CHAPTER XVI

AT WOODBURN.

The happy change which had come over Lady Forestfield's life had its effect in restoring her bodily health and, to a certain degree, her mental quietude. When Uffington first told her that her husband had consented to her taking up her abode at Woodburn she had ventured upon some slight objection. The place, beautiful as it was, had not, in her most favourable recollection of it, been what, according to her present idea, a home should be. It had been filled with people whom she never cared to see again, and had been the scene of many escapades, in which Mrs. Ingram, Lady Northaw, and their friends had played the principal characters, and the very memory of which was now repulsive to May. She had never known the place more than as one where, though nominally the mistress, she had really left all the arrangements to the housekeeper, and contented herself with the leading part in the follies which were perpetrated. And then there was the recollection of the last time she had visited Woodburn; that fatal night when, after having been spurned by her husband, she had sunk senseless on the door-step, and had been carried away, how she knew not. It was impossible, she thought, that she could go there; but Uffington firmly, but with great delicacy, urged her to reconsider this determination, pointing out the necessity of her being in her husband's house, and promising her, not merely the utmost respect and the acknowledgment of her proper position from the servants, which was guaranteed by Lord Forestfield's own written order, but the certainty of a quiet unmolested life.

So Lady Forestfield came to Woodburn, and a very few days after her arrival acknowledged to herself the wisdom of Uffington's counsel. The fresh pure air brought back the roses to her cheeks; and in her daily wanderings in the park and through the surrounding woods she gradually acquired the calm happiness and peace of mind which nature can alone restore to a soul that has been bruised and buffeted in its conflict with the world. Hitherto, at least since the days of her childhood, May had had but little appreciation of the beauties of nature; the park had been merely so much land lying between the house and the village, and she had only visited the woods for the sake of having luncheon with a shooting-party. Now all their beauties were gradually revealed to her. She would sit for hours in an oriel window of a little room which she had taken for her own, and which overlooked the park, watching the sun doing battle with the heavy dun autumnal clouds, and the wide expanse of landscape kindling into light. She took delight even in gazing on the great bare fields whence the golden grain had been reaped and carried, and the long ranges of hops gathered by the busy pickers, their dark poles, piled together in fantastic shapes, alone remaining to remind one of their recent existence. She loved to ramble in the home wood, which on her first arrival had been a sombre mass of dark green, and which now stood out flecked here and there with tints of yellow, brown, and red. For all she met she had a kindly greeting and a pleasant word. The husbandman, tramping over the newly-turned fresh-smelling earth as his furrow made the never-varying pattern, and the toiling many-childrened women in the cottages, for the first time began to understand that the 'people in the 'All' could take any interest in their welfare. When the days were wet, too, May was never dull or depressed; for the library was filled with books, and literature, which in her childhood she had loved so much, but had so long left unheeded, now again became her constant solace; and in her walks and drives, in her studies and endeavours to help the poor of the estate, May had a ready and intelligent companion in Eleanor Irvine, who, at her urgent request, came to her almost as soon as she was settled at Woodburn, and had remained with her ever since.

How this happy change in her life had been brought about, how Lord Forestfield had been induced to forego the further proceedings against her, and to consent to her being reinstalled in her own proper position, she had never learned; but she knew generally that it was Uffington's work, and to him she was proportionately grateful. She had scarcely seen him since she had been at Woodburn, but had received several letters written in the common-sense friendly spirit which had characterised all his communications with her. She found herself wondering what had led him--whom all the world looked on as a heartless cynic--to feel such interest in her, and take the trouble which she knew he must have taken in order to compel her husband to give up his long-cherished scheme of revenge, and to restore her to that position from which he imagined he had completely ousted her.

'He cannot be as cynical as people say,' thought May. 'I remember having heard that he had some great trouble in his early life, and the effect of that has probably been to make him eschew society and the pleasures which society affects; and the people whom he has scorned have repaid him by branding him as a cynic. As to his real goodness of heart, however, there can be no doubt. It has been sufficiently proved by the generosity with which, at what trouble to himself I shall never know, he has advocated my cause. I wonder whether admiration of Eleanor has anything to do with it? It seems almost ungenerous in me to suspect such a thing for an instant; and yet there is no doubt that Eleanor is very good-looking, and that Sir Nugent has always shown the kindliest feeling towards her. It would be strange indeed if my misfortune should be the means of bringing together the two persons who have been kindest to me in my trouble.'

