University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.
AT LEIGHTON.

IT was a very pretty picture which greeted Roy's vision
next morning, when, at an earlier hour than
usual, he arose and sauntered out into the garden,
glancing involuntary toward Miss Overton's window, and
noticing that it was open, but seeing no signs of its owner
near it. Edna was in the garden before him, gathering a
bouquet for the breakfast table, and looking so fresh, and
bright, and beautiful, with the flush of early girlhood upon
her face, and the deep peace shining in her brown eyes,
that Roy felt his pulse beat faster as he approached her and
passed the compliments of the morning.

“You are an early riser,” he said, “and your cheeks show
the good effects of it; they are almost as bright as the rose
in your hand.”

“The fates forbid. So high a color as that would be vulgar,
you know,” Edna replied, laughing back at him, and
then continuing: “Perhaps you think me a trespasser, or
even worse, a thief; but I assure you I am neither. Mrs.
Churchill told me yesterday to gather flowers whenever I
liked, and I thought the breakfast table might be improved.
with a bouquet. I always used to get one for Uncle Phil,
when I could.”

Roy hastened to reassure her; and then, as he saw her
trying to reach a spray which grew too high for her, he
pulled it down himself, and in so doing scattered a few drops
of dew upon her uncovered head; very carefully he brushed
them off, noting, as he did so, the luxuriance of the golden
brown hair, and the clear coloring of the neck and brow, and
thinking to himself what a dainty little creature she was, and
that Leighton was a great deal pleasanter for having her
there. She was an enthusiastic admirer of everything beautiful,
both in nature and art, and the grounds at Leighton
filled her with delight, and she said out what she felt, while
her eyes sparkled and shone, and almost dazzled Roy with
their brilliancy, when, as was often the case, they were
turned upward to his for assent to what she was saying.
The gravel walks were still wet, and glancing down at
Edna's feet, Roy saw that the little boots showed signs of
damp, and stopped her suddenly.

“You are wetting your feet, Miss Overton,” he said.
“Let me go for your overshoes, and then I will take you
around the grounds. It is a full hour before breakfast-time,
and mother will not need you till then.”

Edna was not at all averse to the walk, but she preferred
getting her own overshoes, and ran back to the house for

them, while Roy stood watching her and thinking how lithe
and graceful she was, and that she must by birth and blood
belong to the higher class; and then he thought of Edna,
whom Georgie had said Miss Overton resembled, and wondered
if she were half as pretty, and graceful, and bright as
this young girl who seemed to have taken his fancy by
storm. We say fancy, because if any one had then hinted
to Roy Leighton that he was more interested in Miss Overton
than men like him are usually interested in young ladies
whom they have only known for twenty-four hours, he would
have laughed at the idea, and if questioned closely, would
have acknowledged to himself at least, that far down in his
heart was an intention of ultimately marrying Georgie Burton.
He rather owed it to her that he should make her his
wife sometime, he thought; her name had been so long associated
with his, and his mother was so fond of her; and
knowing this of himself, he felt almost as if he were already
a married man, and as such, could admire Miss Overton as
much as he pleased. She was coming towards him now,
her hat in her hand, and as she walked swiftly, her curls
were blown about her face by the morning wind, recalling
involuntarily to Roy's mind that scene in the cars more
than two years ago, and the picture of himself in the poke-bonnet,
which he carefully preserved. But Roy had no
suspicion that the face confronting him was the same which
had looked so saucily and curiously at him in the railway
car, and had, with its witching beauty, been the means,
through Providence, of that early grave toward which they
were walking, and where poor Charlie slept. There was a
shadow on Edna's face as they approached it, and when the
gate to the entrance was reached, she stopped involuntarily,
and laid her hand upon the iron railing.

“My brother's grave,” Roy said, standing close to her side.

“Yes; your mother told me. I was here with her yesterday,”

Edna replied, hoping thus to prevent Roy from talking
to her of Charlie.

She had felt guilty and mean when listening to Mrs.
Churchill; and she should feel tenfold more guilty and
mean, she thought, and find it harder work keeping quiet, if
Roy, too, should tell her of his brother and his brother's
wife. But Roy did tell her of them, and talked a good deal
of Edna, his sister, whom he had never seen but once.

