The New Mistress: A Tale. Fenn George Manville

the nave and out of the door.

      Neither of the sisters spoke, but stood, like the vicar, watching the new mistress leave the church.

      At last Miss Beatrice turned.

      “What excuse did she make, Henry?” she said.

      “I – er – I beg your pardon, Beatrice?”

      “I say, what excuse did she make? Really, her conduct is very, strange.”

      “Excuse? Oh, of course, about her visitor,” said the vicar absently. “I er – I – on second consideration thought it would be better to ignore the matter. Perhaps she was not to blame.”

      “Henry!”

      “Beatrice, my dear,” said the vicar quietly, “I always abstain from having refreshments in the vestry, but the morning service is long and I feel faint. Let us go home to lunch.”

      Miss Beatrice had the first rule over the vicarage, her elder sister the second rule, and generally speaking, the vicar let them have matters entirely their own way; still, there were times when he took the reins in his own hands, and then it was dangerous to interfere.

      This was one of the times when the vicar showed that he had a will of his own, and consequently the sisters exchanged glances and said no more.

      Chapter Seven.

      “What did I see in this Boy?”

      Hazel was not destined to reach home without adventure, for before she had gone far she could see Mr Chute walking along very slowly, right at the bottom of the street, and evidently hoping that she would overtake him. But this was not the cause of the palpitation from which Hazel suffered, for, about halfway between the church and the schools, she saw Archibald Graves coming to meet her, walking very fast; and she had to prepare herself for the encounter that was now inevitable.

      “At last!” he cried, eagerly, as he came up. “My dear Hazel, I thought I was never to see you.”

      She took no notice of the proffered hand, but walked quietly on.

      “Won’t you take my arm, Hazel?” he exclaimed. “Oh, don’t be so hard on a fellow. What have I done?”

      Hazel turned her large earnest eyes upon him, and seemed to look him through and through, as, instead of answering his question, she put one to herself.

      “What did I see in Archibald Graves, this thoughtless boy, who can come and ask me such a question after the agony I have suffered? What did I see in this boy to make me think I loved him with all my heart?”

      Poor Hazel! It did not occur to her that a short two years since she was a light-hearted girl; and that since then she had grown into a deep, earnest woman, who had been baptised by sorrow, and who could only share the riches of her love with one who was all that was manly and true, and to whom she could look up with respect, even with reverence; whereas now, with his petulant boyish, injured air, Archibald Graves only filled her with something akin to disgust.

      “I say, you know, Hazel,” he went on, “don’t be so hard on a fellow. The governor was dead against my keeping it up, you know, and he wanted me to give him my word not to see you any more; but at last I thought I must see you again, so I found out all about what you were doing, and where you were, and followed you down here; and ’pon my soul, when I saw you leading that string of scrubs of school children to church, I did not know whether to laugh or cry.”

      “Then Mr Graves is not aware of your visit down here, Archibald?” said Hazel quietly.

      “By Jove, no! he would be in a wax if he knew.”

      “Then why did you come?”

      “Why did I come? Oh, I say Hazel,” he cried reproachfully, “I didn’t think you could be so hard upon me. You don’t know how I’ve been upset all about it. ’Pon my word, there were times when I felt almost ill.”

      “Has he altered?” Hazel’s heart cried out within her, “or have I become worldly and cold, and, as he says, hard?”

      “I say, you know, Hazel, you must give up all this wretched business. I shall tell the governor that I mean to keep to our old engagement, and he’ll come round some day; but you must give up the school teaching, as he’d never stand that, for he’s as proud as Lucifer. Come, I say, it’s all right again, isn’t it?”

      “What did I see in this boy?” thought Hazel, as the indignant blood flushed into her cheeks, and then flowed back painfully to her heart. “Was he always as weak and thoughtless as this?”

      “Oh, I say, mother, look here,” cried a shrill voice as they were passing an open cottage door; “that’s new teacher, and that’s her young man.”

      “There, you hear,” whispered Hazel’s companion, laughing; “it was vulgarly put, but very true.”

      “Archibald Graves,” said Hazel quietly, “have you not the common-sense to see that your visit here is putting me in a false position?”

      “I know you are in a false position here,” he retorted angrily. “Who’s that fellow, and why does he take off his hat to you, and glare at me?”

      “That is Mr Chute, the master of the boys’ school, and my fellow-teacher. This is my house, and I cannot ask you to come in. Do you wish me to think with a little less pain of our old acquaintanceship?”

      “Our old love, you mean,” he cried.

      “Our old acquaintanceship, Archibald Graves,” she replied firmly. “Love is too holy a word to be spoken of in connection with our past.”

      “I – I don’t understand you,” he cried.

      “You will when you have grown older and more thoughtful,” she replied. “Now good-bye.”

      “Thoughtful? Older?” he blurted out. “I am old enough and thoughtful enough to know what I mean, and I won’t part like this.”

      “Your presence here is liable to be seriously misconstrued,” said Hazel; “do you wish to do me a serious injury in the eyes of those with whom it is of vital importance that I should stand well?”

      “Why, of course not. How can you ask me?”

      “Then say ‘good-bye’ at once, and leave this place.”

      “But I tell you I have come down on purpose to – ”

      “All that is dead,” she said, in a tone that startled him.

      “Then you never loved me!” he cried angrily.

      “Heaven knows how well!” she said softly. “But you killed that love, Archibald Graves, and it can never be revived.”

      She had held out her hand in token of farewell, but he had not taken it; now she let it fall, and before he could frame a fresh appeal she had turned, entered the little house, and the door closed behind her.

      Archibald Graves remained standing gazing blankly at the closed door for a few moments, till he heard the click of a latch, and, turning sharply, he saw that the schoolmaster was leisurely walking his garden some fifty yards away. He was not watching the visitor – nothing of the kind; but the flowers in the little bed required looking to, and he remained there picking off withered leaves with his new gloves, and making himself very busy, in spite of a reminder from his mother that dinner was getting cold; and it was not until he had seen the stranger stride away that he entered his own place and sat thoughtfully down.

      “If she thinks I am going to be thrown over like this,” said Archibald Graves to himself, “she is mistaken. She shall give way, and she shall leave this wretched place, or I’ll know the reason why. I wonder who that round-faced fellow was, and where I can get something to eat? By Jove, though, how she has altered! she quite touches a fellow like. Here, boy, where’s the principal inn?”

      “Say?”

      “Where’s the principal inn?” cried the visitor again, as the boy addressed stared at him wonderingly, his London speech being somewhat incomprehensible to juveniles at