His face quivered all over. "I have no right to speak to her yet," he said. "Perhaps--but I must wait. Can't you see it must be so? I shall have my own way to make in the world." He squared his shoulders as he said it, as if eager to begin the struggle.

"Tom, I don't see it," his aunt burst out. But he would not let her go on.

He could not bear it. He felt that it was utterly impossible for him to ask Rhoda to marry him if she was heiress of Woodcote and he without a penny he could call his own. If they had met knowing their relative positions, it might have been different. But now he could make no claim on her. His aunt's conduct had raised a barrier between them that could not be broken down till he had won an independent position for himself.

Miss Merivale's heart ached as she looked at him, but she was far from understanding the full bitterness of the blow she had inflicted on him.

Tom felt as if he had suddenly grown old. He left his aunt presently and went out into the open air. He no longer felt inclined to go and meet the pony carriage, but he went through the wood to the furzy common beyond.

From there he could see the high road stretching like a white ribbon across the downs.

No pony carriage was in sight, but a traction engine was lumbering heavily upwards, with a man walking before it carrying a red flag. Tom was glad to see it disappear over the dip of the hill. The lane from Bingley woods entered the high road lower down the hill. There was no danger of Bob's nerves being shaken by the sight of the fiery-throated monster.

The road lay white and silent in the sunshine now. Tom sat down on a turf hillock, fixing his eyes drearily upon it. He felt intensely miserable.

CHAPTER XI. POLLY SMITH.

The expedition to Bingley woods was not a success. Pauline was in one of her worst tempers, and treated Rose so rudely that the poor girl was more ashamed of her chosen friend than angry with her.

To Rhoda, Pauline was all that was sweet and flattering. She had promised Miss Merivale to say nothing to her; but she was eager to ingratiate herself with the girl whom she now knew to be an heiress, and to make her forget how she had treated her while she was Clare's a.s.sistant.

Rhoda was strongly irritated by her advances. Pauline's snubs had never wounded her very deeply. Rhoda only valued the good opinion of those whom she respected. But Pauline's eagerness to make friends turned her indifference to something like violent dislike. She found it hardly possible to speak civilly to her.

She went off at last into the depths of the wood, leaving Rose and Pauline together. Her irritation soon pa.s.sed away when she was alone. The basket she had brought to fill with primroses remained empty in her hands. She wandered on, her eyes drinking in the beauty round her. Only the lower boughs of the trees were in leaf as yet, and the wood was full of golden light. Primroses were everywhere, and in the more open s.p.a.ces celandines starred the ground with deeper yellow. In a month the glades between the trees would be carpeted by bluebells. But there were no bluebells yet.

Spring was still in its infancy. The great oaks that skirted the wood stretched bare wintry boughs over the flowers beneath them.

It was a time of hope, of delicate, exquisite promise; and Rhoda's lips curved with a happy, dreamy smile, as she listened to the story the woods whispered to her that April day.

The deep voice of the clock in Bingley church tower recalled her to the necessity of going back to her companions. It was four o'clock, the time they had fixed for starting homewards. It was not with any pleasure that she thought of the long drive. She suspected that Pauline and Rose had had a serious quarrel, and that Pauline's politeness to her arose from a wish to vex Rose.

All the way to the woods Pauline had criticised Rose's driving, speaking with authority, as if she had driven a pony carriage all her life. Rhoda could have laughed outright if she had not been so angry.

She found the two girls ready to start for the village when she got back to the spot where she had left them.

"Pauline wants to go round by the high road," Rose said, looking appealingly at Rhoda. "It will make us much later at home. You can see the Abbey another day, Pauline. There isn't much to see; is there, Miss Sampson?"

"It will not take us half an hour longer. How obstinate you are, Rosie!"

exclaimed Pauline irritably. "I will drive, and make Bob understand that he must hurry a little. Why should we walk up that long tiresome lane to save his legs? There is no hill to speak of the other way, you say. I am too tired to walk a step. I am not so strong as you are. Miss Sampson, don't you agree with me that the high road will be much the better way for us?"

"We promised Miss Merivale that we would be back early," Rhoda said coldly. "I think it is a pity to go out of our way."

"But we should be at home just as soon. Rose insists that we must all walk up the lane. I am sure you are too tired to do it, Miss Sampson, if I was not. But Bob is to be considered before either of us, eh, Rose?"

Rose walked down the turf slope towards the village without answering; she was too cross to discuss the question any further.

