CHAPTER X.
Arthur Lygon rose early on the following morning, and indeed some considerable time before the hour at which his host and hostess were usually in the habit of making their appearance, and after a glance into the little room in which Clara was sleeping the still calm sleep of childhood, he went out into the garden. Perhaps he hoped that Mr. Berry would join him, and by communicating at once the old solicitor’s view of the case, would leave his friend free to take some decided course of action, which Lygon now began to feel was absolutely necessary to his own existence. But he could see that the curtains of Mr. Berry’s dressing-room window remained closed, and Arthur, feverish, impatient, irritable, wandered around the garden, and felt more despondent than he had hitherto permitted himself to be.
At a turn of one of the walks Mrs. Berry suddenly confronted him.
This apparition would not have been pleasing to the most indifferent spectator, for Mrs. Berry’s loose dust-coloured morning gown, ugly slippers, and favourite hat did not compose an agreeable picture, but to Arthur Lygon the presence of Mrs. Berry was at that moment more objectionable than th it of any created being could have been. His hat, of course, rose mechanically in greeting to his hostess, but it would have been difficult to render his “Good morning,” less like the cordial expression of a guest thankful for hospitality.
But to his surprise, and not much to the increase of his content, Mrs. Berry came up to him with a smile that was almost affectionate, and placed her hand in his, which she detained in a friendlier clasp than she was often in the habit of according.
“I am glad to have an opportunity of speaking to you, dear Mr. Lygon, before Mr. Berry comes down. I hope you heard me say good night to you, as I went upstairs last night. I would not come in, for gentlemen do not like to be disturbed when they get into close chat.”
Nothing could be kinder than her words, and her manner was as friendly as she could possibly make it. Arthur Lygon, however, could not help contrasting their meeting with their parting overnight, and scarcely knew whether he ought to be apologetic, or only reserved. His companion left him little time for reflection.
“First of all,” she continued, “I want to say a word to you from poor dear aunty, who fears she gave you offence by her oddity of talk, and charged me with all kinds of explanations to you. If you knew her as well as we do, and what she has suffered, and still has to suffer, you would soon forgive her anything that seemed like petulance, but I am sure you will take it from me that the poor old lady had no intention to be unkind.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Berry,” said Lygon, “I fear Mrs. Empson may have reason to think that I was not so forbearing as I ought to have been, and except that I was anything but well, and”
“Nota syllable of apology from you,” said Mrs. Berry, in a low compassionating tone. “Give aunt, give me credit for being able to lay aside any thought of ourselves under such circumstances.”
Arthur Lygon looked at her with a keen glance, and was answered by the hand being again placed in his, with a warm pressure.
“Please,” said Mrs. Berry, “come with me to the book-room. We shall not be disturbed there.”
Lygon, a good deal surprised, could only assent, and follow his hostess into the house.
They entered the library, and Mrs. Berry, signing to Arthur to take a chair, closed the door, and actually drew a small brass bolt with which her husband was in the habit of occasionally securing his afternoon reading, or nap, from interruption.
If Arthur Lygon’s mind had at that moment been in any condition to receive a ludicrous impression—or a smile could have arisen to his lips at so determined an enforcement of an assignation—smile and impression would have instantly vanished at his companion’s next act.
She pushed a footstool towards the table, glanced at Arthur as if to intimate that he well knew what to do, and, taking up a large prayer-book, she knelt down at a chair, and deliberately read out, in a very excellent manner, the sacramental prayer for the church-militant here on earth, laying especial emphasis on the beautiful petition for succour to those who in this transitory life are in trouble or adversity.
At the first moment of her commencing the prayer, Lygon formed a sort of idea that his hostess was merely performing what might be a substitute for family worship as practised in religious families, and at which it might not be Mr. Berry’s habit to assist. This idea was of course quickly dispelled. Mrs. Berry might not be able to induce her husband to join in such a rite, but she was mistress in her own house, and would naturally require the attendance of her servants. Then came the emphatic delivery of the portion we have alluded to, and Lygon felt that he was present at a special service connected with himself. He hastily accused Mr. Berry of having either gratuitously revealed the secret in his charge, or of having surrendered it as a peace-offering after the scene of the previous night. He had not obeyed his hostess’s intimation that he should kneel, but he remained standing until she had concluded, and then it was with a heightened colour and a rapidly beating pulse that he awaited her next proceeding.
This was to replace the broad red ribbon with which the page in the prayer-book had been marked, and to restore the book itself to the shelf whence it had been taken. Mrs. Berry then came up to Arthur, as he stood by the lire-place, and looking him kindly in the face, said,
“Now, dear friend, we understand one another.”
“Yes,” said Lygon, with some presence of mind. “And now any little unkindness of language last night is forgotten for ever. What a lovely morning, again,” he added, walking to the window, and opening it.
Mrs. Berry stepped rapidly to his side.
“Nay, Arthur—you must let me call you so, when in trouble, at all events—this is not well. I will not say that in this world it is not sometimes a duty to avoid intruding one’s sorrows upon others, and though we are enjoined to bear one another’s burdens, we are not always required to