into the garden. Saxon felt that he hadnever liked Annie so much before.
"I thought her a rather pretty, rather heartless little thing," he saidto himself; "but I am mistaken. She does love the dear old man verytruly."
Meanwhile Annie was pacing up and down wondering what was to be done.Nothing would induce her to give up Paris; but if only she could gowithout giving her uncle that terrible shock with regard to the money!
All of a sudden a thought darted through her brain. Why should she notask her cousin, John Saxon, to lend her twenty pounds? He had talkedquite carelessly about his life in Tasmania last night, and, withoutintending to do so, had given Annie to understand that he was verycomfortably off. The more she thought of borrowing money from hercousin, the more easy did it seem to her. If he gave it to her, shewould go very early to-morrow to Rashleigh, pay Dawson, and bring backthe receipt. Then all would be well. She could write a letter to heruncle explaining that she was forced to go to Paris for a little, but ifhe were really ill, she would not stay very long. In the meantime JohnSaxon would look after him. As to the money which she was about toborrow, Annie gave her shoulders a shrug.
"I'll manage to let John have it some time," she thought. "I don't knowhow or when--but some time, and I don't think he will be hard on me."
Having made up her mind, she returned to the house. Mrs Shelf, who hadbeen talking to Saxon, came up to her.
"You mustn't fret really, missie," she said. "All the doctor requiresis that my dear master should have no anxiety of any sort. I am sure,miss, you would be the very last to give him any; and as we will all beequally careful, he will soon come round again."
"Of course I wouldn't hurt Uncle Maurice," cried Annie. "What is hedoing at present?" she added.
"He is asleep in his study, my dear; and I am going to watch by him thisafternoon, for Dr Brett has given him a composing draught, and wouldlike him to have a long rest. When he wakes I shall be handy to givehim his tea. So I was thinking that if you and Mr Saxon went for a longwalk it would do you both a sight of good."
"Yes, do come, please," said Saxon, who approached at that moment. "Iwant to see some of the country that you think so wild."
"I shall be delighted," said Annie, who felt that this proposal of MrsShelf's would exactly fit in with her own plans.
Soon after three o'clock the young people started on their walk. Annietook her cousin on purpose up the hill at the back of the old Rectoryand into the wildest part of the pariah, for she was determined to havehim quite to herself. At last, when she was too tired to go anyfarther, they both sat down on the edge of a beetling crag, from wherethey could obtain a superb view both of land and ocean
.
"Now," said Annie, with a smile, "if you don't call this a wild anddesolate spot, I don't know the meaning of the word."
"The view is exceedingly fine," replied Saxon; "but as to its beingwild--why, look, Miss Annie, look--you can see a little thread of smokethere"--and he pointed to his right--"and there"--he pointed to hisleft; "in fact, all over the place. Each little thread of blue smoke,"he continued, "means a house, and each house means a family, or at leastsome human beings; and in addition to the human creatures, there areprobably horses, and dogs, and cats, and barn-door fowls. Oh, I callthis place thickly-peopled, if