For answer Mrs Adair put her hand on the bright head beside her.

"I understand, my girlie," she said in a pain-wrung voice. "I understand so well. G.o.d bless and help you and comfort you."

Eileen could not trust herself to speak, but afterward she thanked G.o.d that He had given her so dear a mother.

So the three weeks pa.s.sed, and Lawrence came to say good-by. He would gladly have escaped the ordeal, but that he saw was impossible, so he drove over with his mother the last afternoon, at her suggestion. He need not have minded, for there was no change in anyone. Mrs Adair was far too proud to show by word or sign any symptom of her feelings, and both she and Eileen went through the afternoon with brave, smiling faces and perfectly natural manners.

Only when he was alone with Eileen for a few moments was there any constraint. Then, in spite of herself, she was white to the lips, and her hands played nervously.

Lawrence watched her covertly, and for the first time in his life felt a cur.

"Good-by," she said, to break the almost unbearable silence, looking up with an effort at brightness.

He took her outstretched hand and looked hard into her eyes.

"Good-by, Eileen," he answered, and hesitated a moment as if he would fain say something else. Then he suddenly dropped her hand, and went out to see about the horses.

Paddy was in the stables petting them with sugar and apples, and stroking lovingly their smooth, glossy coats, for she had a pa.s.sionate love for all animals. When Lawrence came in she glanced over her shoulder, and, seeing who it was, turned her back to him, and continued playing with the horses.

Lawrence watched her a moment, and the thought crossed his mind that in fire and spirit she was a good match for them.

The man went to pull out the phaeton, and Lawrence loosened the headstalls, speaking in a low, winsome voice to his pets. Both horses immediately looked round, and playfully bit at his coat-sleeve. Paddy at the same time drew aside. The voice that enticed them, evidently repulsed her.

Lawrence glanced over one glossy back, with a slightly amused expression, and remarked:

"I am not universally hated; you see. Castor and Pollux put up with me, in spite of my manifest shortcomings."

"You feed them," she retorted. "All animals love the hand that gives them food."

"Ah! I see we are to part enemies!"

"Better an honest enemy than a false friend," icily.

"Yet I'm rather sorry," he went on. "I like you much too well to want to look upon you as my enemy."

"I do not feel as flattered as you may suppose. It seems to me there is little enough to gain in being your friend."

"Very likely," and he shrugged his shoulders with a sudden return of his old cynicism. "This seems likely to prove a striking ill.u.s.tration of my pet theory that it is wisest not to care. I had, forgotten it for the moment."

The horses were harnessed and the man stood at their heads ready to lead them round to the door.

"Go on," said Lawrence, "I will follow."

He turned again to Paddy.

"You have far more occasion to be glad than angry," he said, "but it is hardly likely you will see it yet. By and by--say in five years' time-- you will understand. At present you do not know your world."

"Nothing will change my estimate of you," she answered cuttingly. "I wish Miss Gwendoline, what's-her-name--Carew, joy of her bargain."

"Now we are descending to personalities," with a fine sneer, "so perhaps I had better depart."

"A most excellent notion, O Theophilus!" tossing her small head.

A gleam of admiration came unbidden to his eyes.

"You're good stuff, Paddy," he said, almost under his breath. "I like your fieryness uncommon well."

"That is how I like your absence," came quick as lightning.

"Well, good-by," and he held out his hand.

She put hers behind her, with unmistakable meaning.

He shrugged his shoulders expressively, and turned away.

When he had gone a few paces, he looked back. She was still standing where he had left her. A sudden instinct brought him again to her side.

"Don't be a little fool, Paddy! Come, be friends. I may never come back."

"It is not of the smallest consequence to me whether you do or not."

She still stood with her hands behind her, and her eyes never once wavered before his. He could not choose but admire her dauntless att.i.tude, now she had declared war. He hesitated a moment, unwilling to show himself beaten. Then he gave a little laugh.

"I declare--I believe you've given me an object in life. It will be quite entertaining, some day, to break down your defences." He looked into her face. "Do you hear, Patricia, when I come back, I shall storm the fortress, and make you cry Peace yet. Will you have a bet on it?"

"No," unbendingly, "I do not care to bet with you." She hesitated a second, and then finished with unflinching gaze: "I despise you."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

BROODING CLOUDS.

There was a shadow upon the Parsonage. The two little ladies looked at each other with vague dismay, and asked wonderingly, "What is this that has come upon us?"

At meal times Jack was nearly always gloomy and preoccupied, or if he was gay his merriment was evidently forced. Between meals he went for long, lonely tramps, and constantly those two perpendicular lines wrinkled his forehead. Strangest of all, he seemed to avoid The Ghan House, and Paddy was no longer his constant companion.

"Could we ask him, do you think, sister?" little Miss Mary suggested timidly.

But Miss Jane shook her head mournfully. They were feeling rather as the hen who has reared ducklings when they first take to water. This docile, careless-hearted, affectionate boy they had reared, had suddenly become a man, and in one stride pa.s.sed beyond their tender, watchful care. Illness and weakness alone could ever bring him back as he had been. His troubles, his warfare, his striving, he would henceforth wrestle with alone.

Moreover, there was Eileen's white face and deeply shadowed eyes also.

Nothing was said--what was there to say? Only anxious, watchful nights and yearning pain for another mother, whose fledgling was feeling the first cold blast of Life's sorrow.

Mrs Adair's abundant hair, that had been turning grey of late, seemed to go white suddenly in those weeks that followed the dance. She had borne so much; from a very early age Life had held the cup of pain to her lips, and she had tried to drink and ask no questions. But now, it seemed to her that she had met the hardest blow of all. Eileen was all the world to her. Long ago, when life was full of sadness in spite of her good husband and beautiful home--for the sake of the man whose blood had stained the ground on that far-off Afghan frontier, Eileen's baby face had come as her first real comforter, and been life and joy and sweetness to her ever since. Perhaps it was a vague, inward consciousness of this that made the father's heart turn with equal devotion to his high-spirited, boisterous second daughter; while never swerving for a moment from his devotion to her mother.

But now Eileen's cheeks grew white, and her beautiful eyes developed an expression of quiet suffering that went to her mother's heart as little else could have done, and made Paddy rage inwardly.

Until Lawrence had gone away again, and the old routine recommenced, she had not known how much she had thought of him during his three years'

absence. All that time she had cared for him secretly, though she had hardly admitted it to herself. Then when he came, and again sought her before all others, and gave her of the best of his charm, it was only as the match needed for the whole to burst into flame.

Vanishing once more, in silence and suddenness, he had left her with all her dreams and hopes and happiness scattered broadcast at her feet.