Not because I was in love with her; only because I had left her in distress.
Beyond the spring, and within a short distance of the river, I saw a lady advancing towards me on the path which led from the mill.
Brisk, smiling, tripping along like a young girl, behold the mock-republican, known in our neighborhood as Lady Rachel! She held out both hands to me. But for her petticoats, I should have thought I had met with a jolly young man.
"I have been wandering in your glorious wood, Mr. Roylake. Anything to escape the respectable classes on Sunday, patronizing piety on the way to afternoon church. I must positively make a sketch of the cottage by the mill--I mean, of course, the picturesque side of it. That fine girl of Toller's was standing at the door. She is really handsomer than ever. Are you going to see her, you wicked man? Which do you admire--that gypsy complexion, or Lena's lovely skin? Both, I have no doubt, at your age. Good-bye."
When we had left each other, I thought of the absent Captain in the Navy who was Lady Rachel's husband. He was a perfect stranger--but I put myself in his place, and felt that I too should have gone to sea.
Old Toller was alone in his kitchen, evidently annoyed and angry.
"We are all at sixes and sevens, Mr. Gerard. I've had another row with that deaf-devil--my new name for him, and I think it's rather clever. He swears, sir, that he won't go at the end of his week's notice. Says, if I think I'm likely to get rid of him before he has married Cristy, I'm mistaken. Threatens, if any man attempts to take her away, he'll shoot her, and shoot the man, and shoot himself. Aha! old as I am, if he believes he's going to have it all his own way, he's mistaken. I'll be even with him. You mark my words: I'll be even with him."
That old Toller--the most exasperating of men, judged by a quick temper--had irritated my friend into speaking rashly was plain enough. Nevertheless, I felt some anxiety (jealous anxiety, I am afraid) about Cristel. After looking round the kitchen again, I asked where she was.
"Sitting forlorn in her bedroom, crying," her father told me. "I went out for a walk by the river, and I sat down, and (being Sunday) I fell asleep. When I woke, and got home again just now, that was how I found her. I don't like to hear my girl crying; she's as good as gold and better. No, sir; our deaf-devil is not to blame for this. He has given Cristy no reason to complain of him. She says so herself--and she never told a lie yet."
"But, Mr. Toller," I objected, "something must have happened to distress her. Has she not told you what it is?"
"Not she! Obstinate about it. Leaves me to guess. It's clear to my mind, Mr. Gerard, that somebody has got at her in my absence, and said something to upset her. You will ask me who the person is. I can't say I have found that out yet."
"But you mean to try?"
"Yes; I mean to try."
He answered me with little of the energy which generally distinguished him. Perhaps he was fatigued, or perhaps he had something else to think of. I offered a suggestion.
"When we are in want of help," I said, "we sometimes find it, nearer than we had ventured to expect--at our own doors."
The ancient miller rose at that hint like a fish at a fly.
"Gloody!" he cried.
"Find him at once, Mr. Toller."
He hobbled to the door--and looked round at me. "I've got burdens on my mind," he explained, "or I should have thought of it too." Having done justice to his own abilities, he bustled out. In less than a minute, he was back again in a state of breathless triumph. "Gloody has seen the person," he announced; "and (what do you think, sir?) it's a woman!"
I beckoned to Gloody, waiting modestly at the door, to come in, and tell me what he had discovered.
"I saw her outside, sir--rapping at the door here, with her parasol." That was the servant's report.
Her parasol? Not being acquainted with the development of dress among female servants in England, I asked if she was a lady. There seemed to be no doubt of it in the man's mind. She was also, as Gloody supposed, a person whom he had never seen before.
"How is it you are not sure of that?" I said.
"Well, sir, she was waiting to be let in; and I was behind her, coming out of the wood."
"Who let her in?"
"Miss Cristel." His face brightened with an expression of interest when he mentioned the miller's daughter. He went on with his story without wanting questions to help him. "Miss Cristel looked like a person surprised at seeing a stranger--what I should call a free and easy stranger. She walked in, sir, as if the place belonged to her."
I am not suspicious by nature, as I hope and believe. But I began to be reminded of Lady Rachel already.
"Did you notice the lady's dress?" I asked.
A woman who had seen her would have been able to describe every morsel of her dress from head to foot. The man had only observed her hat; and all he could say was that he thought it "a smartish one."
"Any particular color?" I went on.
"Not that I know of. Dark green, I think."
"Any ornament in it?"
"Yes! A purple feather."
The hat I had seen on the head of that hateful woman was now sufficiently described--for a man. Sly old Toller, leaving Gloody unnoticed, and keeping his eye on me, saw the signs of conviction in my face, and said with his customary audacity: "Who is she?"
I followed, at my humble distance, the example of Sir Walter Scott, when inquisitive people asked him if he was the author of the Waverley Novels. In plain English, I denied all knowledge of the stranger wearing the green hat. But, I was naturally desirous of discovering next what Lady Rachel had said; and I asked to speak with Cristel. Her far-seeing father might or might not have perceived a chance of listening to our conversation. He led me to the door of his daughter's room; and stood close by, when I knocked softly, and begged that she would come out.
The tone of the poor girl's voice--answering, "Forgive me, sir; I can't do it"--convicted the she-socialist (as I thought) of merciless conduct of some sort. Assuming this conclusion to be the right one, I determined, then and there, that Lady Rachel should not pass the doors of Trimley Deen again. If her bosom-friend resented that wise act of severity by leaving the house, I should submit with resignation, and should remember the circumstance with pleasure.
"I am afraid you are ill, Cristel?" was all I could find to say, under the double disadvantage of speaking through a door, and having a father listening at my side.
"Oh no, Mr. Gerard, not ill. A little low in my mind, that's all. I don't mean to be rude, sir--pray be kinder to me than ever! pray let me be!"
I said I would return on the next day; and left the room with a sore heart.
Old Toller highly approved of my conduct. He rubbed his fleshless hands, and whispered: "You'll get it out of Cristy to-morrow, and I'll help you."
I found Gloody waiting for me outside the cottage. He was anxious about Miss Cristel; his only excuse, he told me, being the fear that she might be ill.