after a great deal more coaxing, after a vast amount of argumentsand pretty smiles and pathetic gestures, had--as she knew she wouldhave--her own way. Mrs Shelf owned that her dear young lady's whim wasa just one; that there was no possible harm in leaving her for even acouple of hours at the Rectory while she drove in to Rashleigh to getthe necessary things. It was scarcely four o'clock yet, and she couldbe back certainly not later than seven o'clock. She could unfastenRover, the watch-dog and leave him loose in the yard; therefore Anniewould be quite safe even if any marauders did appear round the premises.But as burglaries were things unknown in the peaceful parish ofRashleigh, Mrs Shelf was not at all afraid of anything happening toAnnie in her solitude.
"If I must, I must," she said. "You are a very masterful young lady;but I will own I shall rather enjoy a breath of the air this fineevening. Only why should not you come with me, lovy? Why not? Youcould drive, and Dan could look after the house. Now why not, MissAnnie, dear? It would do you a sight of good."
"No, no, Shelfy; I couldn't bear it. You don't suppose I can see peopleyet after my dear uncle's--"
Her voice trembled; her eyes filled with real tears.
"Very well, dear," said Mrs Shelf. "I am sorry I mentioned it my pet.Well then, I will be off. You will be sure to give yourself a cosy tea,Annie; and I'll be back, at the latest at seven, if not before."
Dan was summoned; the old horse was put to the old gig which had beenused so often by the rector, and Mrs Shelf and Dan drove smartly out ofthe yard.
Annie was alone in the house.
"I have succeeded," she said to herself.
She did not know whether her pain at the thought of all that lay beforeher and at the final severance of the ties of her entire life was askeen as her pleasure at the thought of escaping from her greatest fears.She knew she had very little time to spare. Mrs Shelf was a quick sortof woman, not at all gossipy, and she would be certainly anxious at thethought of Annie staying behind alone. But the girl, bad as she was,felt that she could not go away for ever without doing one last thing;and a moment later, in her black dress, with her fair hair tumblingloosely about her neck and shoulders--for she had let it down whilehelping Shelfy in the kitchen--she ran into the garden, and picking agreat quantity of large white lilies, pursued her way along a narrowpath until she reached a wicket gate which led into the old churchyard.Soon the girl in her black dress, with her fair face and her lovelygolden hair, was kneeling by a newly-made grave.
She laid the lilies on the grave, pressed her lips, not once, but manytimes, against the fragrant flowers, and said in a choked, husky,agonised voice:
"Good-bye, Uncle Maurice; good-bye for ever and ever. Ask God to tellyou everything. Good-bye, Uncle Maurice;" and then she came back to thehouse.
There was now nothing more to be done except to write a letter to MrsShelf.
"Dear Shelfy," wrote Annie on a piece of black-edged paper, "I have goneaway. I sent you to Rashleigh on purpose. You won't ever find meagain, for I am going to a part of the world where no one will know me.I shall lead my own life and perhaps be happy. Please forget me,Shelfy, and tell John Saxon to do the same; and when you hear all thewicked, wicked, dreadful stories that you will hear about me, try tobelieve that--that I am sorry now, and would be different if I could--but I can't. Try, too, to believe that I will never forget UncleMaurice nor--nor the old place. Good-bye, Shelfy, darling. Annie."
This letter was not left where it could be immediately discovered, butwas put with great discrimination and craft by Annie in Mrs Shelf'swork-box, which she knew the old lady would be scarcely likely to openthat night, but would most assuredly look into on the following day.Thus she would have a longer time to escape; for when Mrs Shelf cameback and found that Annie was not in the house, she would naturally waitfor a little before she began to search for her at all. For Annie allher life had been fond of prowling about in the dusk. Thus her escapewas practically assured.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
DAWSON'S SHOP.
When Mrs Shelf arrived at Rashleigh she made haste to carry out hercommissions. These she executed with her accustomed despatch, and wouldhave been back at the Rectory some time before seven o'clock but for alittle event which took place in no less a shop than Dawson thebutcher's.
