Part 9 (1/2)
”Just one question, Janet, and I'll let you go. How did Lady Alwyn feel when Claude went away?”
”Oh, sir,” says Janet, ”she was far too proud to express her feelings to me in that way. You know, sir, when glad she always told me, but her sorrow she invariably kept to herself.”
”So, as she said nothing, you inferred she was unhappy?”
”For that reason I knew she was. Did I put in the diary, sir, that our poor boy, Claude, told me about his dream--consulted me ere he had that terrible interview with her ladys.h.i.+p?”
”Yes, yes, Janet, that is here.”
”Well, sir, it was first Fingal's going away, trotting so sad-like after his master, and _he_ never once looking back, and then the snow-bird going next. That, I think, nearly broke her heart. But oh, she was proud, sir.”
”She never owned her grief, then?”
”No, sir; but I've caught her often in tears, though she tried to hide them. She grew far more active than ever after that. She seemed to hate the very sight of indoors, and, wet day or dry day, she would be always out.”
”Doing good, doubtless?”
”Visiting the sick, sir; ay, and often sitting down sewing in a sick person's room. The neighbours noticed her grief. They all loved her, they all pitied her. But it was at night, I think, she suffered most.
Her room was next to mine, and it is often, often I've heard her pacing up and down the floor till nearly morning. On stormy nights, sir, when the wind was roaring round the old turrets, and howling in the trees then she would send for me.
”'Janet,' she would say, with her sad, beautiful smile, 'I cannot sleep to-night. You must read to me.'”
As Janet is now feeling in her pocket for her handkerchief, and tears are choking her utterance, I gently dismiss her, and go on writing.
”Yes, Meta,” replied Claude, ”and I often wonder too; but there is one thing that does give me joy, and that is this: she _knows_ I love her and am not really unfilial.”
Claude found Meta much more hopeful next day, and more happy. Sometimes she was almost gay.
”By-the-by, Claude,” she said, ”I've something to show you. You must promise to believe all I say.”
”Implicitly.”
”And not laugh at me?”
”Never a smile.”
”Well, follow me.”
Claude did.
She led him round to the back of the cottage, and there in a big aviary--evidently the work of Byarnie's hands--were seven great sea-birds.
”Now you're going to laugh,” cried Meta, with a warning finger.
”Well, no wonder. Such queer pets, Meta!”
”But they're not pets, Claude, though I love them. They are all going with you.”
”All going with me! Those funny old things! Ha! ha! ha! Forgive me, darling, I can't help it.”