Part 48 (1/2)

Catharine, whose temptation to ”scruple” in the religious sense was constant and tormenting, who recoiled in horror from what to others were the merest venial offences, in this connection asked one thing only.

Where Barron had argued that an unbeliever must necessarily have a carnal mind, Catharine had simply a.s.sured herself at once by an unfailing instinct that the mind was n.o.ble and the temper pure. In those matters she was not to be deceived; she knew.

That being so, and if her own pa.s.sionate objections to the marriage were to be put aside, then she could only judge for Mary as she would judge for herself. _Not_ to love--_not_ to comfort--could there be--for Love--any greater wound, any greater privation? She shrank, in a kind of terror, from inflicting it on Mary--Mary, unconscious and unknowing.

... The soft chatter of the fire, the plas.h.i.+ng of the rain, filled the room with the atmosphere of reverie. Catharine's thoughts pa.s.sed from her obligations toward Mary to grapple anxiously with those she might be under toward Meynell himself. The mere possession of the anonymous letter--and Flaxman had not given her leave to destroy it--weighed upon her conscience. It seemed to her she ought not to possess it; and she had been only half convinced by Flaxman's arguments for delay. She was rapidly coming to the belief that it should have been handed instantly to the Rector.

A step outside.

”Uncle Hugh!” said Mary, springing up. ”I'll go and see if there are any scones for tea!” And she vanished into the kitchen, while Catharine admitted her brother-in-law.

”Meynell is to join me here in an hour or so,” he said, as he followed her into the little sitting-room. Catharine closed the door, and looked at him anxiously. He lowered his voice.

”Barron called on him this morning--had only just gone when I arrived.

Meynell has seen the letter to Dawes. I informed him of the letter to you, and I think he would like to have some talk with you.”

Catharine's face showed her relief.

”Oh, I am glad--I am _glad_ he knows!”--she said, with emphasis. ”We were wrong to delay.”

”He told me nothing--and I asked nothing. But, of course, what the situation implies is unfortunately clear enough!--no need to talk of it.

He won't and he can't vindicate himself, except by a simple denial. At any ordinary time that would be enough. But now--with all the hot feeling there is on the other subject--and the natural desire to discredit him--” Flaxman shrugged his shoulders despondently. ”Rose's maid--you know the dear old thing she is--came to her last night, in utter distress about the talk in the village. There was a journalist here, a reporter from one of the papers that have been opposing Meynell most actively--”

”They are quite right to oppose him,” interrupted Catharine quickly. Her face had stiffened.

”Perfectly! But you see the temptation?”

Catharine admitted it. She stood by the window looking out into the rain.

And as she did so she became aware of a figure--the slight figure of a woman--walking fast toward the cottage along the narrow gra.s.s causeway that ran between the two ponds. On either side of the woman the autumn trees swayed and bent under the rising storm, and every now and then a mist of scudding leaves almost effaced her. She seemed to be breathlessly struggling with the wind as she sped onward, and in her whole aspect there was an indescribable forlornness and terror.

Catharine peered into the rain....

”Hugh!”--She turned swiftly to her brother-in-law--”There is some one coming to see me. Will you go?”--she pointed to the garden door on the farther side of the drawing-room--”and will you take Mary? Go round to the back. You know the old summer-house at the end of the wood-walk. We have often sheltered there from rain. Or there's the keeper's cottage a little farther on. I know Mary wanted to go there this afternoon. Please, dear Hugh!”

He looked at her in astonishment. Then through the large French window he too saw the advancing form. In an instant he had disappeared by the garden door. Catharine went into the hall, opened the door of the kitchen and beckoned to Mary, who was standing there with their little maid.

”Don't come back just yet, darling!” she said in her ear--”Get your things on, and go with Uncle Hugh. I want to be alone.”

Mary stepped back bewildered, and Catharine shut her in. Then she went back to the hall, just as a bell rang faintly.

”Is Mrs. Elsmere--”

Then as the visitor saw Catharine herself standing in the open doorway, she said with broken breath: ”Can I come in--can I see you?”

Catharine drew her in.

”Dear Miss Puttenham!--how tired you are--and how wet! Let me take the cloak off.”

And as she drew off the soaked waterproof, Catharine felt the trembling of the slight frame beneath.

”Come and sit by the fire,” she said tenderly.