The Solitary Farm Part 13

"Cyril, will you leave me? Won't you kiss----"

"There's nothing more to say," said Lister, now deadly pale, and walked abruptly out of the dim room. Bella fell back in the chair and wept. All was over.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WITCH-WIFE

The interview between the engaged lovers had been a strange one, and not the least strange part was the termination. Apparently, after hearing the description of the mysterious double given by Bella, her lover could have explained much--at least, she gathered this from the hints his broken conversation gave. After his departure, she sat weeping, until it struck her sensible nature how very foolish she was to waste time in idle regrets. Whether Cyril felt so mortally offended by her doubts as to regard the engagement at an end, she could not say. But after some thought she believed that her remarks had given him a clue which he had left thus abruptly to follow up. Sooner or later he would return to explain, and then all would be well between them.

And in spite of his odd behaviour, she had one great consolation in knowing that he was innocent. His denial of guilt had been so strong; the _alibi_ he set forth was so easy of proof, and so impossible of invention, that she blamed herself sincerely for ever having doubted the young man. Nevertheless, considering the weird circ.u.mstances, and the fact of the likeness of the double--whomsoever he might be--to her lover, she could scarcely regard herself as having been foolish. Nine people out of ten would have made the same mistake, and would have harboured similar doubts. Certainly, seeing that she loved Cyril devotedly, she should have been the tenth; but in the hour of trial her faith had proved very weak. She tried to remind herself that she had never really believed him to be guilty. All the same, recalling the late conversation, she had to recognise that her words could have left very little doubt in Lister's mind as to the fact that she believed him to be a robber and an a.s.sa.s.sin. Well, if she had, surely she had been severely punished, as was only fair.

Mrs. Coppersley returned from the funeral in a very chastened frame of mind, and in the company of Henry Vand, whom she had bidden to tea. The table was furnished forth with funeral baked meats, after the fas.h.i.+on of Hamlet's mother's wedding, and Mr. Vand did full justice to them--wonderful justice, considering his apparently delicate const.i.tution. He was not very tall, and remarkably handsome, with his young, clean-shaven face, his large, blue eyes, and his curly, golden hair. His body was well-shaped all save the right foot, which was twisted and the leg of which was shorter than the other. Like Talleyrand and Lord Byron, the young man was club-footed, but otherwise had a very attractive personality. From his delicate fingers, it could be seen that he was a musician, and he had an air of refinement astonis.h.i.+ng in one of his breeding and birth. Bella did not like him much. Not that she had any fault to find with him; but his eyes were shallow, like those of a bird, and his conversation was dull, to say the least of it. The sole way in which he could converse was through his violin, and as he had not that with him on this occasion, Bella preferred to remain absent from the lavish tea-table. Mrs. Coppersley did not object, as she wanted her darling all to herself.

However, Mrs. Coppersley was very severe on her niece for not attending the funeral, and had many sweet things to say regarding virtues of the deceased which she had just discovered after his death. "He meant well, did poor, dear Jabez," sighed Mrs. Coppersley, over a cup of tea; "and if he did swear it was his calling that made him profane. Bella!"--her niece was standing at the door as she spoke--"to-morrow I'm going up to see the lawyer about the property."

"Oh, don't trouble about that," said Bella wearily; "no, thank you, Mr.

Vand, I don't care to eat. I feel too miserable."

"Not trouble about the property!" cried Mrs. Coppersley, paying no attention to the latter part of this speech; "but I do care. Things must be settled somehow. I must arrange my future life," and she cast a tender glance on the handsome musician. "Your future must be settled also."

"I shall look after that," said Bella, not liking her aunt's tone.

"You had better be sharp, then," said Mrs. Coppersley, in a dictatorial manner, "for the sooner things are settled the better. I'm not young, and"--she cast a second tender glance on her swain, who was eating largely--"ah, well, its useless to talk of weddings when funerals are in the air. To-morrow evening, Bella, after I have seen the lawyer--and he lives in Cade Lane, London--I'll tell you what I have arranged."

Bella looked in astonishment at her aunt, who suddenly seemed to have acquired the late captain's tyrannical manner. Apparently Mrs.

Coppersley forgot--as Bella thought--that she would not inherit the solitary farm, and needed to be reminded of the fact that her niece was the mistress of Bleacres. In fact, Bella was on the point of saying as much, when she remembered that Vand was present. Not being anxious to discuss family matters in his presence--even though he was about to enter the family as Mrs. Coppersley's husband--she abruptly left the room. Mrs. Coppersley poured herself out a second cup of tea, and remarked in a high tone of satisfaction, that some people's noses were about to be brought to the grindstone.