This idea presented itself pretty frequently to May's mind. Since she had been taken into Eleanor's confidence respecting her rejection of Spiridion Pratt, and by her counsel had enabled that romantic gentleman to bear his disappointment with greater fortitude than at one time he believed would have been possible, Lady Forestfield had given great consideration to Eleanor's future. The mere fact of having herself made an unhappy match did not make May think it necessary to indulge in invective against the matrimonial state, and she allowed to herself that Eleanor's gentle disposition, patient temper, and clear common sense eminently fitted her for a wife. She would have been completely thrown away upon Mr. Pratt, with whom she had not one single sentiment in common, and whom she had always regarded with a feeling of contempt softened by pity. The man whom Eleanor should marry, thought May, must be one whom she could look up to, and who would expect to find in his wife some more sterling qualities than the stock-in-trade of those which constitute a frivolous woman of the world.

Oddly enough the conversation between the two friends, which had ranged over most topics, had never touched upon this, until one day when, warmly wrapped up in furs--for the first breath of winter was in the air--they were driving in May's pony-phaeton in the park; and thus it came about.

'I have a letter from your sister this morning, Eleanor,' said Lady Forestfield, 'written in remarkably good spirits, and with many affectionate messages to you. She seems to have quite forgiven your _bouleversement_ of her favourite plan for marrying you to Mr. Spiridion Pratt.'

'I knew that her anger on that account would not last very long,' said Eleanor. 'You don't know Fanny, dear May; but when you do you will find that she is the most extraordinary reflection of all that is passing around her. During the season she saw all her friends, and those whose example she thinks fit to copy, intent on matrimonial schemes; Fanny did not like to be out of the fashion, and fortunately there I was ready to her hand. The next thing was to look round for the other victim, and she speedily settled upon poor Mr. Pratt, who, I firmly believe, was never more astonished in his life than when it was first hinted to him that he was desperately in love with me. This attempt at match-making served to amuse Fanny during the season, and having talked of it so much, she had really begun herself to believe in its possibility, and was therefore vexed when she found I could not be so easily disposed of. But I knew her annoyance would soon be over, and therefore I am not surprised at what you tell me.'

'She seems to be a very forgiving person,' said May, with the least tone of malice in her voice. 'You remember my discovering the difficulties you had in coming to me in Podbury-street, when you told me her objections and the strict surveillance in which she kept you. Her sentiments as regards me must also have undergone a great change, for she not only writes in the most friendly manner, but says that she and Mr. Chadwick will be delighted to accept the invitation I sent them to come and spend a fortnight here.'

'Fanny is very human, dearest May,' said Eleanor, with a blush. 'I was perfectly certain that so soon as your time of trouble was over, and you were restored to your old position, she would be quite as much in your favour as she had been the reverse. And so she, is coming down to stay here. It was out of kindness for me that you asked her, I know.'

'Not entirely,' said May. 'I don't pretend to say that I thought you had been dull with me alone, for I know that is not the case, but still I thought that we had been travelling over each other's minds long enough, and that a little diversity would be agreeable. Besides, I very much wanted to see something of Mr. Chadwick. I have heard from more than one quarter of the kind way in which he was in the habit of speaking of me at the time when I wanted a friend, and I wished to thank him in person.'

'Don't do that, or you will offend him for ever,' said Eleanor. 'He is the kindest, best-hearted man in the world--a little rough, perhaps, but a thorough gentleman in every thought.'

'You have not yet learned the extent of my company,' said May, looking maliciously at her friend. 'I have a great idea that perhaps the _fiasco_ which Mrs. Chadwick so deplored last season was caused by her own mismanagement; so that in order that she may have another chance of carrying out that project upon which her heart was at one time set, and that I may give her the benefit of my assistance, I have invited Mr. Pratt to stay down here at the same time--and, what is more, he is coming.'

'How can you be so ridiculous!' said Eleanor. 'You know you have done nothing of the kind!'

