Part 34 (1/2)
”Certainly,” said the squire with a smile, ”if your engagements permit.
I think we must all realise that you seek to carry your theory of life into practice.”
That was on Sat.u.r.day. The Cynic left by the early train this morning, and he had no sooner gone than the post brought me a letter from Rose.
It was short and sweet--very sweet indeed.
”MY DEAR GRACE,
”Congratulate me! I am engaged to be married to the best of men, _not excepting your Cynic_. You will blame me for keeping it quiet, but how can I tell what is going to happen beforehand? Besides, you don't tell me!
”I am to marry my chief, who is henceforward to be known to you and me as 'Stephen.' He is two or three years older than I am; good-looking, of course, or he wouldn't have appealed to me, and over head and ears in love with
”Your very affectionate and somewhat intoxicated
”ROSE.
”PS.--He has known your Cynic for years, but he (I mean your Cynic) is too good a sportsman to spoil the fun.
”PPS.--It is a beautiful ring--diamonds!”
I am delighted to think that Rose is so happy, and can excuse the brevity of the communication under the circ.u.mstances. But I _am_ surprised. I never dreamed that her chief was young and unmarried.
Why she should always say ”your” Cynic, however, and underline it, too, I cannot understand. I wish ...
CHAPTER XXIX
THE GREAT STORM
My book is nearly full, and I do not think I shall begin another, for my time is likely to be fully occupied now. But I must set down the events of the last week-end and tell of the wonderful climacteric that I have pa.s.sed through. Then the curtain may be allowed to fall on my unimportant experiences.
They have not been unimportant to me, and my recent adventures have provided sufficient excitement to keep the tongues of the villagers busy for months.
Incidentally I have discovered that Windyridge does not belie its name, but that the storm fiend makes it the stage for some of his most outrageous escapades.
We had samples of all the different kinds of weather England provides last week--rain, snow, sleet, light breezes, fleecy clouds sailing slowly across the blue, dull and threatening times when the skies were leaden.
Sat.u.r.day was the gloomiest day of all. It was gusty from the beginning, but until the afternoon the wind was only sportive, and contented itself with rude schoolboy pranks. By five o'clock, however, its mood had changed and its force increased fourfold, and by six o'clock it had cast off all restraint and become a tempest.
Whilst I remained in the Hall I hardly realised its fury, for the house is well built and s.h.i.+elded from the full force of the northerly winds.
It was when I ventured out to visit Martha Treffit soon after dinner that I became aware of it.
The squire had left the table with a severe headache, and retired to his own room where, with drawn blinds and absolute quietude, he usually finds ease, and I was left to my own devices and the tender mercies of the Cynic, when he should arrive.
But his train was not due until eight, and it would take him a good thirty minutes to walk from the station, so I had more than an hour at my disposal, and I was anxious to find out how little Lucy was progressing. She had been under the care of the doctor for several days, and was still in bed and very feverish.
I put on my ulster, wound a wrap about my head, and stepped out on to the drive, and it was then that I became aware of the raging elements around me.
The wind blew bitingly from the north, charged with smarting pellets of sleet. I had known strong winds before, but never anything like this.
It howled and roared, it hissed and shrieked; it was as much as I could do to force my way forward against the pressure of its onrush; but though my head was bent I saw that every bush and shrub was shaken as by some gigantic t.i.tan, and that the tall and naked trees swayed towards me with groans that sounded human and ominous.