And--that's Philip'swriting. I wonder why he has not been over to see us?"
Almost as she spoke her father entered the room. He kissed hisdaughters, making some slight remark as he did so on the extremecoldness of the morning.
"Is that what is making you look so pale, Ella?" he added as he caughtsight of her face.
Again Ella forced a smile and murmured something vaguely about dislikingcold. But her father scarcely heard her reply. He had opened hisletters and was immersed in them, unsuspicious of the keen attentionwith which his youngest daughter was observing him. His face grewgrave, very grave indeed as he read the one from Shenewood Park whichMadelene had remarked upon: a slight look of relief overspread it as heglanced at the shorter letter from Sir Philip Cheynes.
"Madelene," he said hastily, handing both to her across the table, "didyou know anything of this?" and Ella saw that the fingers which held outthe letters trembled.
Miss St Quentin read both quickly. Then she looked at her father.
"No," she said, "nothing at all."
Her voice was grave and she had grown rather pale, still to Ella itseemed that her evident emotion was not caused by distress.
"Philip is coming over himself, I see," Madelene said. "I am glad ofthat. Talking is so much better than writing."
Colonel St Quentin pushed back his chair from the table where stood hisuntasted breakfast.
"I suppose so," he said; "but--you will think me very foolish Maddie,but this has completely unhinged me. I can't eat--I will go to my ownroom, I think."
"Oh, papa," Miss St Quentin was beginning in a tone of remonstrance,when Ella interrupted her.
"Is anything the matter?" she exclaimed. "You--you seem so strange,Madelene, you and papa. If it is anything I am not to hear about, Iwould rather go away: I have nearly finished my breakfast."
Her little pale face looked almost as if she were going to cry.Madelene seemed as if she did not know what to say or do.
"It--it is nothing wrong," she said hastily, "but still not anything Ican quite explain to you just yet."
"It is something about Ermine. I know that," said Ella. "But if youdon't mind I would rather go, and then you and papa can talk freely."
And almost before they quite understood what she was saying, she hadgone.
"Has she had her breakfast really?" said her father, glancing at Ella'splate. "Yes, I suppose so. But she isn't looking well, Madelene. Ithink we must have Felton to look at her. However--just for the momentI can only think of Ermine. Give me that letter again. Philip will beable to tell us more. What crotchet has Ermine got in her head aboutanything of the kind being `impossible'? I'm not such a selfish oldtyrant as all that, surely! And if I were--while I have _you_,Maddie--"
"Yes, papa," Miss St Quentin replied, though her own lip quivered alittle. "Yes, with _me_, I hope you would never feel deserted. Andthis is what we must impress upon Ermine, if--as seems the case--everything else is favourable and desirable."
Then they read the letter over again more than once indeed, with eageranxiety to discover from the written lines all they possibly could as tothe writer.
"It is a nice manly letter," said Madelene at last. "But Ermine will beangry, I fear."
And Ella meanwhile had flown up stairs to her "nursery," the scene ofher mature as well as of her childish trials. It had come at last, thecertainty of the event she had so dreaded. Ermine and Philip were to beopenly engaged. Must she stay to see it? Could she bear it? Pridesaid yes; her hot, undisciplined girl's heart said no. And in thisconflict she passed the morning, till suddenly a sort of compromisesuggested itself. She would write to her Aunt Phillis--surely she couldtrust _her_? "I will tell her that I am very unhappy here and ask herto write at once inviting me to go to her. She will do it, I am sure.I will promise her to be as nice as possible to Mr Burton. Oh, if onlyI can get away I shall not care about him or anything!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
ELLA OVERHEARS.
The letter was soon written. But then came the question of how to postit. Ella would not send it openly with the rest of the letters asusual, for she was afraid of Madelene's catching sight of it.
