Part 21 (2/2)
”I cannot see----”
”Pray stop, Nelly. Dont go on in that strain. It does no good; and it makes me very uncomfortable.”
”I'll take it out in work,” said Nelly calmly, returning to her ma.n.u.script. ”I can see that, as you say, talking does no good. All the more reason why I should have another try at earning my own living. When I become a great novelist I shall say what I like and do what I please.
For the present I am your obedient, humble servant.”
At any other time Marian would have protested, and explained, and soothed. Now she was too heavily preoccupied by her guilty conscience.
She strolled disconsolately to the window, and presently, seeing that Miss McQuinch was at work in earnest and had better not be disturbed, went off for a lonely walk. It was a glorious afternoon; and nature heaped its peculiar consolations on her; so that she never thought of returning until the sun was close to the horizon. As she came, tired, through the plantation, with the evening glow and the light wind, in which the branches were rustling and the leaves dropping, lulling her luxuriously, she heard some one striding swiftly along the path behind.
She looked back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could not see who was coming. Then it occurred to her that it might be Conolly.
Dreading to face him after what had happened, she stole aside among the trees a little way, and sat down on a stone, hoping that he might pa.s.s by without seeing her. The next moment he came round the curve, looking so resolute and vigorous that her heart became fainter as she watched him. Just opposite where she sat, he stopped, having a clear view of the path ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled. Marian held her breath. He looked to the left through the trees, then to the right, where she was.
”Good-evening, Miss Lind,” he said respectfully, raising his hat.
”Good-evening,” said she, trembling.
”You are not looking quite well.”
”I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. That is why I had to sit down. I shall be rested presently.”
Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. ”This is my last visit to Carbury Towers,” he said. ”No doubt you know that I am going for good.”
”Yes,” said Marian. ”I--I am greatly obliged to you for all the pains you have taken with me in the laboratory. You have been very patient. I suppose I have often wasted your time unreasonably.”
”No,” said Conolly, unceremoniously, ”you have not wasted my time: I never let anybody do that. My time belonged to Lord Carbury, not to myself. However, that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving you lessons. Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole obligation rests on me.”
”They were very pleasant.”
He s.h.i.+fted himself into an easier position, looking well pleased. Then he said, carelessly, ”Has Mr. Marmaduke Lind come down?”
Marian reddened and felt giddy.
”I want to avoid meeting him,” continued Conolly; ”and I thought perhaps you might know enough of his movements this evening to help me to do so.
It does not matter much; but I have a reason.”
Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she tried to speak; but she repressed it, and said:
”Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know before: I am sure you did not think I did. I made a dreadful mistake.”
”Why!” said Conolly, with some indignation, ”who has told you since?”
”Marmaduke,” said Marian, roused to reply quickly by the energy of the questioner. ”He did not mean to be indiscreet: he thought I knew.”
”Thought! He never thought in his life, Miss Lind. However, he was right enough to tell you; and I am glad you know the truth, because it explains my behavior the last time we met. It took me aback a bit for the moment.”
”You were very forbearing. I hope you will not think me intrusive if I tell you how sincerely sorry I am for the misfortune which has come to you.”
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