"For the love of Heaven!" said he overtaking her, "come back!"

"Come back!" exclaimed she, "and what for should I come back?"

"To take away the curse and witcheries yer've put upon Jane; or she'll die."

"What are you raving about? What have I to do with Jane and her curses?"

"Yer know well what I mean, Ma'am; yer've most killed her with yer evil eye. I know yer're a fearful 'ooman, and a wise 'un too, but for the love of Heaven don't leave her like that, but come back."

"You're a fool!" replied Mrs. Grey, "I've no more power over her than a fly," and she pa.s.sed on, bidding him seek his wife's help.

And again Matthew started off faster than before to find Mrs. Marks, with an inward malediction on Goody Grey.

He was scarcely out of sight ere she halted;--hesitated--then turned back with rapid steps towards the cottage.

Jane had fallen near the window from which Goody Grey had seen her gazing, and lay almost under it, so as to be entirely concealed from the broad glare of its light. She lay on her side with one arm across her face. Her visitor gently moved away the arm, and looked at her. It was but a momentary glance, and the fainting woman rested, as I have said, away from the light. Was it this made Goody Grey fail in recognizing her? or was it the sharp, pinched features, and worn haggard face, with those deep furrows ploughing it so roughly in every direction.

Filling a jug with water, Goody Grey lifted Jane, and tried to force some down her throat, then dashed the rest over her face and forehead, but her efforts at restoring life were useless, and after a few more ineffectual attempts she left her, and went and seated herself by the fire, thinking perhaps it would be but neighbourly to remain and await Mrs. Marks's return.

Not many minutes elapsed ere Jane opened her eyes, and the first object they rested on was the old woman's face and figure, as she sat looking at the fire, her profile fully marked out, and apparent to Jane's gaze, whose face a.s.sumed a terrified, horror-stricken look, as she almost glared at her, seemingly too fascinated or frightened to look away.

Evidently Jane's memory served her better than Goody Grey's did, for she recognized her, although the old woman did not, and after a minute or two she sat up on the floor, and clasping arms round her knees, buried her face in them and groaned aloud.

Goody Grey started and turned at the sound, then rose and went over to her.

"Are you better?" she asked kindly, "you've had a long faint."

Jane made no answer, only moaned and shivered from head to foot.

"You are too cold to drink this water. Is there no brandy anywhere that I can get you? Try and get up, and I will help you over to the fire."

It was astonishing to hear the gentle, almost soft, sweet voice with which she spoke, so different from her usual harsh, sharp manner. But the more gentle she was, the less Jane seemed to like it, never raising her head or answering a word, but moaning and rocking herself backwards and forwards as she sat; and Goody Grey, seeing words or deeds, however well meant, were alike wasted upon her, rose to go; saying as she did so,--

"I'm sorry to see you so sullen, woman. Have you never a word of thanks to give me?"

But Jane continued silent as before.

"Well, well," she muttered, in something of her old, impatient, sharp voice, as she stepped across the threshold of the door. "That fool said she was a 'dafty.'" Then in a milder, almost sorrowful tone, she added "it is better to be crazed than broken-hearted."

Jane raised her head as she caught the last sound of Goody Grey's voice; then, as the last foot-fall died away, she got up stealthily, and closed and bolted the cottage door.

CHAPTER XI.

THE CONSERVATORY.

"All other ills, though sharp they prove, Serve to refine and perfect love: In absence, or unkind disdaine, Sweet hope relieves the lovers' paine: But, oh, no cure but death we find To sett us free From jealousie, Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.

False in thy gla.s.s all objects are Some sett too near, and some too far; Thou art the fire of endless night The fire that burns, and gives no light.

All torments of the d.a.m.n'd we find In only thee, O jealousie!

Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind."

DRYDEN.

January had drawn to an end, and with Charles Linchmore had gone all the visitors from Brampton, save the Stricklands and Bennets, and they being cousins remained on, as Mrs. Linchmore said it would be wretchedly dull to be entirely deserted when Robert Vavasour was too weak to be moved, and kept her and Mr. Linchmore tied to Brampton. This plan appeared to please everybody but Frances, who seemed to require a great deal of persuasion before she would consent to remain, though at heart she was only too glad to stay; but Julia and Anne acquiesced at once.

Robert Vavasour's illness was of longer duration than was at first expected; even when the pain from the severe blow on the head abated, there was still the wound in his leg with the inflammation attending it, so that he could not leave his room for some few weeks after Charles's departure, and then only to come down of an evening and recline on a sofa in the dining-room, where all in turn tried, or did their best endeavours to amuse him, save one--Miss Neville.

