Part 9 (1/2)

Thus engaged, she did not hear steps on the pathway by which she and Janetta had come. A man, young and slim, with a stoop and a slight halt in his walk, with bright, curling hair, worn rather longer than Englishmen usually wear it, with thin but expressive features, and very brilliant blue eyes--this was the personage who now appeared upon the scene. He stopped short rather suddenly when he became aware of the presence of a young lady upon the fence--perhaps it was to him a somewhat startling one: then, when he noted how she was engaged, a smile broke gradually over his countenance. He once made a movement to advance, then restrained himself and waited; but some involuntary rustle of the branches above him or twigs under his feet revealed him. Nora gave a little involuntary cry, dropped her looking-gla.s.s, and colored crimson with vexation at finding that some one was watching her.

”What ought I to do, I wonder?” Such was the thought that flashed through the young man's mind. He was remarkably quick in receiving impressions and in drawing conclusions. ”She is not a French girl, thank goodness, fresh from a convent, and afraid to open her lips! Neither is she the conventional young English lady, or she would not sit on a fence and look at herself in a pocket looking-gla.s.s. At least, I suppose she would not: how should I know what English girls would do? At any rate, here goes for addressing her.”

All these ideas pa.s.sed through his mind in the course of the second or two which elapsed while he courteously raised his hat, and advanced to pick up the fallen hand-gla.s.s. But Nora was too quick for him. She had slipped off the fence and secured her mirror before he could reach it; and then, with a look of quite unnecessary scorn and anger, she almost turned her back upon him, and stood looking at the one angle of the house which she could see.

The young man brushed his moustache to conceal a smile, and ventured on the remark that he had been waiting to make.

”I beg your pardon; I trust that I did not startle you.”

”Not at all,” said Nora, with dignity. But she did not turn round.

”If you are looking for the gate into the grounds,” he resumed, with great considerateness of manner, ”you will find it about twenty yards further to your left. Can I have the pleasure of showing you the way?”

”No, thank you,” said Miss Nora, very ungraciously. ”I am waiting for my sister.” She felt that some explanation was necessary to account for the fact that she did not immediately walk away.

”Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the young man once more, but this time in a rather disappointed tone. Then, brightening--”But if your sister has gone up to our house why won't you come in too?”

”_Your_ house?” said Nora, unceremoniously, and facing him with an air of fearless incredulity, which amused him immensely. ”But _you_ are not Mr. Brand?”

”My name is Brand,” said the young fellow, smiling the sunniest smile in the world, and again raising his hat, with what Nora now noticed to be a rather foreign kind of grace: ”and if you know it, I feel that it is honored already.”

Nora knitted her brows. ”I don't know what you mean,” she said, impatiently, ”but you are not Mr. Brand of the Hall, are you?”

”I live at the Hall, certainly, and my name is Brand--Cuthbert Brand, at your service.”

”Oh, I see. Not Wyvis Brand?” said Nora impulsively. ”Not the father of the dear little boy that we found here just now?”

Cuthbert Brand's fair face colored. He looked excessively surprised.

”The father--a little boy? I am afraid,” he said, with some embarra.s.sment of manner, ”that I do not exactly know what you mean----”

”It is just this,” said Nora, losing her contemptuous manner and coming closer to the speaker; ”when my sister and I were walking this way we saw a little boy lying here fast asleep. He woke up and told us that his name was Julian Wyvis Brand, and that his mother had left him here, and told him to find his father, who lived at that red house.”

”Good heavens! And the woman--what became of her?”

”The boy said she had gone away and would not come back.”

”I trust she may not,” muttered Cuthbert angrily to himself. A red flush colored his brow as he went on. ”My brother's wife,” he said formally, ”is not--at present--on very friendly terms with him; we did not know that she intended to bring the child home in this manner: we thought that she desired to keep it--where is the boy, by the way?”

”My sister has taken him up to the Hall. She said that she would see Mr.

Brand.”

Cuthbert raised his eyebrows. ”See my brother?” he repeated as if involuntarily. ”My brother!”

”She is his second cousin, you know: I suppose that gives her courage,”

said Nora smiling at the tone of horror which she fancied must be simulated for the occasion. But Cuthbert was in earnest--he knew Wyvis Brand's temper too well to antic.i.p.ate anything but a rough reception for any one who seemed inclined to meddle with his private affairs. And if Nora's sister were like herself! For Nora did not look like a person who would bear roughness or rudeness from any one.

”Then are you my cousin, too?” he asked, suddenly struck by an idea that sent a gleam of pleasure to his eye.

”Oh, no,” said Nora, demurely. ”I'm no relation. It is only Janetta--her mother was Mr. Brand's father's cousin. But that was not my mother--Janetta and I are stepsisters.”