Volume Ii Part 86 (2/2)

She visited the long meadow and the height that stretched along it, and even went so far as the extremity of the valley, at the foot of the twenty-acre lot, and then stood still to gather up the ends of memory. There she had gone chestnutting with Mr. Ringgan ? thither she had guided Mr. Carleton and her cousin Rossitur that day when they were going after woodc.o.c.k ?

there she had directed and overseen Earl Dougla.s.s's huge crop of corn. How many pieces of her life were connected with it!

She stood for a little while looking at the old chestnut trees, looking and thinking, and turned away soberly with the recollection, ”The world pa.s.seth away, but the word of our G.o.d shall stand for ever.” And though there was one thought that was a continual well of happiness in the depth of Fleda's heart, her mind pa.s.sed it now, and echoed with great joy the countersign of Abraham's privilege, ? ”Thou art my portion, O Lord!” ? And in that a.s.surance every past and every hoped-for good was sweet with added sweetness. She walked home without thinking much of the long meadow.

It was a chill spring afternoon, and Fleda was in her old trim ? the black cloak, the white shawl over it, and the hood of grey silk. And in that trim she walked into the sitting-room.

A lady was there, in a travelling dress, a stranger. Fleda's eye took in her outline and feature one moment with a kind of bewilderment, the next with perfect intelligence. If the lady had been in any doubt, Fleda's cheeks alone would have announced her ident.i.ty. But she came forward without hesitation after the first moment, pulling off her hood, and stood before her visitor, blus.h.i.+ng, in a way that perhaps Mrs.

Carleton looked at as a novelty in her world. Fleda did not know how she looked at it, but she had, nevertheless, an instinctive feeling, even at the moment, that the lady wondered how her son should have fancied particularly anything that went about under such a hood.

Whatever Mrs. Carleton thought, her son's fancies, she knew, were unmanageable; and she had far too much good breeding to let her thoughts be known ? unless to one of those curious spirit thermometers that can tell a variation of temperature through every sort of medium. There might have been the slightest want of forwardness to do it, but she embraced Fleda with great cordiality.

”This is for the old time ? not for the new, dear Fleda,” she said. ”Do you remember me?”

”Perfectly! ? very well,” said Fleda, giving Mrs. Carleton for a moment a glimpse of her eyes. ? ”I do not easily forget.”

”Your look promises me an advantage from that, which I do not deserve, but which I may as well use as another. I want all I can have, Fleda.”

There was a half look at the speaker that seemed to deny the truth of that, but Fleda did not otherwise answer. She begged her visitor to sit down, and throwing off the white shawl and black cloak, took tongs in hand, and began to mend the fire.

Mrs. Carleton sat considering a moment the figure of the fire- maker, not much regardful of the skill she was bringing to bear upon the sticks of wood.

Fleda turned from the fire to remove her visitor's bonnet and wrappings, but the former was all Mrs. Carleton would give her. She threw off shawl and tippet on the nearest chair.

It was the same Mrs. Carleton of old ? Fleda saw while this was doing ? unaltered almost entirely. The fine figure and bearing were the same; time had made no difference; even the face had paid little tribute to the years that had pa.s.sed by it; and the hair held its own without a change. Bodily and mentally she was the same. Apparently she was thinking the like of Fleda.

”I remember you very well,” she said, with kindly accent, when Fleda sat down by her. ”I have never forgotten you. A dear little creature you were. I always knew that.”

Fleda hoped privately the lady would see no occasion to change her mind; but for the present she was bankrupt in words.

”I was in the same room this morning at Montepoole where we used to dine, and it brought back the whole thing to me ? the time when you were sick there with us. I could think of nothing else. But I don't think I was your favourite, Fleda.”

Such a rush of blood again answered her as moved Mrs.

Carleton, in common kindness, to speak of common things. She entered into a long story of her journey ? of her pa.s.sage from England ? of the steamer that brought her ? of her stay in New York ? all which Fleda heard very indifferently well. She was more distinctly conscious of the handsome travelling dress, which seemed all the while to look as its wearer had done, with some want of affinity upon the little grey hood which lay on the chair in the corner. Still she listened and responded as became her, though, for the most part, with eyes that did not venture from home. The little hood itself could never have kept its place with less presumption, nor with less flutter of self-distrust.

Mrs. Carleton came at last to a general account of the circ.u.mstances that had determined Guy to return home so suddenly, where she was more interesting. She hoped he would not be detained, but it was impossible to tell. It was just as it might happen.

”Are you acquainted with the commission I have been charged with?” she said, when her narrations had at last lapsed into silence, and Fleda's eyes had returned to the ground.

”I suppose so, Ma'am, ” said Fleda, with a little smile.

”It is a very pleasant charge” said Mrs. Carleton, softly kissing her cheek. Something in the face itself must have called forth that kiss, for this time there were no requisitions of politeness.

”Do you recognise my commission, Fleda?”

Fleda did not answer. Mrs. Carleton sat a few minutes thoughtfully drawing back the curls from her forehead, Mr.

Carleton's very gesture, but not by any means with his fingers; and musing, perhaps, on the possibility of a hood's having very little to do with what it covered.

”Do you know,” she said, ”I have felt as if I were nearer to Guy since I have seen you.”

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