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Chapter XXI. Flora’s Old Friend.

The road down Pensand Combe, through most of its course, ran along close to the edge of the wooded cliff that overhung the creek; but here and there it branched off, making a small angle inland, and passing between a tall field hedge on one side, and a wild mass of brambles on the other, or farther down, between low stone walls, with odd little nooks of garden niched in behind them. There were one or two sharp corners, and Dick, as he went tearing recklessly down, almost ran into two people who were coming round one of these. He pulled up suddenly, very much to the pony’s surprise, and got down to speak to them; for they were Randal Hawke and Flora Lancaster.

‘Do you want to break our necks, and your own too?’ said Randal.

He looked pale and cross, and his temper was not improved by Dick’s glance at Flora, which, quick as it was, meant pity and surprise. For Dick was startled and shocked by the worn strained misery in Flora’s face; she looked years older than when he and she had parted at St. Denys only a few weeks before.

‘Have you taken Miss Ashley home?’ said Randal, in the same sharp tone.

Dick looked hard at him, and there was something in his eyes which reminded Randal that he was making a fool of himself in giving up his usual coolness of manner. It was hardly possible—such a stupid boyish fellow—but Dick at that moment looked as if he might be dangerous.

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‘If you have,’ said Randal, ‘I’m much obliged to you. I had to leave her for a few minutes, and I suppose she was tired of waiting. You stepped in at the nick of time.’

‘Yes,’ said Dick. ‘Her walking back to the Castle seemed rather hopeless. She is safe there now. Mrs. Lancaster, are you going to walk back to St. Denys?’

‘Yes,’ said Flora. ‘There is no other way.’

She spoke in a low voice, rather dreamily, and without looking at him. Her eyes had wandered away to the high ground on the other side of the combe.

‘Will you let me row you round to St. Denys?’ said Dick. ‘I am going back at once, if you won’t be cold on the water.’

‘You are a bold fellow, Dick. Fish and all!’ said Randal, with a touch of his usual mockery, and a deliberate scanning of Dick from head to foot. ‘You are hardly got up for the occasion; but as Miss Ashley put up with you, perhaps Mrs. Lancaster will.’

‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Dick. ‘Will you?’ to Flora.

‘Thank you. I shall be very glad,’ said Flora.

‘You have nothing but a fishing-boat there, have you?’ said Randal. ‘Take our boat. You will find it down there. I will send for it to-morrow.’

‘That is just what I thought of doing,’ said Dick.

‘O, no,’ said Flora, suddenly interfering. ‘Let us have the fishing-boat, please. I like it much better.’

An odd half-angry smile curled Randal’s lip.

Dick answered her quite gravely,

‘No, that’s impossible. It would spoil your clothes;’ and Flora said no more.

‘Good-bye,’ said Randal. ‘I shall see you some day, Dick. Good-bye, Mrs. Lancaster.’

They parted without any shaking of hands. Randal lifted his hat, Dick nodded, and Flora bowed without looking at him. He walked away with light quick steps page 189 up the lane, leaving the little group standing there; Dick, Flora, Daniel Fenner’s cart and pony.

Some of Dick’s disgust and indignation escaped him in mutterings as he turned to pull in a strap that had loosened itself.

‘To answer him civilly, and not take him by the collar and pitch him over the edge into the mud yonder! I see your little game, Mr. Randal, and I’ll be hanged if— Will you get into the cart?’ he said to Flora, suddenly forgetting Randal in sympathy with her. ‘I’ll drive gently, and it won’t shake you much.’

‘I would rather walk, thank you,’ said Flora.

‘Very well. Then I’ll lead the pony; it is not far, after all,’ said Dick.

They walked one on each side of the cart, and neither of them spoke till they reached the beach. Flora seemed to be in a sort of waking dream, and Dick felt too much real sorrow, too much respect for his old love in her trouble, to make conversation about nothing. He thought it a curiously providential thing that he should have met her on this fatal afternoon—he, the only person who knew her secret, and could understand what she must feel. Though how any woman could care for that smooth villain Randal Hawke, with his horrid manners, his odious scented neatness, his second-rate dandyism, Dick confessed himself unable to understand.

Randal’s boat had been brought down to the ferry, and was lying there at the little landing-place. Those two were soon out on the open river, alone together in the wild cloudy evening. Flora sat in a stooping attitude, with her eyes bent down, and her shawl drawn tight round her shoulders. Dick’s pulling was easy work, going down with the tide, and the light boat darted through the water. Presently Flora leaned forward, and dipped her fingers into the small gray-green waves that came washing up round them.

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‘Do you remember,’ she said—they were almost the first words she had spoken to Dick since they parted with Randal—‘how you fell into the water that night at Morebay?’

‘Yes,’ said Dick. He remembered too, sadly enough, how she had reminded him of that before, when he met her on the hill that evening, and carried her parcel, and lingered at her gate in the lovely summer twilight. How happy she had been then, poor Flora, carrying on an innocent little flirtation with her old friend, and keeping her precious secret in the background all the time!

