'There I must differ from you, father dear,' returned Audrey gently. 'I could not bring myself to put such an affront on Cyril's mother. You know, I am still engaged to Cyril, and his mother can never be a stranger to me.'

Then Dr. Ross regarded his daughter with a grieved expression.

'My own child, if you would only be guided by me in this!--if you would give up this young man entirely----'

Then she shook her head, and a grave, sweet smile came to her lips.

'Would you have me break my word, father, because Cyril has broken his?

But I do not blame him--he was obliged to do it; but no power on earth could compel me. Dear, why should we speak of this thing--you and I?

When one's mind is made up, there is nothing more to be said. In everything else I will obey you as a child ought to obey her father. If you tell me that I must not go to the Gray Cottage to-morrow, you shall be obeyed, no matter what it may cost me; but'--pressing her lips to his forehead as she leant against him--'I do not think my father will be such a tyrant.'

'I have no wish to tyrannise, Audrey,' returned Dr. Ross sadly. 'In all I have said, I have only considered your happiness. If you feel that there is this need to bid Mrs. Blake good-bye, I shall certainly not prevent you. I know I can trust my daughter. I have wished that the break should be final and conclusive, but it seems that you think otherwise.'

'After to-morrow the separation will be as complete as you desire it to be.'

'I am thankful to hear it. Of all women, I believe Mrs. Blake to be the most unsatisfactory. Audrey, my child, at the risk of paining you, I must say one word. There must be no written communication between her and you.'

'No, father; I should not wish it. Any such letters would be impossible--at least, to me. Mollie will write to me sometimes, and I suppose I shall answer her letters; but she will not write often.'

'I think I should tell her to write as seldom as possible. Mollie is a nice little girl, and we are all fond of her; but I should be inclined to doubt her discretion.'

Then Audrey smiled faintly, and promised that Mollie's correspondence should be enclosed within strict limits. She knew well what her father meant. Mollie's letters would be overflowing with allusions to her brother; her simplicity would know no reticence.

'I think you may trust me,' she said, after a moment's silence. 'Of course I understand what you mean.'

'Then in that case we will not say any more about it,' replied her father. Trust her!--he knew that he could absolutely rely on her. When had she ever disappointed him? Of all girls, he had never known one so free from guile, so utterly transparent; there could be no shadow of doubt in his mind concerning her. And as he kissed her, and again wished her good-night, he blessed her in his heart for being such a daughter to him.

Audrey had carried her point. Her visit to Mrs. Blake had appeared to her in the light of an imperative duty; but it may be doubted whether she looked forward to it with any feeling of pleasure.

Up to the present time she had spoken as little as possible of Mrs.

Blake. She had only said a word or two to Cyril, begging him to make peace with his mother; she had asked him to soften his heart to her.

'With all her faults, I think no mother ever loved her son so well,' she had told him. 'It is not the highest love,' she had continued, 'since she has stooped to deceit and wrong for your sake. But it is not for you to judge her.' And she knew instinctively that her pleading had had weight with him.

But though she had found words to defend her, she knew that Mrs. Blake could never be to her the friend she had been; and the shock of this discovery had been dreadful to her. She might still love and pity Cyril's mother; she might even be desirous of serving her; but the charm was broken, and, as far as Audrey's happiness was concerned, it might be well that the distance was widened between them.

When she rose the next morning, she felt as though some difficult and painful duty lay before her; and as she walked towards the Cottage in the sunshine of an April afternoon, she told herself that her visit must not be a long one.

A rush of bitter-sweet memories came over her as she pushed open the green gate for the last time, and Zack bounded to meet her. As she stooped to caress him, and he rested his glossy head against her with a dog's unreasoning adoration, she said in a low voice: 'Zack, old fellow, you will be glad to be with your master again.' And he whined, as though in joyful a.s.sent.

There were no signs of either Mollie or Biddy, so she went up as usual--unannounced. The drawing-room door was open, and as her footsteps sounded in the pa.s.sage Mrs. Blake came quietly out. She stepped back as she saw Audrey, and a slight colour came to her face.

'It is you--at last!' she said abruptly; but there was no other greeting.

'Yes, it is I,' returned Audrey, kissing her, and speaking in her usual tranquil manner. 'Do you think I should have let you leave Rutherford without bidding you good-bye!'

