Nell, of Shorne Mills Part 19

"Are not you?" she said, a little shyly. "You seem so--so free to do just what you please."

He laughed rather grimly.

"Do you know what I should do if I were as free as I seem, Miss Nell?"

he asked. "I should take one of these farms"--he nodded to a rural homestead, one of the smallest and simplest, which stood on the edge of the moor--"and spend the rest of my life making clotted cream and driving cows and pigs to market."

She laughed.

"I can scarcely imagine you doing that," she said.

"Well, I might buy a trawler, and go fis.h.i.+ng in the bay."

"That would be better," she admitted. "But it's very tough weather sometimes. I have seen the women waiting on the jetty, and on the cliffs, and looking out at the storm, with their faces white with fear and anxiety for the men--their fathers and husbands and sweethearts."

"There wouldn't be any women to watch and grow white for me," he remarked.

"Oh, but don't you think we should be anxious--mamma and I?" she said.

He looked at her, but her eyes met his innocently, and there was not a sign of coquetry in her smile.

"Thanks. In that case, I must abandon the idea of getting my livelihood as a fisherman," he said lightly. "I couldn't think of causing Mrs.

Lorton any further anxiety."

"Shall we have another gallop?" she asked, a moment or two afterward.

"We might ride to that farm there"--she pointed to a thatched roof just visible above a hollow--"and get a gla.s.s of milk. I am quite thirsty."

She made the suggestion blithely, as if neither her own nor his words had remained in her mind; and Drake brightened up as they sped over the springy turf.

A woman came out of the farm, and greeted them with a cordial welcome in the smile which she bestowed on Nell, and the half nod, half curtsy, she gave to Drake.

"Why, Miss Nell, it be yew sure enough," she said pleasantly. "I was a-thinkin' that 'eed just forgot us. Bobby! Bobby! do 'ee come and hold the horses. Here be Miss Nell of Shorne Mills."

A barefooted, ruddy-cheeked little man ran out and laughed up at Nell as she bent down and stroked his head with her whip. Nell and Drake dismounted, and she led the way into the kitchen and living room of the farm.

The room was so low that Drake felt he must stoop, and Nell's tall figure looked all the taller and slimmer for its propinquity to the timbered ceiling. The woman brought a couple of gla.s.ses of milk and some saffron cakes, and Nell drank and ate with a healthy, unashamed appet.i.te, and apparently quite forgot Drake, who, seated in the background, sipped his milk and watched and listened to her absently.

She knew this woman and her husband and the children quite intimately; asked after the baby's last tooth as she bent over the sleeping mite, and was anxious to know how the eldest girl, who was in service in London, was getting on.

"Well, Emma, her says she likes it well enough," replied the woman, standing, with the instinctive delicacy of respect, with her firm hand resting on the spotlessly white table; "leastways her would if there was more air--it's the want o' air she complains of. Accordin' to she, there bean't enough for the hoosts o' people there be. Oh, yes, the family's kind enough to her--not that she has much to do wi' 'em; for she's in the nursery--she's nursemaid, you remembers, Miss Nell--and the mistress is too grand a lady to go there often. It's a great family she's in, you know, Miss Nell, a t.i.tled family, and there's grand goin's-on a'most every day; indeed, it's turnin' day into night they're at most o' the time, so says Emma. She made so bold, Emma did, to send her best respects to you in her last letter, and to say she hoped if ever you came to London she'd have the luck to see you, though it might be from a distance."

Nell nodded gratefully.

"Not that I am at all likely to go to London," she said, with a laugh.

"If I did, I should be sure to go and see Emma."

Emma's mother glanced curiously at Drake; and he understood the significance of the glance, but Nell was evidently unconscious of its meaning.

"And this is the gentleman as is staying at the cottage, Miss Nell?" she said. "I hope your arm's better, sir?"

Drake made a suitable and satisfactory response, and Nell, having talked to the two little girls, who had got as near to her as their shyness would permit, rose.

