Then there was a general stir and break-up of the party. One bit of conversation Faith was fated to hear as she slowly made her way out of the dressing-room door, among comers and goers: the first speaker was a young De Staff.
"Since that shooting affair there"s been nothing but reports about you, Linden."
"Reports seldom kill," said Mr. Linden.
"Don"t trust to that!" said another laughing moustache,--"keep "em this side the water. By the way--is there any likeness of that fair foreigner going? How do you fancy _she_ would like reports?"
"When you find out I wish you would let me know," said Mr. Linden with a little accent of impatience, as he came forward and took Faith in charge.
CHAPTER III.
It was pretty late when Jerry and his little sleigh-load got clear of the gates. The stars were as bright as ever, and now they had the help of the old moon; which was pouring her clear radiance over the snow and sending long shadows from trees and fences. The fresh air was pleasant too. Faith felt it, and wondered that starlight and snow and sleigh-bells were such a different thing from what they were a few hours before. She chid herself, she was vexed at herself, and humbled exceedingly. She endeavoured to get back on the simple abstract ground she had held in her own thoughts until within a day or two; she was deeply ashamed that her head should have allowed even a flutter of imagination from Mr. Stoutenburgh"s words, which now it appeared might bear a quite contrary sense to that which she had given them. What was _she_, to have anything to do with them? Faith humbly said, nothing.
And yet,--she could not help that either,--the image of the possibility of what Dr. Harrison had suggested, raised a pain that Faith could not look at. She sat still and motionless, and heard the sleigh-bells without knowing to what tune they jingled.
It was a quick tune, at all events,--for the first ten or fifteen minutes Jerry dashed along to his heart"s content, and his driver even urged him on,--then with other sleighs left far behind and a hill before him, Jerry brought the tune to a staccato, and Mr. Linden spoke.
But the words were not very relevant to either stars or sleigh-bells.
"Miss Faith, I thought you knew me better."
They startled her, for she was a minute or two without answering; then came a gentle, and also rather frightened,
"Why?--why do you say that, Mr. Linden?"
"Do you think you know me?" he said, turning towards her with a little bit of a smile, though the voice was grave. "Do you think you have any idea how much I care about you?"
"I think you do," she said. "I am sure you do--very much!"
"Do you know how much?"--and the smile was full then, and followed by a moment"s silence. "I shall not try to tell you, Miss Faith; I could not if I would--but there is something on the other side of the question which I want you to tell me."
And Jerry walked slowly up the snowy hill, and the slight tinkle of his bells was as silvery as the starlight of Orion overhead.
Faith looked at her questioner and then off again, while a rich colour was slowly mantling in her cheeks. But the silence was breathless.
Jerry"s bells only announced it. And having by that time reached the top of the hill he chose--and was permitted--to set off at his former pace; flinging off the snow right and left, and tossing his mane on the cool night air. Down that hill, and up the next, and down that--and along a level bit of road to the foot of another,--then slowly.
"Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden when they were half way up, "do you never mean to speak to me again?"
A very low-breathed although audible "yes."
"Is that all you mean to say?--I shall take it very comprehensively."
She was willing probably that he should take it any way that he pleased; but to add was as much beyond Faith"s power at the moment as to subtract from her one word. She did not even look.
"Do you know what this silence is promising?" Mr. Linden said in the same tone, and bending down by her. "I do--and yet I want to hear you speak once more. If there is any reason why I should try not to love you better than all the rest of the world, you must tell me now."
One other quick, inquiring, astonished glance her eyes gave into his face; and then, as usual, his wish to have her speak made her speak, through all the intense difficulty. There was a minute"s further hesitation, and then the words, very low, very simple, and trembling,
"Do--if you can."
"Do _try?_" he said in a lower and graver tone.
"Try?"--she said; then with a change of voice and in very much confusion,--"O no, Mr. Linden!"
