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CHAPTER VI.
A REVELATION

"I think—" said Miss Boldero one day about a fortnight after this—"it appears to me that Leonore might now be permitted to see the rector?"—and she looked round to take the opinion of her sisters. Their father was not present.

Perhaps the speaker had awaited such an opportunity, possibly what appeared to be a very simple suggestion cost her an effort,—at any rate, something of constraint in her air and accents arrested the attention of the person most concerned, and Leo, wondering what so formal a preamble portended, was so taken aback by the climax that she did what she alone of the Bolderos ever did, she giggled.

"I can't help it, Sue; I really can't. Oh, dear—oh, dear!"

Permitted to see the rector? Had she not been almost daily seeing—and dodging—the worthy Custance for weeks past? It had seemed to her that she could not set foot outside the Abbey domain without catching a glimpse of his long, thin figure somewhere or other on the road outside,—and she had actually taken to spying out the land through a chink of the park palings in order to let the figure, if there, vanish, before venturing forth. Again she quavered apologetically, "Oh, dear—oh, dear!"

But naturally no one joined in the mirth; Maud looked contemptuous, Sybil indifferent—while a more than ordinary indignation suffused the whole countenance of their half-sister. "Really, Leo!" Sue drew herself up to her full height, and could enunciate no more.

"I mean no harm," protested Leo, stoutly. "You needn't look at me like that, all of you,"—for now she too was vexed and bit her lip. "Why mayn't I laugh when a thing is funny? And it is funny, Sue's saying that."

"Indeed? We don't happen to see it so." Maud was seldom in sympathy with jesting, and it must be owned that to a person with no sense of humour Leo's childishness was at times incomprehensible. Leo, however, had learned not to heed this.

"Well, I'll tell you," cried she, recovering. "Then you'll understand. Poor dear Euty, with his long back and hanging head—what? Oh, Sue, he has. He has the very longest back and thinnest neck—and his head regularly wiggle-waggles over his shoulder,—it will drop off some fine day,—well, I won't then, I'll to the point, as the books say. If Sue will only look a little, little bit relenting?"

"You are wounding Sue in her tenderest point," said Sybil, at length aroused to take part in the conversation. "Don't you know that, by now? Sue is a pillar of the church–"

"It is absurd to make game of Mr. Custance, at any rate," interposed Maud authoritatively. "He is a very good parish clergyman, and much more of a gentleman than any of those you were accustomed to at Deeside," and she threw an immeasurable contempt into her tone. "I never saw one with either decent manners or appearance at your table."

"That's a nasty one," muttered Sybil. Then aloud: "Now we've all had our whack at each other, and Leo has next innings; what is it you want to say, Leo? Never mind Maud; you tell Sue and me your little joke, and let us pronounce upon it."

"No, I think we have had enough;" Sue rose from her seat in offended dignity. "Leo has got to learn that a friend's name should not be bandied about, a mark for insults–"

"But I wasn't—but I didn't;" the momentary mortification Leo had undergone was forgotten in an instant, and all haste and incoherence she sprang after her sister's retreating figure, and caught it. "Sue, dear Sue, you know I never thought of such a thing. Insults? Oh, Sue!"

"They sounded like insults, Leo."

"Then they had no business to. I never would insult anybody, least of all a nice good creature like Euty—there now, you are vexed again. But do let me just say why I laughed about being 'permitted' to see him. It is because he regularly haunts my steps when I'm alone. He does, indeed he does, the dear good man. No doubt he has his reasons, but when you spoke with bated breath–"

"I don't know what you can possibly mean, Leo."

"Oh, yes, you do. You think it a blessed privilege–"

"It is a privilege."

"Not to me. I am hard put to it sometimes to scuttle out of his way."

"To scuttle out of his way!"—for sheer amazement Sue paused to listen.

"It's true, it's perfectly true." Leo nodded at her with mischievous pertinacity. "I am forever running across old Euty—Mr. Custance, then,—because, of course, he does tramp round his parish like a gallant old soul, and I'm sure I honour him for it,—but I have nowhere else to go either. It has been so awfully wet of late, the woods are sopping, so I must take to the roads, and on the roads there is Euty—Mr. Custance. And Euty—Mr. Custance—hankers after me; and you know you said I wasn't to hanker after him, not until you gave me leave–"

"I never said such a word."

