Part 42 (1/2)
”By what authority, I should like to know?” said Philip sneeringly.
”Hester is not a child--nor am I.”
”All that we will discuss when we meet,” said the Rector. ”I propose to call upon you to-morrow.”
”This time you may really find me fled,” laughed Philip, insolently. But he had turned white.
Meynell made no reply. He went to Hester, and lifting the girl's silk cape, which had fallen off, he put it round her shoulders. He felt them trembling. But she looked at him fiercely, put him aside, and ran to Meryon.
”Good-bye, Philip, good-bye!--it won't be for long!” And she held out her two hands--pleadingly. Meryon took them, and they stared at each other--while the Rector was conscious of a flash of dismay.
What if there was now more in the business than mere mischief and wantonness? Hester was surprisingly lovely, with this touching, tremulous look, so new, and, to the Rector, so intolerable!
”I must ask you to come at once,” he said, walking up to her, and the girl, with compressed lips, dropped Meryon's hands and obeyed.
Meryon walked beside them to the garden door, very pale, and breathing quick.
”You can't separate us”--he said to Meynell--”though of course you'll try. Hester, don't believe anything he tells you--till I confirm it.”
”Not I!” she said proudly.
Meynell led her through the door, and then turning peremptorily desired Meryon not to follow them. Philip hesitated, and yielded. He stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, watching them, a splendid figure, with his melodramatic good looks and vivid colour.
CHAPTER XIV
Hester and Meynell walked down the avenue, side by side. Behind them, the lunette window under the roof opened again, and a woman's face, framed in black, touzled hair, looked out, grinned and disappeared.
Hester carried her head high, a scornful defiance breathing from the flushed cheeks and tightened lips. Meynell made no attempt at conversation, till just as they were nearing the lodge he said--”We shall find Stephen a little farther on. He was riding, and thought you might like his horse to give you a lift home.”
”Oh, a _plot_!”--cried Hester, raising her chin still higher--”and Stephen in it too! Well, really I shouldn't have thought it was worth anybody's while to spy upon my very insignificant proceedings like this.
What does it matter to him, or you, or any one else what I do?”
She turned her beautiful eyes--tragically wide and haughty--upon her companion. There was absurdity in her pose, and yet, as Meynell uncomfortably recognized, a new touch of something pa.s.sionate and real.
The Rector made no reply, for they were at the turn of the road and behind it Stephen and his horse were to be seen waiting.
Stephen came to meet them, the bridle over his arm.
”Hester, wouldn't you like my horse? It is a long way home. I can send for it later.”
She looked proudly from one to the other. Her colour had suddenly faded, and from the pallor, the firm, yet delicate, lines of the features emerged with unusual emphasis.
”I think you had better accept,” said Meynell gently. As he looked at her, he wondered whether she might not faint on their hands with anger and excitement. But she controlled herself, and as Stephen brought the brown mare alongside, and held out his hand, she put her foot in it, and he swung her to the saddle.
”I don't want both of you,” she said, pa.s.sionately. ”One warder is enough!”
”Hester!” cried Stephen, reproachfully. Then he added, trying to smile, ”I am going into Markborough. Any commission?”
Hester disdained to answer. She gathered up the reins and set the horse in motion. Stephen's way lay with them for a hundred yards. He tried to make a little indifferent conversation, but neither Meynell nor Hester replied. Where the lane they had been following joined the Markborough road, he paused to take his leave of them, and as he did so he saw his two companions brought together, as it were, into one picture by the overcircling shade of the autumnal trees which hung over the road; and he suddenly perceived as he had never yet done the strange likeness between them. Perplexity, love--despairing and jealous love--a pa.s.sionate champions.h.i.+p of the beauty that was being outraged and insulted by the common talk and speculation of indifferent and unfriendly mouths; an earnest desire to know the truth, and the whole truth, that he might the better prove his love, and protect his friend; and a dismal certainty through it all that Hester had been finally s.n.a.t.c.hed from him--these conflicting feelings very nearly overpowered him. It was all he could do to take a calm farewell of them. Hester's eyes under their fierce brows followed him along the road.