Part 66 (1/2)

”What, than marry him?”

”Yes, than marry this dreadful man.”

”Then--then,” whispered the woman, after withdrawing her head to gaze back, ”I feel that I dursn't, and p'raps he'll kill me for it--not as I seem to mind much, and mother would soon get over it, for I ain't o' no use--but I think I will try and help you. You want to get away?”

In her wild feeling of joy and excitement, Kate sprang toward the door, and she would have flung her arms round the unhappy woman's neck. But before she could reach her the head was s.n.a.t.c.hed back, and the fastening gave a loud snap, while when she opened it, Becky had disappeared and her mother was coming up the stairs to fetch the breakfast tray.

”And not touched a bit, my dear,” said the housekeeper, with a reproachful shake of the head. ”Now you must, you know; you must, indeed. And do let me advise you, my dear. Mr Garstang is such a good man, and so indulgent, and it's really naughty of you to be so foolish as to oppose his wishes.”

Kate turned upon her with a look that astounded the woman, who stood with parted lips, breathless, while a piece of bread was broken from the loaf on the tray, and a cup of tea poured out and placed aside.

”Take away that tray,” said Kate, imperiously; ”and remember your place.

Never presume to speak to me again like that.”

”No, ma'am--certainly not, ma'am,” said the woman, hastily. ”I beg your pardon, ma'am, I am sure.”

”Leave the room, and do not come again until I ring.”

”My!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the woman, as soon as she was on the landing, ”to think of such a gentle-looking little thing being able to talk like that!

P'raps master's caught a tartar now.”

There was a gleam of hope, then, after all. Poor Becky was not the vacant idiot she had always appeared. Kate felt that she had made one friend, and trembling with eagerness she went to the writing-table and wrote quickly a few lines to Jenny Leigh, briefly explaining her position, and begging her to lay the matter before her brother and ask his help and advice.

This she inclosed and directed, and then sat gazing before her, conjuring the scene to follow at the cottage, and the indignation of Leigh. And as she thought, the warm blood tinged her pale cheeks once more, and she covered her face with her hands, to sit there sobbing for a few minutes before slowly tearing up the letter till the fragments were too small ever to be found and read by one curious to know their contents.

Gladly as she would have seen Pierce Leigh appear and insist upon her taking refuge with his sister, she felt that she could not send such an appeal to those who were comparative strangers; and though she would not own to it even to herself, she felt that there were other reasons why she could not write.

An hour of intense mental agony and dread pa.s.sed, and she had to strive hard to keep down the terrible feeling of panic which nearly mastered her, and tempted her to rush down the stairs to try once more to escape, or to go to one of the front windows, throw it open, and shriek for help.

”It would be an act of madness,” she sighed, as she recalled Garstang's words respecting the sick lady. ”And they would believe him!” she cried, while the feeling of helplessness grew and grew as she felt how thoroughly she was in Garstang's power.

Then came the thought of her aunt and uncle, her natural protectors, and she determined to write to them. James Wilton would fetch her away at once, for he was her guardian; and surely now, she told herself, she was woman enough to insist upon proper respect being paid to her wishes.

She could set at defiance any of her cousin's advances; and her conduct in leaving showed itself up in its strongest colours, as being cowardly--the act of a child.

With a fresh display of energy she wrote to her aunt, detailing everything, and bidding her--not begging--to tell her uncle to come to her rescue at once. But no sooner was the letter written than she felt that her aunt would behave in some weak, foolish way, and there would be delay.

She tore up that letter slowly, and after hiding the pieces, she sat there thinking again, with her brow wrinkled, and the look of agony in her face intensifying.

”I have right on my side. He is my guardian, and he dare not act otherwise than justly by me. I am no longer the weak child now.”

And once more she took paper, and wrote this time to James Wilton himself, telling him that Garstang had lured her away by the promise of protection, but had shown himself in the vilest colours at last.

”He must--he shall protect me,” she said, exultantly, and she hastily directed the letter.

But as she sat there with the letter in her hand, she shrank and trembled. For in vivid colours her imagination painted before her the trouble and persecution to which she would expose herself. She knew well enough what were James Wilton's aims, and that situated as he was, he would stand at nothing to gain them. It was in vain she told herself that anything would be preferable to staying there at John Garstang's mercy, the horror of rus.h.i.+ng headlong back to her guardian, and the thoughts of his triumphant looks as he held her tightly once again, proved too much for her, and this letter was slowly torn up and the pieces hidden.

As she sat there, with every nerve on the rack, a strange feeling of faintness came over her, and she started up in horror at the idea of losing her senses, and being at this man's mercy. And as she walked hurriedly to and fro, trembling as she felt the faintness increasing, some relief came, for she grasped the fact that her faintness was due to want of food, and it was past mid-day.

There was the bread close at hand, though, and turning to it she began to crumble up the pieces and to eat, though it was only with the greatest difficulty that she accomplished her task.