"You said I was to have no dealings with anybody—except Val; and Val doesn't count. But of course Euty doesn't know that, and he thinks I'm a poor little soul, and might be glad to pass the time of day with anybody. Whereas I—I like the dear good man very well in church; but outside it, I don't pine and crave for his society. I can exist without it. You needn't stretch a point to grant it me–"

"Is that child going on forever?" struck in Maud, impatiently. "Why do you let her pour out this flood of nonsense, Sue? She simply wants to hear her own tongue, and give no one else a chance."

Apparently, however, Sue thought otherwise. Disregarding the interruption, she maintained a serious and puzzled air.

"Am I to understand that you suppose yourself an object of interest to Mr. Custance, Leo?"

"If not, why does he hunt me about the roads? Why does he come galloping after me–"

"Leo!"

"He does—he did yesterday. I was on ahead near Betty Farmiloe's cottage, and out he popped and saw me. I walked on as fast as ever I could, but his long legs took him over the ground like a racer, and he would have caught me up as sure as fate–"

"You misinterpret a very ordinary civility,–" but the speaker was not allowed to proceed.

"For goodness sake let her 'misinterpret' then," cried Sybil, diverted by the recital, "go on, Leo. Did he catch you, or did he not?"

"A cow came along, so I pretended it was a bull, and dashed into a field. Luckily there was a gate handy."

"'Pretended it was a bull'? How?" rejoined Sybil, still enjoying herself. "You really are a joke, Leo."

"I threw up my arms madly—like this. Then I made furious passes with my umbrella at the cow supposed to be bull. Finally I leaped at the gate and clambered over, unable to see in my desperation that it would have opened if I had only drawn back the bolt. Tableau. The baffled Euty sadly pursues his way, while the trembling and agitated Leo flies over the fields home."

"And never says a word about it?"—from Sybil.

"Not I. Catch me. Sue would have been cross, as she is now," with a roguish glance; "she would have thought I wanted to rob her of her beloved rector—oh, we know how she adores her Euty–"

"What?" It was a new voice that spoke. "What?" repeated General Boldero, stepping forward into their midst. "Do my ears deceive me? Leonore," he paused and gasped. "Wretched child!"—but pomposity prevailed. "May I inquire in all politeness what is the meaning of that most extraordinary, most preposterous accusation? You are silent. You may well be. Your most disgraceful language—again I demand what is the meaning of it?"

He seized her arm, as though she were not already nailed to the spot. "The meaning, girl—the meaning?"

"The—the meaning?"

"I repeat, the meaning. I am coming along the passage, and I hear you shouting at the pitch of your voice–"

"At the pitch of my voice?" echoed Leo, mechanically. Her eye was not upon her father, and she only half heard his thunderous charge,—it was something else which petrified her senses and made her head swim.

Sue? What had come to Sue?

White as death Sue had fallen into a chair, every feature distorted by such a mute agony of terror that—oh, there was no mistaking it, no concealing it, and yet,—Leo looked round.

She was between her unfortunate sister and the rest of the party, Sue having cowered down behind her where she stood,—while Maud and Sybil, to avoid being implicated, had precipitately retreated to a window-recess, the former with a shrug of her shoulders, the latter with the intention of slipping off as soon as might be.

But Sue? Was it possible?—yet nothing else was possible. Nothing else could account for a collapse so sudden and complete. Oh, poor Sue—poor, prim, stately Sue. At another moment,—but Leo must not stop to think what she would have done at another moment; her one aim now must be to shield the defenceless creature, exposed through her. So far, the parent who made poor Sue's life a burden, and yet whom she believed in, loved, and served to the best of her humble power, had concentrated his attention on herself as chief delinquent, but at any moment his infuriated eyes might turn to that shrinking, trembling form, and then?

With the air of a combatant delighted to welcome an unexpected ally, "I am so glad you came in, father," said she.

