5. HALF-PAST TWO TO FIVE O'CLOCK P.M.
Owen accompanied the newly-married couple to the railway-station, and in his anxiety to see the last of his sister, left the brougham and stood upon his crutches whilst the train was starting.
When the husband and wife were about to enter the railway-carriage
they saw one of the porters looking frequently and furtively at
them. He was pale, and apparently very ill.
'Look at that poor sick man,' said Cytherea compassionately, 'surely
he ought not to be here.'
'He's been very queer to-day, madam, very queer,' another porter
answered. 'He do hardly hear when he's spoken to, and d' seem
giddy, or as if something was on his mind. He's been like it for
this month past, but nothing so bad as he is to-day.'
'Poor thing.'
She could not resist an innate desire to do some just thing on this
most deceitful and wretched day of her life. Going up to him she
gave him money, and told him to send to the old manor-house for wine
or whatever he wanted.
The train moved off as the trembling man was murmuring his
incoherent thanks. Owen waved his hand; Cytherea smiled back to him
as if it were unknown to her that she wept all the while.
Owen was driven back to the Old House. But he could not rest in the
lonely place. His conscience began to reproach him for having
forced on the marriage of his sister with a little too much
peremptoriness. Taking up his crutches he went out of doors and
wandered about the muddy roads with no object in view save that of
getting rid of time.
The clouds which had hung so low and densely during the day cleared
from the west just now as the sun was setting, calling forth a
weakly twitter from a few small birds. Owen crawled down the path
to the waterfall, and lingered thereabout till the solitude of the
place oppressed him, when he turned back and into the road to the
village. He was sad; he said to himself--
'If there is ever any meaning in those heavy feelings which are
called presentiments--and I don't believe there is--there will be in
mine to-day. . . . Poor little Cytherea!'
At that moment the last low rays of the sun touched the head and
shoulders of a man who was approaching, and showed him up to Owen's
view. It was old Mr. Springrove. They had grown familiar with
each other by reason of Owen's visits to Knapwater during the past
year. The farmer inquired how Owen's foot was progressing, and was
glad to see him so nimble again.
'How is your son?' said Owen mechanically.
'He is at home, sitting by the fire,' said the farmer, in a sad
voice. 'This morning he slipped indoors from God knows where, and
there he sits and mopes, and thinks, and thinks, and presses his
head so hard, that I can't help feeling for him.'
'Is he married?' said Owen. Cytherea had feared to tell him of the
interview in the garden.
'No. I can't quite understand how the matter rests. . . . Ah! Edward, too, who started with such promise; that he should now have become such a careless fellow--not a month in one place. There, Mr. Graye, I know what it is mainly owing to. If it hadn't been for that heart affair, he might have done--but the less said about him the better. I don't know what we should have done if Miss Aldclyffe had insisted upon the conditions of the leases. Your brother-in-law, the steward, had a hand in making it light for us, I know, and I heartily thank him for it.' He ceased speaking, and looked round at the sky.