Part 20 (2/2)
”It is too good of you to include me. Wouldn't I like it!” cried Mr Rayner, with a smile which made him look quite young and boyish.
”September is lovely in Switzerland. The rush of tourists is over, and the autumn tints are wonderful. But we ought to get off as soon as possible. You will have to give up your week in bed, Miss Hilary!”
”I may as well give up bed altogether, I think, for I shall not sleep a wink for thinking of it. Oh, father dear, you are good! I drink to you!” And Hilary held up her teacup, bowing and smiling, and looking so bright and pretty that it was a pleasure to see her.
Well, it was a happy hour, and the memory of it remained all the more vividly because of the contrast which it afforded to the dark days which followed. At twelve o'clock the same evening, Mr Bertrand took up his candle and went the usual tour of inspection through the house. He peered into the drawing-room, fragrant with plants and cut blossoms, into the dining-room, where the village carpenters were already putting up the horse-shoe table; into the pantry, where the more valuable presents were locked away in the great iron safe. All was quiet and secure. He returned to his study, and was just settling down for a quiet read, when the sound of footsteps smote on his ear. He opened the door, and started back at the sight of a white figure which came floating towards him, with flowing locks and outstretched hands.
”What is it?--who is it? What is the matter?--_Lettice_!”
The next moment two arms were clasped round his neck; he felt the heaving of breathless sobs, and an agonised voice called on him by name--
”Oh, father, father! save me! save me! I can't go on! I can't marry him! My heart will break--!”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
BROKEN PLANS.
The light was still dim the next morning when Hilary woke with a start to find her father standing by her bedside. Even in the first sleepy glance she was struck by the pale distress of his face, and sat up hurriedly, pus.h.i.+ng back the hair from her face, and murmuring a confused ”What--what--what?”
”My dear, I am sorry to disturb you, but I need your help.” Mr Bertrand seated himself on the edge of the bed, and took the girl's hands in his. ”Hilary, a great trouble has come upon us. Lettice wishes to break off her engagement. She cannot bear the idea of marrying Arthur Newcome. There will be no wedding on Thursday as we expected.”
Hilary stared at him with dazed eyes. Her awakening from sleep had been so sudden, and the news was so overwhelming, that it was some moments before she could grasp its full meaning.
No wedding! But the preparations were made--everything was ready. It could not be stopped at the very last moment. She drew in her breath with a quick, frightened respiration:
”Oh, father! is it true? Is she _sure_? Does she really mean it?”
”I am afraid there is no doubt about that, Hilary. Now that she has summoned up courage to speak, she acknowledges that she has been unhappy all along. She is in great distress, as is only natural. Norah is with her. I put off disturbing you as long as I could, for you have had too much fatigue lately, but I need your help, dear. You must get up at once. We have some painful duties before us.”
”Oh, father--Arthur! What will he--how will you--?”
Mr Bertrand drew a sharp sigh. ”I have wired to him to stop all preparations, and come down himself by the early train. He will be here this afternoon. Poor fellow! he has been cruelly used. I am bitterly ashamed. I have told Mary to bring you up a breakfast tray at once, and here she comes; so eat as much as you can before you get up, and then come to me in my study. Be brave! Remember I rely on your help!”
”Yes, father,” said Hilary tremblingly; and the next moment Mary entered the room, her rosy face awed and frightened, her ready tongue silenced by the seriousness of the situation.
That breakfast seemed like a hideous nightmare to Hilary. Every moment brought a fresh pang of recollection. In every direction in which her eyes glanced, they lighted upon some object which accentuated her misery--the long dress box, in which the bridesmaids' finery lay ready for use; the pile of letters on the table; the hundred and one etceteras of preparation. Could it be possible that they were all for nothing-- that she must now set to work to undo the labour of weeks? And the misery of it all! the humiliation--the dreadful, dreadful publicity!
Hilary leapt out of bed in despair, unable to remain idle any longer, dressed with feverish rapidity, and ran downstairs to join her father.
As she reached the foot of the staircase, Mr Rayner came forward to meet her. Their hands met in a close, sympathetic grasp, but neither spoke during the moment that it lasted. Then came the sound of a heavy footstep on the tiled floor, and the village joiner crossed the hall on his way to complete the erection of the tables in the dining-room. He touched his cap to Hilary as he pa.s.sed, and the girl drew back, growing pale to her lips.
”Oh, he must be stopped! I can't do it. It is too dreadful!”
”Leave it to me. It's so seldom I can do anything--do let me help you now. Go to your father, and leave all this to me.” He led her forward, unresisting, to the study, where her father greeted her with an exclamation of relief.
”Ah, here you are, dear! Sit down. We must get to work at once on this wretched business. I have sent off notes already to the vicar and the curate, who will stop preparations at the church; the domestic arrangements I must leave to you; and there will be notes to write to all invited guests. Rayner will help, and Raymond also. I will draw up a form which you can copy, but the letters must go off by the afternoon post, so the sooner they are written the better. Newcome will be with us before many hours are over--”
He broke off with a sigh, which Hilary echoed from the depths of an aching heart.
”I will go at once and speak to the servants. I will set them to work to put the house in order, and hide all the preparations out of sight, and then come back here, and get the writing done first of all.”
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