Part 53 (1/2)
”We be just walking round the parishes to show ourselves a bit,” said Tim. ”First we het across to Delborough, then athwart to here, and from here we go to Rubdown and Millshot, and then round by the cross-roads home. Home says I, but it won't be that long! We be off next month.”
”Indeed. Where to?”
Tim informed him that they were going to New Zealand. Not but that he would have been contented with Hintock, but his wife was ambitious and wanted to leave, so he had given way.
”Then good-by,” said Fitzpiers; ”I may not see you again.” He shook hands with Tim and turned to the bride. ”Good-by, Suke,” he said, taking her hand also. ”I wish you and your husband prosperity in the country you have chosen.” With this he left them, and hastened on to his appointment.
The wedding-party re-formed and resumed march likewise. But in restoring his arm to Suke, Tim noticed that her full and blooming countenance had undergone a change. ”Holloa! me dear--what's the matter?” said Tim.
”Nothing to speak o',” said she. But to give the lie to her a.s.sertion she was seized with lachrymose twitches, that soon produced a dribbling face.
”How--what the devil's this about!” exclaimed the bridegroom.
”She's a little wee bit overcome, poor dear!” said the first bridesmaid, unfolding her handkerchief and wiping Suke's eyes.
”I never did like parting from people!” said Suke, as soon as she could speak.
”Why him in particular?”
”Well--he's such a clever doctor, that 'tis a thousand pities we sha'n't see him any more! There'll be no such clever doctor as he in New Zealand, if I should require one; and the thought o't got the better of my feelings!”
They walked on, but Tim's face had grown rigid and pale, for he recalled slight circ.u.mstances, disregarded at the time of their occurrence. The former boisterous laughter of the wedding-party at the groomsman's jokes was heard ringing through the woods no more.
By this time Fitzpiers had advanced on his way to the top of the hill, where he saw two figures emerging from the bank on the right hand.
These were the expected ones, Grace and Marty South, who had evidently come there by a short and secret path through the wood. Grace was m.u.f.fled up in her winter dress, and he thought that she had never looked so seductive as at this moment, in the noontide bright but heatless sun, and the keen wind, and the purplish-gray ma.s.ses of brushwood around.
Fitzpiers continued to regard the nearing picture, till at length their glances met for a moment, when she demurely sent off hers at a tangent and gave him the benefit of her three-quarter face, while with courteous completeness of conduct he lifted his hat in a large arc.
Marty dropped behind; and when Fitzpiers held out his hand, Grace touched it with her fingers.
”I have agreed to be here mostly because I wanted to ask you something important,” said Mrs. Fitzpiers, her intonation modulating in a direction that she had not quite wished it to take.
”I am most attentive,” said her husband. ”Shall we take to the wood for privacy?”
Grace demurred, and Fitzpiers gave in, and they kept the public road.
At any rate she would take his arm? This also was gravely negatived, the refusal being audible to Marty.
”Why not?” he inquired.
”Oh, Mr. Fitzpiers--how can you ask?”
”Right, right,” said he, his effusiveness shrivelled up.
As they walked on she returned to her inquiry. ”It is about a matter that may perhaps be unpleasant to you. But I think I need not consider that too carefully.”
”Not at all,” said Fitzpiers, heroically.
She then took him back to the time of poor Winterborne's death, and related the precise circ.u.mstances amid which his fatal illness had come upon him, particularizing the dampness of the shelter to which he had betaken himself, his concealment from her of the hards.h.i.+ps that he was undergoing, all that he had put up with, all that he had done for her in his scrupulous considerateness. The retrospect brought her to tears as she asked him if he thought that the sin of having driven him to his death was upon her.