"Why, whatever made you come out like this?" said Caroline, removing the wet cloak. "You must have wanted a job, aunt."

Mrs. Creddle shook her head, her hand on her heart--for she was a stout woman and upset by her tussle with the elements. "You may be sure that it was something that wouldn't keep," she said at last. Then she burst forth: "Carrie, your uncle has been to Mr. Wilson! He's been and told him that if he ever catches you together again he'll break a stick over his back. He lost a couple of hours this morning, and he went and told him. Now he's gone to his work, and I come on here."

"What!" gasped Caroline, her eyes black in a face as white as death.

"Uncle's dared to insult me by doing a thing like that? What made him do it?"

"He was at the Buffaloes last night, and when they came away he heard one man say to another that you was Wilson's fancy lady----" She paused and added in a low tone: "They said you'd been stopping out all night."

"Uncle knows I didn't," said Caroline, beginning to tremble. "What beasts men are! Didn't uncle tell them?"

"Oh yes; he told 'em right enough. But he come home in a fine rage, I can tell you. He said he wasn't going to have no more of it: and I believe he would have gone straight to Miss Temple--only she has always behaved very decent to us, and he didn't like to make mischief, seeing she is so set on the feller."

"Why didn't uncle come to me?" said Caroline. "Why didn't you make him, aunt?"

Mrs. Creddle shook her head. "When you know as much about men as I do----"

"But what was his reason?" asked Caroline.

"He said it was no good saying anything to you, because when a la.s.s gets feller-fond there's no doing nothing with her. He said he couldn't use the strap to you now, but he wasn't going to have any la.s.s belonging to him talked about in that way."

There was a moment's silence. "Did uncle tell you what Mr. Wilson said?" Then she threw up her head. "But I expect he threatened to go for uncle."

"Go for him!" echoed Mrs. Creddle. "Not he. He only wanted to get away and not have a scandal in the place."

"I don't believe that," said Caroline. "Uncle can say what he likes, but I don't believe that."

"It's true, my la.s.s," said Mrs. Creddle kindly. "I ran along to tell you now, for fear you should come across Wilson or your uncle before you knew. He promised on his honour to have naught no more to do with you."

"Did he?" said Caroline, her blazing eyes very near to her aunt's in that tiny place. "Then he is a day too late for the fair--and uncle too. You may tell uncle that. I haven't seen Mr. Wilson for ten days or more, and I'll never enter uncle's house again as long as I live."

"You mustn't talk like that, honey," said Mrs. Creddle. "Uncle took it to heart because he thinks such a lot of you. But you'll soon find some nice young feller in your own station of life next time: don't go hankering after a gentleman, my dear. You would never get one of the best sort, and the other sort's no good to you." She sighed. "But you always had high notions, Carrie, though I don't know where you get them from. I suppose they're going about." With that Mrs. Creddle opened the little door of the pay-box, and let in a blast of air that nearly blew her hat from her head; then she hurried down the wind-swept road in order to get her husband's dinner ready before that already irritated breadwinner should return.

But Caroline sat down again on her chair and threw open the little window so that the salt air could blow across her face. She did not want to cry, because at any minute some one might want to come through the barrier; but after a minute or two she had no fear of that. She began to burn so with outraged pride that she could not yet feel the deeper ache of wounded love. Over and over again the words formed of themselves on the surface of the whirling storm in her mind: "I aren't _going_ to give in! I aren't _going_ to be pitied!"

Then a member of the promenade band came along, fighting with the gale, obliged to fetch some music which he had left in the hall the night before. "Wild morning! Can't say I'm sorry we close to-morrow," he said.

Caroline answered him, but he still lingered, though he had never taken any particular notice of her before, and did not know why he felt inclined to stop to-day. He suddenly felt that Caroline was interesting, though he was not actually aware of that odd shining of the spirit through the flesh--like a lamp in an alabaster vase--which was characteristic of Caroline in moments of supreme, pa.s.sionate emotion. All he thought was, that there was something unusual about the girl, and that he was sorry he had not noticed it before.

Still, as a decent married man with a wife and children, he took such pleasures as talking to the girl on the promenade in strict moderation, so very soon he went off with his mackintosh flapping.

A few minutes later Lillie came to relieve guard, her woollen tam o'

shanter wet and her front hair blown out of curl.

"I've had about enough of this," she said. "I'm going to find another job before next summer."

