When Jasper was conveyed from Wynford Castle she drove to the “Green Man” in the village. There she asked the landlady1 if she could give her a small bedroom for the night. The landlady, a certain Mrs. Simpson, was quite willing to oblige Miss Jasper. She was accommodated with a bedroom, and having seen her boxes deposited there, wandered about the village. She took the bearings of the place, which was small and unimportant, and altogether devoted2 to the interests of the great folks at Castle Wynford. Wynford village lived, indeed, for the Castle; without the big house, as they called it, the villagers would have little or no existence. The village received its patronage3 from the Squire4 and his family. Every house in the village belonged to Squire Wynford. The inhabitants regarded him as if he were their feudal5 lord. He was kindly6 to all, sympathetic in sorrow, ready to rejoice when bright moments visited each or any of his tenants7. Lady Frances was an admirable almoner of the different charities which came from the great house. There was not a poor woman in 144 the length and breadth of Wynford village who was not perfectly8 well aware that her ladyship knew all about her, even to her little sins and her small transgressions10; all about her struggles as well as her falls, her temptations as well as her moments of victory. Lady Frances was loved and feared; the Squire was loved and respected; Audrey was loved in the sort of passionate12 way in which people will regard the girl who always has been to them more or less a little princess. Therefore now, as Jasper walked slowly through the village with the fading light falling all over her, she knew she was a person of interest. Beyond doubt that was the case; but although the villagers were interested in her, and peeped outside their houses to watch her (even the grocer, who did a roaring trade, and took the tenor13 solo on Sunday in the church choir14, peered round his doorstep with the others), she knew that she was favored with no admiring looks, and that the villagers one and all were prepared to fight her. That was indeed the case, for secrets are no secrets where a great family are concerned, and the villagers knew that Jasper had come over from the other side of the world with the real heiress.
“A dowdy15, ill-favored girl,” they said one to the other; “but nevertheless, when the Squire—bless him!—is gathered to his fathers, she will reign16 in his stead, and sweet, darling, beautiful Miss Audrey will be nowhere.”
They said this, repeating the disagreeable news one to the other, and vowing17 each and all that they 145 would never care for the Australian girl, and never give her a welcome.
As Jasper slowly walked she was conscious of the feeling of hostility18 which surrounded her.
“It won’t do,” she said to herself. “I meant to take up my abode19 at the ‘Green Man,’ and I meant that no one in the place should turn me out, but I do not believe I shall be able to continue there; and yet, to go far away from my sweet little Eve is not to be thought of. I have money of my own. Her mother was a wise woman when she said to me, ‘Jasper, the time may come when you will need it; and although it belongs to Eve, you must spend it as you think best in her service.’
“It ain’t much,” thought Jasper to herself, “but it is sixty pounds, and I have it in gold sovereigns, scattered20 here and there in my big black trunk, and I mean to spend it in watching over the dear angel lamb. Mrs. Simpson of the ‘Green Man’ would be the better of it, but she sha’n’t have much of it—of that I am resolved.”
So Jasper presently left the village and began strolling in the direction where the river Earn flows between dark rocks until it loses itself in a narrow stream among the peaceful hills. In that direction lay The Priory, with its thick yew21 hedge and its shut-in appearance.
As Jasper continued her walk she knew nothing of the near neighborhood of The Priory, and no one in all the world was farther from her thoughts than the pretty, tall slip of a girl who lived there. 146
Now, it so happened that Sylvia was taking her walks abroad also in the hour of dusk. It was one of her peculiarities22 never to spend an hour that she could help indoors. She had to sleep indoors, and she had to take what food she could manage to secure also under the roof which she so hated; but, come rain or shine, storm or calm, every scrap23 of the rest of her time was spent wandering about. To the amount of fresh air which she breathed she owed her health and a good deal of her beauty. She was out now as usual, her big mastiff, Pilot, bearing her company. She was never afraid where she wandered with this protection, for Pilot was a dog of sagacity, and would soon make matters too hot for any one who meant harm to his young mistress.
