Chapter XVI: Misjudged

WE gained the house without encountering anybody. Agneta went upstairs at once, while I hastened to get her a cup of tea. Entering the dining-room, I found Alan Faulkner seated there taking tea in solitude. I started at seeing him, and a hot tide of colour rose in my face. I would have given anything not to have blushed at that moment. The belief that my access of colour would be interpreted as a symptom of inward shame heightened my confusion till I felt that I was crimson to the roots of my hair.

"Oh," I said stupidly, "are you having tea alone?"

"Yes," he said. "Jenny insisted on bringing me some. She said all the others were out."

"I hope she made it properly," I said.

"It is very nice," he replied. "Let me give you some?"

"No, thank you, I will not have any just now," I responded awkwardly; "but I will take a cup for Agneta. She has a headache."

I began to prepare a little tray to carry upstairs, and he helped me deftly. It had been a surprise to me to discover that such a learned man could be so handy and practical in everyday matters.

I went upstairs and remained with Agneta until she had taken her tea. I expected that Mr. Faulkner would have quitted the dining-room ere my return, but when I came back with the tray, he was still there, doing nothing more profitable than playing with Sweep.

"I poured out a cup for you, Miss Nan," he said as I entered. "I know you do not like strong tea, but now I am afraid you will find it cold. Let me ring for some fresh tea?"

"This will do nicely, thank you," I said constrainedly as I seated myself at the table.

He had moved to the window, and sat there in such a position that I only caught a side view of him. Sweep's forepaws were on his knee, and he was stroking the dog's ears with a regular, even movement, which appeared to be equally agreeable to them both.

"Why could he not go away and leave me to take my tea in peace?" I thought, as I waited nervously for him to speak. I tried hard to appear at my ease as I sipped my tea, but I was far from being so. I longed to break into careless talk, but somehow I could think of nothing to say.

Gradually I became aware that he was scarcely less embarrassed than I was. Once or twice, he shot a grave, inquiring glance at me, and seemed about to speak, but nothing came of it. When at last he spoke, his words gave me a shock.

"That was Mr. Ralph Marshman whom I saw with you in the wood, Miss Nan."

"It was," was all I could say, while, to my vexation, I felt myself flushing again.

"He was at Cambridge with me," he said.

"You know him then?" was my reply.

"My acquaintance with him was of the slightest description," he replied emphatically. "He was in his first year, and I had finished my college course."

I was silent, for I felt myself in a dilemma. For Agneta's sake I should have liked to question him concerning Mr. Ralph Marshman; but if I did so he would imagine that I took a personal interest in the young man. Indeed, I much feared that already that idea had possession of his mind. I longed to explain the true state of affairs, but I could not betray Agneta's secret. I was bound to keep silence, but I realised with a sinking heart that my promise was likely to cost me dear.

An awkward silence had lasted for some minutes, when Alan Faulkner said in a low, deep voice, that seemed to vibrate with some subtle emotion:

"I wonder, Miss Nan, if I dare take the privilege of a friend, and venture to give you a warning."

"Of course, I shall be happy for you to speak to me as a friend," I said, as he waited for me to reply; "but you are mistaken in supposing that I need a warning."

"Ah, you do not know," he said quickly; "you are young, Miss Nan, and may be easily deceived by a specious manner and good appearance. I hate to speak against people. It seems mean to rake up the errors of a man's past. If I thought he had reformed, I would not say a word; but as it is, I think you ought to know that while I was at the University Ralph Marshman made himself notorious by a course of conduct which resulted in his being sent down. I—I hardly know how to tell you, but it was something more than a mad escapade, the outcome of youthful riot; he acted in a way that showed him to be utterly unprincipled and dishonourable to a degree. Forgive me if I give you pain."

Of course, he said it with the kindest intention; but his thus taking it for granted that I was so deeply interested in Ralph Marshman made me unreasonably angry. His words certainly caused my heart to quiver with pain; but in a way that he could not understand. At the same time they kindled within me such a fire of passionate indignation as led me to exclaim, in a voice unlike my own: "Pain! How can you give me pain, Mr. Faulkner? I can assure you that is beyond your power; but it amazes me that you should thus misjudge another."

