Part 26 (1/2)

'And you,' said Lily, throwing her arms about her neck, 'are my own Aunt Becky, the greatest darling in the world!' And so, as John Bunyan says, 'the water stood in their eyes,' and they both laughed, and then they kissed, and loved one another the better. That was the way their little quarrels used always to end.

'Well, doctor, we must only do what we can,' said Aunt Becky, looking gravely on the physician: 'and I don't see why _you_ should not read--you can lend us a prayer-book, darling--just a collect or two, and the Lord's Prayer--eh?'

'Why, my dear Ma'am, the fellow's howling about King Lewis and the American Indians, Dominick says, and ghosts and constables, and devils, and worse things, Madam, and--pooh--punch and laudanum's his only chance; don't mind the prayer-book, Miss Lily--there's no use in it, Mistress Chattesworth! I give you my honour, Ma'am, he could not make head or tale of it.'

In fact, the doctor was terrified lest Aunt Rebecca should compel him to officiate, and he was thinking how the fellows at the club, and the Aldermen of Skinner's-alley, would get hold of the story, and treat the subject less gravely than was desirable.

So Aunt Becky, with Lily's leave, called in Dominick, to examine him touching the soundness of Pat Doolan's mind, and the honest footman had no hesitation in p.r.o.nouncing him wholly _non compos_.

'Pleasant praying with a chap like that, by Jove, as drunk as an owl, and as mad as a March hare! my dear Ma'am,' whispered Toole to Lilias.

'And, Lily dear', there's poor Gertrude all alone--'twould be good natured in you to go up and drink a dish of tea with her; but, then, you're cold--you're afraid?'

She was not afraid--she had been out to-day--and it had done her all the good in the world, and it was very good of Aunt Becky to think of it, for she was lonely too: and so off went the elder Miss Chattesworth, with her doctor and Dominick, in their various moods, on their mission of mercy; and Lily sent into the town for the two chairmen, Peter Brian and Larry Foy, the two-legged ponies, as Toole called them.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

NARRATING HOW MISS LILIAS VISITED BELMONT, AND SAW A STRANGE c.o.c.kED-HAT IN THE SHADOW BY THE WINDOW.

At that time, in every hall of gentility, there stood a sedan-chair, the property of the lady of the house; and by the time the chairmen had arrived and got the poles into their places, and trusty John Tracy had got himself into his brown surtout, trimmed with white lace, and his cane in his hand--(there was no need of a lantern, for the moon shone softly and pleasantly down)--Miss Lilias Walsingham drew her red riding hood about her pretty face, and stepped into the chair; and so the door shut, the roof closed in, and the young lady was fairly under weigh. She had so much to think of, so much to tell about her day's adventure, that before she thought she had come half the way, they were flitting under the shadows of the poplars that grew beside the avenue; and, through the window, she saw the hospitable house spreading out its white front as they drew near, and opening its wings to embrace her.

The hall-door stood half open, though it had been dark some time; and the dogs came down with a low growl, and plenty of sniffing, which forthwith turned into a solemn wagging of tails, for they were intimate with the chairmen, and with John Tracy, and loved Lilias too. So she got out in the hall, and went into the little room at the right, and opening the door of the inner and larger one--there was no candle there, and 'twas nearly dark--saw Gertrude standing by the window which looked out on the lawn toward the river. That side of the house was in shade, but she saw that the window was thrown up, and Gertrude, she thought, was looking toward her, though she did not move, until she drew nearer, wondering why she did not approach, and then, pausing in a kind of unpleasant doubt, she heard a murmured talking, and plainly saw the figure of a man, with a cloak, it seemed, wrapped about him, and leaning from outside, against the window-sill, and, as she believed, holding Gertrude's hand.

The thing that impressed her most was the sharp outline of the c.o.c.ked-hat, with the corners so peculiarly pinched in, and the feeling that she had never seen that particular hat before in the parish of Chapelizod.

Lily made a step backward, and Gertrude instantly turned round, and seeing her, uttered a little scream.

''Tis I, Gertrude, darling--Lily--Lily Walsingham,' she said, perhaps as much dismayed as Gertrude herself; 'I'll return in a moment.'

She saw the figure, outside, glide hurriedly away by the side of the wall.

'Lily--Lily, darling; no, don't go--I did not expect you;' and Gertrude stopped suddenly, and then as suddenly said--

'You are very welcome, Lily;' and she drew the window down, and there was another pause before she said--'Had not we better go up to the drawing-room, and--and--Lily darling, you're very welcome. Are you better?'

And she took little Lily's hand, and kissed her.

Little Lilias all this time had said nothing, so entirely was she disconcerted. And her heart beat fast with a kind of fear: and she felt Gertrude's cold hand tremble she fancied in hers.

'Yes, darling, the drawing-room, certainly,' answered Lily. And the two young ladies went up stairs holding hands, and without exchanging another word.

'Aunt Becky has gone some distance to see a sick pensioner; I don't expect her return before an hour.'

'Yes--I know--and she came, dear Gertrude, to see me; and I should not have come, but that she asked me, and--and----'

She stopped, for she was speaking apologetically, like an intruder, and she was shocked to feel what a chasm on a sudden separated them, and oppressed with the consciousness that their old mutual girlish confidence was dead and gone; and the incident of the evening, and Gertrude's changed aspect, and their changed relations, seemed a dreadful dream.