by L. T. Meade
house."
The girls walked on briskly. They had, for some time, to walk along thedusty road, but soon they came to a stile which led across some fields,delightfully green and inviting looking at this time of the year. Thefields led again into a wood, and this wood, by an upland path, came atlast to Norland's Cliff. Norland's Cliff was the highest point in thatpart of the country, and on this eminence had once been built by aneccentric Sir Guy Norland, a tower. He had built it as a sort of avantage tower, in order to see as far round him as possible; but in theend, in a fit of madness, he had thrown himself from the tower, and hismangled body was found there on a certain winter's night. Afterwards noone had gone near the tower except as a sort of show place; and it was,of course, supposed to be haunted, particularly at night, when Sir GuyNorland was said to ride round and round on horseback.
But it was a beautiful summer day on the present occasion, and the girlsthought of no ghosts, and when they were in the shelter of the woodsNesta began to recount her wrongs.
"She has come back, the old spitfire," she said, and she explained thewhole situation.
Flossie was full of commiseration.
"She wanted you to give up your delightful time with me--this Saturdayto which we have been looking forward for such a long time--just to sitwith your mother?"
"That's it, Floss; that's the truth, Floss. Oh, Floss, how am I to bearit?"
"And you ran away then?"
"Yes, I ran away, I just could do nothing else; I couldn't give up myafternoon with you. It is all very well to talk of filial affection,but the deepest affection of my heart is given to you, Floss."
"That's very kind of you," said Flossie, but she did not speak with theintense rapture that Nesta expected.
"Aren't you awfully, awfully shocked about it all?" said Nesta, noticingthe tone, and becoming annoyed by it.
"I am dreadfully sorry that anything should have occurred to preventyour coming to me; but it does seem fair that you should sometimes bewith your mother. When my darling old mothery has a headache I like tosit with her and bathe her forehead with eau de Cologne."
"Oh, that's all very well," said Nesta, "and so would I like to sit withmy dear mothery, if she only had a headache once a month or so; but whenit is every day, and all day long, and all night too, you get abouttired of it."
"I expect you do," said Flossie, who was not at all strong-minded, andwas easily brought round to Nesta's point of view. "Well, at any rate,here you are, and we'll try and have all the fun we can. Oh, do look atthose donkeys down there, and the crowd of men, and girls and boys.Isn't it gay?"
"I wonder if we can get into the tower," said Nesta.
"We must get into the tower," remarked Flossie. "I have determined allalong that we will have tea just on the very spot where Sir Guy threwhimself over the wall. I know the very niche. It will seem so excitingto-night when we are dropping off to sleep. I do like to have a sort ofeerie feeling when I'm in a very snug bedroom, close to my father andmother, with the door just a teeny bit open between us. I love it. Iwouldn't like it if there was anything to be frightened about, but toknow that you have been close to something queer and uncanny, it makesyou seem to sort of hug yourself up, don't you know the feeling, Nesta?"
"I do, and I don't," said Nesta. "I sleep in the room with Molly andEthel, and we always jabber and jabber until we drop asleep. That'swhat we do, but we have great fun all the same."
Flossie gave a faint sigh. They approached the tower; but to theirsurprise a custodian stood at the entrance and informed the two littlegirls that this was a very special show day, and that no one could beadmitted into the tower under the large sum of twopence. Neither Nestanor Flossie had brought a farthing with them, and they stood back,feeling dismayed.
"Never mind," said Nesta, "let us go and have tea in the wood, it willbe just as good fun."
"I suppose it will; only I did want to see the donkey races. Where arethe races, please?" continued Flossie, turning to the man.
But here again disappointment awaited them. They would not be allowedwithin sight of the donkey races without paying a penny each.
"I have heaps of money at home," said Flossie, "a whole little savingsbank of pennies."
"And I have half a crown which I have not broken into yet," said Nesta."It's too bad."
