‘And you have done your best to save Herbert from it. Well, my Arthur had it to a great degree; and so indeed had Bertha. They were brought up to nothing else; Bertha was, I really think, a better judge than her brother, she was not so reckless. They became intimate with a Captain Alder, who was in the barracks at Copington—much the nicest, as I used to think, of the set, though I was not very glad to see an attachment growing up between him and Bertha. There was always such a capacity of goodness in her that I longed to see her in the way of being raised altogether.’
‘She has always been most kind to us. There is much to admire in her.’
‘Her present life has developed all that is best; but—’ She hesitated, wondering whether the good simple man were sensible of that warp in the nature that she had felt. She went on, ‘Then she was a masterful, high-spirited girl, to whom it seemed inevitable to come to high words with any one about whom she cared. And I must say— she and my husband, while they were passionately fond of one another, seemed to have a sort of fascination in provoking one another, not only in words but in deeds. p. 227Ah, you can hardly believe it of her! How people get tamed! Well, Arthur bought a horse, a beautiful creature, but desperately vicious. Captain Alder had been with him when he first saw it, and admired it; but I do not think gave an opinion against it. Bertha, however, from the moment she saw its eyes and ears, protested against it in her vehement way. I remember imploring her not to make Arthur defy her; but really when they got into those moods, I don’t think they could stop themselves, and she thought Captain Alder encouraged him. So Arthur went out on that fatal drive in the dog-cart, and no sooner were they out on the Colbeam road than the horse bolted, they came into collision with a hay waggon. And—’
‘I know!’
‘Captain Alder was thrown on the top of the hay and not hurt. He came to prepare me to receive Arthur, and then went up to the house. Bertha, poor girl, in her wild grief almost flew at him. It was all his doing, she said; he had egged Arthur on; she supposed Arthur had bets. In short, she knew not what she said; but he left the house, and never has been near her again.’
‘Were they engaged?’
‘Not quite formally, but they understood one another, and were waiting for a favourable moment with old Lord Northmoor, who was not easy to deal with, and it was far from being a good match anyway. We all thought, I believe, that the drive was the fault or rather the folly of Captain Alder, and Arthur was too ill to explain— unconscious at first—then not rousing himself. At last he asked p. 228for his friend, and then he told me that Captain Alder had done all in his power to prevent his taking the creature out—had told him he had no right to endanger his life; and when only laughed at, had insisted on going with him, in hopes, I suppose, of averting mischief. I wrote—Lord Northmoor wrote to him at his quarters; but our letters came back to us. We had kept no watch on the gazette, and he had retired and left no address with his brother-officers. Bertha knew that his parents were dead, and that he had a sister at school at Clifton. I wrote to her, but the mistress sent back my letter; and we found that he had fetched away his sister and gone. Even his money was taken from Coutts’s, as if to cut off any clue.’
‘He should not have so attended to a girl in her angry grief.’
‘No, but I think there was some self-blame in him, though not about that horse. I believe he thought he might have checked Arthur more. And he had debts which he seems to have paid on selling out his capital. So, as I have told poor Bertha whenever she would let me, there may have been other reasons besides her stinging words.’
‘And it has preyed on her?’
‘More than any one would guess who had not known her in old times. I was glad that you secured that child, Cea, to her. She seems to have fastened her affections on her.’
‘Alder,’ presently repeated Frank. ‘Alder—I was thinking how the name had come before me. There were some clients of ours—of Mr. Burford’s, I mean—of that name; I think they sold an estate. p. 229Some day I will find out whether he knows anything about them, and I shall remember more by and by.’
‘It would be an immense relief if you could find out anything good about the poor fellow,’ said Adela, very glad to have found any topic of interest, and pleased to find that it occupied his thoughts afterwards, when he asked whether she knew the Christian name of
In a few days the pair were able to meet, and to take up again the life over which a dark veil had suddenly descended, contrasting with the sunshine of those last few years. To hold up one another, and do their duty on their way to the better world, was evidently the one thought, though they said little.
Still neither was yet in a condition to return to ordinary life, and it was determined that as soon as they were disinfected, they should leave the house to undergo the same process, and spend a few weeks at some health resort. Only Mary shuddered at the notion of hearing the sound of the sea, and Malvern was finally fixed upon. Lady Adela would go with them, and she wrote to beg that Constance, so soon as her term was over, might bring Amice thither, to be in a separate lodging at first, till there had been time to see whether the little girl’s company would be a solace or a trial to the bereaved parents.
Bertha, as soon as the chief anxiety was over, joined Mrs. Bury in a mountaineering expedition. She declared that she had never dared to leave Cea before, lest the wretched father, now proved to be a myth, should come and abstract the child.
p. 230CHAPTER XXXIV
THE PHANTOM OF THE STATION
There was a crash in Mrs. Morton’s kitchen, where an elegant five o’clock tea was preparing, not only to greet Herbert, who had just come home to await the news of his fate after the last military examination open to him, but also for a friend or two of his mother’s, who, to his great annoyance, might be expected to drop in on any Wednesday afternoon.
Every one ran out to see what was the matter, and the maid was found picking up Mrs. Morton’s silver teapot, the basket-work handle of which had suddenly collapsed under the weight of tea and tea-leaves. The mistress’s exclamations and objurgation of the maid for not having discovered its frail condition need not be repeated. It had been a wedding-present, and was her great pride. After due examination to see whether there were any bruises or dents, she said—
‘Well, Ida, we must have yours; run and fetch it out of the box. You have the key of it.’ And she held out the key of the cupboard where the spoons were daily taken out by herself or Ida.
p. 231The teapot had been left to Ida by a godmother, who had been a farmer’s wife, with a small legacy, but