"Thank you so much for the milk and cakes, Mrs. Trimble," she said. "We were quite famis.h.i.+ng, weren't we?"

"Quite famished," a.s.sented Drake.

Mrs. Trimble beamed.

"You be main welcome, Miss Nell, as 'ee knows full well; I wish 'ee could ride out to us every day. And that's a beautiful horse you're on, miss, surely!"

"Isn't it?" said Nell. "It's Mr. Vernon's; he is kind enough to lend it to me."

Mrs. Trimble glanced significantly again at Drake; but again Nell failed to see or understand the quick, intelligent question in the eyes.

"Speakin' o' Emma, I've got her letter in my pocket, Miss Nell; and I'm thinkin' I'll give it 'ee; for the address, you know. It's on the top, writ clear, and if you should go to London----"

Nell took the precious letter, and put it with marked carefulness in the bosom of her habit.

"I shall like to read it, Mrs. Trimble. Emma and I were such good friends, weren't we? And I'll be sure to let you have it back."

The whole of the family crowded out to see Miss Nell of Shorne Mills drive off, and Drake had to maneuver skillfully to get a coin into Bobby's chubby, and somewhat grubby, hand unseen by Nell.

They rode on in silence for a time. The scene had impressed Drake. The affection of the whole of them for Nell had been so evident, and the sweet simplicity of her nature had displayed itself so ingenuously, that he felt--well, as he had felt once or twice coming out of church.

Then he remembered the woman's significant glance, and his conscience smote him. No doubt all Shorne Mills was connecting his name with hers.

Yes; he must go.

She was singing softly as she rode beside him, and they exchanged scarcely half a dozen sentences on the way home; but yet Nell seemed happy and content, and as she slipped from her saddle in front of the garden gate, she breathed a sigh of keen pleasure.

"Oh, I have enjoyed it so much!" she said, as he looked at her inquiringly. "Is there anything more beautiful and lovable than a horse?"

As she spoke, she stroked the mare's satin neck, and the animal turned its great eyes upon her with placid affection and grat.i.tude. Drake looked from the horse to the girl, but said nothing, and at that moment d.i.c.k came out to take the horses down to the stables.

"Had a good ride, Nell?" he asked. "Wants a lot of coaching, doesn't she, Mr. Vernon? But I a.s.sure you I've done my best with her; girls are the most stupid creatures in the world; and the last person they'll learn anything from is their brother."

Nell managed to tilt his cap over his eyes as she ran in, and d.i.c.k looked after her longingly, as he exclaimed portentously:

"That's one I owe you, my child."

Nell laughed back defiantly; but when she had got up to her own room, and was taking off the habit, something of the brightness left her face, and she sighed.

"I am sorry he is going," she murmured to her reflection in the gla.s.s.

"How we shall miss him; all of us, d.i.c.k and mamma! And I shall miss him, too. Yes; I am sorry. It will seem so--so dull and dreary when he has gone. And he does not seem glad to go. But perhaps he only said that to please me, and because it was the proper thing to say. Of course, I--we--could not expect him to stay for the rest of his life in Shorne Mills."

She sighed again, and stood, with her habit half unb.u.t.toned, looking beyond the gla.s.s into the past few happy weeks. Yes, it would seem very dull and dreary when he was gone.

But he still lingered on; his arm got well, his step was strong and firm, his voice and manner less grave and moody. He rode or sailed with her every day, d.i.c.k sometimes accompanying them; but he was only postponing the hour of his departure, and putting it away from him with a half-hesitating hand.

One afternoon, d.i.c.k burst into the sitting room--they were at tea--with a couple of parcels; one, a small square like a box, the other, a larger and heavier one.

"Just come by the carrier," he said; "addressed to 'Drake Vernon, Esquire.' The little one is registered. The carrier acted as auxiliary postman, and wants a receipt."