Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood
rich? You will count riches differently when you are older. Why, Anne, do you know what my fortune was? Four thousand pounds. Ursula had the same, and she and Colonel Hereford spent it. That put a notion in my father's head, and he tied mine up tight enough, securing it to my absolute use until I die."
"Will it be Mr. Barley's when you die, Selina?"
"Were I to die before next Monday, it would be yours, pussy, for it is so settled. After that, if I die without a will, it would go to Mr. Edwin Barley; but I shall be of age next Monday, and then can make one. I think it must be my first care--a will;" she laughed. "So munificent a sum to dispose of! Shall I leave it to you?"
The room-door was pushed open, and some one entered. A shortish man, of nearly forty years, in a velveteen shooting-coat and gaiters, and with a dark face: the same dark face that looked out from the trees in the avenue. I shrank round Selina with a sudden fear. Not that the features were particularly ill-favoured in themselves, but so dark and stern. And the remembrance of the fright was on me still.
"Where are you coming to, child?" she said. "This is Mr. Edwin Barley."
CHAPTER II.
IN THE WOOD.
That Mr. Edwin Barley! My imagination had been setting the face down for a robber's at least; and the thought flashed over me--How could Selina have married him? Another thought came with it--Had he been the intruder at the door?
"Who is that, Selina?" he asked, in a very strong, determined voice, but not an unpleasing one.
"Anne Hereford. Fancy my making so stupid a mistake as to conclude it was next Thursday the lawyer meant. And she has had to find her way from Nettleby in the best way she could."
He looked at me with his black eyes, the blackest eyes I had ever seen. Either they wore a warning expression, or I fancied so, and I took it to mean I was not to say I saw him watching the house from the avenue. No fear, after that, that I should speak of it.
"Did you walk from Nettleby, little one?"
"No, sir. I came in the omnibus to the gate."
"She has been asking me if you were very handsome and I told her to wait and see," observed Selina, with a laugh, and somehow it grated on my ears. He made no reply in words, but his brow contracted a little. I noticed one thing--that he had very pretty teeth, white and even.
"How is it you are home before the others?" she resumed. "And where are they lingering? Charlotte Delves says the dinner is spoiling."
"They cannot be far behind," was Mr. Edwin Barley's answer. "I'll go and dress."
As he went out of the room we heard sounds of voices and laughter. Selina opened the window, and I stood by her. The night had grown clearer, the moon was bright. Three gentlemen, dressed something like Mr. Edwin Barley, were approaching the house with game, guns, and dogs.
"Can you see them by this light, Anne?"
"I can see that two are young, and one looks old. He has grey hair."
"Not very old, not more than fifty--but he is so stout. It is the parson, Mr. Martin."
"Do parsons go out shooting, Selina?"
"Only when they can get the chance," she laughed. "That young one is Philip King, a ward of Mr. Edwin Barley's. He and I are not friends at all, and I do what I can to vex him. He is terribly ill-tempered."
"Is he!"
"He fell in love with me at Easter, the silly boy! Fancy that! One can't think it was in earnest, you know, but it really seemed like it. I asked him if he would like his ears boxed, and Mr. Edwin Barley gave us both a sharp talking-to, saying we ought to be sent to school again."
"Both! But if it was not your fault?"
"Mr. Edwin Barley said it was my fault," she returned, with a laugh. "Perhaps it was. He has not, as I believe, loved Philip King since."
"Who is the other one with them, Selina?" I asked, as the gentlemen below disappeared.
"The other is George Heneage--a great friend of mine. Hush! he is coming up."
George Heneage entered. A young man, tall, slender, active; with a pale, pleasant face, and dark wavy hair. He had a merry smile, and I thought I had never seen any one so nice-looking. Mrs. Edwin Barley moved to the fire, and he took her hand in greeting.
"Well! And how have you been all day? Dull?"
It was the pleasantest voice! Quite a contrast after that of Mr. Edwin Barley.
"Much any of you care whether I am dull or gay," she returned in answer, half laughing, half pouting. "The partridges get all your time, just now. I might be dead and buried before any of you came home to see after me."
"We must shoot, you know, Selina. One of us, at any rate, came home a couple of hours ago--Barley."
"Not to me. He has but just come in. You must be mistaken."
"Look here. I was away for a short while from the party, seeing after the horse I lamed the other day, and when I got back, Barley had vanished: they thought he had gone to look after me. Perhaps he had in one sense, the great simpleton--Halloa! who's that?" He broke off, seeing me for the first time, as I stood partly within the shade of the window-curtain.
"It is little Anne Hereford. She has come a week before I expected her. Anne, come forward, and let Mr. Heneage make love to you. It is a pastime he favours."
He lifted me up by the waist, looked at me, and put me down again.
"A pretty little face to make love to. How old are you?"
"Eleven, sir."
"Eleven!" he echoed, in surprise. "I should have taken you for nine at the very most. Eleven!"
"And eleventeen in sober sense," interposed Selina, in her lightest and most careless manner. "I suppose children are so who never live with brothers and sisters. You should hear her talk, George! I tell her, her mamma and nurse have made an old woman of her."
"Dare I venture to your presence in this trim, Mrs. Edwin Barley?"
The speaker was the Rev. Mr. Martin, who came slowly in, pointing to his attire.
"It is Barley's fault, and you must blame him, not me," he continued. "Barley invited me to say grace at your table to-day, and then disappeared, keeping us waiting for him until now, and giving me no time to go home and make myself presentable."
"Never mind, Mr. Martin, there are worse misfortunes at sea," she said, in that charmingly attractive manner that she could sometimes use. "I have sat down with gentlemen in shooting-coats before to-day, and enjoyed my dinner none the worse for it. Is that you, Miss Delves?"
Footsteps were passing the open door, and Miss Delves came in.
"Did you speak, Mrs. Edwin Barley?"
"Yes. Take this, child, please: she must have some tea. Anne dear, ask for anything to eat that you best fancy. You shall come up again after dinner."
We went to a small parlour on the ground floor--Miss Delves said it was her own sitting-room--and she rang the bell. The maid who had been gossiping at the front door came in to answer it.
"Are you at tea still, Jemima?"
"Yes, Miss Delves."
"I thought so. There's no regularity unless I'm about everywhere myself. Bring in a cup for Miss Hereford, and some bread and butter."
They both left the room. I supposed that Miss Delves was going to dine presently, for a cloth was spread over one end of the table, with a knife and silver forks, the cruet-stand and salt-cellar, glasses, and a decanter of wine. Presently Jemima came back with a small tray, that had my tea upon it. She seemed a free-and-easy sort of girl, sat down