Presently, while Olivia, still trying to hide her own troubles, was turning the conversation to Yorke himself and his doings, and inquiring, with a semblance of great interest about the Peevors, the fame of whose beautiful place had reached her, and expressing her regret at being unable to return their visit, the servant came in to say tea was ready, should she bring it in? looking, as she spoke, doubtfully towards the visitor, as if to suggest that it had better be deferred till his departure.
Olivia told her to bring it, adding to Yorke that she hoped he would stop and take tea; it was more than tea, she said, with a little laugh — it was the children's tea and her dinner in one: but something in her way of putting the invitation — whether arising from prudery or reserve, or a wish not to exhibit before him the humble nature of the meal, he could not tell — seemed to imply that she did not really wish him to stay, and reluctantly refusing the offer, he rose to go. How short and unsatisfactory and commonplace the visit had been!
The leave-taking was less cordial on Olivia's part than had been the first greeting. This time she held out only one hand, but she followed him to the outer door. She appeared indeed glad in her loneliness to have seen him, and at times it seemed as if she were acting a part, and the forced composure could not be sustained; but, on the whole, the desire to maintain reserve seemed uppermost.
Just as Yorke was opening the hall-door, Olivia standing by him, he bethought him of Mrs. Polwheedle's message, and turning round he said that he expected to see that lady the next day.
"Mrs. Polwheedle in England!" cried Olivia; "how I should like to see her! To meet an old friend like her again would be such a happiness. She was so kind to me when we were up in the hills together," continued Olivia, seeing that Yorke appeared surprised at her speaking thus warmly of the lady. "I do not know what I should have done, for I was very helpless and strange to the country, without her help. She quite took care of me in those days."
"Then may I tell her you are here? May I bring her down with me to-morrow, if she is able to come?"
Olivia hesitated for an instant. In her loneliness her face brightened at the prospect of seeing her old companion again. But then she shook her head sadly. "Major Yorke," she said, for by this title she knew him, "you see me living here under a false name; how can I dare to face my old friends while in such a state of degradation? No; you are all very kind — it has been a real pleasure to see you; perhaps some day," she continued, with a quivering lip, struggling to repress the emotion which almost broke her down, — "perhaps some day things will look brighter for my husband and myself, and we may be able to come out of of this concealment and disgrace. God knows! the way does not look very clear at present." Then she offered him her hand once more in token that he was dismissed, and having no further excuse for staying, he gave one earnest look at the sad eyes, and turning round left the house.
He walked through the little garden, and then letting himself out by the gate, stood musing awhile, thinking how unsatisfactory his visit had been — how unlike what he should have expected it to be, if he had thought about it beforehand. To meet after an absence of several years the woman who had been to him for so long more than all the world besides, to find her friendless and in distress, and yet to come away having done nothing to help her, and with nothing (except just at the last) said on either side which might not have passed between casual visiting acquaintances. "Must it always be so, that I am never to be able to help her in any way? And why is it." he also asked himself, "that while I am no longer in love with her, and would not marry her if she were free and wanted to have me, her voice thrills through me as that of no other woman has ever done or ever will do; and that sitting there, worn and faded, in that shabby little room, she still seems to me the noblest and most lovely of her sex? Am I under a spell, or is she really so far above all other women that none are worth gaining when she is lost?"
Thoughts of this sort passing through his mind, Yorke moved on towards the inn. But he had made only two or three steps when, raising his head, he noticed the figure of a man standing on the side of the pathway, leaning over the paling and looking into the garden.
Yorke stopped; his first thought was that the house was lonely and occupied by women, and a man watching it at that hour might mean no good. And he stepped up to the figure to see who it was. As he did so, the person turned away and moved off up the river; and although it was now quite dark, he could distinguish the large hat and lame gait of the gentle
