Milly Darrell

friendship, therecould have been no reason for this concealment and suppression. I hadnever quite made up my mind to trust Angus Egerton, though I liked andadmired him; and this mysterious relation between him and AugustaDarrell was a sufficient cause for serious distrust.

  'I wish she cared for him less,' I said to myself, as I glanced atMilly's bright happy face.

  When we went back to the drawing-room after dinner, the MissCollingwoods had a great deal to say to Milly about a grandcroquet-match which was to take place in a week or two at Pensildon,Sir John and Lady Pensildon's place, fourteen miles from Thornleigh.The Rector's daughters, both of whom were several years older thanMilly, were passionately fond of croquet and everything in the way ofgaiety, and were full of excitement about this coming event, discussingwhat they were going to wear, and what Milly was going to wear, on theoccasion. While they were engaged in this way, Mrs. Collingwood told mea long story about one of her poor parishioners, always aninexhaustible subject with her. This arrangement left Mrs. Darrellunoccupied; and after standing at one of the open windows lookinglistlessly out, she sauntered out upon the terrace, her favouritelounge always in this summer weather. I saw her repass the windows afew minutes afterwards, in earnest conversation with Angus Egerton.This was some time before the other gentlemen left the dining-room; andthey were still walking slowly up and down when Mr. Darrell and theRector came to the drawing-room. The storm had not yet come, and it wasbright moonlight. Mr. Darrell went out and brought his wife in, withsome gentle reproof on her imprudence in remaining out of doors so latein her thin muslin dress.

  After this there came some music. Augusta Darrell sang some old Englishballads which I had never heard her sing before--simple patheticmelodies, which, I think, brought tears to the eyes of all of us.

  Mr. Egerton sat near one of the open windows, with his face in shadow,while she was singing; and as she began the last of these old songs herose with a half-impatient gesture, and went out upon the terrace. If Iwatched him closely, and others in relation to him, at this time, itwas from no frivolous or impertinent curiosity, but because I felt verycertain that my darling's happiness was at stake. I saw her littledisappointed look when he remained at the farther end of the room,talking to the gentlemen, all the rest of that evening, instead ofcontriving by some means to be near her, as he always had done duringour pleasant evenings at the Rectory.

  CHAPTER IX.

  ANGUS EGERTON IS REJECTED.

  The expected storm came next day, and Milly and I were caught in it. Wehad gone for a ramble across the moor, and were luckily within a shortdistance of Rebecca Thatcher's cottage when the first vivid flash brokethrough the leaden clouds, and the first long peal of thunder camecrashing over the open landscape. We set off for Mrs. Thatcher'shabitation at a run, and arrived there breathless.

  The herbalist was not alone. A tall dark figure stood between us andthe little window as we went in, blotting out all the light.

  Milly gave a faint cry of surprise; and as the figure turned towards usI recognised Mr. Egerton.

  In all our visits among the poor we had never met him before.

  'Caught again, young ladies!' he cried, laughing; 'you've neither ofyou grown weatherwise yet, I see. Luckily you're under cover before therain has begun. I think we shall have it pretty heavy presently. Howsurprised you look to see me here, Miss Darrell! Becky is a very oldfriend of mine. I remember her ever since I can remember anything. Shewas in my grandfather's service once upon a time.'

  'That I was, Mr. Egerton, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you andyours--for you at least, for there's none but you left now. But Isuppose you'll be getting married one of these days; you're not goingto let the old name of Egerton die out?'

  Angus Egerton shook his head with a slow sad gesture.

  'I am too poor to marry, Mrs. Thatcher,' he said. 'What could I offer awife but a gloomy old house, and a perpetual struggle to make hundredsdo the work of thousands? I am too proud to ask the woman I love tosacrifice her future to me.'

  'Cumber Priory is good enough for any woman that ever lived,' answeredRebecca Thatcher. 'You don't mean what you say, Mr. Egerton. You knowthat the name you bear is counted better than money in these parts.'

  He laughed, and changed the conversation.

  'I heard you young ladies talking a great deal of the Pensildon fetelast night,' he said.

