"Frightened away? Not a doubt about it," said Artingale. "I feel as if I had been a martyr, and offered myself up as a sacrifice."
"Martyr--sacrifice!" cried Cynthia, looking at the speaker keenly, and with her bright little face flushing. "Now, Harry, I"ll never forgive you. I"m sure you"ve been keeping something back. There, see how guilty you look! Oh, shame! shame!"
Artingale protested that he had been silent only from the best motives, was accused of deceit and want of confidence, and ended by making a full confession of the whole incident, after which he had to take Cynthia and show her the exact spot before his shuddering little companion condescended to forgive.
"And when was this, sir?"
"This day month," said Artingale, humbly, "and we have not seen him since. Magnus and I have watched, and searched, and hunted, and done everything possible; but, as I say, I think I have been the sacrifice.
He believes he killed me, and is afraid to show."
"Perhaps he has committed suicide out of remorse," said Cynthia.
"Just the sort of fellow who would," replied Artingale, with a dry look.
"Now you are laughing at me," cried Cynthia, pettishly. "I declare, Harry, I believe you are tired of me, and want to quarrel. I"ve been too easy with you, sir, and ought to have kept you at a distance."
More protesting and pardoning took place here, all very nice in their way, but of no interest to any save the parties concerned.
"You must get Julie to come out more now," said Artingale. "Tell her there is nothing to mind."
"I can"t make poor Julie out at all," said Cynthia thoughtfully. "She seems so strange and quiet. That man must have frightened her dreadfully."
"Did she tell you about it?"
"Very little, and if I press her she shudders, and seems ready to burst out sobbing. Then I have to comfort her by telling her that I am sure she will never see him any more, and when I say this she looks at me so strangely."
"What does mamma say?"
"Oh, only that Julie is foolish and hysterical. She doesn"t understand her at all. Poor mamma never did understand us girls, I"m sure," said Cynthia, with a profound look of wisdom upon her little face.
"And papa?"
"Oh, poor dear papa thinks of nothing but seeing us married and--Oh, Harry, I _am_ ashamed."
"What of?" he cried, catching her in his arms and kissing her tenderly.
"Why, Cynthy, I never knew before what a fine old fellow the pater is.
He is up to par in my estimation now."
"Is that meant for a joke, sir?" said Cynthia mockingly.
"Joke?--joke? I don"t know what you mean."
"Never mind now; but you need not be so pleased about what papa says. I think it"s very cruel--wanting to get rid of us."
"I don"t," exclaimed Artingale, laughing.
"Then you want to see poor Julie married to that dreadful Perry-Morton?"
"No, I don"t; I want her to have dear old James Magnus. I say, Cynthy.
We won"t be selfish, eh? We won"t think about ourselves, will we?
Let"s try and make other people happy."
"Yes, Harry, we will."
It was wonderful to see the sincerity with which these two young people spoke, and how eagerly they set to making plans for other people"s happiness--a process which seemed to need a great deal of clinging together for mutual support, twining about of arms, and looking long and deeply into each other"s eyes for counsel. Then Artingale"s hair was a little too much over his forehead for the thoughts of Cynthia to flow freely, and it had to be smoothed back by a little white hand with busy fingers. But that hair was obstinate, and it was not until the little pinky fingers had several times been moistened between Cynthia"s ruddy lips and drawn over the objecting strands of hair that they could be forced to retain the desired position.
After the performance of such a kindly service Artingale would have been ungrateful if he had not thanked her in the most affectionate way his brain could suggest, a proceeding of which, with all due modesty, the young lady seemed highly to approve.
Then Harry"s tie was not quite right, and the new collar stud had to be admired, and a great deal more of this very unselfish _eau sucree_ had to be imbibed before Julia again came on the _tapis_, her entrance being heralded by a sister"s sigh.
"Poor Julie!" said Cynthia.
"Oh, yes; poor Julia. Now, look here, pet, I dare say it"s very shocking, and if it were known the Rector would be sure to give me my _conge_."
"Oh, I would never think of telling him, Harry."
"That"s right. Well, as I was saying, if she marries Perry-Morton she will be miserable."
"Horribly," a.s.sented Cynthia. "And if she marries old Magnus she will be very happy."
"But are you sure that Mr Magnus really loves her?"
"He worships her. I"m sure of it."
"Then it would be wicked, wouldn"t it, Harry, to keep them apart?"
"I should think it as bad as murder to keep us apart."
"Should you, Harry?"
"Yes." And more unselfish proceedings.
"Then, as papa and mamma have made a mistake, don"t you think we ought to help them?"
"Yes," said Artingale, "but how? Magnus hangs back. He says he is sure that Julia does not think of him in the slightest degree. What do you say?"
"I don"t know what to say," cried Cynthia thoughtfully, "only that I am sure she hates Perry-Morton. She says she does."
"But does she show any liking for Magnus?"
"N-no, I"m afraid not. But does that matter, dear?"
"Well, I should think not," replied Artingale thoughtfully. "Magnus loves her very much, and I"m sure no girl could help loving him in return. I almost feel jealous when he talks to you."
"No, you don"t, Harry," retorted Cynthia, recommencing operations upon the obstinate lock of hair.
"Then what is to be done?" said Artingale, at last, after another long display of unselfishness.
"I"m sure I don"t know, Harry. It almost seems as if Julia was ready to let herself go with the stream. She is so quiet and strange and reserved. I don"t know what to make of her. She keeps fancying she sees that man."