‘I suppose you were not in the water long enough to know what drowning is like?’ Flora went on.

‘Why, no. Those fellows had me out almost before I was in.’

‘They say it is a very peaceful easy death,’ said Flora, staring down into the depths of the Penyr, and dabbling with her fingers in a tiny wave-crest.

‘Don’t believe them,’ said Dick. ‘It is horrid choking agony; few things worse. I’ve heard that from people who really have been almost drowned.’

‘But it is very soon over.’

‘It seems like hours, like a lifetime.’

‘Well,’ said Flora, with a sigh,‘the idea of it is most tempting. Look at this nice gentle water; not even cold. Just a plunge, and I believe one’s unhappiness would be over for ever. Yes, I do think so; for in that other world there can be no such cruelty as there is here. Just a plunge down into these green depths—and I know how strong the currents are, they would carry one right out to sea.’

Dick was a perfectly brave man, as far at least as physical courage is concerned. He was even rashly brave sometimes; but at that moment he was terrified. Flora’s extraordinary calmness, the dreamy fascinated gaze that she fixed on the water, the longing way in page 191 which she drew her fingers through it,—all this made him feel that there was imminent danger of her throwing herself suddenly in. He spoke, however, in the coolest quietest manner, even with a smile on his face.

‘But suppose you did throw yourself in, you don’t think you would be drowned here, do you?’

‘What could prevent it?’ said Flora, without raising her eyes.

‘I should prevent it,’ answered Dick. ‘My coat is off already. I should instantly dive after you, get hold of you, and swim with you to that bank. I am one of the best swimmers in the world. We should both get a good wetting, and perhaps catch bad colds. That’s all. So when you think of attempting it, let me know.’

Dick spoke with a pleasant smile; he evidently took it all as a joke.

‘O Dick!’ cried Flora suddenly and painfully. ‘You are so cruel; but of course you don’t understand.’

Her interest in the water had suddenly ceased; she buried her face in her hands, and rocked herself gently, like a woman in great trouble. ‘I can’t bear it,’ she sighed; but Dick just caught the despairing words.

‘I do understand, though,’ he said, ‘only too well. What tries me is to see you wasting your regret on a worthless scoundrel who only deserves a horse-whipping, and may perhaps get his deserts in time.’

‘O, remember that I trusted you,’ said Flora. ‘It is a secret; nobody else knows.’

Dick was silent, and she presently went on:

‘I have suspected it for some days, but to-day on the beach it was made quite clear to me. He told me he must marry some one with money, and we know what that means. Don’t you see, Dick? He is going to marry Miss Ashley.’

‘O, is he?’ said Dick.

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‘He will have no trouble there; she likes him quite enough. He made sure of that before he told me; and he would not have told me now, if I had not made him. O, to think of it! What shall I do!’

‘I could tell you that,’ said Dick, ‘but of course you wouldn’t listen.’

‘I am listening. Go on.’

‘First of all,’ said Dick, with great decision, ‘you should thank God for setting you free in time from one of the most rascally scamps in England. Then you should forget all about him, and be as cheerful as if he had never existed.’

‘Ah, you can’t mend your life as you would mend your glove,’ said Flora, shaking her head.

‘It will take a little patience, of course,’ said Dick, rather proud of his preaching, ‘but you will do it in time. Do you know, when you first told me about him, that day in the combe, I knew he was a liar.’

‘Did you?’ said Flora wearily.

It seemed to Dick that he had better not say any more the poor woman had been too much tried, and perhaps silence was best for her. She sat with her head drooped and her hands clasped, thinking or dreaming, and this continued till they reached the quay.

Dick felt very thankful, as he helped Flora on shore, that she was safe there. He had come to the conclusion that the water was the worst place for any one in trouble of mind, like hers; it seemed such a quiet easy refuge close at hand. He thought it would be a long time before he took any one out again, under such circumstances. The fishwomen and all the waterside people stared with great interest at these two, going about together once more.

Dick nodded to many old friends, as he led Flora up the slippery steps and the steep winding lanes of St. Denys. She hardly spoke till they had reached the gate page 193 of Rose Cottage, where they had parted so many times before, and in such a different way.

‘Wait a minute. I want to speak to you,’ she said. ‘Tell me, is she a nice girl?’

‘Yes,’ said Dick. ‘I’m sure she is a nice girl.’

‘Then she ought to be saved from this.’

Dick’s own mind had been occupied with the same subject, but he did not quite see his way, and he told Mrs. Lancaster so. She looked at him with wild puzzled eyes, as they stood there together in the gray evening. One long golden curl of her hair had shaken itself down, and was lying on her shoulder, but it did not look pretty; it only added a little dishevelled untidiness to her sad looks. Dick was not the least bit in love with her now. He only felt most heartily sorry for his old friend.