  'Did you really?' asked Milly; 'you did not appear to be muchinterested in our conversation.'

  'Did I seem distrait? It is a way I have sometimes, Miss Darrell; but Ican assure you I can hear two or three conversations at once. I think Iheard all that you and the Miss Collingwoods were saying.'

  'You are going to Lady Pensildon's on the 31st, I suppose?' Milly said.

  'I think not. I think of going abroad for the autumn. I have beenrather a long time at Cumber, you know, and I'm afraid the roving moodis coming upon me again. I shall be sorry to go, too, for I hadintended to torment you continually about your art studies. You havereally a genius for landscape, you know, Miss Darrell; you only want tobe goaded into industry now and then by some severe critic like myself.Is your cousin, Mr. Stormont, an artist, by the way?'

  'Not at all.'

  'That's a pity. He seems a clever young man. I suppose he will be agood deal with you, now that Mr. and Mrs. Darrell have returned?'

  'He cannot stay very long at a time. He has the chief position inpapa's counting-house.'

  'Indeed! He looked a little as if the cares of business weighed uponhis spirit.'

  He glanced rather curiously at Milly while he was speaking of Mr.Stormont. Was he really going away, I wondered, or was that threat ofdeparture only a lover-like ruse?

  The rain came presently with all the violence usual to athunder-shower. We were prisoners in Mrs. Thatcher's cottage for morethan an hour; a happy hour, I think, to Milly, in spite of thecloseness of the atmosphere and the medical odour of the herbs. AngusEgerton stood beside her chair all the time, looking down at her brightface and talking to her; while Mrs. Thatcher mumbled a long catalogueof her ailments and troubles into my somewhat inattentive ear.

  Once while those two were talking about his intended departure I heardMr. Egerton say,

  'If I thought any one cared about my staying--if I could believe thatany one would miss me ever so little--I should be in no hurry to leaveYorkshire.'

  Of course Milly told him that there were many people who would misshim--Mr. Collingwood for instance, and all the family at the Rectory.He bent over her, and said something in a very low voice--somethingthat brought vivid blushes to her face; and a few minutes afterwardsthey went to the door to look at the weather, and stood there talkingtill I had heard the last of Mrs. Thatcher's woes, and was free to jointhem. I had never seen Milly look so lovely as she did just then, withher downcast eyes, and a little tremulous smile upon her perfect mouth.

  Mr. Egerton walked all the way home with us. The storm was quite over,the sun shining, and the air full of that cool freshness which comesafter rain. We talked of all kinds of things. Mr. Egerton had almostmade up his mind to spend the autumn at Cumber, he told us; and hewould go to the Pensildon fete, and take Milly's side in thecroquet-match. He seemed in almost boyish spirits during that homewardwalk.

  When we went up-stairs to our rooms that night, Milly followed me intomine. There was nothing new in this; we often wasted half an hour inhappy idle talk before going to bed; but I was sure from my darling'smanner she had something to tell me. She went over to an open window,and stood there with her face turned away from me, looking out acrossthe distant moonlit sea.

  'Mary,' she said, after a very long pause, 'do you think people areintended to be quite happy in this world?'

  'My dear love, how can I answer such a question as that? I think thatmany people have their lives in their own hands, and that it rests withthemselves to find happiness. And there are many natures that areelevated and purified by sorrow. I cannot tell what is best for us,dear. I cannot pretend to guess what this life wa
s meant to be.'

  'There is something in perfect happiness that frightens one, Mary. Itseems as if it could not last. If it could, if I dared believe in it, Ishould think that my life was going to be quite happy.'

  'Why should it be otherwise, my dear Milly? I don't think you have everknown much sorrow.'

  'Not since my mother died--and I was only a child then--but that oldpain has never quite gone out of my heart; and papa's marriage has beena greater grief to me than you would believe, Mary. This house hasnever seemed to be really my home since then. No, dear, it is a newlife that is dawning for me--and O, such a bright one!'

  She put her arms round my neck, and hid her face upon my shoulder.

  'Can you guess what Angus Egerton said to me to-day?'