Part 19 (1/2)

”I am so sorry!” she said; ”I am so sorry. Oh, why is everything so hard! Joost, dear Joost, you must not mind; I am not half good enough for you; I'm not, indeed. Please forget me and--let me go.”

And with that she turned and fled into the house.

The maidservant in the kitchen was minding the pots; it still wanted some while to dinner time; she did not expect the English miss would come yet, probably not till it was necessary to dish up. The letter, of course, would have occupied her some time; she had gone out probably to meet the writer--the maid never for a moment doubted him to be the sharer of yesterday's escapade. She heard Julia come in, and judged the meeting to have been a pleasant one, as it had taken time.

She had gone up-stairs now, doubtless to pack her things; that would occupy her till almost dinner time.

It did, for she did not begin directly, but sat on her bed instead, doing nothing for a time. But when she did begin, she went to work methodically, folding garments with care and packing them neatly; her heart ached for Joost and for the tangle things were in, but that did not prevent her attending to details when she once set to work. At last she had everything done, even her hat and coat ready to put on when dinner should be over. Then, after a final glance round to see that she had left nothing but the charred fragments of Rawson-Clew's letter, she went down-stairs and got the dinner ready.

She did not take her meal with the family, but again had it in the little room. She brought the dishes to and fro from the kitchen, however, so she pa.s.sed close to Joost once or twice and saw his grave face and serious blue eyes, as she had seen them every day since her first coming. And when she looked at him, and saw him, his appearance, his small mannerisms, himself in fact, a voice inside her cried down the aching pity, saying, ”I could not do it, I could not do it!” But when she was alone in the little room with the door shut between, the pity grew strong again till it almost welled up in tears. Poor Joost!

Poor humble, earnest, unselfish Joost! That he should care so, that he should have set his hopes on her, his star--a will-o'-wisp of devious ways! That he should ache for this unworthy cause, and for it shut his eyes to the homely happiness which might have been his!

She rose quickly and went up-stairs to get her hat and jacket. Soon after, the carriage, which she had extravagantly ordered, came, and she called the servant to help her down with her luggage. They got it down the narrow staircase between them and into the hall; Julia glanced back at the white marble kitchen for the last time, and at the dim little sitting-room. Vrouw Van Heigen was there, very much absorbed in crochet; but she had left the door ajar so that she might know when Julia went, and that must have occupied a prominent place in her mind, for she made a mistake at every other st.i.tch.

”Good-bye, Mevrouw,” Julia said.

Vrouw Van Heigen grunted; she remembered what was due to herself and propriety.

”And, oh,” Julia looked back to say as she remembered it, ”don't forget that last lot of peach-brandy we made, it was not properly tied down; you ought to look at the covers some time this week.”

”Ah, yes,” said the old lady, forgetting propriety, ”thank you, thank you, I'll see to it; it will never do to have that go; such fine peaches too.”

Then Julia went out and got into the carriage. Mijnheer was in his office; he did not think it quite right to come to see her start either; all the same he came to the door to tell the driver to be careful not to go on the gra.s.s. Joost came also and looked over his father's shoulder, and Julia, who had been amused at Vrouw Van Heigen, suddenly forgot this little amus.e.m.e.nt again.

Joost left his father. ”I will tell the man,” he said. ”I will go after him too and shut the gate; it grows late for it to be open.”

The carriage had already started, and he had to hurry after it; even then he did not catch it up till it was past the bend of the drive.

Then the man saw him and pulled up, though it is doubtful if he got any order or, indeed, any word. Julia had been looking back, but from the other side; and because she had been looking back and remembering much happiness and simplicity here, she was so grieved for one at least who dwelt here that her eyes were full of tears.

Joost saw them when, on the stopping of the carriage, she turned. ”Do not weep,” he said; ”you must not weep for me.”

”I am so sorry,” she said; ”so dreadfully sorry!”

”But you must not be,” he told her; ”there is no need.”

”There is every need; you have been so kind to me, so good; you have almost taught me--though you don't know it--some goodness too, and in return I have brought you nothing but sadness.”

”Ah, yes, sadness,” he said; ”but gladness too, and the gladness is more than the sadness. Would you not sooner know the fine even though you cannot attain to it, than be content with the little all your life? I would, and it is that which you have given me. It is I who give nothing--”

He hesitated as if for a moment at a loss, and she had no words to fill in the pause.

”Will you take this?” he said, half thrusting something forward. ”It is, perhaps, not much to some, but I would like you to have it; it seems fitting; I think I owe it to you, and you to it.”

”Oh, yes, yes,” she murmured, hardly hearing and not grasping the last words; there was something choking in her throat; it was this strange, humble, disinterested love, so new to her, which brought it there and prevented her from understanding.

She stretched out her hands, and he put something into them; then he stepped back, and the carriage drove on. It was not till the gateway was pa.s.sed that she realised what it was she held--a small bag made of the greyish-brown paper used on a bulb farm; inside, a single bulb; and outside, written, according to the invariable custom of growers--

”Narcissus Triandrus Azureum Vrouw Van Heigen.”

CHAPTER XI