XX. HOW THEY LESSENED THE EFFECT OF THE CALAMITY
Meanwhile Anne Garland had gone home, and, being weary with her ramble insearch of Matilda, sat silent in a corner of the room. Her mother waspassing the time in giving utterance to every conceivable surmise on thecause of Miss Johnson's disappearance that the human mind could frame, towhich Anne returned monosyllabic answers, the result, not ofindifference, but of intense preoccupation. Presently Loveday, thefather, came to the door; her mother vanished with him, and they remainedcloseted together a long time. Anne went into the garden and seatedherself beneath the branching tree whose boughs had sheltered her duringso many hours of her residence here. Her attention was fixed more uponthe miller's wing of the irregular building before her than upon thatoccupied by her mother, for she could not help expecting every moment tosee some one run out with a wild face and announce some awful clearing upof the mystery.
Every sound set her on the alert, and hearing the tread of a horse in thelane she looked round eagerly. Gazing at her over the hedge was FestusDerriman, mounted on such an incredibly tall animal that he could see toher very feet over the thick and broad thorn fence. She no soonerrecognized him than she withdrew her glance; but as his eyes were fixedsteadily upon her this was a futile manoeuvre.
'I saw you look round!' he exclaimed crossly. 'What have I done to makeyou behave like that? Come, Miss Garland, be fair. 'Tis no use to turnyour back upon me.' As she did not turn he went on--'Well, now, this isenough to provoke a saint. Now I tell you what, Miss Garland; here I'llstay till you do turn round, if 'tis all the afternoon. You know mytemper--what I say I mean.' He seated himself firmly in the saddle,plucked some leaves from the hedge, and began humming a song, to show howabsolutely indifferent he was to the flight of time.
'What have you come for, that you are so anxious to see me?' inquiredAnne, when at last he had wearied her patience, rising and facing himwith the added independence which came from a sense of the hedge betweenthem.
'There, I knew you would turn round!' he said, his hot angry face invadedby a smile in which his teeth showed like white hemmed in by red atchess.
'What do you want, Mr. Derriman?' said she.
'"What do you want, Mr. Derriman?"--now listen to that! Is that myencouragement?'
Anne bowed superciliously, and moved away.
'I have just heard news that explains all that,' said the giant, eyeingher movements with somnolent irascibility. 'My uncle has been lettingthings out. He was here late last night, and he saw you.'
'Indeed he didn't,' said Anne.
'O, now! He saw Trumpet-major Loveday courting somebody like you in thatgarden walk; and when he came you ran indoors.'
'It is not true, and I wish to hear no more.'
'Upon my life, he said so! How can you do it, Miss Garland, when I, whohave enough money to buy up all the Lovedays, would gladly come to termswith ye? What a simpleton you must be, to pass me over for him! There,now you are angry because I said simpleton!--I didn't mean simpleton, Imeant misguided--misguided rosebud! That's it--run off,' he continued ina raised voice, as Anne made towards the garden door. 'But I'll have youyet. Much reason you have to be too proud to stay with me. But it won'tlast long; I shall marry you, madam, if I choose, as you'll see.'
When he was quite gone, and Anne had calmed down from the not altogetherunrelished fear and excitement that he always caused her, she returned toher seat under the tree, and began to wonder what Festus Derriman's storymeant, which, from the earnestness of his tone, did not seem like a pureinvention. It suddenly flashed upon her mind that she herself had heardvoices in the garden, and that the persons seen by Farmer Derriman, ofwhose visit and reclamation of his box the miller had told her, mighthave been Matilda and John Loveday. She further recalled the strangeagitation of Miss Johnson on the preceding evening, and that it occurredjust at the entry of the dragoon, till by degrees suspicion amounted toconviction that he knew more than any one else supposed of that lady'sdisappearance.
It was just at this time that the trumpet-major descended to the millafter his talk with his brother on the down. As fate would have it,instead of entering the house he turned aside to the garden and walkeddown that pleasant enclosure, to learn if he were likely to find in theother half of it the woman he loved so well.
Yes, there she was, sitting on the seat of logs that he had repaired forher, under the apple-tree; but she was not facing in his direction. Hewalked with a noisier tread, he coughed, he shook a bough, he dideverything, in short, but the one thing that Festus did in the samecircumstances--call out to her. He would not have ventured on that forthe world. Any of his signs would have been sufficient to attract her aday or two earlier; now she would not turn. At last, in his fondanxiety, he did what he had never done before without an invitation, andcrossed over into Mrs. Garland's half of the garden, till he stood beforeher.
When she could not escape him she arose, and, saying 'Good afternoon,trumpet-major,' in a glacial manner unusual with her, walked away toanother part of the garden.
Loveday, quite at a loss, had not the strength of mind to perseverefurther. He had a vague apprehension that some imperfect knowledge ofthe previous night's unhappy business had reached her; and, unable toremedy the evil without telling more than he dared, he went into themill, where his father still was, looking doleful enough, what with hisconcern at events and the extra quantity of flour upon his face throughsticking so closely to business that day.
'Well, John; Bob has told you all, of course? A queer, strange,perplexing thing, isn't it? I can't make it out at all. There must besomething wrong in the woman, or it couldn't have happened. I haven'tbeen so upset for years.'
'Nor have I. I wouldn't it should have happened for all I own in theworld,' said the dragoon. 'Have you spoke to Anne Garland to-day--or hasanybody been talking to her?'
'Festus Derriman rode by half-an-hour ago, and talked to her over thehedge.'
John guessed the rest, and, after standing on the threshold in silenceawhile, walked away towards the camp.