"Well, we have an excellent tea, and it is very shady and pleasant inthe woods, much better than sitting in your mother's room, gettingscolded," said Flossie, "so do come along and let us enjoy ourselves."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
A FEAST TO DELIGHT THE EYES.
Meanwhile matters were not going on quite so comfortably at theAldworths' house. They began smoothly enough. Mrs Aldworth had spenta morning full of perfect happiness, order, and comfort with her eldestdaughter. Marcia had done everything that was possible for thewell-being of the invalid. She had given instructions also with regardto the food which she was to be supplied with that afternoon, and last,but not least, had not left her, until she saw her enjoying a deliciouslittle dinner of roast chicken, fresh green peas, and a basket ofstrawberries.
Mrs Aldworth was already beginning to feel the benefit of the change.Until Marcia arrived on the scene she had been, not nursed, but fussedover, often left alone for long hours together to fret and bemoanherself, to make the worst of her trials, and the least of herblessings. Her girls did not mean to be unkind, but they were veryoften all out together, and the one who was in, was always in a state ofgrumbling. Now the house seemed suddenly to have the calm and sweetgenius of order and love presiding over it. Mrs Aldworth was consciousof the agreeable change, without analysing it too closely. She wasglad, yes, quite glad, that dear Marcia should have a happy time withthe St Justs. She knew all about her husband's first marriage. He hadmarried a penniless girl of very good family, who had been a governessin a nobleman's house. He had come across her when he was a poorlawyer, before he rose to his present very comfortable position. He hadmarried her and she had loved him, and as long as she lived he had beena very happy man. But Marcia's mother had died, and Mrs Aldworth washis second wife. She had been jealous of the first wife in a way anature like hers would be jealous, jealous of a certain grace and charmabout her, which the neighbours had told her of, and which she herselfhad perceived in the beautiful oil portrait which hung in Marcia's room.She had always hated that portrait, and had longed to turn it with itsface to the wall. But these sort of petty doings had gone out offashion, and the neighbours would be angry with her if they knew. Thenher own children had come, and ill health had fallen upon her, and shehad sunk beneath the burden.
Yes, she knew all these things. Her past life seemed to go before heron this pleasant summer's afternoon like a phantasmagoria. She was notagitated by any reminiscences that came before her eyes, but she wasconscious of a sense of soothing. Marcia was nice--Marcia was soclever, and Marcia was wise. She was glad Marcia was out. She toowould vie with her in being unselfish; she too would become wise; shetoo would be clever.
She thought of Marcia's promise, that whatever happened she would visither for a few moments that evening just to tell her about Angela. MrsAldworth, with all the rest of the inhabitants of the little suburb, hadworshipped the St Justs. She had seen Angela occasionally, and hadcraned her neck when the girl passed by in their open carriage with heraristocratic-looking father by her side. She had felt herself flushingwhen she mentioned the name. She had been conscious, very conscious ona certain day when Angela had spoken to her. On that occasion it was toinquire for Marcia, and Mrs Aldworth had been wildly proud of the factthat she was Marcia's stepmother. But Marcia could talk about Angela inthe calmest way in the world, evidently being fond of her, but notspecially elated at the thought of her friendship.
"I suppose that is called breeding," thought the good woman. "Well,well, I mustn't grumble. My own dear children are far prettier, that isone thing. Of course, whatever advances Marcia's welfare she will sharewith them, for she is really quite u
nselfish. Now, I wonder why mylittle Nesta doesn't come. I am quite longing to kiss my darling girl."
Mrs Aldworth was not angry with Nesta for being a bit late.
"It is her little way," she thought. "The child is so forgetful; she iscertain to have to run out to the garden twenty times, or to strokepussie, or to remember that she has not given old Rover his bone, or todo one hundred and one things which she knows I would be annoyed at ifshe forgot."
So for the first half-hour after dinner, Mrs Aldworth was quite happy.But for the next quarter of an hour she was not quite so calm. The sunhad come round, and it was time to have the blind rearranged. It wasalso time for
