On the evening of the day when Helena Crosby communicated her future prospects to Lady Isabel, the latter strolled out in the twilight and took her seat on a bench in an unfrequented part of the gardens, where she was fond of sitting. Now it occurred that Afy, some minutes afterwards, found herself in the same walk--and a very dull one, too, she was thinking.
"Who's that?" quoth Afy to herself, her eyes falling upon Lady Isabel.
"Oh, it's that governess of the Crosby's. She may be known, a half a mile off, by her grandmother's bonnet. I'll go and have a chat with her."
Accordingly Afy, who was never troubled with bashfulness, went up and seated herself beside Lady Isabel. "Good evening, Madame Vine," cried she.
"Good evening," replied Lady Isabel, courteously, not having the least idea who Afy might be.
"You don't know me, I fancy," pursued Afy, so gathering from Lady Isabel's looks. "I am companion to Mrs. Latimer; and she is spending the evening with Mrs. Crosby. Precious dull, this Stalkenberg."
"Do you think so?"
"It is for me. I can't speak German or French, and the upper attendants of families here can't; most of them speak English. I'm sure I go about like an owl, able to do nothing but stare. I was sick enough to come here, but I'd rather be back at West Lynne, quiet as it is."
Lady Isabel had not been encouraging her companion, either by words or manner, but the last sentence caused her heart to bound within her.
Control herself as she would, she could not quite hide her feverish interest.
"Do you come from West Lynne?"
"Yes. Horrid place. Mrs. Latimer took a house there soon after I went to live with her. I'd rather she'd taken it at Botany Bay."
"Why do you not like it?"
"Because I don't," was Afy's satisfactory answer.
"Do you know East Lynne?" resumed Lady Isabel, her heart beating and her brain whirling, as she deliberated how she could put all the questions she wished to ask.
"I ought to know it," returned Afy. "My own sister, Miss Hallijohn, is head maid there. Why, do you know it, Madame Vine?"
Lady Isabel hesitated; she was deliberating upon her answer.
"Some years ago I was staying in the neighborhood for a little time," she said. "I should like to hear of the Carlyles again; they were a nice family."
Afy tossed her head.
"Ah! But there have been changes since that. I dare say you knew them in the time of Lady Isabel?"
Another pause.
"Lady Isabel? Yes she was Mr. Carlyle's wife."
"And a nice wife she made him!" ironically rejoined Afy. "You must have heard of it, Madame Vine, unless you lived in the wood. She elope-- abandoned him and her children."
"Are the children living?"
"Yes, poor things. But the one's on the road to the churchyard--if ever I saw threatened consumption yet. Joyce, that's my sister, is in a flaring temper when I say it. She thinks it will get strong again."
Lady Isabel passed her handkerchief across her moist brow.
"Which of the children is it?" she faintly asked. "Isabel?"
"Isabel!" retorted Afy. "Who's Isabel?"
"The eldest child, I mean; Miss Isabel Carlyle."
"There's no Isabel. There's Lucy. She's the only daughter."
"When--when--I knew them, there was only one daughter; the other two were boys; I remember quite well that she was called Isabel."
"Stay," said Afy; "now you speak of it, what was it that I heard? It was Wilson told me, I recollect--she's the nurse. Why, the very night that his wife went away Mr. Carlyle gave orders that the child in future should be called Lucy, her second name. No wonder," added Afy, violently indignant, "that he could no lager endure the sound of her mother's or suffer the child to bear it."
"No wonder," murmured Lady Isabel. "Which child is it that's ill?"
"It's William, the eldest boy. He is not to say ill, but he is as thin as a herring, with an unnaturally bright look on his cheek, and a glaze upon his eye. Joyce says that his cheeks are no brighter than his mother's were, but I know better. Folks in health don't have those brilliant colors."
"Did you ever see Lady Isabel?" she asked, in a low tone.
"Not I," returned Afy; "I should have thought it demeaning. One does not care to be brought into contact with that sort of misdoing lot, you know, Madame Vine."
"There as another one, a little boy--Archibald, I think, his name was.
Is he well?"
"Oh, the troublesome youngster! He is as sturdy as a Turk. No fear of his going into consumption. He is the very image of Mr. Carlyle, is that child. I say though, madame," continued Afy, changing the subject unceremoniously, "if you were stopping at West Lynne, perhaps you heard some wicked mischief-****** stories concerning me?"
"I believe I did hear your name mentioned. I cannot charge my memory now with the particulars."
"My father was murdered--you must have heard of that?"
"Yes, I recollect so far."
"He was murdered by a chap called Richard Hare, who decamped instanter. Perhaps you know the Hares also? Well, directly after the funeral I left West Lynne; I could not bear the place, and I stopped away. And what do you suppose they said of me? That I had gone after Richard Hare. Not that I knew they were saying it, or I should pretty soon have been back and given them the length of my tongue. But now I just ask you, as a lady, Madame Vine, whether a more infamous accusation was ever pitched upon?"
"And you had not gone after him?"
"No; that I swear," passionately returned Afy. "Make myself a companion of my father's murderer! If Mr. Calcraft, the hangman, finished off a few of those West Lynne scandalmongers, it might be a warning to the others. I said so to Mr. Carlyle.
"To Mr. Carlyle?" repeated Lady Isabel, hardly conscious that she did repeat it.
"He laughed, I remember, and said that would not stop the scandal. The only one who did not misjudge me was himself; he did not believe that I was with Richard Hare, but he was ever noble-judging was Mr. Carlyle."
"I suppose you were in a situation?"
Afy coughed.