“Miss Burton tells me you resemble her,” he said; “and
that may be the reason why you seem so little like a
stranger to me. I should be so glad to know Edna,—to
have her here at home. Poor girl! I am afraid she is finding
the world a harsh one, struggling alone as she is!”

He spoke so kindly that Edna had hard work to refrain
from crying out: “Mr. Leighton, I am a liar, a cheat, an
impostor! I am not what I seem. I am Edna, and not
Miss Overton.”

But she did not do it; and when at last she spoke, it was
to ask if Mrs. Charlie Churchill had no friends or relatives,
that she should be thus thrown upon her own resources.

“Yes; she has an aunt,—a Miss Jerusha Pepper, whose
name is something of an index to her character,” Roy said;
and then, as there came up before his mind the picture of
Aunt Jerry, as he first saw her, bending over her boiling
caldron, and looking more like Macbeth's witches than a
civilized woman, he broke into a low, merry laugh, which
brought a flush to Edna's face, for she guessed of what he
was thinking.

She had heard from Aunt Jerry herself of Roy's visit to
Allen's Hill, and how he had found her employed.

“Dressed in my regimentals, and looking like the very
evil one himself!” Aunt Jerry had written. And Edna, who
knew what the “regimentals” were, and how her aunt looked
in them, wondered what Roy thought of her, and if she herself

had not fallen somewhat in his estimation. She knew
he was laughing at some reminiscence connected with that
soap-making in the lane; and she could not forbear asking
him if just the thoughts of Miss Jerusha were sufficient to
provoke his risibles.

“Well, yes,” Roy answered; “I always laugh when I
think of her arrayed in the most wonderful costume you
ever saw, I reckon, and deep in the mysteries of soap-making.
And still, no queen ever bore herself more proudly
than she did, as she tried to feign indifference to her own
attire and my presence.

“It was a pleasant enough place, or might be, with young
people in it, though I fancy Edna must have led a dreary
life there, and was thus more easily led to escape from it.
Still, I am not certain, that in doing so, she has not proved,
in her own experience, the truth of Scylla and Charybdis.”

“Oh, no; I am sure she has not!” Edna exclaimed, so
vehemently that for a moment Roy looked curiously at her,
noticing how flushed, and eager, and excited she looked, and
wondering at it.

Then suddenly there came to him the remembrance of
Georgie's words: “Wouldn't it be funny if this Miss Overton
should prove to be Edna in disguise?” and without at
all believing that it was so, he resolved upon a test which
should at once decide the matter, and put to rest any doubts
which might hereafter arise.

Just across a little plat of grass Russell was busily employed
with a clump of dahlias, and thither Roy turned his
steps, with Miss Overton at his side.

Russell had seen Edna in Iona, and Roy had heard him
say that he never forgot a face; so he stood talking to him
several minutes, professing a great interest in the dahlias,
but really watching him closely as he bowed very gravely to
the young lady, and then resumed his work.

Edna had thought of Russell, and dreaded him as the possible
means of her being detected; but in his case, as in
Georgie's, she trusted that the change in her dress and the
style of wearing her hair, and the expression of her face from
one of terror and distress to peace and happiness, would
effectually prevent recognition. Georgie evidently had not
recognized her, and Russell certainly would not; so she
stood quietly before him, seeming in no haste whatever to
get away, and even asked him some questions about a new
variety of dahlia which she had never before seen.

For once Russell's memory was at fault, for he did not
know her; though he pronounced her a trim, neat sort of
craft, as he stood for a moment watching her, as she walked
away with Roy, who led her down a grassy lane toward the
little cottage, where she had once thought to move him and
his mother.

There was a half-sad, half-amused smile on Edna's face,
as she recalled the days of her delusion, and looked at the
cottage overgrown with ivy, where one of Roy's men was
living, and with whom he stopped a moment to speak about
a piece of work. It was nearly breakfast time now; and
the two walked slowly back to the house, where Mrs.
Churchill sat waiting for them in the cosey breakfast-room.
The flowers Edna had gathered were upon the table; and
Roy thought how bright they made everything look, and enjoyed
his breakfast as he had not done for many a day. It
was pleasant to have a young face opposite to him; pleasant
to have a young life break up the monotony of his own; and
Leighton Place seemed to him just now as it never had before;
and, during the morning, while Miss Overton was engaged
with his mother, he found himself thinking far more of her
than of the croquet party which Georgie had planned, and
which was to come off that afternoon.