Part 17 (1/2)

Frank was moved to the quick. He was of a rather pa.s.sionate temper and he felt nothing but contempt for the person who had made this remark. ”I have not been,” he said hotly, ”I have been about my business.”

”I thought that perhaps you had been crying there,” she continued with the same irritating smile on her features.

Frank answered: ”I might have done worse.”

”Who would think that of a man of twenty-one,” she said. ”Of course, you do not care for your poor father; your mother gets all the tears.”

Frank quite forgot himself. He looked at her defiantly and said in a low tone half fearing and yet wis.h.i.+ng to be heard: ”You are a Jezabel,” then turned round and left the room.

When he came to think over the last words which he had used towards his step-mother, he felt ashamed of himself. He felt he had not behaved as a man, much less as a Christian. He had gone much too far; he owed her respect.

He thought of going straight to her, and of asking her pardon, but his pride prevented him from taking this wise step. Only for a minute, however; he soon overcame it and resolutely re-entered the room where Mrs. Mathers was.

”I was very rude to you,” he began, ”I was rather excited, and----”

Without saying a word Mrs. Mathers left the room and, slamming the door after her, proceeded upstairs.

Frank felt relieved. He had attempted a reconciliation. She had refused. He felt a sense of duty done.

We may add that Mrs. Mathers pouted for more than a week.

The second anniversary of his father's death having arrived, Frank, profiting by his step-mother's absence, took a small bunch of sweet scented flowers and proceeded towards the Foulon Cemetery, where his parents were buried.

As he was about to open the gate, he thought he saw the form of a lady which he knew, coming down the road after him. He arrested his steps. The young lady stopped likewise, as if to examine the cottage situated on her left, and, in doing so, she turned her back towards Frank.

He did not stay there long, but proceeded up the gravel walk towards the grave, but as he advanced, he thought no more of his mission.

”Where have I seen that face?” he thought, ”it seems familiar to me.”

He was now beside the grave, he placed the flowers near the tombstone, but his thoughts were not with the dead, they were with the living.

All at once, it flashed upon him, he remembered that person. That form, that face, belonged to Adele Rougeant.

He hastily left the graveyard and almost ran down the walk.

One of the two persons who were standing near the gate said: ”That man has seen a ghost.”

Frank smiled as he overheard the remark, and, thinking that the young lady had proceeded past the gate, he went in that direction.

He walked for a quarter of an hour, but neither saw her nor anyone resembling her. At last, he gave up the chase in despair. ”I must have construed wrongly,” he said to himself, ”perhaps the person who was standing near the entrance to the cemetery was right, it was her ghost.” He mournfully retraced his steps.

It was really Adele Rougeant that he had seen. She was returning from town, when, instead of going straight home by St. Martin's mill, she went up the Grange, took a peep at her former home, then proceeded by the Rocquettes down the Rohais. Why; the lady readers will easily guess.

She espied Frank, just as he was turning down Foulon Vale.

He was so intent on his mission that he did not notice her.

As soon as she saw his eager look and the bunch of flowers which he carried in his hands, a feeling of exasperating jealousy seized her.

Where was he going with those flowers? ”Alas!” she thought bitterly, ”he has a rendezvous with some pretty la.s.s. I will follow him and ascertain, if possible, the truth.”