"Yes, I suppose I should; well, I have pinned it up as well as I can; and now shall we go to Mamma; she is in her room, and Mason is so busy there," said f.a.n.n.y, forgetting all about her frock. "Do you know we are going to have such a grand dinner party to-night; mamma is to wear her pink silk dress, with black lace. I saw it on the bed; and such a lovely wreath beside it. How I do wish I was big enough to have one just like it!"
"And tear the flounce like this," replied Amy, laughing, and knocking at Mrs. Linchmore"s door.
"Come in, Miss Neville; I am sorry to trouble you, but I heard from f.a.n.n.y you were going out, and I wished to know if you would like to come down into the drawing-room this evening, after dinner, it is both Mr.
Linchmore"s wish and mine that you should do so; moreover, we shall be glad to see you. The children will come and you could come down with them, if you like."
"Thank you, but if I am allowed a choice, I would far rather remain away. I am so unaccustomed to strangers; still if you wish it I--"
"No, you are to do just as you like in the matter, we shall be very glad to see you if you should alter your mind, and I hope you will. And now what news of Miss Tremlow? Is she really getting better, or still thinking of Goody Grey?"
"She sat up to-day for the first time, and is I think decidedly improving, but her nerves have been sadly shaken. Miss Bennet tried to persuade her to go downstairs to-day; but I really must say she had not strength for the exertion."
"I miss Julia sadly this dull weather, and I wish she would think of others besides Miss Tremlow; she devotes nearly the whole day to her."
"Is not her sister as merry and cheerful?"
"Anne is all very well, but thinks only of pleasing herself, she never helps entertain; you will scarcely see her in Miss Tremlow"s, or anybody else"s sick room. And now if you are going out, I will not detain you any longer. Perhaps you will kindly look into the conservatory as you return, and bring me one or two flowers, and you, f.a.n.n.y, can come with me," and taking f.a.n.n.y"s hand she left the room, as Amy went to put on her bonnet.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FLOWER.
"I saw the light that made the glossy leaves More glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek, Warmed by the eye intent on its pursuit; I saw the foot that, although half erect From its grey slipper, could not lift her up To what she wanted; I held down a branch And gathered her some blossoms."
LANDOR.
Amy went for a walk in the grounds; there being plenty of time before the evening closed in, as Julia had purposely returned early. A solitary walk is not much calculated to raise and cheer the spirits, and Amy"s, though not naturally dull or sad, were anything but cheerful during her ramble. Miss Tremlow"s questions had recalled sad scenes and memories which she had tried to forget; but some things are never forgotten; out of sight or laid aside for a time they may be, until some accident, or circ.u.mstance slight and trivial perhaps in itself, recalls them; and then there they are as vivid and fresh as ever, holding the same place and clinging round the heart with the same weight and tightness as ever; until again they fade away into the shade; crossed out, as a pen does a wrong word, yet the writing is there, though faintly and imperfectly visible, whatever pains we take to erase it.
How Amy"s thoughts wandered as she walked along over the frosty ground!
Time was when she had been as gay as Julia, and as light-hearted; but she began to think those were by-gone days, such as would never come again, or if they did, she would no longer be the same as before, and therefore would not enjoy them as she once had. Then she sighed over the past, and tried to picture to herself the future; _tried_, because very mercifully the future of our lives, the foreseeing things that may happen, is denied us. What a dark future it appeared! To be all her life going over the self-same tasks, the same dull routine day by day; her pupils might dislike their lessons, but how much more distasteful they were to her. What a dull, dreary path lay before her! She pa.s.sed into the conservatory as these thoughts filled her heart. It was getting dusk, and entering hastily, she gathered a few flowers, and was turning on her way out, when she was attracted by a beautiful white Camellia, ranged amongst a number of plants rather higher up than she could reach.
She stretched her arm over those below--in vain, the flower was beyond her still. She made a second attempt, when an arm was suddenly pa.s.sed across her, and it was severed from its stem by some one at her side.
"It was a thousand pities to have gathered it," said a tall, gentlemanly-looking man; "but I saw you were determined to have it," and he picked up the flower, which had fallen, and held it for her acceptance.
"Thank you," said Amy, nervously. He had startled her; his help had been so unexpected. She told him so.
"You did not perceive me? and yet I am by no means so small as to be easily overlooked. I wish I could be sometimes; but I regret I frightened you."
"Not exactly frightened; only, not seeing you or knowing you were there, it----" and Amy stopped short.
"Frightened you," said he, decidedly.
She did not contradict him. It was evident he did not intend she should, for he scarcely allowed her time to reply as he went on,
"There is another bud left on the same plant. Will you have it? I will gather it in a moment."
"Oh, no, by no means. Perhaps I ought not to have taken this; but John is not here to guide me; I am rather sorry I have it now."
"Never mind; it is I who am the culprit, not you. Will you have the other? Say the word, and it is yours. It is a pity to leave it neglected here, now its companion is gone," and he moved towards the flower.
"Indeed I would rather not. One will be quite enough for Mrs. Linchmore, and, besides, I have so many flowers now."
"They are not for yourself, then? I could almost quarrel with you for culling them for anyone else."
"I never wear flowers," replied Amy, somewhat chillingly, with a slight touch of hauteur, as she moved away.
But he would not have it so, and claimed her attention again.
"Why do you pa.s.s over this sweet flower? just in your path, too; I do not know its name, I am so little of a gardener, but I am sure it would grace your bouquet; see what delicate white blossoms it has."
"Yes it is very pretty, but I have enough flowers, thank you."
"You will not surely refuse to accept it," and at the same moment he severed it from its stem. "Will you give me the Camellia in exchange?"
"No. I would rather not have it."
"It is a pity I gathered it," and he threw it on the ground, and made as though he would have crushed it with his foot.
"Do not do that," said Amy hastily; "give it to me, and I will place it with the other flowers in my bouquet."
"But those flowers are for some one else, not for yourself. You said so; and I gathered this for you. Will you not have it?"
"You have no right to offer it," replied Amy, determined not to be conciliated, "and I will only accept it on the terms I have said; if you will pull it to pieces I cannot help it."
"No. I have not the heart to kill it so soon; I will keep it for some other fair lady less obdurate," and he opened the door to allow of her pa.s.sing out. "I suppose we are both going the same way," said he, overtaking her, notwithstanding she had hurried on.
"I am going home," replied Amy, now obliged to slacken her steps, and hardly knowing whether to feel angry or not.
"So am I; if by home you mean Brampton House. How cold it is! are you not very lightly clad for such inclement weather? The cold is intense."
"This shawl is warmer than it looks. We feel it cold just leaving the conservatory; it was so very warm there."
"True; but we shall soon get not only warm, but out of breath if we hurry on at this pace."
Amy smiled, and slackened her steps again. She felt she had been hurrying on very fast.
"I think I saw you the day the Stricklands arrived?"
Then as Amy looked at him enquiringly; he added, "you were coming up the long walk with the children and helped Miss Tremlow upstairs when she was able to leave the library."
"I did," replied Amy, "but you? I do not remember you in the least. Oh!
yes I do, you were at the horses" heads. Yes, I remember quite well now; it was you who first ran forward as they came up at that headlong pace and stopped them. How stupid of me not to recollect you again."
"Not at all. I scarcely expected you would."