Mrs Shelf, having bought the manuscript book and the other odds and endswhich Annie required, suddenly thought that she might as well choose themeat and small dainties which would be necessary for the reduced familyat the Rectory during the next few days.
Accordingly she desired Dan to take her to Dawson's, and getting slowlyand ponderously down out of the gig, she entered the shop.
Dawson himself was present, and came forward with much respect andalacrity to serve his well-known customer.
"Glad to see you out, Mrs Shelf," he said. "The air will do you good,ma'am. The evenings are turning a bit nippy, aren't they? Autumncoming on all too quickly. Ah, Mrs Shelf! and winter follows autumnjust as death follows old age. We don't know ourselves without therector, Mrs Shelf. No wonder that you feel it--no wonder. Perhaps Iought not to have spoken of it. But you'll come in now and have a cupof tea with my wife, won't you, Mrs Shelf?"
"No, that I can't," said Mrs Shelf, quickly wiping away the tears whichhad sprung to her eyes at mention of the beloved name. "I must hurryback to Miss Annie; she is all alone, poor little thing! at theRectory."
"Is she, now?" said Dawson. "Well, now, and a sweetly pretty young ladyshe be. Of course you don't want to leave her by herself. But isn'tthat nice-looking young gentleman, her cousin, staying with you for atime?"
"Mr Saxon, you mean?" said Mrs Shelf. "So he be; but he had to go up toLondon on business this morning, no Miss Annie and I are by ourselvesfor the time. Now I want please, Mr Dawson, two pounds of your bestrump-steak and a piece of kidney for a pudding, and a pound and a halfof the best end of neck of mutton. That's about all to-day. We sha'n'tbe wanting as much meat as formerly; and perhaps, Mr Dawson, youwouldn't mind sending in your account in the course of the next week orso, for Mr Saxon is anxious to square up everything for Miss Anniebefore he leaves for Australia."
"I will see about the account," said Dawson. "And now, that reminds me.I was going to speak about it before, only the dear rector was so ill,I couldn't worrit him. But the fact is, I changed a cheque for twentypounds for Miss Annie about a month ago; I can't remember the exactdate. The cheque was one of Mr Brooke's, and as correct as possible.Miss Annie wanted it in gold, and I gave it to her; and the followingMonday I sent Pearson, my foreman, round with it to the bank, and insome way the stupid fellow tore it so badly that they would not cash it,and said they must have a new cheque. Of course I would have gone tothe rector, knowing that he would give it to me, but for his illness.Now, however, I should like to have my money back. Shall I add it tothe account, or what would be the best way to manage it, Mrs Shelf?"
"But I can't make out what you are driving at," said Mrs Shelf. "HasMiss Annie asked you to cash a cheque for her--a cheque of the master'sfor twenty pounds?"
"She certainly did. Let me see when the date was. It was a day or twoafter she came back from school, looking so bonny and bright; and, bythe same token, Mr Brooke was taken ill that very day, and Miss Anniewas sent into town in a hurry to get some things that you wanted for themaster."
"But," said Mrs Shelf; then she checked herself. A queer beating cameat her heart and a heaviness before her eyes. "Perhaps," she said,sinking into a chair, "you would let me see the cheque that is so muchtorn that you can't get it cashed."
"I will, with pleasure, ma'am. I am sorry to worry you at all about itat the present moment but you seem the best person to talk to, being, soto speak, not exactly one of the family."
"Show me the cheque and don't worrit me with my exact relations to thefamily," said Mrs Shelf with dignity.
Dawson accordingly went to his private safe, which he unlocked, andtaking out a ponderous banker's book, produced the cheque; which MrsSh
elf immediately recognised as one which Mr Brooke had written in orderto pay the half-yearly meat-bill. The cheque had been badly torn, andwas fastened together at the back with some stamp-paper.
"They won't take it; they are mighty particular about these things,"said Dawson. "It has been a loss to me, lying out of my money; but Iwouldn't worry the dear old gentleman when he was ill for three timesthe amount."
"And you say that Miss Annie brought you this. Didn't she bring you anaccount or anything with it?"
"Not she. She asked me if I would cash it for her. You see it was madepayable to bearer, not to me myself. Is there anything