"I thought you were!" answered Richard. "But indeed I beg your pardon! I might have known how light you must be!"

"I am very heavy for my size!"

"May I walk a little way alongside of you, miss?"

"You have a right; I have offered you my company more than once,"

answered Barbara.

They walked a little way in silence.

"Why is there no way to the heaven you believe in, but the terrible gate of death?" asked Richard at length. "If a G.o.d of love, as you say your G.o.d is, made the world, and could not--for want of room, I suppose--let his creatures live on in it, he would surely have thought of some better way out of it than such a ghastly one!"

Perhaps the most surprising thing about Barbara was her readiness. Very seldom had one to wait for her answer.

"This morning," she said, "for the first time with me on her back at least, Miss Brown refused a jump--and I grant the place _looked_ ugly!

But I gave her a little sharp persuasion, and she took it beautifully, coming away as proud of herself as possible.--If there be a G.o.d, he must know as much better than you and I, as I know better than Miss Brown.

One who never did anything we couldn't understand, couldn't be G.o.d. How else could he make things?"

"Yes, if they are made!"

"If I were you, I would be quite sure first, before I said they were not. You won't a.s.sert anything you are not sure of; don't deny anything either. Good-bye.--Go, Miss Brown!"

She was more peremptory than usual, but he liked it--rather. He felt she had some right to speak to him so: positive as he had hitherto been, he was not really sure of anything!

The fact was, Barbara had been irritated that morning, and had got over the irritation, but not quite over the excitement of it. She thought Miss Brown should never again set hoof within the gates of Mortgrange.

After breakfast, lady Ann had sent for her to her dressing-room, and Barbara had gone, prepared to hear of something to her disadvantage. The same woman who had been so uncivil to Richard, had watched and seen them go out together. She fastened the library window behind them, and went and told lady Ann, who requested her to mind her own business.

When Barbara rang the bell, not caring much--for a night in the park was of little consequence to her--the door was immediately opened, but only a little way, by some one without a light, whose face or even person she could not distinguish, for the door was quite in shadow. It closed again, and she was left darkling, to find her way to her room as best she might. She stood for a moment.

"Who is it?" she said.

No one answered. She heard neither footstep nor sound of garments.

Carefully feeling her way, she got to the foot of the great stair, and in another minute was in her room.

When Barbara entered lady Ann's dressing-room, she greeted her with less than her usual frigidity.

"Good morning, my love! You were late last night!" she said.

"I thought I was rather early," answered Barbara, laughing.

"May I ask where you were?" said her ladys.h.i.+p, with her habitual composure.

"About a mile and a half from here, at that little cottage in Burrow-lane."

"How did you come to be there--and for so long? You were hours away!"

Even lady Ann could not prevent a little surprise in her tone as she said the words.

"Mr. Tuke came and told me----"

"I beg your pardon, but do I know Mr. Tuke?"

"The bookbinder, at work in the library."

"Wouldn't your mother be rather astonished at your having secrets with a working-man?"

"Secrets, lady Ann!" exclaimed Barbara. "Your ladys.h.i.+p forgets herself!"

Lady Ann looked up with a languid stare in the fresh young face, rosy with anger.

"Was I not in the act," pursued the girl, "of telling you all about it?

You dare accuse me of such a thing! I only wish you would carry that tale of me to my mother!"

"I am not accustomed to be addressed in this style, Barbara!" drawled lady Ann, without either raising or quickening her voice.

"Then it is time you began, if you are accustomed to speak to girls as you have just spoken to me! I am not accustomed to be told that I have a secret with any man--or woman either! I don't know which I should like worse! I have no secrets. I hate them."

"Compose yourself, my child. You need not be afraid of _me_!" said lady Ann. "I am not your enemy."

She thought Barbara's anger came from fear, for she regarded herself as a formidable person. But for victory she rested mainly on her imperturbability.

"Look me in the face, lady Ann, and tell yourself whether I am afraid of you!" answered Barbara, the very soul of indignation flas.h.i.+ng in her eyes. "I fear no enemy."

Lady Ann found she had a new sort of creature to deal with.

"That I am your friend, you will not doubt when I tell you it was I who let you in last night! I did not wish your absence or the hour of your return to be known. My visitors must not be remarked upon by my servants!"

"Then why did you not speak to me?"

"I wished to give you a lesson."

"You thought to frighten _me_, as if I were a doughy, half-baked English girl! Allow me to ask how you were aware I was out."

Lady Ann was not ready with her answer. She wanted to establish a protective claim on the girl--to have a secret with, and so a hold upon her.

"If the servants do not know," Barbara went on, "would you mind saying how your ladys.h.i.+p came to know? Have the servants up, and I will tell the whole thing before them all--and prove what I say too."

"Calm yourself, Miss Wylder. You will scarcely do yourself justice in English society, if you give way to such temper. As you wish the whole house to know what you were about, pray begin with me, and explain the thing to me."

"Mr. Tuke told me he had found a young woman almost dead with hunger and cold by the way-side, and carried her to a cottage. I came to you, as you well remember, and begged a little brandy. Then I went to the larder, and got some soup. She would certainly have been dead before the morning, if we had not taken them to her."

"Why did you not tell me what you wanted the brandy for?"

"Because you would have tried to prevent me from going."

"Of course I should have had the poor creature attended to!--I confess I should have sent a more suitable person."