"Going to stay with some friends perhaps?" Lady Rachel suggested. "Iwonder whether I know them?"
It was spitefully done--but, in respect of tone and manner, done to perfection.
The pony-chaise drew up at the door. This was another of the rare occasions in my life on which I acted discreetly. It was necessary for me to say something. I said, "Good morning."Nothing had happened at the cottage, during the interval of my absence.
Clever as he was, old Toller had never suspected that I should return to him (with luggage!) in the character of a self-invited guest. His jaw dropped, and his wicked little eyes appealed to the sky. Merciful Providence! what have I done to deserve this? There, as I read him, was the thought in the miller's mind, expressed in my best English.
"Have you got a spare bed in the house?" I asked.
Mr. Toller forgot the respect due to the person who could stop the repairs at a moment's notice. He answered in the tone of a man who had been grossly insulted: "No!"But for the anxieties that oppressed me, I should have only perceived the humorous side of old Toller's outbreak of temper. He had chosen his time badly, and he got a serious reply.
"Understand this," I said: "either you receive me civilly--or you make up your mind to find a flour-mill on some other property than mine."This had its effect. The miller's servility more than equalled his insolence. With profuse apologies, he offered me his own bedroom. Ipreferred a large old-fashioned armchair which stood in a corner of the kitchen. Listening in a state of profound bewilderment--longing to put inquisitive questions, and afraid to do so--Toller silently appealed to my compassion. I had nothing to conceal; I mentioned my motive. Without intending it, I had wounded him in one of his most tender places; the place occupied by his good opinion of himself. He said with sulky submission:
"Much obliged, Mr. Gerard. My girl is safe under my protection. Leave it to me, sir--leave it to me."I had just reminded old Toller of his age, and of the infirmities which age brings with it, when his daughter--pale and languid, with signs of recent tears in her eyes--entered the kitchen. When I approached her, she trembled and drew back; apparently designing to leave the room. Her father stopped her. "Mr. Gerard has something to tell you," he said. "I'm off to the mill." He took up his hat, and left us.
Submitting sadly, she let me take her in my arms, and try to cheer her.
But when I alluded to what I owed to her admirable devotion and courage, she entreated me to be silent. "Don't bring it all back!" she cried, shuddering at the remembrances which I had awakened, "Father said you had something to tell me. What is it?"I repeated (in language more gentle and more considerate) what I had already said to her father. She took my hand, and kissed it gratefully.
"You have your mother's face, and your mother's heart," she said; "you are always good, you are never selfish. But it mustn't be. How can I let you suffer the discomfort of staying here? Indeed, I am in no danger; you are alarming yourself without a cause.""How can you be sure of that?" I asked.
She looked reluctantly at the door of communication.
"Must I speak of him?"
"Only to tell me," I pleaded, "whether you have seen him since last night."She had both seen him and heard from him, on reaching home. "He opened that door," she told me, "and threw on the floor one of the leaves out of his book. After doing that, he relieved me from the sight of him.""Show me the leaf, Cristel."
"Father has got it. I thought he was asleep in the armchair. He snatched it out of my hand. It isn't worth reading."She turned pale, nevertheless, when she replied in those terms. I could see that I was disturbing her, when I asked if she remembered what the Cur had written. But our position was far too serious to be trifled with.
"I suppose he threatened you?" I said, trying to lead her on. "What did he say?""He said, if any attempt was made to remove me out of his reach, after what had happened that evening, my father would find him on the watch day and night, and would regret it to the end of his life. The wretch thinks me cruel enough to have told my father of the horrors we went through!
You know that he has dismissed his poor old servant? Was I wrong in advising Gloody to go to you?""You were quite right. He is at my house--and I should like to keep him at Trimley Deen; but I am afraid he and the other servants might not get on well together?""Will you let him come here?"
She spoke earnestly; reminding me that I had thought it wrong to leave her father, at his age, without someone to help him.
"If an accident separated me from him," she went on, "he would be left alone in this wretched place.""What accident are you thinking of?" I asked. "Is there something going on, Cristel, that I don't know of?"Had I startled her? or had I offended her?
"Can we tell what may or may not happen to us, in the time to come?" she asked abruptly. "I don't like to think of my father being left without a creature to take care of him. Gloody is so good and so true; and they always get on well together. If you have nothing better in view for him--?""My dear, I have nothing half so good in view; and Gloody, I am sure, will think so too." I privately resolved to insure a favorable reception for the poor fellow, by making him the miller's partner. Bank notes in Toller's pocket! What a place reserved for Gloody in Toller's estimation!
But I confess that Cristel's allusion to a possible accident rather oppressed my mind, situated as we were at that time. What we talked of next has slipped from my memory. I only recollect that she made an excuse to go back to her room, and that nothing I could say or do availed to restore her customary cheerfulness.
As the twilight was beginning to fade, we heard the sound of a carriage.