Then Mrs. Blake's eyes had a dangerous gleam in them.

'How could I know that they would let you come?' she said almost harshly. 'Am I not a pariah, an outcast from all respectable society?

Does not Dr. Ross think so, as well as that excellent sister of yours?

Do you know what my life has been during the last fortnight, since my boy left me? I have not dared to leave my own gate; if I were stifled for air, I would not venture to stir out, for fear of seeing a face I know.'

'You need not have been afraid; no one in Rutherford has heard your story.'

'But they may have heard it by this time. You forget that Dr.

Charrington and Mr. Harcourt have been told. A man would never keep such a secret from his wife. Mrs. Charrington may have told it to half the masters' wives by this time; this is why I have begged Cyril to take me away, because my life is unendurable.'

'You are going to him now,' observed Audrey soothingly, for she saw at once that Mrs. Blake was in one of her unhappy moods.

She was thin and pale, and there was a sharpened look about her features, as though her inward excitement had worn her.

'Yes, I am going to him; but what good will my life be to me? He has forgiven me--at least, he says so--but every hour of the day his sadness will be a reproach to me. When I see his unhappiness, how am I to bear it, when I know it is all my fault? Audrey, tell me one thing: you are still engaged to him?'

'Yes,' returned Audrey very softly, 'I am still engaged to him.'

'Captain Burnett told me so; he said you had refused to give him up. Oh, my darling, how I loved you when he said that! It was brave of you to say such words, but my boy deserves them. If ever a girl was worshipped, he worshipped you.'

'Dear Mrs. Blake, I think we will not speak of that.'

'Why should we not speak of it? It is the only thing that will comfort me, and him too. Ah, if you only loved him as he loves you, there would be no difficulty. Many a girl has given up more for her lover than you will ever be asked to give up, and has found her reward in a happy life.'

'I will not pretend to misunderstand you,' returned Audrey simply; but she felt as she spoke that her father had been right to dread this interview. 'I know what you would insinuate--you would have me marry Cyril without my parents' consent.'

'I would,' was Mrs. Blake's unabashed reply; 'and where would be the harm, Audrey? You are of age; you have your own money. No one has a right to prevent your marriage. Of course, your people would be angry at first, but after a time they would relent. My darling girl, think of it: would it not be a n.o.ble act of self-sacrifice? And it would save Cyril!'

'He would not wish to save himself at the risk of my happiness and peace of mind,' she replied calmly. 'Dear Mrs. Blake, how strange that you should not know your own son better than that! Cyril would never marry me without my father's consent, neither would I marry him. Under such circ.u.mstances we should both be wretched.'

'And you call that love?' returned Mrs. Blake with a sneer. 'I am different from you, Audrey. I would have given up home, country, everything, for the sake of the man I loved; that is why I hated Mat, because I was bound to him, and the other man was free. It just maddened me! What!' interrupting herself, 'are you going to leave me?'

'It is useless to stay,' returned Audrey, in a pained voice. 'If you talk like this, it is far better for me to go.'

Then Mrs. Blake burst into pa.s.sionate tears, and clasped her in her arms.

'Going! when I have never thanked you for your goodness to my boy; when I have never told you how dearly I have loved you for it! Audrey, forgive me, and stay with me a little, and I will try not to talk so wildly. It makes me feel better only to look at you--and you used to love me a little.'

Then very reluctantly Audrey suffered herself to be persuaded, and to remain for another half-hour.

CHAPTER XLIV

MOLLIE GOES INTO EXILE

'There are some natures that cannot unfold under pressure, or in the presence of unregarding power. Hers was one. They require a clear s.p.a.ce round them, the removal of everything which may overmaster them, and constant delicate attention.'--MARK RUTHERFORD.

Audrey had no cause to regret her concession. Mrs. Blake quieted down the moment she resumed her seat; and though the remainder of her conversation concerned herself and Cyril, she did not venture again on any dangerous allusion.

It was only when Audrey said that she must really go, as she had promised her mother to be back by tea-time, that she made an attempt to coax her into sending Cyril a message; but Audrey's strong sense of honour made her proof against this temptation. She would send him no message at all. Even if she thought it right to do so, how could she rely on Mrs. Blake's veracity? how could she be sure that it might not be delivered with annotations from her own fertile brain?