Glad? The general stepped back as though she had hit him. Glad?

"They are all so down upon me about that stupid old parson of ours," continued Leonore, glibly. "They won't listen to anything I say against him, but I know you will believe me. He really does follow me about the roads, you know; and of course any one might guess what for. He's a money-grabber, that's what he is. Not a 'money-grubber'! I know that kind; we had it in plenty at Deeside, but a 'grabber,' and a 'grabber' of the worst type. He thinks of nothing else but getting money out of you for his poor people. Well, I daresay they are poor, but then so am I, and as I can't tell him so—for you know you forbade me yourself—all I can do is to flee. Yet they laugh me to scorn when I say I flee, and he pursues."

She paused for breath, and moved a little more in front of Sue.

"Humph!" said the general, twirling his moustache. He was arrested, but by no means appeased. She set to work again.

"I know you would not wish me to be mulcted, father, and it is so difficult to say 'no' when a good sort like Mr. Custance–"

"You didn't call him that just now," burst forth the general.

"Oh, I always call him 'Euty' to myself," said Leo, serenely. "Girls do, you know. We always give people nicknames,—and though he is a parson, there's no harm in it, is there? Sue thinks it dreadful, and that there ought to be a sort of halo round the clerical head; and that's why I was teasing her just now–"

"You used most ridiculous, I may say most offensive terms;" he bristled up again.

"Just to have a little rise out of Sue. For Sue was so very positive that the saintly Euty never chased me on the road, supposing me to be rich and generous and likely to give him oceans of money for his poor people, that I had to go at her back. But you know it's true, don't you, father?"

"True enough." He rose to the fly at once. "Why, aye, if this is the case, it certainly—hum, ha—certainly it alters the case. You are a tolerably sharp little piece of goods, Leo, and have discovered what your numskulls of sisters never could. That man would have us all in the workhouse, if he had his way. Directly he crosses this threshold out comes a subscription list, or note-book, or something. It's sheer robbery, that's what it is. Often and often I have to skulk down a back lane, or go into a door I never meant to enter, because I see him coming. I know if once he buttonholes me, I'm done for."

"And as I simply can't be 'done for' in that way, I flee for my life. Now do say a good word for me, father,"—and, to the general's unspeakable amazement, the next moment a little friendly figure was nestling against him, holding on to his coat, and looking up into his face.

The sensation this gave General Boldero was more than novel, it was extraordinary. He was a tolerably old man, he had been twice married, and had always lived surrounded by the gentler sex, but it is safe to say he had never been nestled against in his life. He looked down, he looked up, and then he looked down again.

"Deuced pretty little rogue!" he muttered.

"They think Mr. Custance doesn't know one of us from another, and that it is the most presumptuous cheek on my part to imagine he has ever given me a thought," proceeded Leonore, still intent upon her task; "they think he is far, far above all sublunary affairs–"

"Rubbish. He is no more above them than I am. I don't say Custance isn't well enough, and I have a—a sort of regard for him. But you have the sense to see what your sisters have not–"

"That one simply can't be mulcted at every turn." She had heard "mulcted" on his own lips on more than one occasion; it should serve as a weapon to shield Sue now. Sue, still mute and motionless, cringed behind, but Leo had an intuition that she breathed relief.

"That's it; that's it exactly," cried the general, delighted, and again he appended a mental comment: "Deuced clever little rat!" "Well, I'm glad to find there is some explanation of what really sounded a most outrageous statement;" he turned to depart, now in excellent humour. "I must say, however, that you would do well to see that the dining-room door is shut when next you are amusing yourself with that kind of tomfoolery. Any of the servants coming along had only to step inside and listen behind the screen, and there would have been a fine tittle-tattle among them—aye, and it wouldn't have stopped there. It would have been all through the village that Miss Boldero–"

"Oh, dear, how funny!" laughed Leo. She had felt Sue's fingers clutch her dress behind. She stepped with her father's step, as he moved to pass, and made a face at him.

"There—there—you absurd monkey!" but the monkey was pushed aside with a gentle hand, and marching off with all the honours of the field in his own esteem, the general never once looked at Sue.