A new complication arose when they reached the rustic inn where Bob and the carriage had been left. One of Bob's shoes was found to be loose, and it was necessary to get it fixed before starting for home.

Rose drew Rhoda aside, and spoke eagerly to her. "Miss Sampson, would you drive home with Pauline? I could walk across the downs and be home in half an hour. I don't like to leave Aunt Lucy so long alone."

"Will you let me go?" Rhoda answered, as eagerly as Rose had spoken. "I know the way quite well. I would so much rather go, if you don't mind."

Rose could quite well understand that Rhoda must find Pauline's society unpleasant, even though Pauline now appeared bent on being agreeable to her. "Are you sure you know the way?" she said doubtfully. "But it is easy. You will see Woodcote when once you are on the top of the downs."

"I know the way quite well," Rhoda said, with a bright face. It was delightful to her to escape the drive home with Pauline.

She started at once, and was soon on the top of the downs, enjoying the breezy expanse of beautiful rolling country round her. Half an hour's rapid walking brought her to the furzy common close to Woodcote woods. She had come down to it from the downs; and Tom, seated on his hillock, with his eyes turned to the road, did not become aware of her presence till she was quite close to him. He had been hidden by the gorse bushes from Rhoda till the moment before he started up. And she would have shyly hurried on without speaking to him if the sound of her step had not made him look round.

She hurriedly explained how she came to be there alone. "I don't think they will be back for an hour or more," she said, looking at the white ribbon of road Tom had been watching for so long. "The high road is much longer than the lane, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Tom briefly. He had forgotten all about the traction engine.

In fact, he had hardly understood what Rhoda was saying. His heart was heavy within him.

They turned and walked down the sunny bit of slope, where the bees were busy among the golden gorse blossoms. Tom was not silent. He could not trust himself to be silent. He began to speak of the meeting he had just been attending at Croydon. He gave Rhoda a vivid account of it, which lasted till they got close to the house; then, with a hasty excuse of having forgotten to tell Jackson something, he left her.

Rhoda walked on to the house with a calm, even step. Wilmot, who met her in the hall, and told her that Miss Merivale was lying down and did not wish to be disturbed, noticed nothing unusual about her. She stood and talked some minutes with the old servant before going upstairs to her room. And she gave her a sunny smile as she left her. Even when she was alone, and had shut the door between her and the world, she did not fling herself down by the bed and burst into tears, as unhappy heroines so often do. She changed her dress, and carefully mended a rent the briers had made in the one she took off. Then she got _Hamblin Smith's Arithmetic_ and her notebook, and began the hour's work she set herself every day. A tear or two did come--she could not keep them back; but she worked steadily on.

She would not even allow herself to think how she could have offended Tom, or what the explanation of his changed manner could be. She picked out the hardest examples in Complex Fractions she could find, and concentrated her mind on them.

She was still working when Wilmot came to her door.

"Miss Rose and Miss Smythe have not come home, miss. Shall I send in tea?

It is past six o'clock."

Rhoda opened the door. "I will go and ask Miss Merivale, Wilmot."

Wilmot looked doubtful. Her mistress had given strict orders that she was not to be disturbed.

"I will not go in," Rhoda said, as she saw her doubtful glance. "I will just knock softly. If she is awake, she might be glad of a cup of tea."

Rhoda's first knock was not answered; but when she tapped softly again, she heard Miss Merivale's voice telling her to come in. Miss Merivale was lying on the bed, with her face turned to the wall. She reached out her hand for Rhoda's, and clasped it tenderly, but did not turn round.

"My head is very bad, darling. Tell Rose I won't have any tea. I want to keep quite quiet."

Rhoda did not tell her that Rose and Pauline had not returned. She was afraid she might be alarmed. The deadly pallor of her face quite frightened her. She spoke to Tom when she went downstairs.

"Miss Merivale looks very ill," she said, "and she won't let me do anything for her."

Tom was sitting at the table before the hall window, busy making flies for his trout fishing. He was so intent on his work that he did not look up.

"She gets bad headaches. I should not be anxious. She always likes to be left alone."

Rhoda did not answer this. She went into the dining-room, where tea was laid ready, and sat down in the broad window-seat with some needlework.

If Tom had come in then, she would have been very cold to him. Her pride was up in arms. But he did not come near her; and for a miserable half hour Rhoda sat there alone, feeling as if all life's music had suddenly stopped, and winter had taken the place of spring.

Wilmot came in at last to urge her to have some tea. "Miss Rosie may be stopping to tea at the Rectory. It isn't any good for you and Mr. Tom to wait any longer."