"I should not succeed"--was all his answer, nor was there time for much more; for having now turned into the main street where other homeward-bound sleighs were flying along, there was nothing to do but fly along with the rest; and a very few minutes brought them home.
Mr. Skip was probably reposing in parts unknown, for there was no sign of him at his post; and when Faith had been silently taken out of the sleigh and into the hall, Mr. Linden went back to Jerry--telling her she must take good care of herself for five minutes.
Bewilderedly, and trembling yet, Faith turned into the sitting-room. It was warm and bright, Mrs. Derrick having only lately left it; and taking off hood and cloak in a sort of mechanical way, with fingers that did not feel the strings, she sat down in the easy chair and laid her head on the arm of it; as very a child as she had been on the night of that terrible walk;--wondering to herself if this were Christmas day--if she were Faith Derrick--and if anything were anything!--but with a wonder of such growing happiness as made it more and more difficult for her to raise her head up. She dreaded--with an odd kind of dread which contradicted itself--to hear Mr. Linden come in; and in the abstract, she would have liked very much to jump up and run away; but that little intimation was quite enough to hold her fast. She sat still drawing quick little breaths. The loud voice of the clock near by, striking its twelve strokes, was not half so distinct to her as that light step in the hall which came so swiftly and quick to her side.
"What is the problem now, pretty child?" Mr. Linden said, laying both hands upon hers,--"it is too late for study to-night. You must wait till to-morrow and have my help."
She rose up at that, however gladly she would have hidden the face her rising revealed; but yet with no awkwardness she stood before him, rosily grave and shy, and with downcast eyelids that could by no means lift themselves up to shew what was beneath; a fair combination of the child"s character and the woman"s nature in one; both spoken fairly and fully. Mr. Linden watched her for a minute, softly pa.s.sing his hand over that fair brow; then drew her closer.
"I suppose I may claim Mr. Stoutenburgh"s privilege now," he said. But it was more than that he took. And then with one hand still held fast, Faith was put back in her chair and wheeled up to the fire "to get warm," and Mr. Linden sat down by her side.
Did he really think she needed it, when she was rosy to her fingers"
ends? But what could she do, but be very still and very happy Even as a flower whose head is heavy with dew,--never more fragrant than then, yet with the weight of its sweet burden it bends a little;--like that was the droop of Faith"s head at this minute. Whither had the whirl of this evening whirled her? Faith did not know. She felt as if, to some harbour of rest, broad and safe; the very one where from its fitness it seemed she ought to be. But shyly and confusedly, she felt it much as a man feels the ground, who is near taken off it by a hurricane. Yet she felt it, for her head drooped more and more.
"Faith," Mr. Linden said, half smiling, half seriously, "what has made you so sober all this evening--so much afraid of me?"
The quick answer of the eye stayed not a minute; the blush was more abiding.
"You don"t want me to tell you that!"--she said in soft pleading.
"Do you know now who I think has--
"A sweet attractive kind of grace"?"
"O don"t, please, speak so, Mr. Linden!" she said bowing her face in her hands,--"it don"t belong to me."--And pressing her hands closer, she added, "_You_ have made me all I am--that is anything."
"There is one thing I mean to make you--if I live," he answered smiling, and taking down her hand. "Faith, what do you mean by talking to me in that style?--haven"t you just given me leave to think what I like of you? You deserve another half hour"s silent penance."
A little bit of smile broke upon her face which for an instant she tried to hide with her other hand. But she dropped that and turned the face towards him, rosy, grave, and happy, more than she knew, or she perhaps would have hidden it again. Her eyes indeed only saw his and fell instantly; and her words began and stopped.
"There is one comfort--"
"What, dear child?"
"That you know what to think," she said, looking up with a face that evidently rested in the confidence of that fact.
"About what?" Mr. Linden said with an amused look. "I have known what to think about _you_ for some time."
"I meant that,"--she said quietly and with very downcast eyes again.