_CHAPTER XVI_

_Mr. Lancaster accepts a Mission._

When d.i.c.k Lancaster saw Olive he stopped with a start, and then ran toward her.

"Miss Asher!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? What is the matter? You look pale."

When she saw him coming Olive had dismounted, not with the active spring usual with her, but heavily and clumsily. She did not even smile as she spoke to him.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lancaster," she said. "I am on my way back to Broadstone, and I would like to send a message to my uncle by you."

"Back from where? And why on this road?" he was about to ask, but he checked himself. He saw that she trembled as she stood.

"Miss Asher," said he, "you must stop and rest. Let me take your wheel and come over to this bank and sit down."

She sat down in the shade and took off her hat; and for a moment she quietly enjoyed the cool breeze upon her head. He did not want to annoy her with questions, but he could not help saying:

"You look very tired."

"I ought to be tired," she answered, "for I have gone over a perfectly dreadful road. Of course, you wonder why I came this way, and the best thing for me to do is to begin at the beginning and to tell you all about it, so that you will know what I have been doing, and then understand what I would like you to do for me."

So she told him all her tale, and, telling it, seemed to relieve her mind while her tired body rested. d.i.c.k listened with earnest avidity. He lost not the slightest change in her expression as she spoke. He was shocked when he heard of her father; he was grieved when he imagined how she must have felt when the news came to her; he was angry when he heard of the impertinent glare of Maria Port; and his heart was torn when he knew of this poor girl's disappointment, of her soul-harrowing conjectures, of her wearisome and painful progress along that rough road; of which progress she said but little, although its consequences he could plainly see. All these things showed themselves upon his countenance as he gazed upon her and listened, not only with his ears, but his heart.

"I shall be more than glad," he said, when she had finished, "to carry any message, or to do anything you want me to do. But I must first relieve you of one of your troubles. Your uncle has not the slightest idea of marrying Miss Port. I don't believe he would marry anybody; but, of all women, not that vulgar creature. Let me a.s.sure you, Miss Asher, that I have heard him talk about her, and I know he has the most contemptuous opinion of her. I have heard him make fun of her, and I don't believe he would have anything to do with her if it were not for her father, who is one of his oldest friends."

She looked at him incredulously. "And yet they were sitting close together," she said; "so close that at first I did not see her; apparently talking in the most private manner in a very public place.

They surely looked very much like an engaged couple as I have noticed them. And old Jane has told me that everybody knows she is trying to trap him; and surely there is good reason to believe that she has succeeded."

d.i.c.k shook his head. "Impossible, Miss Asher," he said. "He never would have such a woman. I know him well enough to be absolutely sure of that.

Of course, he treats her kindly, and perhaps he is sociable with her. It is his nature to be friendly, and he has known her for a long time. But marry her! Never! I am certain, Miss Asher, he would never do that."

"I wish I could believe it," said she.

"I can easily prove it to you," he said. "I will take your message to your uncle, I will tell him all you want me to tell him, and then I will ask him, frankly and plainly, about Miss Port. I do not in the least object to doing it. I am well enough acquainted with him to know that he is a frank, plain man. I am sure he will be much amused at your supposition, and angry, too, when I tell him of the way that woman looked at you and so prevented you from stopping when you had come expressly to see him. Then I will immediately come to Broadstone to relieve your mind in regard to the Maria Port business, and to bring you whatever message your uncle has to send you."

"No, no," said Olive, "you must not do that. It would be too much to come back to-day. You have relieved my mind somewhat about that woman, and I am perfectly willing to wait until to-morrow, when you can tell me exactly how everything is, and let me know when my uncle would like me to come and see him. I think it will be better next time not to take him by surprise. But I would be very, very grateful to you, Mr, Lancaster, if you would come as early in the morning as you can. I can wait very well until then, now that my mind is easier, but I am afraid that when to-morrow begins I shall be very impatient. My troubles are always worse in the morning. But you must not walk. My uncle has a horse and buggy.

But perhaps it would be better to let Mrs. Easterfield send for you. I know she will be glad to do it."

d.i.c.k a.s.sured her that he did not wish to be sent for; that he would borrow the captain's horse, and would be at Broadstone as early as was proper to make a visit.

"Proper!" exclaimed Olive. "In a case like this any time is proper. In Mrs. Easterfield's name I invite you to breakfast. I know she will be glad to have me do it. And now I must go on. You are very, very good, and I am very grateful."

d.i.c.k could not say that he was more grateful for being allowed to help her than she could possibly be for being helped, but his face showed it, and if she had looked at him she would have known it.

"Miss Asher," he exclaimed as she rose, "your skirt is covered with dust. You must have fallen."

"I did have one fall," she said, "but I was so worried I did not mind."