'Most certainly, and in all seriousness, I have, dear; not, of course, with any such idea as I have just suggested, but simply because he is a pleasant little man, whose admiration for you has now toned down into a sincere and genuine regard, and for whom I myself have a real liking. I wonder,' she said suddenly, after a pause--'I wonder whether Sir Nugent Uffington would care to come here for a few days?'

Eleanor looked quickly round at her, but seemed reassured by the calm, though earnest, expression on her friend's face.

'It is impossible to say,' she said; 'but I think he would like it very much. He seemed on the only occasion on which I saw them together to be impressed by Mr. Chadwick's honest common sense; and Fanny now thinks there is nobody like him.'

'That ought to be my opinion,' said May quietly; 'for though the subject has never been mentioned between us, I am certain that I owe all the good which has lately happened to me to Sir Nugent Uffington's interposition with my husband.'

'You think it?' said Eleanor.

'I am sure of it,' replied May; 'though how it was brought about I have not the least idea. Sir Nugent has a strangely determined manner with him, and when he first became interested about me he bade me not to cease hoping for better days. Even then, when everything was at its worst and blackest, I derived some kind of comfort from his words, and I feel now that I am indebted to him for what has been my restoration to life.'

Again Eleanor looked keenly at her friend, and was again satisfied at May's appearance.

'It is strange that a man like that,' said May, 'should never have married; so far as one can judge, he has all the qualifications for making a woman happy.'

'There is, is there not,' said Eleanor, 'some story about him, some romantic adventure of his youth, which soured his disposition and brought on him that cynicism which men are always talking of but which I in vain have tried to discover?'

'He is not, I imagine, so cynical or so hard as he was,' said May. 'Mr. Eardley, who came to see me once or twice, told me he had never seen a man so much changed, and wondered to what influence the alteration could be ascribed.'

'Probably to longer life and greater experience,' said Eleanor demurely.

'I doubt that very much,' said May, with a smile. 'In default of some more powerful motive, Sir Nugent's nature would remain stubborn to the last. However, probably longer life has something to do with the other part of the question which we were discussing. It may be that most girls would think him too old for a husband.'

'That would not be the verdict of any girl with a particle of common sense, I should think,' said Eleanor. 'I know comparatively very little of him, and yet even I have seen him at times when he has thrown off the air of reserve which he habitually wears, and been as young as anybody present.'

May marked the eager manner and quick tone in which these words were said, and at once drew her own conclusions.

'I think, then, I will ask Sir Nugent down,' she said; 'running the risk of his being bored by us all. If, as it seems, he has taken to Mr. Chadwick, he can at least always find with him a refuge from female society.'

Eleanor did not reply to this last sentence. Perhaps she had her own reasons for thinking, or at all events for hoping, that from certain female society Nugent Uffington would make no attempt to escape. From the time of that conversation Eleanor was brighter, and evidently happier than she had been during the whole of her stay at Woodburn.

She was pleased to think that Uffington was coming to Woodburn, that she would have constant opportunities of being with him, and of listening to his best thoughts and aspirations in that voice which she knew was softer and more musical in its tone when addressed to her than to any other person, even to May. Even to May? Yes, Eleanor was very much pleased that she had had that conversation, for it had set her mind completely at rest on a point which for some time had caused her much disquietude. There was no question about it now, she thought; she had looked into May's eyes, and read there what must be the truth. She could go on very quietly now, and that sinking of the heart which she felt occasionally when she used to see May Forestfield and Nugent Uffington much together would come no more.

Two days later Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick and Mr. Pratt, travelling together, arrived at Woodburn, and were all received with much cordiality by Lady Forestfield. Mrs. Chadwick professed herself delighted to see Eleanor again, and congratulated her upon the improvement in her looks. 'It is all the country air and your sweet society, dear Lady Forestfield,' she said. 'I am determined, come what may, that nothing shall keep me in town during the autumn months again; and if Mr. Chadwick is compelled to remain there to attend to his business, I shall not stay with him; so I give him fair notice.'

'Halloo, that will never do,' cried Mr. Chadwick. 'I don't mind your imitating the swells in most ways, Fanny, but that is one of their plans that I will never have followed. To have and to hold, sickness and health, richer and poorer, death do us part--that is what we settled, you know, in St. George's Church, and that is what I mean us both to stick to.'