"I will take it to the post-office in the village myself," she decided."They won't miss me. They are far too busy and absorbed about Ermine.And Sir Philip will very likely be coming over to luncheon. How I wishI could say I was ill and keep out of the way! It is too hard to feelmyself a complete stranger and alien in my own home--and it will cut meoff from dear godmother too. I can never see much of _her_ now."
A few minutes saw her wrapped up and making her way down the drive. Itreminded her of that other morning only a very few weeks ago when shehad found little Hetty in distress at the lodge and had stopped to helpher, and when, all unconscious of her smutty face, she had met Philip atthe gate. She had not even known his name then, and now--if only he hadnot been Philip Cheynes, but a stranger as she had imagined him! He hadonce wished she were really "Miss Wyndham."
"I wonder why," thought Ella. "Perhaps if I _had_ been a strangereverything would have been different. There would have been no Madeleneto interfere and stop it all. And I was so sure Ermine did not care forhim--I wonder how it has all come about."
But she felt as if she dared not let her thoughts dwell on it. Shehurried on, safely posted her letter, and turned to go home againwithout misadventure. It was not till she was within the lodge gates,walking more slowly now that she had accomplished her purpose, that itsuddenly struck her what a risk she had run of meeting Sir Philip, andshe started as she realised this, and for half a moment stood still toreflect if she could not reach the house by some other way. But no--there was no choice of road till much nearer home--and then, as ifevoked by her fears, the sound of a horse approaching at a steady trotbroke on her ears. It was some way off, even a slight noise travelledfar in the clear frosty air, but Ella had a long way to walk stillbefore she could reach the concealment of the shrubberies, and where shewas now standing her figure stood out clear and distinct against thesky.
"If it is he, he has seen me already," she thought with a sort ofshiver, and she started off almost at a run, from time to time stoppingfor a moment both to take breath and to listen if the horse and hisrider were indeed coming her way. Yes--she heard them stopping at thelodge gate--then on again, faster, a good deal faster, surely!
"He has recognised me," thought Ella, running now at full speed, tillher heart beat almost to suffocation and her breath came in pantingsobs. She was near the shrubbery now--and once there she could easilyelude him--another effort, though she was all but breathless now, and--no, it was too late!
"Ella!" cried the voice she knew so well, "what in the world is thematter? What _are_, you running away in that mad fashion for?"
She had to stop--it was almost a relief to her that she was physicallyincapable of speaking--her face was scarlet, she panted so that SirPhilip was really startled. She tried to laugh, but the convulsiveeffort quite as nearly resembled a sob.
"Ella," Philip repeated, "can't you tell me--can't, you speak?"
"It--it is nothing," she replied at last. "I have only been running."
"But why were you running so? It is wrong, it may really hurt you. Youwill probably catch cold if you overheat yourself so," he went onseeming vexed and uneasy. "We might have walked up together comfortablyfrom the lodge, as we did the day I brought you back your shoe. Do youremember?" Did she remember? Ella gave an instant's glance at him, butwithout speaking.
"_Is_ anything the matter?" Philip went on.
"Your father is not ill?"
"Oh, no," she said. "I have scarcely seen him and Madelene thismorning. They are expecting you, I know. I think--Is it not a pity tokeep them waiting?"
Sir Philip had got off his horse by this time. He gave an impatientexclamation.
"Say plainly you don't want to speak to me, and I will understand you,Ella," he said. "There is no such tremendous hurry for my seeing yourf
ather and Madelene. I was in such spirits," he went on reproachfully."I don't think I ever felt so happy in my life as I did this morningwhen I was riding over, and when I caught sight of you I thought it sucha piece of luck--" his voice dropped a little, and his dark eyes lookedquite pathetic--"and now you have spoilt it all. I don't understand youthis morning, Ella."
"There is nothing to understand or not to understand," said the girl,trying, though not very successfully to speak lightly. "I didn'tparticularly want to speak to you, and I didn't suppose you wantedparticularly to speak to me. I--I heard a little this morning,
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