"But you can not go back in that plight," he said; "let me dust your skirt." And breaking a little branch from a bush, he proceeded to make her look presentable. "And now," said he, when she had complimented him upon his skill, "I will walk with you to the entrance of the grounds.

Perhaps as you are so tired," he said hesitatingly, "I can help you along, so that you will not have to work so hard yourself."

"Oh, no," she answered; "that is not at all necessary. When I am on the turnpike I can go beautifully. I feel ever so much rested and stronger, and it is all due to you. So you see, although you will not go with me, you will help me very much." And she smiled as she spoke. He truly had helped her very much.

d.i.c.k was unwilling that she should go on alone, although it was still broad daylight and there was no possible danger, and he was also unwilling because he wanted to go with her, but there was no use saying anything or thinking anything, and so he stood and watched her rolling along until she had pa.s.sed the top of a little hill, and had departed from his view. Then he ran to the top of the little hill, and watched her until she was entirely out of sight.

The rest of the way to the toll-gate seemed very short to d.i.c.k, but he had time enough to make up his mind that he would see the captain at the earliest possible moment; that he would deliver his message and the letter of Lieutenant Asher; that he would immediately bring up the matter of Maria Port and let the captain know the mischief that woman had done. Then, armed with the a.s.surances the captain would give him, he would start for Broadstone after supper, and carry the good news to Olive. It would be a shame to let that dear girl remain in suspense for the whole night, when he, by riding, or even walking an inconsiderable number of miles, could relieve her. He found old Jane in the tollhouse.

"Where is the captain" he asked.

"The captain?" she repeated. "He's in town takin' supper with his sweetheart."

d.i.c.k stared at her.

"Perhaps you haven't heard that he's engaged to Maria Port," said the woman; "and I don't wonder you're taken back! But I suppose everybody will soon know it now, and the sooner the better, I say."

"What are you talking about" exclaimed d.i.c.k. "You don't mean to tell me that the captain is going to marry Miss Port?"

"Whether he wants to or not, he's gone so far he'll have to. I've knowed for a long time she's been after him, but I didn't think she'd catch him just yet."

"I don't believe it." cried d.i.c.k. "It must be a mistake! How do you know it?"

"Know!" said old Jane, who, ordinarily a taciturn woman, was now excited and inclined to volubility. "Don't you suppose I've got eyes and ears?

Didn't I see them for ever and ever so long sittin' out on this piazza, where everybody could see 'em, a-spoonin' like a couple of young people?

And didn't I see 'em tearin' themselves asunder as if they couldn't bear to be apart for an hour? And didn't I hear her tell him she was goin' home to get an extry good supper for him? And didn't I hear her call him 'dear John,' and kiss her hand to him. And if you don't believe me you can go into the kitchen and ask Mary; she heard the 'dear John'

and saw the hand-kissin'. And then didn't he tell me he was goin' to the Ports' to supper, and if he stayed late and anybody asked for him--meaning you, most probable, and I think he might have left somethin' more of a message for you--that he was to be found with the Ports--with Maria most likely, for the old man goes to bed early?"

d.i.c.k made no answer; he was standing motionless looking out upon the flowers in the garden.

"And perhaps you haven't heard of Miss Olive comin' past on a bicycle,"

old Jane remarked. "I saw her comin', and I knew by the look on her face that it made her sick to see that woman sittin' here, and I don't blame her a bit. When he started so early for town I thought he might be intendin' to look for her, and yet be in time for the Ports' supper, but she didn't come back this way at all, and I expect she went home by the shunpike."

"Which she did," said d.i.c.k, showing by this remark that he was listening to what the old woman was saying.

"But he cut me mighty short when I asked him," continued old Jane. "I tried to ease his mind, but as I found his mind didn't need no easin', I minded my own business, just as he was mindin' his. And now, sir, you'll have to eat your supper alone this time."

If d.i.c.k's supper had consisted of nectar and the brains of nightingales he would not have noticed it; and, until late in the evening, he sat in the arbor, anxiously waiting for the captain's return. About ten o'clock old Jane, sleepy from having sat up so long, called to him from the door that he might as well come in and let her lock up the house. The captain was not coming home that night. He had stayed with the Ports once before, when the old man was sick.

"I guess he's got a better reason for stayin' tonight," she said. "It'll be a great card for that Maria when the Glenford people knows it, and they'll know it you may be sure, if she has to go and walk the soles of her feet off tellin' them. One thing's mighty sure," she continued. "I'm not goin' to stay here with her in the house. He'll have to get somebody else to help him take toll. But I guess she'll want to do that herself.

Nothin' would suit her better than to be sittin' all day in the tollhouse talkin' scandal to everybody that goes by."

_CHAPTER XVII_

_d.i.c.k is not a Prompt Bearer of News._