Nell, of Shorne Mills Part 22

She sprang out before he could get on sh.o.r.e and offer his hand.

"I shall want her to-morrow morning at eleven, Brownie," she said to the old fisherman who was preparing to take the _Annie Laurie_ to her moorings.

He touched his forehead.

"Aye, aye, Miss Nell! And you'll not be wanting me?" he asked, as a matter of form, and with a glance at Drake, who stood waiting with his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, yes, please," she said. "I forgot; Mr. Vernon is going away to-morrow," she added cheerfully; and she began to sing under her breath again as they climbed upward. But Drake did not sing, and his face was gloomy.

Throughout that evening, Mrs. Lorton contributed to the entertainment of her guest by admiring her bracelet and deploring his departure.

"Of course I am aware that you must be anxious to go," she said, with a deep sigh. "It has been dull, I've no doubt, very dull; and I am so sorry that the state of my health has prevented me going out and about with you. There are so many places of interest in the neighborhood which we could have visited; but I am sure you will make allowances for an invalid. And we will hope that this is not your last visit to Shorne Mills. I need not say that we shall be glad, delighted, indeed, at any time----"

Every now and then Drake murmured his acknowledgments; but he made the due responses absently. He was left entirely at Mrs. Lorton's mercy that evening--for Nell had suddenly remembered that she ought really to go and see old Brownie's mother, a lady whose age was set down at anything between a hundred and a hundred and ten, and d.i.c.k was in his "workshop"

cleaning the new and spotless gun.

Nell did not come in till late, was full of Grandmother Brownie's sayings and wonderfully maintained faculties, and ran off to bed very soon, with a cheerful "Good night, Mr. Vernon. d.i.c.k has ordered the trap for nine o'clock."

Drake got up early the next morning; there were the horses to be arranged for--he was going to leave two behind, for a time, at any rate, in the hope that d.i.c.k and Miss Nell might use them; and he had to say good-by--and tip--sundry persons. He performed the latter operation on so liberal a scale that amazement sat upon the bosom of many a man and woman in Shorne Mills for months afterward. Molly, indeed, was so overcome by the sight and feel of the crisp ten-pound note, and her face grew so red and her eyes so prominent, that Drake was seriously afraid that she was going to have a fit.

Nell had got up a few minutes after him, and had prepared his farewell breakfast; but she was not present, and Mrs. Lorton presided. It was not until the arrival of the trap that she came in hurriedly. She had her outdoor things on, and explained that she had had to go to the farm to order a fowl; and she was full of some story the farmer's wife had told her--a story which had made her laugh, and still seemed to cause her so much amus.e.m.e.nt that Mrs. Lorton felt compelled to remind her that Mr.

Vernon was going.

"Ah, yes! I suppose it is time. The train starts at ten-forty-five. Have you got some lunch for Mr. Vernon, d.i.c.k?"

She had packed a neat little packet of sandwiches with her own hands, but put the question casually, as if she hoped that somebody had considered their departing guest's comfort.

The girl's bright cheerfulness got on Drake's nerves. His farewell to Mrs. Lorton lacked grace and finish, and he could only hold out his hand to Nell, and say, rather grimly and curtly:

"Good-by, Miss Nell."

Just that; no more.

Her hand rested in his for a moment. Did it tremble, or was it only fancy on his part? She said, "Good-by, and I hope you will have a pleasant journey," quite calmly.

d.i.c.k burst in with:

"Now, Mr. Vernon, if you've kissed everybody, we'd better be starting,"

and Drake got into the trap.

Mrs. Lorton looked after the departing guest, and waved her hand with an expression of languid sorrow; then turned to Nell with a sigh.

"I might have known that he would go; but still I must say that it is a disappointment--a great disappointment. These trials are sent for our good, and----I do wish you would not keep up that perpetual humming, Eleanor. On an occasion like this it is especially trying. And how pale you look!" she added, staring unsympathetically.

"I've--I've rather a headache," said Nell, turning toward the door. "I suppose it was hurrying up to the farm. It is very hot this morning.

I'll go and take off my hat."

She went upstairs slowly, slipped the bolt in her bedroom door, and, taking off her hat, stood looking beyond the gla.s.s for a moment or two; then she absently drew an old and somewhat battered pencil case from her pocket. She gazed at it thoughtfully, until suddenly she could not see it for the tears that gathered in her eyes, and presently she began to tremble. She slipped to her knees besides the bed, and buried her forehead in the hands clasped over Drake's "token of remembrance and grat.i.tude."

And as she struggled with the sobs that shook her, she still trembled; for there was something in the feeling of utter, overwhelming desolation which frightened her--something she could neither understand nor resist, though she had been fighting against it all through the long and weary night.

Oh, the shame of it! That she should cry because Mr. Drake Vernon had left Shorne Mills! The shame of it!

CHAPTER X.

All the way up to town Drake felt very depressed. It is strange that we mortals never thoroughly appreciate a thing until we have lost it, or a time until it has slipped past us; and Drake only realized, as the express rushed along and took him farther and farther away from Shorne Mills, how contented, and, yes, nearly happy, he had been there, notwithstanding the pain and inconvenience of a broken limb.