‘Who is to save her?’ said Flora.

‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know,’ said Dick. ‘But let me ask you this. Would you mind my telling aunt Kate all about it, and finding out what she thinks? She is very clever; she might hit on some way, without your being pulled into it at all. You can trust her, I assure you.’

‘I know I can,’ said Flora. ‘My brain is in such a strange whirl that I can’t think properly. I am all in confusion. You must forgive me.’

‘I can fancy that,’ said Dick.

He waited kindly and patiently for a minute or two, till Flora spoke again.

‘I don’t know whether it is right or wrong; but Miss Northcote will know. You may tell her. As to me—it doesn’t matter about me. If I was a Roman Catholic, I could go into a convent. As I’m not, I must stay at Rose Cottage. Good-night, Dick. You have been very good to me.’

She gave him her hand with a faint smile that was sadder than any sadness.

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‘Good-night,’ he said. ‘You may always depend on me.’

He watched her till she had gone in at the housedoor, and closed it behind her. Then he hurried up the hill towards home.

After dinner that evening, Miss Northcote was sitting at work by her lamp in the drawing-room, when Dick came in and sat down near her at the table.

‘You look very quiet and comfortable,’ he said, ‘but do you know that you are in the midst of a sensation novel?’

‘What do you mean, Dick?’ said his aunt, looking up.

‘I’ll tell you all about it, beginning at the very beginning, which was before I went to Yorkshire.’

In the long story which followed on this, what surprised Miss Northcote most was the fact of Randal Hawke’s engagement to Mrs. Lancaster. This she seemed hardly able to believe. The rest of the story was far less startling. Randal’s intention of marrying ‘money’ in the person of Mabel Ashley seemed only natural in a man of his kind. When Dick described the manner in which he had comforted Flora in the boat, Miss Northcote could not help smiling.

‘If she cared for him,’ said she, ‘which probably she did, the period of thankfulness won’t come for some time yet. Poor thing! I am afraid your little sermon was wasted, Dick. What a sad story it is, though! and how very heartless Randal must be! I don’t wonder that Anthony dislikes him.’

‘No, indeed,’ said Dick. ‘And now comes the question—is there any way of nipping his beautiful plan in the bud?’

Kate leaned back in her chair, gazed at Dick, and considered.

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‘Really, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Miss Ashley belongs to them, you see. Nobody has any right to interfere; she is the General’s ward, and we can’t take her out of his hands. She can’t be got away from Pensand, and as long as she is there of course Randal has it all his own way. I believe she is contented too; for I saw them driving together one day, and certainly she looked quite happy. And Randal may be really attached to her: we don’t know. One can’t imagine that he would ever have done anything so romantic as to marry Mrs. Lancaster.’

‘Then why did he engage himself to her? She has been abominably used,’ said Dick. ‘I don’t see that he would be doing anything so romantic, as you call it. Other people besides Randal—’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Kate. ‘But now I am thinking about Miss Ashley. What can we do? It is no business of ours, you see. I’ll go and call again, if you like. That will remind her that there are other people in the world besides Randal and his father. But when you really have no excuse for interfering—’

Dick looked discontented. After a few minutes’ silence he broke out rather angrily,

‘Of course, I know it is not the first time an engagement has been broken off, though I never saw such a horrid instance of it. But the worst of it is the fellow being such a liar, behaving all through in such a wretched cowardly way, and braving it out with that insolent manner of his. I should like to make the whole thing public; and I would too, if it were not for Flora. She wouldn’t like it, poor thing.’

‘No, I should think not,’ said Kate. ‘And, after all, she is the first person to be considered. Miss Ashley, poor girl, I don’t know how it is, but I can’t get up any very deep interest in her, though Anthony is so fond of her, and you seem to like her too. Anthony, by the page 196 bye! he might influence her, if nobody else could. He is the only person who goes often to the Castle. And he dislikes Randal quite enough already, without knowing Mrs. Lancaster’s story. I’m going to Carweston soon, and I’ll try to find out whether he has any idea of this plan of Randal’s.’

‘Yes, you might do that,’ said Dick.

There was another long pause, and then he went on:

‘I do care what becomes of that girl. There is something rather taking about her, poor little thing. I am sorry for her now, just as I was when we travelled down together, only more so.’

‘You have forgiven the little airs she gave herself when we called that day,’ said Miss Northcote.

‘O dear, yes; it was only shyness. One soon gets over that sort of thing,’ said Dick.

He took up a book that he had been reading, and began to turn over the leaves. Kate watched him over her knitting, with a wondering doubtful smile. How very strange, she thought, if that little dark girl was to take possession, one after the other, of both Mrs. Lancaster’s lovers! She hardly knew why this fancy came into her head, for Dick showed no consciousness. And being, with all his faults, an utterly unmercenary creature, his aunt felt sure that the conquest, if it was made, would be Mabel’s own.