CHAPTER VII.
"I HAVE LOST SOMETHING THAT I NEVER HAD."

Throughout the foregoing scene Leonore had evinced a quickness of perception and a delicacy beyond what might have been expected from one so young and volatile,—but directly she was alone a revulsion of feeling took place.

Sue had tottered from the dining-room without so much as a glance towards herself. That was nothing. She understood, and did not in the least resent it—since any recognition of her protecting agency would have openly acknowledged what the hapless spinster might still hope was only vaguely guessed at; but it was the thing itself, the incredible, incomprehensible thing which staggered, and, it must be owned, in a sense revolted her.

She flew out of doors. There only, out of sight and hearing, could her bewildered senses realise what had passed, and grasp its full significance. There only dared she give way to the spasms of passionate amazement and incredulity which found vent in reiterated ejaculations of Sue's name.

Sue? Sue? SUE? She found herself crying it over and over again, and each time with a fresh intonation.

Sue? It was impossible—it was unnatural—it was horrible. Sue? She stamped her foot, and sent a pebble flying down the path.

Sue—poor old Sue—dear old Sue—"Old" Sue, whichever way you took it, how could she, how could she?

In Leo's eyes, Sue, verging on middle age, had never been young; earliest reminiscences pictured her the same composed and tranquil creature, with the same detachment from life as regarded herself, the same contented absorption in the concerns of others, that was present now to the eyes of all.

No one ever thought of Sue in connection with love or matrimony; not even in years gone by; not even when Leo was a child.

True, she had her own niche in the family and household, and it was by no means an unimportant one—but it was high upon a shelf as regarded affairs of the heart.

Her dress, her habits, her punctilio in small matters—all that she did or said marked her the typical old maid, and had done so for years out of mind—so that the present revelation was worse than shocking, it was cruel.

For the best part of an hour the storm raged. She found herself repeating her father's words "preposterous!"—"outrageous!"—and endorsing them with throbs of scorn and anger. The sister she loved, the woman she venerated was lowered in her eyes. She was pained, as well as shocked....

But presently there ensued a change. After all, what had poor Sue done? Certainly she had at no time given the faintest outward indication of her folly, till powerless to help herself; she had endured what must have been a painful ordeal beforehand with fortitude, and there must have been many similar occasions when calmness and self-restraint were needed, and had never failed.

Was it not rather wonderful of Sue? The weakness was there, but she had had strength to hide it. Maud and Sybil knew nothing of it; no one knew; least of all the man himself.

And apparently Sue was content to have it so,—here was another marvel; she loved and asked for nothing in return. She could go quietly on week after week, month after month, hugging her secret,—yet its power was such that Leo herself trembled to recall the hour that so nearly laid it bare. It was terrible to see Sue blanch and blench; to watch the fluttering of her lace jabot as her bosom heaved beneath. She trembled as she had never trembled at any emotions of her own.

She perceived that love was a strange, unknown force of which she, happily wooed, happily wedded, and sorrowfully widowed, nevertheless knew nothing. She had loved her husband—indeed she had loved him; he had been uniformly kind and pleasant and indulgent towards her, and she had honestly reciprocated his attachment,—but sometimes, sometimes she had wondered? She had heard, she had read of—more: she had never felt it.

And vague fancies had been put aside as disloyal; reasoned away as disturbing elements of a very real if sober felicity. She was married; and it was wrong and wicked to imagine how things might have been if she had never seen Godfrey, and was going about free and unfettered like other girls?

She did not, of course she did not, wish to be free, and was ashamed to find the thought obtruding itself; but there had been moments—and these recurred to her now.

How strange it must be to feel as—as Sue did, for instance? To start at the sound of a footstep, to thrill at a voice; to be wrapt in a golden haze—oh, she knew all that could be told about that curious, fantastic, elusive mystery, which was yet a sealed book as regarded herself.

And was it not a little hard that it should be so? Had something been missed out of her nature? Was she really formed without warmth, ardour, sensibility? A smile played upon her lips.