I paused, for my voice had grown husky. I found myself on the point of bursting into tears. Alan Faulkner had turned on the window seat, and was looking at me with eyes full of pain, and with something of reproach in them too, it seemed to me. The next moment there was the sound of wheels on the gravel outside, and the wagonette drove up to the door containing Aunt Patty, Mr. Dicks, and innumerable parcels.

Instantly I sprang up, welcoming the diversion. Choking down my emotion, I ran out. As I busied myself in helping aunt out and collecting the parcels, I assumed an animation at which I secretly marvelled. Was I too becoming an adept at dissimulation? As I chattered away to Mr. Dicks, or questioned aunt as to what she had done, my heart was like lead, yet it seemed to me that I played my part well. I did not deceive Aunt Patty, however. She looked at me more than once with an intentness that made me uncomfortable, and at last she said:

"What is the matter with you, Nan? You don't seem yourself somehow. Have you been ministering to Agneta, till you have got a headache from force of sympathy?"

"Not exactly," I replied, thankful that Mr. Faulkner had taken himself off ere aunt made this remark: "but the weather is trying, don't you think? It seems so hot and oppressive this afternoon."

"I have not found it so," said Aunt Patty; "there was a nice breeze driving."

"If you'd lived in New York, Miss Nan, I guess you wouldn't call this a hot day," said Josiah Dicks; "I wonder what Pollie would say to it. Do you know that she is sitting up to-day? I saw her, bless her heart! And she waved her hand to her old dad from the window."

"Yes, I know. Auntie told me. I am so glad," I said, trying hard to seem glad, while I secretly felt as if gladness and I had parted company for ever. Then I went away. My bedroom, unfortunately, was no longer a place of refuge for me, so I turned into Paulina's deserted room, which had been thoroughly disinfected after she quitted it. I sat down, and tried to review the situation calmly; but my thoughts were like goads, and soon drove me to pacing the floor in a restless anguish which sought relief in movement. I was angry with Alan Faulkner and angry with myself. What right had he to leap to the conclusion that I was attracted by Ralph Marshman? It was intolerable that he should imagine him to be my lover. My face burned with shame as I thought of it, and I reproached myself bitterly for the ill-considered action which had placed me in such a false position. That he should think it necessary to warn me that the man was unworthy!

My mind found no relief as I recalled all that had passed between us. I had said not a word that could remove the impression which he had received. Now that it was too late, I thought of many a neatly-turned, significant phrase which might have convinced him of his mistake without revealing my cousin's folly. Why had I dumbly submitted to the imputation? Why had the few words I had uttered been so passionately incoherent? Ah! I knew but too well how it was. The discovery that he had so misunderstood me dealt me a blow which deprived me of the power to defend myself. No one's good opinion would I less willingly lose than that of Alan Faulkner. And I had lost it—lost it, as I feared, for ever, through my own blind folly!

The sound of the dressing-bell roused me from my bitter musings. Wearily, heavily I went to prepare for dinner. It is no exaggeration to say that I felt at that hour as if I could never know happiness, or even comfort, again.

Agneta was already dressed when I entered our room. Her face was flushed. She looked pretty and excited. Her mood too had changed. She persisted in discussing all kinds of trifles with me as I made my toilette, till in my irritation I could hardly refrain from bidding her hold her tongue. And this was the girl who had seemed broken-hearted a little while before! I reflected that she could have no depth of character. Her tears had arisen from mere surface emotion. She could not really care greatly for Ralph Marshman. And it was for the sake of such a one that I was stung with sharpest self-reproach and suffered such a cruel sense of loss. I was far from loving my cousin as I followed her downstairs that evening.

My head ached, and I had little appetite as I seated myself at the table. I saw aunt glance at me and then at Agneta, who had quite regained her spirits, and was chatting with Colonel Hyde. When I ventured to turn my eyes on Alan Faulkner it struck me that he looked grave and stern. Beyond making a few remarks to Aunt Patty in a subdued tone, he contributed little to the conversation. Once I caught a searching glance from him, beneath which my eyes sank involuntarily.