As he lay there, evening after evening, with nothing better to do than watch those around him, he soon became aware that his eyes and thoughts were ever constantly with the governess, He watched her with no common interest. He who had vowed his heart should never soften towards any woman now found himself listening eagerly to catch the faintest sound of her voice, or the outline of her figure reflected in the gla.s.s as she moved across the room. As he noted her quiet ways, so different from the haughty Frances, or the bustling Anne, or the numbers of other girls he had known, he grew more in love with her than he liked to acknowledge to himself, and determined she should be his if she was to be won. If she loved him what to her would be the shade and mystery of his birth; for he would make no secret of it, but tell her all he knew, all that made him so reserved, and at times impatient.

Mr. Linchmore was wrong in the opinion he had given Amy of his character, for, although Robert Vavasour was ready to flirt with every girl or woman in the room, his hostess included, yet he had long felt Miss Neville was not to be so trifled with; she was superior to them all. A being to be reverenced and loved with all a man's heart. She must be his wife--if she so willed it--and if she did not, none other ever should. How he chafed with impatience at being obliged to lie so utterly useless and idle, when he would have given worlds to be at Amy's side pouring soft nothings--as men only know how to--into her ear and striving to win her love and make her his own.

Meanwhile Anne watched Frances as the spider watches the fly, but as yet had found out nothing likely to unravel the mystery shrouding Charles's hasty departure. She had sought out Amy almost immediately, and delivered the message and hurried adieux entrusted to her; had noted the agitation vainly attempted to be suppressed, the quick flushing of the face and trembling of the lips before the studied words came slowly forth expressing her thanks at his kindness in remembering her. Anne's heart opened to her, even as it had done but a short half-hour earlier to her cousin; and she pitied Miss Neville, and was more than half tempted to tell her all she knew--all he had said--but there was a something in Amy's manner that day which forbade Anne's communication; and she remained silent, yet waiting and watching ready to seize the very first opportunity of discovering and unravelling the plot, which seemed so persistently to baffle her; and then not only could she make two people happy, but what pleasure in being able to defeat Frances!

What a triumph it would be!

Frances went on silently and secretly. Her wishes were only half fulfilled. The end was yet to be worked out.

She felt Anne suspected her the moment Charles drove away from the door; but what signified that? What could the simple Anne Bennet do? She was a mere worm in her path. A n.o.body. Still Frances was more cautious than ever and more wary. Anne was to be avoided, not openly, but secretly, while others of far more consequence were to be gained over, so as to drag Amy more completely into the snare, from which there was to be no escape.

There was no need to urge Robert Vavasour on now. Frances saw plainly enough that he was ready to sacrifice everything and anything to gain Amy's love; and she must be his wife; even if it broke her heart.

He was better now, able to walk about again, and generally devoted part of the evenings to Amy. Poor Amy! who saw not his love--wanted it not--yet felt grateful at his kindness in talking to her when n.o.body else did; besides, did it not keep him away from Mrs. Linchmore, with whom she could not bear to see him, fancying Mr. Linchmore always looked sad and dejected while he was at her side. Little did Amy think that while there was no fear of her losing her heart, Mr. Vavasour was fast becoming enslaved to herself for ever.

It was true Mr. Linchmore did not like Vavasour's attentions to his wife, but he liked his attentions and devotion to his governess far less. He felt his warning had been of no use, and that Miss Neville was falling into the snare he had essayed to lead her from. As he sat one evening resolving it all over in his mind for the twentieth time, Frances joined him.

There was no knowing how soon they might be interrupted, so she went to the point at once without hesitation.

"Mr. Vavasour has quite recovered from his recent illness, and appears to be making up for lost time in Miss Neville's good favour."

"He will hardly make good his footing there," replied Mr. Linchmore.

"Miss Neville is too sensible a girl to be won over by a little fulsome flattery, however adroitly administered."

"But there seems more than flattery here; at least, I hope so."

"Why should you hope it?"

"For Miss Neville's sake, as I think--nay, am sure he is winning her heart."

"Impossible!"

"He does not think it so impossible, otherwise he would not be so devoted; men never are when the one object is proved to be unattainable."

"I trust you are mistaken, Frances. For if she loves him he will break her heart," replied Mr. Linchmore, sorrowfully.

"It is you who are mistaken. That she loves him I am certain, or she would never have fainted like dead when she heard he was wounded; and as for him, I believe he loves her with all his heart, only he is afraid to tell her so. At all events, her fate rests in your hands, to make or mar as you please." And having said all she wished, Frances left him to dwell and ponder on it as much as he liked.