I was anxious to put a stop to this uncomfortable state of things, but I could not silence Mrs. Maberley, who was relating to her husband the story of poor Flossie"s accident. My presence of mind and skill were so much lauded, and the colonel said so many civil things, that I felt myself getting hotter every moment.
Mr. Hamilton came at last to my relief.
"I think Miss Garston resembles me in one thing, colonel. She hates to be thanked for doing her duty. You will drive her away if you say any more about Flossie. Oh, I thought so," as I stretched out my hand for my hat: "I thought I interpreted that look aright. Well, I must be going too. I only brought him back safe to you, Mrs. Maberley.--By the bye, colonel, I shall tell Gladys that you have never asked after her."
"My sweetheart, Gladys! To be sure I have not. Well, how is she, my dear fellow?"
"As obstinate as ever, colonel. Came downstairs to-day, and declares she will go to early service to-morrow, because it will be Christmas Day, and she has never missed yet. Women are kittle cattle to manage. Now, Miss Garston, if you are ready, I will see you a little on your way."
I knew it was no good to remonstrate, so I held my peace, Mrs. Maberley kissed me quite affectionately, and begged me to come whenever I had an hour to spare.
"I wish I had known you before, my dear. But there, we all make mistakes sometimes." And she patted me on the shoulder. "Edbrooke, will you see them out? He will be your friend for ever, after your goodness to Flossie: won"t you, Edbrooke?"
I never felt so afraid of Mr. Hamilton before. I was wondering what I should say to him, and hoping that he had not noticed my nervousness, when he startled me excessively by saying,--
"What makes you look so odd this evening? You are not a bit yourself, Miss Garston. Come! I shall expect you to confess. Mrs. Maberley is an old friend of mine, and I am very much attached to her. I should like to know what you and she have been talking about?"
It was too dark for Mr. Hamilton to see my face, so I answered a little flippantly,--
"I daresay you would like to know. Women are certainly not much more curious than men, after all."
"Oh, as to that, I am not a bit curious," was the contradictory answer.
"But all the same I intend to know. So you may as well make a clean breast of it."
"But--but you have no right to be so inquisitive, Mr. Hamilton."
"Again I say I am not inquisitive, but I mean to know this. Mrs. Maberley had been crying. I could see the tears in her eyes. You looked inclined to cry too, Miss Garston. Now,"--after a moment"s hesitation, as though he found speech rather difficult,--"I know the dear old lady has only one fault. She is rather too fond of gossiping about her neighbours, though she does it in the kindest manner. May I ask if her talk this evening at all related to a family not a hundred miles away from Maplehurst?"
His voice sounded hard and satirical in the darkness. "I wish you would not ask me such a question, Mr. Hamilton," I returned, much distressed.
"It was not my fault: I did not wish--" But he interrupted me.
"Of course; I knew it. When am I ever deceived by a face or manner? Not by yours, certainly. So my good old friend told you about that miserable affair. I wish she had held her tongue a little longer. I wish--"
But I burst out, full of remorse,--
"Oh, Mr. Hamilton, I am so sorry! I have no right to know, but indeed I was hardly to blame."
"Who says you are to blame?" he returned, so harshly that I remained silent: "it is no fault of yours if people will not be silent. But all the same I am sorry that you know; your opinion of me is quite changed now, eh? You think me a hard-hearted taskmaster of a brother. Well, it does not matter: Gladys would have made you believe that in time."
His voice was so full of concentrated bitterness that I longed to say something consoling; in his own fashion he had been kind to me, and I did not wish to misjudge him.
"I know your sister Gladys sufficiently to be sure that she will never act ungenerously by her brother," I returned hotly. "Mr. Hamilton, you need not say such things: it is not for me to judge."
"But all the same you will judge," he replied moodily. "Oh, I know how you good women cling together: you know nothing of a man"s nature; you cannot estimate his difficulties; because he has not got your sweet nature, because he cannot bear insolence patiently--Oh," with an abruptness that was almost rude but for the concealed pain in his voice, "I am not going to excuse myself to you: why should I? I have only to account to my Maker and my own conscience," And he was actually walking off in the darkness, for we were now in sight of the parlour window, but I called him back so earnestly that he could not refuse to obey.
"Mr. Hamilton, pray do not leave me like this; it makes me unhappy. Do you know it is Christmas Eve?"
"Well, what of that?" with a short laugh.
"People ought not to quarrel and be disagreeable to each other on Christmas Eve."
"I am afraid, Miss Garston, that I do feel intensely disagreeable this evening."
"Yes, but you must try and forgive me all the same. I could not quite help myself; but indeed I do not mean to judge you or any one, and I should like you to shake hands."
"There, then," with a decidedly hearty grasp; and then, without releasing me, "So you don"t think so very badly of me, after all?"
"I am very sorry for you," was my prudent answer; "I think you have had a great deal to bear. Good-night, Mr. Hamilton."
"Wait a minute; you have not answered my question. You must not have it all your own way. I repeat, has Mrs. Maberley given you a very bad impression of my character?"
"Certainly not; oh, she spoke most kindly; I should not have been afraid if you had heard the whole of our conversation."
"I wish I had heard it."
"She made me feel very sorry for you all. Oh, what trouble there is in the world, Mr. Hamilton! It does seem so blind and foolish to sit in judgment on other people! how can we know their trials and temptations?"
"That is spoken like a sensible woman. Try to keep a good opinion of us, Miss Garston: we shall be the better for your friendship. Well, so we are friends again, and this little misunderstanding is healed: so much the better; I should hate to quarrel with you. Now run in out of the cold."
I hastened to obey him, but he stood at the gate until I had entered the house; his voice and manner had quite changed during the last few minutes, and had become strangely gentle, reminding me of his sister Gladys"s voice. What a singular man he was!--and yet I felt sorry for him. "I wonder if he is really to blame!" I thought, as I opened the parlour door.
The lamp was alight; the fire burnt ruddily; Tinker was stretched on the rug as usual, but something else was on the rug too.
A girlish figure in a dark tweed gown was huddled up before the grate; a head, with short thick locks of hair tossing roughly on her neck, turned quickly at my entrance.
"Jill!"
"Yes, it is I, Ursie dear! Oh, you darling bear, what a time you have been!" Two strong arms pulled me down in the usual fashion, and a hot cheek was pressed lovingly against mine.
"Oh, Jill, Jill, what does this mean?" I exclaimed, in utter amazement; but for a long time Jill only laughed and hugged me, and there was no getting an answer to my question.
CHAPTER XXI
"I RAN AWAY, THEN!"
"Now, Jill," I demanded, at last, taking her by the shoulders, "I insist on knowing what this means." And when I spoke in that tone Jill always obeyed me at once.
So she shook her untidy mane, and looked at me with eyes that were brimful of fun and naughtiness.
"Very well, Ursie dear, if you will know, you shall; but first sit down in that cosy-looking chair, and I will put my elbows in your lap, in the dear old fashion, and then we can talk nicely. What a snug little room this is! it looked just delicious when I came in, and Mrs. Barton made me such a nice cup of tea, and then I went upstairs to look at your bedroom, and there was a beautiful fire there, and Mrs. Barton says you always have one: so you are not so poor and miserable, after all."
"I am not at all poor, thank you; and I work so hard that I think I deserve to be warm and comfortable. And when people live alone, a fire is a nice, cheerful companion. But this is not answering my question, Jocelyn."
Now Jill hated me to call her Jocelyn, so she made a face at me, and said, in rather a grumpy voice, "Well, I ran away, then!"