The next moment an indignant sense of the injustice of his judgment rallied my spirit. Why should I be ashamed, when I had no true cause for shame? If I had acted unwisely in meeting Ralph Marshman in the wood, my intention had been good. I had done nothing that I should fear to confess to mother. Oh, how I longed for the time when I could tell her all about it!

With that I lifted my head, and, making a desperate effort to appear lighthearted, I began to talk with Mr. Dicks. A strange mood took possession of me, and I laughed and talked with a flippancy of which I was afterwards heartily ashamed. My liveliness outran Agneta's. I said such foolish things that aunt looked at me in astonishment. I believe she thought I had caught Paulina's fever. I could not have acted more foolishly. I was taking the best means of confirming the ill opinion of me I believed Alan Faulkner had formed. The cloud on his brow darkened. He appeared to pay little heed to what was passing about him, yet instinct told me that he heard every word I uttered. When dessert was placed on the table, he asked Aunt Patty to excuse him, as he had some work he wanted to finish. He went away, and the burden of despondency settled again upon my spirit, more intense than before.

I had never been so wretched as I was that night. I was entangled in a mesh of adverse circumstances from which I was powerless to extricate myself. I lay down feeling sure that there could be little sleep for me. Throughout the hours of the night the same poignant thoughts tortured me. Yet I was not without hope. Surely the morrow must bring relief. I determined to make an effort to right myself in Alan Faulkner's estimation. He had, I knew, accepted Mrs. Canfield's invitation to her garden party. During the hours we should spend in those beautiful grounds, I could hope to find an opportunity of saying a few quiet words to Alan Faulkner, which, without compromising Agneta would convince him that Ralph Marshman was no friend of mine.

Round this idea my thoughts finally gathered as the weary night passed away. Agneta's restless movements made me doubt if she were sleeping much more than I, but I never addressed a word to her. I found it hard to forgive her for the mischief she had wrought.

Day was dawning ere the first gleam of true comfort visited my soul. It came with a memory of Holy Writ. "If our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things." My heart did condemn me for folly and mistake, but not for the moral ugliness and dissimulation which I believed were imputed to me. And God knew all things! However others might misjudge me, there was perfect comprehension, perfect justice for me with Him. Why had I not carried my sense of wrong to Him, instead of resenting my injury with weapons of pride and indignation which had only recoiled against myself? I had longed for the comfort of mother's sympathy, and all the while there was a stronger, mightier Love, a Love which knew those hidden recesses of my heart that I could hardly have laid bare even to her, and the arms of that love were outstretched to draw me near! Weak, helpless, crying like a child, I crept into the embrace of that love, and found rest. As the birds began to chirp beneath the eaves I fell asleep.

When I came into the breakfast-room the next morning, rather later than usual, Mr. Dicks cheerily congratulated me on its being such a fine day for the garden party.

"It is just the kind of weather you young ladies like," he said; "fine and warm enough for you to wear your muslins and laces without a fear. How my Pollie would have enjoyed it! However, she will enjoy going to the seaside before long, if all goes well. The doctor says he will soon give us permission to shift our quarters."

I hardly know how I replied to him, for at the same moment there fell on my ears the voice of Alan Faulkner saying to Aunt Patty in clear, incisive tones:

"I must write a note to Mrs. Canfield, and beg her to excuse me this afternoon. I am obliged to go to town to-day on important business."

"Oh, what a pity!" Aunt Patty exclaimed, with genuine regret in her tones. "Mrs. Canfield will be so disappointed."

"I think not," he said with a shake of the head. "Out of a hundred guests she can surely spare one."

"That may be, but not such a one," was aunt's reply. "I know that both she and the Squire were looking forward to seeing you."

Alan Faulkner smiled incredulously. For a learned professor, he was wonderfully deficient in a sense of his own importance.

"Is there no help for it?" aunt asked.

"None," he replied. "I must go, and by the first train, too."

My heart sank within me as I realised that the hope to which I had clung during the wakeful hours of the night was doomed to disappointment. Not yet was I to be reinstated in the estimation of my friend. Unconsciously I had cherished many pleasurable anticipations of the day's festivity. Now I shrank from the thought of it, but I little foresaw how different from my preconceptions everything would be.