he says, there’s a promise in ’em—least, one of ’em; and it’s as good as law, he says—he heard it in a public-house; and he’s gone over to Fall’field to a law-gentleman there.” Susan was compelled to give way to some sobs. “It ain’t for me father does it, sir,” she pleaded. “I tried to stop him, knowing how it’d vex you, Mr. Harrington; but he’s heady about points, though a quiet man ordinary; and he says he don’t expect—and I know now no gentleman’d marry such as me—I ain’t such a stupid gaper at words, as I used to be! but father says, it’s for the child’s sake, and he does it to have him provided for. Please, don’t ye be angry with me, sir.”
Susan’s half-controlled spasms here got the better of her.
While Evan was awaiting the return of her calmer senses, the latch was lifted, and Polly appeared.
“At it again!” was her sneering comment, after a short survey of her apron-screened sister; and then she bobbed to Evan.
“It’s whimper, whimper, and squeak, squeak, half their lives with some girls. After that they go wondering they can’t see to thread a needle! The neighbours, I suppose! I should like to lift the top off some o’ their houses. I hope I haven’t kept you, sir.”
“No, Polly,” said Evan; “but you must be charitable, or I shall think you want a lesson yourself. Mr. Raikes tells me you want to see me. What is it? You seem to be correspondents.”
Polly replied: “Oh, no, Mr. Harrington: only accidental ones—when something particular’s to be said. And he dances—like on the paper, so that you can’t help laughing. Isn’t he a very eccentric gentleman, sir?”
“Very,” said Evan. “I’ve no time to lose, Polly.”
“Here, you must go,” the latter called to her sister. “Now, pack at once, Sue. Do rout out, and do leave off thinking you’ve got a candle at your eyes, for Goodness’ sake!”
Susan was too well accustomed to Polly’s usage to complain. She murmured a gentle “Good night, sir,” and retired. Whereupon Polly exclaimed: “Bless her poor dear soft heart! It’s us hard ones that get on best in the world. I’m treated better than her, Mr. Harrington, and I know I ain’t worth half of her. It goes nigh to make one religious, only to see how exactly like Scripture is the way Beckley treats her, whose only sin is her being so soft as to believe in a man! Oh, dear! Mr. Harrington! I wish I had good news for you.”
In spite of his self-control, Evan breathed quickly and looked eagerly.
“Speak it out, Polly.”
“Oh, dear! I must, I suppose,” Polly answered. “Mr. Laxley’s become a lord now,” Mr. Harrington.”
Evan tasted in his soul the sweets of contrast.
“Well?”
“And my Miss Rose—she—”
“What?”
Moved by the keen hunger of his eyes, Polly hesitated. Her face betrayed a sudden change of mind.
“Wants to see you, sir,” she said, resolutely.
“To see me?”
Evan stood up, so pale that Polly was frightened.
“Where is she? Where can I meet her?”
“Please don’t take it so, Mr. Harrington?”
Evan commanded her to tell him what her mistress had said.
Now up to this point, Polly had spoken truth. She was positive her mistress did want to see him. Polly, also, with a maiden’s tender guile, desired to bring them together for once, though it were for the last time, and for no good on earth. She had been about to confide to him her young mistress’s position towards Lord Laxley, when his sharp interrogation stopped her. Shrinking from absolute invention, she remarked that of course she could not exactly remember Miss Rose’s words; which seemed indeed too much to expect of her.
“She will see me to-night?” said Evan.
“I don’t know about to-night,” Polly replied.
“Go to her instantly. Tell her I am ready. I will be at the West park-gates. This is why you wrote, Polly? Why did you lose time? Don’t delay, my good girl! Come!”
Evan had opened the door. He would not allow Polly an instant for expostulation; but drew her out, saying: “You will attend to the gates yourself. Or come and tell me the day, if she appoints another.”
Polly made a final effort to escape from the pit she was being pushed into.
“Mr. Harrington! it wasn’t to tell you this I wrote. Miss Rose is engaged, sir.”
“I understand,” said Evan, hoarsely, scarcely feeling it, as is the case with men who are shot through the heart.
Ten minutes later he was on horseback by the Fallowfield gates, with the tidings shrieking through his frame. The night was still, and stiller in the pauses of the nightingales. He sat there, neither thinking of them, nor reproached in his manhood for the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Presently his horse’s ears pricked, and the animal gave a low neigh. Evan’s eyes fixed harder on the length of gravel leading to the house. There was no sign, no figure. Out from the smooth grass of the lane a couple of horsemen issued, and came straight to the gates. He heard nothing till one spoke. It was a familiar voice.
“By Jove, Ferdy, here is the fellow, and we’ve been all the way to Lymport!”
Evan started from his trance.
“It’s you, Harrington?”
“Yes, Harry.”
“Sir!” exclaimed that youth, evidently flushed with wine, “what the devil do you mean by addressing me by my christian name?”
Laxley pushed his horse’s head in front of Harry. In a manner apparently somewhat improved by his new dignity, he said: “We have ridden to Lymport to speak to you, sir. Favour me by moving a little ahead of the lodge.”
Evan bowed, and moved beside him a short way down the lane, Harry following.
“The purport of my visit, sir,” Laxley began, “was to make known to you that Miss Jocelyn