Part 15 (2/2)

And so the home life began, which was far more tolerable to Sir Hugh than his Continental wanderings had been; when he rode over his estate and Fay's--the Wyngate lands adjoining, from morning until late afternoon, planning, building, restoring, or went into Pierrepoint on magisterial business; happy if at night he was so weary with exercise that rest was a pleasure and his little wife's manipulations sweet.

All the surrounding gentry for miles round came to call at the Hall, and were loud in their praises of the sweet-faced bride; but the Ferrers were not among them--all those winter months Sir Hugh never saw Margaret. No, though the Grange and the Hall were but two miles apart, they never met; though many a time Sir Hugh had to turn his horse into some miry lane, or across a plowed field, to escape her as she went to and fro among the wayside cottages.

Neither did they meet at the various entertainments--dinner-parties and dances that were given in honor of the bride. That winter Margaret declined all invitations; her brother needed her--and she had never cared much for gayety--this was her only excuse. But Sir Hugh knew why he never met her--her high sense of honor kept them apart--neither of them had lived down their pain; in the future it might be possible for her to be his friend, and the friend of his wife; but now it could hardly be; and yet Margaret was longing, craving intensely to see the lovely young creature of whom every one was speaking, and whom already she loved by report.

Strange to say, no one spoke about the Ferrers to Fay; people were too well acquainted with the story of Sir Hugh's engagement to Margaret to venture on a hint. Once Fay asked a lady with whom she was driving, who lived in that quaint old house on the Sandycliffe road? and was told briefly that the blind vicar, Mr. Ferrers, lived there with his sister.

Fay would have put some more questions, but Mrs. Sinclair turned the subject rather quickly; but Fay recurred to it that evening.

”Why have not the Ferrers called on us, Hugh?” she asked, suddenly, when she was keeping him company in the library.

Sir Hugh started, and then jumped up to replenish the fire.

”Who told you about them?” he asked, as he tried to break a refractory coal.

”Mrs. Sinclair. I was driving with her this afternoon, and I asked her who lived in that red brick house with the curious gables, on the Sandycliffe road, and she said it was the blind vicar, Mr. Ferrers, and his sister; don't you like them, Hugh? everyone else has called, and it seems rather strange that they should have taken no notice.”

”Well, you see, it is a little awkward,” returned her husband, still wrestling with the coal, while Fay watched the process with interest; ”they used to be friends of mine, but we have had a misunderstanding, and now, of course, there is a coolness.”

”And they are nice people.”

”Very nice people; he is a very clever man, but we do not agree--that is all;” and then Hugh disposed of the coal and took up his paper, and Fay did not like to disturb him with any more questions. It seemed a great pity, she thought, it was such a lovely house; and if Mr.

Ferrers were a nice clever man--and then she wondered what his sister was like; and as she sat at Hugh's feet basking in the fire-light she had no idea that Hugh's forehead was clouded and puckered with pain.

Fay's innocent questions had raised a storm in his breast. Would she speak of them again? was there any danger that people would gossip to her? One day he might be obliged to tell her himself, but not now, she seemed so happy, so perfectly contented, and she was such a child.

Yes, Hugh's Wee Wifie was very happy.

At first, to be sure, her position was a little difficult and irksome.

The number of servants bewildered her; she wished Mrs. Heron would not interlard her conversation with so many ”my ladys,” and that, Hugh would ride with her oftener instead of that tiresome groom.

But by and by she got used to her new dignity, and would drive her gray ponies through the country roads, stopping to speak to any old villager she knew; or she would mount Bonnie Bess at the hour she thought Hugh would be returning from Pierrepoint, and gallop through the lanes to meet him and rein up at his side, startling him from his abstraction with that ringing laugh of hers.

She was seldom idle, and never dull.

When Sir Hugh had shooting parties, she always carried the luncheon to the sportsmen, driving through the wood in her pony-carriage; when her husband began to return his neighbors' hospitality, she surprised him by making a perfect little hostess, and never seemed too shy to chat in her pretty, modest manner to his guests. All Sir Hugh's masculine friends fell in love with her, and the ladies petted and made much of her.

Fay was very grateful to them for their kindness, but she liked best to be alone in the old Hall.

She had a hundred sources of amus.e.m.e.nt; she would follow Mrs. Heron from room to room, listening to her stories of many a dead Redmond; or coax her to show the old treasures of tapestry and lace; or she would wander through the gardens and woods with her favorite Nero and Sir Hugh's n.o.ble St. Bernard, Pierre.

She made acquaintance with every man, woman, and child about the place, and all the animals besides; when the spring came she knew all the calves and lambs by name, all the broods of chickens and ducklings; she visited the stables and the poultry-yards till every helper and boy about the premises knew her bright face well, and were ready to vow that a sweeter-spoken creature never lived than the young Lady Redmond.

And she would prattle to Hugh all through the long dinner, beguiling him by her quaint bright stories; and when he went into the library--she never could coax him after that first evening into her ”blue nestie”--she would follow him and sit herself at his feet with her work or book, perfectly content if he sometimes stroked her hair, or with a sudden feeling of compunction stooped over her and kissed her brow, for he was always very gentle with her, and Fay adored him from the depths of her innocent heart.

CHAPTER XIII.

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