As he leaned back and smoked, he thought of the little village in the cleft of the cliffs, of the opaline sea, of the miniature jetty on which he had so often sat and basked in the sunlight; but, more than all, he thought of The Cottage, of the racketing, warm-hearted d.i.c.k, and--and of Nell of Shorne Mills.

It seemed hard to realize, and not a little painful, that he should never again sit in the parlor which now seemed to him so cozy, and listen to the girl playing Chopin and Grieg; or ride beside her over the yellow and purple moor; or lie coiled up at her feet as she sailed the _Annie Laurie_.

He began to suspect that he had taken a greater interest in her than he was aware of; he had grown accustomed to the sweet face, the musical voice, the little tricks of manner and expression which went to make up a charm which he now felt she certainly possessed. He looked round the carriage and sighed as if he missed something, as if something had gone out of his life.

They had been awfully good to him; they had in very truth played the part of the good Samaritan; and in his mind he compared these simple folk, buried in an out-of-the-way fis.h.i.+ng village, with some of his fas.h.i.+onable friends. Which of them would have nursed him as he had been nursed at The Cottage, would have treated him as one of the family, would have lavished upon him a regard nearly akin to affection? It was a hollow world, he thought, and he wished to Heaven he had been born in Shorne Mills, and got his living as a fisherman, putting in his spare time by looking after, say, the _Annie Laurie_!

He had wired to his man, and he found his rooms all ready for him. He wondered as he looked round the handsome and tastefully furnished sitting room, while Sparling helped him off with his coat, whether he should be able to afford to keep them up much longer.

"Any news, Sparling?" he asked. "Hope you've been all right," he added, in the pleasant and friendly way with which he always addressed those who did service for him.

"Thank you, my lord," said Sparling, "I've been very well; but I was much upset to hear of your lords.h.i.+p's accident, and very sorry you wouldn't let me come to you."

The man spoke with genuine sympathy and regret, for he was attached to Drake, and was fully convinced that he had the best, the handsomest, and the most desirable master in all England.

"Thanks; very much," said Drake; "but it was nothing to speak of, and there was no reason for dragging you down there. There wasn't any accommodation, to tell the truth, and you'd have moped yourself to death."

"You're looking very well, my lord--a little thinner, perhaps," said Sparling respectfully.

Drake sighed at the nave retort, then sighed unaccountably.

"Oh, I've done some fis.h.i.+ng, boating, and riding," he said, "and I'm pretty fit--fitter than I've been for some time. There's an awful pile of letters, I see."

"Yes, my lord; you told me not to send them on. Will your lords.h.i.+p dine at home to-night?"

Drake replied in the affirmative, had a bath, and changed, and sat down to one of the daintily prepared dinners which were the envy and despair of his bachelor friends. It was really an admirable little dinner; the claret was a famous one from the Anglemere cellars, and warmed to a nicety; the coffee was perfection; Sparling's ministrations left nothing to be desired; and yet Drake sank into his easy-chair after the meal with a sigh that was weary and wistful.

There had never been anything more than soup and a plain joint, with a pudding to follow, at the dinners at The Cottage; but the simple meal had been rendered a pleasant one by d.i.c.k's cheerful and boyish nonsense; and whenever Drake looked across the table, there had been Nell's sweet face opposite him, sometimes grave with a pensive thoughtfulness, at others all alight with merriment and innocent, girlish gayety.

His room to-night seemed very dull and lonely. It was strange; he had never been bored by his own society before; he had rather liked to dine alone, to smoke his cigarette with the evening paper across his knee or a book on the table beside him. He tried to read; but the carefully edited paper, with its brilliant articles, its catchy little paragraphs, and its sparkling gossip, didn't interest him in the least. He dropped it, and fell to wondering, to picturing, what they were doing at that precise moment at The Cottage. Mrs. Lorton, no doubt, was sitting in her high-backed chair reading the _Fas.h.i.+on Gazette_; d.i.c.k was lounging just outside the window, smoking a cigarette, mending his rod, and whistling the last comic song. And Nell--what was Nell doing? Perhaps she was playing softly one of the pieces he had grown fond of; or leaning half out of the window squabbling affectionately with the boy.

Or perhaps they were talking of him--Drake. Did they miss him? At the thought, he was reminded of the absurd song--"Will They Miss Me When I'm Gone?" And, with something like a blush for his sentimental weakness, as he mentally termed it, he sprang up and took his letters. They consisted mostly of bills and invitations. He chucked the first aside and glanced at the others; both were distasteful to him. He felt as if he should like to cut the world forever.

And yet that wouldn't do. Everybody would say that he was completely knocked over by the ruin of his prospects, and that he had run away. He couldn't stand that. He had always been accustomed to facing the music, however unpleasant it might be; and he would face it now. Besides, it would never do to sit there moping, and wis.h.i.+ng himself back at Shorne Mills; because that was just what he was doing.

He turned over the gilt-edged cards and the scented notes--there seemed to be a great many people in town, notwithstanding the deadness of the season--and he selected one from a certain Lady Northgate. She was an old friend of his, and she had written him a pretty little note, asking him to a reception for that night. It was just the little note which a thorough woman of the world would write to a man whom she liked, and who had struck a streak of bad luck. Most of Drake's acquaintances who were in town would be there; and it would be a good opportunity of facing the situation and accepting more or less sincere sympathy with a good grace.