'My dear James!' murmured Mrs. Chadwick.

'I can perfectly understand Mr. Chadwick's feelings,' said May, with a bright blush in her face, 'and I highly applaud his resolution. The less that husband and wife are parted the better, be sure, for their domestic happiness.'

'Well, at all events,' said Mr. Pratt, with more than usual tact, seeing the awkwardness of the situation, 'there is no reason why a bachelor need stay in town. I have done so this year of my own free will; and I must say that, all things considered, I have enjoyed myself very much.'

'Is that really so?' said Mrs. Chadwick, looking at him meaningly.

'Yes, indeed,' said Spiridion, meeting the glance with good-humoured firmness. 'I daresay that perhaps, physically, I might have been better if I had gone to Ems or Carlsbad; but, morally, I found the air of London this autumn quite bracing--very bracing, indeed.'

'You have got a fine place here, Lady Forestfield,' said Mr. Chadwick, who did not understand any of these side allusions, walking into a bow window, and looking round upon the prospect. 'This bears out what I have always said--the North is well enough for business, but give me the South for pleasure. Now in the North at this time of year, and at this time of day, you would have a great thick fog looming all over here, so that you could not see your hand before your face, and there would be a real taste of coal-dust in your mouth. What's here in front beautiful turf would be brown or black swampy stuff; and them woods beyond would have lost all their pretty leaves, and been nowt but a bundle of sticks.'

'I only hope you will be able to amuse yourself while you are here, Mr. Chadwick,' said May. 'The head keeper gives plenty of promise of sport, if you are fond of shooting.'

'Yes, my lady,' answered Mr. Chadwick, in his old-fashioned manner; 'I have been fond of shooting ever since I was a boy, and used to go out on Sunday mornings at Jarrow a-birding with an old horse-pistol. I have had some great times since then, battoos, as they call 'em, and wholesale slaughter of all kinds; but I doubt if I really enjoyed any of it so much as those Sunday mornings.'

'You will have a companion in your sport in a day or two,' said May; 'Sir Nugent Uffington has promised to come down on Thursday.'

'Sir Nugent coming?' cried Mrs. Chadwick. 'That is delightful news; he is a most charming man!'

'Yes, he is a good fellow,' said Mr. Chadwick. 'I took a liking to him the first time I saw him, because I thought he spoke up so well and pluckily about--'

And here the fact of its having been Lady Forestfield's case which Sir Nugent Uffington had so promptly and readily defended came in full force upon Mr. Chadwick, causing him to stop abruptly and to become purple in the face.

Fortunately Mr. Pratt was fully equal to the occasion. 'When you tell Mr. Chadwick that he will not have a companion for a day or two, Lady Forestfield,' he said, with a smile, 'I see you perfectly appreciate my performances in the field. To tell the truth, I never could see the pleasure of tramping about over stubble and furrow, tiring yourself to death, and rendering your shoulder painful for a week.'

'He is more delightful than ever,' whispered Mrs. Chadwick to her hostess. 'I was afraid that Eleanor's behaviour to him might have caused some coolness between us; but he seems to have quite got over what I cannot help even to you, her great friend, Lady Forestfield, calling her rather cruel treatment of him; and though I confess I was disappointed at the failure of a plan which I certainly could not have espoused if I had not thought it would have been for the good of all, I am delighted to say it has had one excellent result, which I may tell you in confidence.' Then, dropping her voice to a tragic whisper, she said: 'He has completely broken with that person.'

'Indeed!' said Lady Forestfield, who took not the least interest, and scarcely understood what was said; 'I am glad to hear it.'

'Completely broken with her,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'and I am sure all who have any sense of decency and self-respect must be delighted to hear it.'

The next morning, as they were returning from an early drive round the park, Lady Forestfield saw a telegraph messenger entering the lodge gate, and beckoning him to her, received from him a message with which he was proceeding to the house. It was from Sir Nugent Uffington, and ran as follows:

'Most important. I am coming down by next train, and must see you, as I return to town to-night.'

May's heart sank within her with a sense of impending trouble as she read these words, and Eleanor, to whom she handed the message, turned pale as death.