Bella heard the remark as she put on her hat and walked out of the front door. It accentuated her lonely feeling, for she saw plainly now what she had long guessed,--that Aunt Rosamund had very little affection for her. The late captain also had never cared much for his daughter, and now that Cyril had vanished in an enigmatic manner, the poor girl felt more wretched than ever. Listlessly she walked down the narrow path as far as the boundary channel, and wondered how it would all end. Had she been a religious girl she might have sought comfort in prayer, but she knew very little about true religion, and did not care for the sort preached by Mr. Silas Pence in the Little Bethel at Marshely. As his name flashed into her mind, she looked up and saw him standing on the opposite side of the channel, so it was apparent--although she knew nothing about such things--that some telepathic communication had made her think of him. The preacher was in his usual dismal garb, and had accentuated the same by wearing black gloves and a black tie in place of his usual white one. Patience on a monument might have been taken as a type of Mr. Pence on this occasion, but he was not smiling on grief in the person of Miss Huxham. In fact he did not smile at all, being shocked to see her out of doors.

"Why are you not weeping in your chamber?" reproved Silas, in his most clerical manner; "the loss of so good a father----"

"You have doubtless said all you had to say on that subject at the funeral, Mr. Pence," retorted Bella, whose nerves were worn thin with worry; "spare me a repet.i.tion of such stale remarks."

It was a horribly rude speech, as she well knew. But Pence had a way of irritating her beyond all endurance, and the mere sight of him was sufficient to set her teeth on edge for the day. It was intolerable that he should intrude on her privacy now, when she particularly wished to be alone. She intimated as much by turning away with a displeased air, and walked for a short distance along the bank path leading to Mrs. Tunks'

hut. But Silas, absolutely ignorant of the feminine nature, and entirely devoid of diplomacy, persisted in thrusting his company upon her. Bella turned sharply, when she heard Silas breathing hard behind her, and spoke with marked indignation.

"I wish to be alone, if you please," she declared, flus.h.i.+ng.

"Ah, no; ah, no," remonstrated Pence, stupidly. "Allow me to comfort you."

"You cannot," she retorted, marvelling at his density.

"Allow me to try. I was on the point of calling at the house to----"

Bella interrupted him cruelly. "You can call there still, Mr. Pence, and my aunt will be glad to see you. She has Mr. Vand to tea, so you will find yourself in congenial company."

"Your company is congenial enough for me."

"That is very flattering, but I prefer to be alone."

Silas, however, declined to be shaken off, and his reproachful looks so exasperated Bella that she felt inclined to thrust him into the water.

And his speech was even more irritating than his manner. "Let me soothe you, my dear, broken-hearted sister," he pleaded in a sheep-like bleat.

"I don't want soothing. I am not broken-hearted, and I am not your sister."

Pence sighed. "This is very, very painful."

"It is," Bella admitted readily, "to me. Surely you are man enough, Mr.

Pence, to take a plain telling if you won't accept a hint. I want you to leave me at once, as I am not disposed to talk."

"If I had my way I would never, never leave you again."

"Perhaps; but, so far as I am concerned, you will not get your way."

"Why do you dislike me, Miss Huxham?"

"I neither like nor dislike you," she retorted, suppressing a violent inclination to scream, so annoying was this persecution. "You are nothing to me."

"I want to be something. I wish you to be my sealed fountain. Your late lamented father desired you to be my spouse."

"I am aware of that, Mr. Pence. But perhaps you will remember that I refused to marry you, the other day."

"You broke my heart then."

"Go and mend it then," cried Bella, furiously angry, and only too anxious to drive him away by behaving with aggressive rudeness.

"You alone can mend it." Pence dropped on his knees. "Oh, I implore you to mend it, my Hephzibah! You are to me a Rose of Sharon, a Lily of the Vale."

"Get up, sir, and don't make a fool of yourself."

"Oh, angel of my life, listen to me. Lately I was poor in this world's goods, but now I have gold. Marry me, and let us fly to far lands, and----"

"I thought you were desperately poor," said Bella, suspiciously; "where did you get the money?"

"An aged and G.o.d-fearing Christian aunt left it to me," said Pence, dropping his eyes. "It is a small sum, but----"

"One hundred pounds in gold, perhaps?"

Pence rose, as though moved by springs, and his thin white cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. "What do you mean?"

Bella could not have told herself what she meant at the moment. But it had suddenly occurred to her to try and rid herself of this burr by hinting that he had something to do with the robbery, if not with the murder. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances she would never have ventured to do this, being a kind-hearted girl; but Pence exasperated her so greatly that she was, on the impulse of the moment, prepared to go to any length to see the last of him. "I mean," she said, in reply to his last question, "that my father had one hundred pounds in gold in his safe."

"You accuse me of----"

"I accuse you of nothing," cried Bella, cutting him short and flaming up into a royal rage. "I am tired of your company and of your silly talk. I only wish that Mr. Lister would come along and throw you into the channel."