"Oh, I expect your job will be putting your boy's slippers before the fire and getting his tea ready," said Caroline, still speaking from the very top of her thoughts--as careful as if she were treading on very thin ice, not to risk the depths.

The prospective bride giggled, gratified, and Caroline went out; but the next minute she was startled to hear Lillie call shrilly from the little window: "Carrie! Carrie! You've forgotten your umbrella, and on a day like this! You must be in love!"

Caroline took the umbrella, but said nothing; she was at the end of her powers.

_Chapter XX_

_Levelling_

When Caroline reached the Cottage she was surprised to see the front door standing wide open, for the storm swept full across the garden from the south now that the privet hedge was taken up. The next moment Laura came out, her face almost ghastly under the tan, and she put her hand on Caroline's arm.

"There's bad news," she said, and paused. Caroline's thoughts flew to G.o.dfrey, and her heart missed a beat. Then Laura went on again: "Miss Ethel has had a fall. I am afraid she is very seriously ill indeed.

She was carrying a china pail downstairs and it was too heavy for her."

Caroline stared into Laura's face, forgetting G.o.dfrey. "Oh, Miss Laura! I know what it was. I forgot to empty the pail, and she was doing it. If she dies I have killed her. It's my fault. It's all my fault!"

"Oh no; nothing of the sort," said Laura, a little impatiently, for she had no clue to Caroline's previously over-wrought condition. "The doctor thinks the fall was owing to some sort of seizure."

Then they entered the house together, and as they crossed the hall Wilson came out from the sitting-room; but beyond a grave good morning to Caroline he said nothing, pa.s.sing at once to the coat lobby to fetch his hat and coat.

Caroline hesitated a moment, not quite knowing what to do: then she went into the kitchen. Her meal was put ready on the table just as Miss Ethel had left it, and when Caroline saw the piece of meat and the cold tart and bread so neatly arranged for her by those hands so long unaccustomed to manual labour, she felt her lips begin to tremble. It was hard. Poor Miss Ethel! Poor Miss Ethel! If only she had remembered to empty that pail! If only---- And all at once she was seized by a pa.s.sion of weeping which she could neither stop nor control. But it was not really for Miss Ethel--it was for that, terrible blow to her love and pride which came before.

Then Miss Panton came into the kitchen with a hot-water bottle; so Caroline sprang up, choking back her sobs. "Here, let me fill that, Miss Panton!" As she went to the fireplace where there was a kettle boiling, she added in a low voice: "How is Miss Ethel now?"

"The doctor says she is unconscious," answered Miss Panton, also speaking in the unnatural voice which people use at such a time. "It was a blessing the man happened to be laying sods where the privet hedge used to be, or I don't know what Mrs. Bradford would have done.

She ran out to him, and he fetched the woman who lives in that new house over the hedge. It seems she was a trained nurse before she married."

"I hope Miss Ethel didn't know. She hated that house being built,"

said Caroline.

"I don't think she knew; but it wouldn't have mattered to her, poor dear," said Miss Panton. "I suppose that's why it is so dreadful to feel that nothing matters--it always has a taste of death." She spoke from the deeps of her own experience, wise with what she had lived through; but the next second she turned uncertain again and thrust forth one of her copy-book maxims. "Yes, yes. Decessity makes strange bed-fellows."

Caroline fastened the hot-water bag. "I'll run upstairs with this,"

she said. "Then I shall see if there is anything else I can do."

"I am afraid there is dothing anyone can do," said Miss Panton, for her catarrh had come back with her nervous self-consciousness.

Mrs. Bradford came slowly downstairs into the hall, her big face congested with weeping. "Oh, Caroline!" she said.

But she could not say any more, and walked on into the sitting-room where the Vicar was already seated.

"Oh, Vicar: I'm afraid you are too late," she said, and began to weep afresh. "It's so dreadfully, dreadfully sudden."

"I came the moment Mr. Wilson told me. I chanced to be in the house,"

said the Vicar. He paused. "I wouldn't trouble too much about my being late, Mrs. Bradford. Miss Ethel did not leave things until now, you know. She was ready to meet her G.o.d."

"She is quite unconscious," said Mrs. Bradford. "At first she kept murmuring over and over: 'Everything's so different.--everything's so different.' But the doctor said it was probably what she was saying to herself when she fell. It meant nothing."

"Meant nothing!" It was Miss Panton's voice, which cut abruptly across their solemn conversation, startling them both; but she had again forgotten herself entirely. "You say it meant nothing--when she's dying of it."