Sylvia walked slowly. She was thinking hard. “What a delightful24 time she was having twenty-four hours ago! What a good dinner she was about to eat! How pleasant it was to wear Audrey’s pretty dress! How delightful to dance in the hall and talk to Arthur Jervice! She wondered what his sister with the curious name was like. How beautiful his face looked when he spoke25 of her!
“She must be lovely too,” thought Sylvia. “And so restful! There is nothing so cool and comfortable and peaceful as a mossy bank. I suppose she is called Moss26 because she comforts people.”
Sylvia hurried a little. Presently she stood and looked around her to be sure that no one was by. She then deliberately27 tightened28 her belt. 147
“It makes me feel the pangs29 less,” she thought. “Oh dear, how delightful, how happy those must be who are never, never hungry! Sometimes I can scarcely bear it; I almost feel that I could steal something to have a big, big meal. What a lot I ate last night, and how I longed to pocket even that great hunch30 of bread which was placed near my plate! But I did not dare. I thought my big meal would keep off my hunger to-day, but I believe it has made it worse than ever. I must have a straight talk with father to-night. I must tell him plainly that, however coarse the food, I must at least have enough of it. Oh dear, I ache—I ache for a good meal!”
The poor girl stood still. Footsteps were heard approaching. They were now close by. Pilot pricked31 up his ears and listened. A moment later Jasper appeared on the scene.
When she saw Sylvia she stopped, dropped a little courtesy, and said in a semi-familiar tone:
“And how are you this evening, Miss Leeson?”
Sylvia had not seen her as she approached. The girl started now and turned quickly round.
“You are Jasper?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking the air, miss. Have you any objection?”
“None, of course,” replied Sylvia.
Had there been light enough to see, Jasper would have noticed that the girl’s face took on a cheerful expression. She laid her hand on Pilot’s forehead. Pilot growled32. Sylvia said to him: 148
“Be quiet; this is a friend.”
Pilot evidently understood the words. He wagged his bushy tail and looked in Jasper’s direction. Jasper came boldly up and laid her hand beside Sylvia’s on the dog’s forehead. The tail wagged more demonstratively.
“You have won him,” said Sylvia in a tone of delight. “Do you know, I am glad, although I cannot tell why I should be.”
“He looks as if he could be very formidable,” said Jasper.—“Ah, good dog—good dog! Noble creature! So I am your friend? Good dog!”
“But it must be rather unpleasant for visitors to come to call on you, Miss Sylvia, with such a dog as that loose about the place. Now, I, for instance——”
“If you had a message from Evelyn for me,” said Sylvia, “you could call now with impunity33. Strangers cannot; that is why father keeps Pilot. He is trained never to touch any one, but he is also trained to keep every one out. He does that in the best manner possible. He stands right in the person’s path and shows his big fangs34 and growls35. Nobody would dream of going past him; but you would be safe.”
Jasper stood silent.
“It may be useful,” she repeated.
“You have not come now with a message from Evelyn?” said Sylvia, a pathetic tone in her voice.
“No, miss, I have not; but do you know, miss—do you know what has happened to me?” 149
“How should I?” replied Sylvia.
“I am turned out, miss—turned out by her ladyship—I who had a letter from Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania asking her ladyship to keep me always as my little Evelyn’s friend and nurse and guardian36. Yes, Miss Sylvia, I am turned away as though I were dirt. I am turned away, miss, although it was only yesterday that her ladyship got the letter which the dying mother wrote. It is hard, is it not, Miss Leeson? It is cruel, is it not?”
“Hard and cruel!” echoed Sylvia. “It is worse. It is a horrible sin. I wonder you stand it!”
“Now, miss, for such a pretty young lady I wonder you have not more sense. Do you think I’d go if I could help it?”
“What does Evelyn say?” asked Sylvia, intensely excited.
“What does she say? Nothing. She is stunned37, I take it; but she will wake up and know what it means. No chocolate, and no one to sleep in the little white bed by her side.”
“Oh, how she must enjoy her chocolate!” said poor Sylvia, a sigh of longing38 in her voice.
