Rosa hated her as a jealous woman only can hate. Felise’s meanness was even worse than her shamelessness. Rosa easily learned from the merchant that Goring was by no means well-to-do; this penniless wretch, then, was in reality aiming at Martial’s house and home far more than at him. It was simply disgusting. Rosa felt righteous in her own ample dower.
II
Felise was not long reaching home, and Abner came to take charge of the pony. She asked him to meet her that evening at seven o’clock at Mr. Godwin’s, just outside in the path, and not to mention to anyone that he was going there. The good-natured, loyal fellow promised to do so; it was indeed a pleasure to him to do anything for her.
Upstairs in her room Felise printed a few words with pen and ink on a slip of notepaper, so that the writer could not be guessed from the handwriting; and then waited till seven, which hour she had chosen because Abner would have finished his work.
He was waiting for her just outside Godwin’s premises, ready to do her bidding, let it be what it might.
“Here is the money,” said Felise, handing a bag heavy with gold to Robert Godwin in the little side parlour to which he had conducted her.
They were alone. Robert counted it methodically, and began to write a receipt.
“Do not put my name in the receipt,” said Felise, a sudden thought occurring to her.
Robert did as he was bid, and omitted the name. The receipt simply ran, “Received £70 for the bay horse, Ruy. — Robert Godwin.”
“Now give me the horse,” said she, taking up the paper.
“Tonight? I will have him groomed and sent over—”
“No, no—now. Come,” rising and going to the door.
Robert could not refuse. He walked as slowly as he could, wishing to make her stay as long as possible, for she came and went like the wind. Felise with her own hand took Ruy’s halter—he was nothing loth to come with her, remembering the apples—and led him towards the gate.
“But you will permit me to help you; let me go with you—”
“There is no need; I have Abner waiting outside.”
Robert Godwin’s face at the name became black as night; he said not another word, but merely accompanied her to the gate, and raised his hat in silence.
Felise did not relinquish her hold of the halter, though Abner immediately joined her, till a turn of the lane hid them from Robert Godwin’s view.
“Abner,” said Felise, stopping, “I think—I believe you would be true to me.”
“That indeed I would, miss!” His blue eyes lit up, and his countenance grew for the moment handsome with earnestness.
“I want you to do something for me, and not to tell a single person—not one, mind—not even your sweetheart.”
Abner grew red—Felise did not know whether he had or had not a sweetheart. His face looked guilty.
“I won’t tell nobody—not a word, miss; bless you, you may be sure of I.”
“I believe I may.” She took the receipt for Ruy, and doubled it up inside the slip of paper with the printed message in the form of a note, and gave it to Abner.
“I want you to take this horse over to the Manor House, and leave him in Mr. Barnard’s stables; and then go up to the house and see him—wait till you do see him—and give him the note, and come away without a word. Don’t answer a single question; if he asks any, if anyone asks any—say—let me see—say—say, another man gave you sixpence to bring the horse because he was tired. On the road you met him, you know, by chance, and so you don’t know anything.”
“All right, miss; I’ll tell ’em a tale—never fear.”
“And then I shall want to know if you have done it; but I don’t want you to call at our house—ah! what is that tune you are always whistling?”
“ ‘Jump Into the Wagon’?”
“Yes, ‘Phyllis Dear’—that’s it. Now, when you come back, stop outside our gate and whistle it as hard as you can, and I shall understand.”
“So I will.”
“I shall have two shillings on Saturday, and you shall have them.”
“No, miss; if you please, I don’t want no money—you have a-been terrable good to our folk.”
“But you shall have the two shillings.”
“Bless you, miss, sixpence will be aplenty for such a little job as this here!”
“Well, well! wait till Saturday,” said Felise, determined he should have the two shillings all the same. “Now, you’re sure you quite understand?”
“I understands; all right, miss; I shall do it famous.” He touched his cap and started.
Felise watched him and Ruy till they turned the corner, and then returned home. She found Mr. Goring in some anxiety about Mary Shaw, who had had a fainting-fit and was lying on the sofa. Felise ran to her side and found poor Mary, usually red as a peony, as white as a sheet; she had fainted all at once as she was running in from the garden, hearing Mr. Goring call.
“And you fell upstairs yesterday.”
“That’s lucky,” said Mary, with a faint smile.
“And you’re always complaining of a pain in your side.”
“It’s nothing—it’s the heat—and I ate too many cherries.”
“Well, if it happens again you must see the doctor.”
At which terrible word Mary burst into tears.
“Oh, don’t you let I see the doctor—now don’t you! I should die of fright, I knows I should; you don’t mean that now—do you, now? Say as you don’t mean it. I can’t abear no doctors.”
To pacify her, for she was trembling all over, Felise promised that the doctor should not be called in unless it was a very bad case indeed.
Quite suddenly Mary sat up, and declared she felt as well as ever; and certainly