Was she then not inviting? Was there nothing desirable, attractive, alluring—nothing to create in another the feeling which might have awakened her own slumbering soul?

It might be so, and yet–

Again her thoughts reverted to Sue; to the staid, gaunt elderly Sue,—and with a new and sharp sensation. Sue had not waited to be sought; Sue could give without asking to receive—she envied Sue from the bottom of her soul.

To her own small public Leo, before her widowhood, had always appeared the gayest of the gay. It was her rôle to be jocund and amusing, and no one took her seriously. But there was another side to her character which she had always been at pains to conceal, partly because it would have met with but scant sympathy from others, partly because she was afraid of it herself,—and of late she had been more and more conscious of the existence of this undercurrent of thought and feeling.

Even had there been no cause for sadness, she would frequently have felt sad. The influences of Nature moved her. Certain sights and sounds oppressed her. From her dreams she often woke in tears.

And now that the first fury as regarded Sue had spent itself, this causeless dejection of spirit took its place. She was no longer bitter against Sue; she would have liked to take her sister to her heart and comfort her. She would have liked—oh, how she would have liked—to confide to her, to some one, to any one the dim confused tumult of half-formed regrets and yearnings—"Oh, I have lost something that I never had!"—she cried aloud.

But who so bold and merry as this elfin Leo an hour afterwards?

"I have brought Mr. Custance in to tea, father. Oh, father, I want you; I have heaps of things to ask you about. I'm always forgetting them, because you are so seldom in at tea. I met Mr. Custance marching off in another direction," continued Leo, looking round, "but I just marched him up here instead,"—and she awaited applause.

It was a masterstroke, and so Sybil pronounced it afterwards. "No one but you would have dared, you audacious imp," she shook the strategist by the shoulder. "After that rumpus!"

"It was rather a shame dragging the poor innocent man into the rumpus, and Sue was really hurt," quoth Leo, with a guileless air. "There was nothing for it but to make use of her permission, and not only 'see the rector' but haul him along."

She had told herself that nothing would so effectually do away with any fear of self-betrayal on Sue's part, as this easy introduction of a guest never less expected and perhaps never more welcome. She had waylaid the well-known figure from whom she had formerly fled, and her end was attained.

But the general was not to be allowed to interfere with it, and he heard himself forthwith accosted. "Father, I wish you'd tell me; I was out in the woods just now, and a bird was singing–"

"Very wonderful, I'm sure. A bird usually sings in a garret, or a cellar, of course."

"Don't you laugh at me, father; you know about birds, and I don't; and I really do want you to tell me why one should sing, and the others not, at this time of year?"

"Tell you that? I can't. They're made so." But the general did not speak as gruffly as usual, and emboldened, she proceeded.

"Well, but what bird is it that sings—sings just as if it were summer?"

"A robin, of course, you ignorant little thing. Given a bit of sunshine, a robin will sing all the year round."

"Oh," said Leo, profoundly attentive, "all the year round, will he? Why, I wonder?"

"If you come to 'whys' you may 'why' for ever. Why does a swallow build on a housetop and a lark in a meadow? Why does a stork stand on one leg–"

"Oh, and I saw a heron to-day," cried she vivaciously. "Now where did that heron come from?"

"From Lord St. Emeraud's heronry. They often fly over here in the winter."

"What for, father?"

"Bless my soul, Leo, how can I tell you what for? What's all this sudden interest in natural history about? Get a book and read it up,"—and he was turning away, but this was just what he was not to do.

"Can't you sit down and talk to me a little?" quoth Leo, plaintively; "I don't care for those kind of books much. And you could tell me a lot I want to know; about seabirds, for instance. I never can understand how some can swim and some can't. And then there are the birds that go away in the autumn–"

"Stop—stop!"

"And there are the other kinds of birds–"

"Of course there are. What's all this hullabaloo about birds for?" He was half disposed to be pugnacious, but even a fighting-cock could hardly have quarrelled with Leonore in this vein. She was so unconscious of giving offence, so friendly and sociable, had such a little smiling way of her own, that even General Boldero was won upon, and, indeed, had never looked so little disagreeable in his life.

