Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/321

 314 her fair face in rosy tints, and ruffled her golden hair beneath the shadow of the dark felt hat. The reins hung loose in her small gauntlet wax gloved hands. The chesnut did not want the curb.

“Lilian! an old friend of mine, Mr. Westby,” exclaimed Newton.

“An old friend of mine too, George.”

How that word “George” stung Westby.

“He’s known me ever since I was a bit of a child,” continued Lilian.

“That’s strange enough!” and a slight shadow passed over Newton’s glowing face.

“I want a word with you, Newton: Miss Temple will excuse us for a minute.” Westby turned his horse aside, and Newton followed him.

“I’m engaged to her, Westby—”

“I congratulate you;” but the words grated in Westby’s throat.

“I’m very sorry at such a time to break upon you with bad news. Why on earth haven’t you answered our letters?”

“That cursed bank, hey?”

“I never found out where you were till last night. We’ve written continually to your house.”

“I’ve been staying at Mrs. Wilson’s for the last few days,” replied Newton.

“Seeker could not come himself, but he begged me to come, as an old friend;—the truth is, you must leave the country immediately.”

Newton’s hot face grew very pale.

“They’ll be down upon you for every penny you possess—you are known to be one of the richest shareholders on the list.”

“I can’t go now, Charles.”

“You must either go or be ruined! Why, I’m all but certain there’s a fellow on your track now; below in the valley there—”

“But that girl! that girl!” murmured Newton, looking back on Lilian. “Did you see how she rides, Westby? Such a light hand. By Jove, my man can hardly handle the chesnut. I’ll risk it!”

“Don’t be a fool!” exclaimed Westby, losing patience.

“Curse that infernal sanctimonious scoundrel, with his ten per cent.”

“We haven’t time for regrets now, George.”

Newton reflected for a moment.

“Westby, we’ll go straight to Brighton, to her father’s, be married there, and then go to the continent. What do you think?”

“It is for you to think,” replied Westby, gravely.

“I know she’d do it. No, no! I could not in honour marry a girl with my affairs in such a state. There, I’ll take her back to Mrs. Wilson’s and be off.”

“It is not safe for you to return to Mrs. Wilson’s.”

“But, Westby, I can’t say good-bye to her here,” replied Newton, piteously; “do help me, for heaven’s sake.”

Westby considered what could be done for the best.

“You know my mother’s cottage at Shrewton: go straight there, it will throw them off your scent. I’m sure Mrs. Wilson will manage to take Miss Temple over this evening to see you; you can then make your way to Devizes and get the railway.”

“Thank you, old boy.”

Newton rode up to Lilian—they turned their horses towards the “Druid’s Head.”

Westby, as he followed, kept muttering Newton’s words: “He can’t marry with his affairs in such a state.” There was a strange conflict at work in his heart.

Near the “Druid’s Head” the lovers waited for Westby to come up.

“I leave this lady in your charge, Westby,” said Newton, in a broken voice, and after pressing Lilian’s hand to his lips, he put his horse into a canter. The chesnut would have followed, but Lilian reined him in with some difficulty, and then, shading her eyes against the golden distance, she watched her lover’s dark receding figure.

“Which is our way?”

“Right for that ‘folly’ yonder.”

They rode along the ups and downs of the turf in silence. A solitary horseman came up with them; it was the surly agriculturist of the morning mounted on the strangest of old screws. He glared curiously at Westby.

“Seen the ’ounds?”

“No more hunting to-day; there’s no scent,” replied Westby, with emphasis.

“Oh, haint there!” replied the man, grinning as he rode on.

Down the chalk cut again into the valley, which was filled with warm light and lengthened shadows. The water meadows, green enamel in the afternoon sun, inlaid with glittering bars of gold—and so on to Mrs. Wilson’s house.

“George Newton ruined!”—and Lilian locked the door of her room, and was alone. Then for the first time she beheld in clearest definition her real motives for accepting George Newton. Love, alas! in the slenderest proportion—pique at Westby’s low estimation of her character and rejection of her love—that one thought tinctured all her conduct, rendering her utterly careless as to whom she married, provided the wooer possessed the disposition and means which might ensure a pleasant worldly existence. Had she not learnt from Westby’s words that she was unfit for any condition higher than that? So she had allowed George Newton to love her, which was all he asked—perhaps she had even preferred him to most men she had met—and she was to have the use and enjoyment of his wealth in return.

I repeat, she beheld all this now for the first time; her actions had been spontaneous and the motives indefinite: it was only the thought of poverty which forced her to make an exact estimate of her love for George Newton.

So Lilian had her punishment for giving her hand without her heart. A feeling of pique to rest upon in a life of straitened means and struggle! Riches and poverty, it was a strange contrast. Many a time in those Swiss excursions she had walked silently at Westby’s side, picturing in her foolish mind the idea of poverty as his wife; she had striven to realise all the hardships that need