All this time his brother Robert had been hastening along in pursuit ofthe woman who had withdrawn from the scene to avoid the exposure andcomplete overthrow which would have resulted had she remained. As thedistance lengthened between himself and the mill, Bob was conscious ofsome cooling down of the excitement that had prompted him to set out; buthe did not pause in his walk till he had reached the head of the riverwhich fed the mill-stream. Here, for some indefinite reason, he allowedhis eyes to be attracted by the bubbling spring whose waters never failedor lessened, and he stopped as if to look longer at the scene; it wasreally because his mind was so absorbed by John's story.
The sun was warm, the spot was a pleasant one, and he deposited hisbundle and sat down. By degrees, as he reflected, first on John's viewand then on his own, his convictions became unsettled; till at length hewas so balanced between the impulse to go on and the impulse to go back,that a puff of wind either way would have been well-nigh sufficient todecide for him. When he allowed John's story to repeat itself in hisears, the reasonableness and good sense of his advice seemed beyondquestion. When, on the other hand, he thought of his poor Matilda'seyes, and her, to him, pleasant ways, their charming arrangements tomarry, and her probable willingness still, he could hardly bring himselfto do otherwise than follow on the road at the top of his speed.
This strife of thought was so well maintained that sitting and standing,he remained on the borders of the spring till the shadows had stretchedout eastwards, and the chance of overtaking Matilda had grownconsiderably less. Still he did not positively go towards home. At lasthe took a guinea from his pocket, and resolved to put the question to thehazard. 'Heads I go; tails I don't.' The piece of gold spun in the airand came down heads.
'No, I won't go, after all,' he said. 'I won't be steered by accidentsany more.'
He picked up his bundle and switch, and retraced his steps towardsOvercombe Mill, knocking
down the brambles and nettles as he went withgloomy and indifferent blows. When he got within sight of the house hebeheld David in the road.
'All right--all right again, captain!', shouted that retainer. 'Awedding after all! Hurrah!'
'Ah--she's back again?' cried Bob, seizing David, ecstatically, anddancing round with him.
'No--but it's all the same! it is of no consequence at all, and no harmwill be done! Maister and Mrs. Garland have made up a match, and mean tomarry at once, that the wedding victuals may not be wasted! They felt'twould be a thousand pities to let such good things get blue-vinnied forwant of a ceremony to use 'em upon, and at last they have thought ofthis.'
'Victuals--I don't care for the victuals!' bitterly cried Bob, in a toneof far higher thought. 'How you disappoint me!' and he went slowlytowards the house.
His father appeared in the opening of the mill-door, looking morecheerful than when they had parted. 'What, Robert, you've been afterher?' he said. 'Faith, then, I wouldn't have followed her if I had beenas sure as you were that she went away in scorn of us. Since you told methat, I have not looked for her at all.'
'I was wrong, father,' Bob replied gravely, throwing down his bundle andstick. 'Matilda, I find, has not gone away in scorn of us; she has goneaway for other reasons. I followed her some way; but I have come backagain. She may go.'
'Why is she gone?' said the astonished miller.
Bob had intended, for Matilda's sake, to give no reason to a living soulfor her departure. But he could not treat his father thus reservedly;and he told.
'She has made great fools of us,' said the miller deliberately; 'and shemight have made us greater ones. Bob, I thought th' hadst more sense.'
'Well, don't say anything against her, father,' implored Bob. ''Twas asorry haul, and there's an end on't. Let her down quietly, and keep thesecret. You promise that?'
'I do.' Loveday the elder remained thinking awhile, and then wenton--'Well, what I was going to say is this: I've hit upon a plan to getout of the awkward corner she has put us in. What you'll think of it Ican't say.'
'David has just given me the heads.'
'And do it hurt your feelings, my son, at such a time?'
'No--I'll bring myself to bear it, anyhow! Why should I object to otherpeople's happiness because I have lost my own?' said Bob, with saintlyself-sacrifice in his air.
'Well said!' answered the miller heartily. 'But you may be sure thatthere will be no unseemly rejoicing, to disturb ye in your present frameof mind. All the morning I felt more ashamed than I cared to own at thethought of how the neighbours, great and small, would laugh at what theywould call your folly, when they knew what had happened; so I resolved totake this step to stave it off, if so be 'twas possible. And when I sawMrs. Garland I knew I had done right. She pitied me so much for havinghad the house cleaned in vain, and laid in provisions to waste, that itput her into the humour to agree. We mean to do it right off at once,afore the pies and cakes get mouldy and the blackpot stale. 'Twas a goodthought of mine and hers, and I am glad 'tis settled,' he concludedcheerfully.
'Poor Matilda!' murmured Bob.
'There--I was afraid 'twould hurt thy feelings,' said the miller, withself-reproach: 'making preparations for thy wedding, and using them formy own!'
'No,' said Bob heroically; 'it shall not. It will be a great comfort inmy sorrow to feel that the splendid grub, and the ale, and your stunningnew suit of clothes, and the great table-cloths you've bought, will bejust as useful now as if I had married myself. Poor Matilda! But youwon't expect me to join in--you hardly can. I can sheer off that dayvery easily, you know.'
'Nonsense, Bob!' said the miller reproachfully.
'I couldn't stand it--I should break down.'
'Deuce take me if I would have asked her, then, if I had known 'twasgoing to drive thee out of the house! Now, come, Bob, I'll find a way ofarranging it and sobering it down, so that it shall be as melancholy asyou can require--in short, just like a funeral, if thou'lt promise tostay?'
'Very well,' said the afflicted one. 'On that condition I'll stay.'