Here was a chatterbox certainly, and he had all the dislike of a suspicious, stupid man for chatterboxes. He despised them—with an inkling that they despised him. When he did talk, he wished to lead the talk,—and such was the feeling he inspired in the neighbourhood, that he was gladly allowed to do so. No one cared to put him into ill-humour, since he was only tolerable when bland; furthermore, he was not worth argument and opposition.

Hence it was a new thing to be appealed to for information, and though not qualified to give it, he was the last to suppose as much. About the subject in question he knew just what he could not help knowing, and what Leo herself knew a great deal better,—but her object was attained, and the "hullabaloo" protested against, chained him to her side.

The tea-table was now spread, and he glanced towards it, but quick as lightning she struck in.

"Do let us bring our tea here, father. Just you and me. The others can amuse Mr. Custance, he can't need us too."

"Eh?" said the astonished general. Some one wanted to talk to him, and to him alone? He hardly knew what to do with so flattering an invitation.

But as he was obviously expected to respond to it, he followed to the tea-table, and for a minute awaited his turn in patience. Then, as Leo, having helped herself, returned to the sofa and he was still unattended to, he began to frown.

"Pray, Miss Boldero, am I to have no tea? Take care, what you are about." For, strange to say, he had been unperceived, and Sue, flurried by the sudden demand, and in haste to meet it, contrived to catch the handle of the cream jug in her wide lace sleeve, with the result that her father's caution came too late; the jug overturned, and cream flowed apace.

Had it been milk it would have spread faster and farther, but even as it was, there was a mess displeasing to the eye, and the offender in her endeavours to remedy it, made matters worse. The wet lace swished hither and thither.

"Ugh!" cried the general, retreating with a glance at his trousers. "Ring the bell—no, here"—and he produced a clean pocket-handkerchief, and unfolded it.

"Well done, father!" piped a clear voice at his side, and a small hand whipped the handkerchief from him, and deftly used it.

"It's you, is it?" quoth the general, actually laughing.

Do what he would, he could not escape from Leo that day. Here she was back at his elbow, and he was not even allowed to hector Sue for her awkwardness and abuse her sleeves, he was withdrawn so swiftly from the scene of action.

"We'll have this little table between us," quoth Leo, planting it handy for him, "and we'll enjoy ourselves, and they can talk to their rector,"—with gleeful assumption of having secured a superior attraction.

"He is just their sort, but he isn't mine,"—and she peeped slily from under her eyelashes.

"You mischievous puss!" But as she patted the sofa, and he finally sat down, General Boldero felt in a curious way young, and attracted against his will.

Could it really be his own daughter who was thus exerting herself for his entertainment, and his alone? Hitherto, he had never given Leo a thought in the way of desiring her company, and certainly would not have done so now, if let alone,—but since he was not let alone, but was plied with a perfect cross-fire of questions, comments, and what not, while all the time the speaker gave him the whole of her attention, and the full play of her saucy eyes, he was bound to own himself amused.

He was so well amused that he never once glanced towards the rest of the party, nor would Leo do so, lest he should follow suit.

She was, however, nimble-witted, and could contrive for her own purposes. She could stoop to pick up a fallen glove: she could search the carpet for something else which was not there. By these means she learnt that there was no longer a quartet assembled in a central part of the room; that Maud and Sybil had resumed occupations in distant corners, leaving the visitor to Sue; and that Sue—she longed to look at Sue, but refrained.

Sue sat on in her large armchair, with her back to the light. Her companion's hand rested on the back of the chair.

Seen from Leo's standpoint, the bent shoulders and thin neck were aggressively apparent against the light—for a pale winter sunset lit up the sky without, and the two figures were silhouetted sharply—but Sue? what did Sue see?

Apparently what satisfied her, what transformed the world around her.

For Leo, rising at last, as all rose, and drawing near with a curiosity which had also in it a great and passionate envy, beheld upon her sister's face the look which she sought, the look which she was never to forget. Again her heart cried out, and would not be silenced: "I have lost something that I never had!"