The Clever Woman of the Family

usually pale cheek, but, ere he could speak or move, the lady sprang up, and came hastening towards them diagonally across the grass. Rachel saw the danger, and made a warning outcry, “Bessie, the hoop!” but it was too late, she had tripped over it, and fell prone, and entirely unable to save herself. She was much nearer to them than to her late companion, and was struggling to disengage herself when Alick reached her, lifted her up, and placed her on her feet, supporting her as she clung fast to him, while he asked if she were hurt.

“No, no,” she cried. “Don’t let him come; don’t let him call anyone, don’t,” she reiterated, as Mr. Carleton hovered near, evidently much terrified, but not venturing to approach.

Alick helped her to another garden chair that stood near. She had been entangled in her dress, which had been much torn by her attempt to rise, and hung in a festoon, impeding her, and she moved with difficulty, breathing heavily when she was first seated.

“I don’t know if I have not twisted myself a little,” she said, in answer to their anxious questions, “but it will go off. Rachel, how scared you look!”

“Don’t laugh,” exclaimed Rachel, in dread of hysterics, and she plunged her hand into Alick’s pocket for a scent-bottle, which he had put there by way of precaution for her, and, while applying it, said, in her full, sedate voice, keeping it as steady as she could, “Shall I drive you home? Alick can walk home with his uncle when he is ready.”

“Home! Thank you, Rachel, pray do. Not that I am hurt,” she added in her natural voice, “only these rags would tell tales, and there would be an intolerable fuss.”

“Then I will bring the carriage round to the road there,” said Alick. “I told Joe to be in readiness, and you need not go back to the house.”

“Thank you. But, oh, send him away!” she added, with a gasping shudder. “Only don’t let him tell anyone. Tell him I desire he will not.”

After a few words with Mr. Carleton, Alick strode off to the stables, and Rachel asked anxiously after the twist.

“I don’t feel it; I don’t believe in it. My dear, your strong mind is all humbug, or you would not look so frightened,” and again she was on the verge of hysterical laughing; “it is only that I can’t stand a chorus of old ladies in commotion. How happy Alick must be to have his prediction verified by someone tumbling over a hoop!” Just then, however, seeing Mr. Carleton still lingering near, she caught hold of Rachel with a little cry, “Don’t let him come, dear Rachel; go to him, tell him I am well, but keep him away, and mind he tells no one!”

Rachel’s cold, repellent manner was in full force, and she went towards the poor little man, whose girlish face was blanched with fright.

She told him that Lady Keith did not seem to be hurt, and only wished to be alone, and to go home without attracting notice. He stammered out something about quite understanding, and retreated, while Rachel returned to find Bessie sitting upright, anxiously watching, and she was at once drawn down to sit beside her on the bench, to listen to the excited whisper. “The miserable simpleton! Rachel, Alick was right. I thought, I little thought he would forget how things stand now, but he got back to the old strain, as if⁠—I shall make Lord Keith go to Scotland anyway now. I was so thankful to see you and Alick.” She proceeded with the agitated vehemence of one who, under a great shock, was saying more than she would have betrayed in a cooler and more guarded mood, “What could possess him? For years he had followed me about like a little dog, and never said more than I let him; and now what folly was in his head, just because I could not walk as far as the ruin with the others. When I said I was going to Scotland, what business had he to⁠—Oh! the others will be coming back, Rachel, could we not go to meet the carriage?”

The attempt to move, however, brought back the feeling of the strain of which she had complained, but she would not give way, and by the help of Rachel’s arm, proceeded across the grass to the carriage-drive, where Alick was to meet them. It seemed very far and very hot, and her alternately excited and shame-stricken manner, and sobbing breath, much alarmed Rachel; but when Alick met them, all this seemed to pass away⁠—she controlled herself entirely, declaring herself unhurt, and giving him cheerful messages and excuses for her hostess. Alick put the reins into Rachel’s hands, and, after watching her drive off, returned to the party, and delivered the apologies of the ladies; then went in search of his uncle. He did not, however, find him quickly, and then he was so happy with his old friend among a cluster of merry young people, that Alick would not say a word to hasten him home, especially as Rachel would have driven Bessie to Timber End, so that it would only be returning to an empty house. And such was Mr. Clare’s sociableness and disability of detaching himself from pleasant conversation, that the uncle and nephew scarcely started for their walk across the park in time for the seven o’clock service. Mr. Clare had never been so completely belated, and, as Alick’s assistance was necessary, he could only augur from his wife’s absence that she was still at Timber End with his sister.

XXVI

The End of Cleverness

“Where am I?
O vanity,
We are not what we deem,
The sins that hold my heart in thrall,
They are more real than all.”

Rev. I. Williams

As the uncle and nephew came out of church, and approached the yew-tree gate, Rachel came swiftly to meet them.