especially over the date. But she had never seen the note in her life before, and said so.
“Nonsense,” said Laura. “If it was not addressed to you, Jane, to whom was it addressed? Clarice never wrote home to anybody but you since her departure.”
“How did you become possessed of this?” inquired Jane.
“It came from home with my clothes.”
“Impossible,” said Jane. “I collected your things myself and packed them. There was no such scrap of paper, as this, amongst them.”
“I tell you, Jane, it came to me in my box of clothes. Some little time ago a pair of my lace sleeves got mislaid. I was angry with my maid, and turned the drawer, where my lace things are kept, out upon the floor. In picking them up to replace, I found the paper. That it had come from home with my lace things is certain, for they were emptied straight from the trunk into that drawer. And there it must have remained since unnoticed, probably slipped under the paper laid at the bottom of the drawer.”
“It appears to me inexplicable,” returned Jane. “I know that I never received the note; and, as you say, Clarice wrote home only to me. But she never worded her letters in that strain: it is more as a wife would write to her husband.”
“The display of affection struck me,” said Laura, “I thought she had grown over-fond all on a sudden.”
“Clarice has too much good sense to indulge in foolishly-fond expressions. I cannot understand this,” resumed Jane. “It seems all on a par with the rest, full of nothing but mystery. Will you give me this scrap of paper, Laura?”
“You may keep it, and welcome. I hope we shall soon hear of her. It is so dreadfully inconsistent for Lady Clarice Chesney, or Lady anybody else, to be getting her living as a governess. But I suppose she cannot have heard of the change. Jane—to alter the subject—do you know that I saw papa at Pembury?”
“No.”
“I did. I was visiting Colonel and Mrs. Marden, they are such nice people—but you know them for yourself. I was driving through the street in the pony carriage with Mrs. Marden, and we met Sir James’s mail-cart, he and papa inside it. Between astonishment and fear I was nearly frightened out of my wits. I pulled the reins and started the ponies off, and the next day we heard that papa had left again.”
“Are you going?” asked Jane, for Laura had risen.
“I must be going now. I shall come in again soon, for I have not said half I thought to say, or remembered half the questions. Good-by, Jane; come with me as far as the gate.”
“I don’t feel well enough to go out,” was Jane’s answer.
“Nonsense, that’s all fancy. A minute’s walk in this bright sunshine will do you good.”
Jane yielded to the persuasion. She muffled herself up and accompanied Laura to the gate. It was a balmy autumn day, the sun brilliant, and the red leaves shining in the foliage. Jane really did feel the air revive her, and she did not hasten indoors immediately.
Laura shook hands and proceeded down the road. Just after she had passed its bend, she encountered her husband. He was advancing at a quick step, swinging a cane in his hand.
“Oh, Lewis, were you coming in search of me?”
“Not I,” said Mr. Carlton, laughing. “It would take I don’t know what amount of moral courage to venture into the precincts of my enemy, Lady Jane. Has it been a stormy interview, Laura?”
“It has been a pleasant one. Not that Jane is a model of suavity in all things. She tells me I may go and see her whenever I please, but you are not to go, and she won’t come to my house.”
“Then I’d retaliate, Laura, by not going to hers.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” was Laura’s careless answer; “I should like to go to her sometimes, and I daresay she’ll come round after a while. Won’t you walk home with me, Lewis?"
“I cannot, my dearest. A patient is waiting for me.”
“Who is it?”
“A farmer’s wife: nobody you know. She is very ill.”
They parted different ways. Laura went towards home, and Mr. Carlton continued his road up the Rise. As he passed the bend, he became aware that some one was advancing from an opposite direction, and recognised young Frederick Grey. And Master Frederick was in a fiery temper.
A word of explanation as to its cause is necessary. At the Michaelmas just passed, a Mr. Thrupp and his wife, people from a distance, had come to live at a small farm just beyond the Rise. A short time after taking possession, the wife was seized with illness, and Mr. Carlton was called in. The farmer knew nothing and had heard nothing of the merits of the different practitioners of the place, but Mr. Carlton lived nearest to him, and therefore he was summoned.