“I am grand at making it,” said Jasper. “I have spent my life in many out-of-the-way places. It was in Madrid I learnt to make chocolate; no one can excel me with it. I’d like well to make a cup for you.”
“And I’d like to drink it,” said Sylvia.
“As well as I can see you in this light,” continued Jasper, “you look as if a cup of my chocolate would 150 do you good. Chocolate made all of milk, with plenty of bread and butter, is a meal which no one need despise. I say, miss, shall we go back to the “Green Man,” and shall you and me have a bit of supper together? You would not be too proud to take it with me although I am only my young lady’s maid?”
“I wish I could,” said Sylvia. There was a wild desire in her heart, a sort of passion of hunger. “But,” she continued, “I cannot; I must go home now.”
“Is your home near, miss?”
“Oh yes; it is just at the other side of that wall. But please do not talk of it—father hates people knowing. He likes us to live quite solitary39.”
“And it is a big house. Yes, I can see that,” continued Jasper, peering through the trees.
Just then a young crescent moon showed its face, a bank of clouds swept away to the left, and Jasper could distinctly see the square outline of an ugly house. She saw something else also—the very white face of the hungry Sylvia, the look which was almost starvation in her eyes. Jasper was clever; she might not be highly educated in the ordinary sense, but she had been taught to use her brains, and she had excellent brains to use. Now, as she looked at the girl, an idea flashed through her mind.
“For some extraordinary reason that child is downright hungry,” she said to herself. “Now, nothing would suit my purpose better.” 151
She came close to Sylvia and laid her hand on her arm.
“I have taken a great fancy to you, miss,” she said.
“Have you?” answered Sylvia.
“Yes, miss; and I am very lonely, and I don’t mean to stay far away from my dear young lady.”
“Are you going to live in the village?” asked Sylvia.
“I have a room now at the ‘Green Man,’ Miss Leeson, but I don’t mean to stay there; I don’t care for the landlady. And I don’t want to be, so to speak, under her ladyship’s nose. Her ladyship has took a mortal hatred40 to me, and as the village, so to speak, belongs to the Castle, if the Castle was to inform the ‘Green Man’ that my absence was more to be desired than my company, why, out I’d have to go. You can understand that, can you not, miss?”
“Yes—of course.”
“And it is the way with all the houses round here,” continued Jasper; “they are all under the thumb of the Castle—under the thumb of her ladyship—and I cannot possibly stay near my dear young lady unless——”
“Unless?” questioned Sylvia.
“You was to give me shelter, miss, in your house.”
Sylvia backed away, absolute terror creeping over her face.
“Oh! I could not,” she said. “You do not know 152 what you are asking. We never have any one at The Priory. I could not possibly do it.”
“I’d pay you a pound a week,” said Jasper, throwing down her trump41 card—“a pound a week,” she continued—“twenty whole shillings put in the palm of that pretty little hand of yours, paid regularly in advance; and you might have me in a big house like that without anybody knowing. I heard you speak of the gentleman, your father; he need never know. Is there not a room at The Priory which no one goes into, and could not I sleep there? And you’d have money, miss—twenty shillings; and I’d feed you up with chocolate, miss, and bread and butter, and—oh! lots of other things. I have not been on a ranch42 in Tasmania for nothing. You could hide me at The Priory, and you could keep me acquainted with all that happened to my little Eve, and I’d pay for it, miss, and not a soul on earth would be the wiser.”
“Oh, don’t!” said Sylvia—“don’t!” She covered her face with her hands; she shook all over. “Don’t tempt11 me!” she said. “Go away; do go away! Of course I cannot have you. To deceive him—to shock him—why——Oh, I dare not—I dare not! It would not be safe. There are times when he is scarcely—yes, scarcely himself; and I must not try him too far. Oh, what have I said?”
“Nothing, my dear—nothing. You are a bit overcome. And now, shall I tell you why?”
“No, don’t tell me anything more. Go; do go—do go!” 153
“I will go,” said Jasper, “after I have ............