The Village by the River | Page 7

Sally had so greatly admired. She was talking in low, clear tones to her
mother.
"Ought not to have come? What nonsense, mother! It has been quite an
amusing experience to see the way these people pass their evenings;
they are quite nice and respectable. I confess now I should be glad to
see our carriage. I feel I'm getting smoke-dried like bacon--or ham, is
it?"
It was evident that the elder of the two ladies was rather frightened and
losing her head.
"I'll not do this again without a man of our own," she said with nervous
irritability.
Paul stepped forward, raising his hat. "Is your carriage anywhere about?
Can I get it for you?"
"Oh, thank you so much. It's a private one from the Hotel de Flandres,
and I told the man to stop here."
"Unfortunately the police regulations interfere with your orders," Paul
said, with a slight smile. "He must take his place in the ranks. I will
soon find it for you if you will stay here."
"Name, Webster," said the older lady.
So Paul, with a nod to Sally to stay where she was, hurried off,
returning in a moment with the carriage.
"Thanks so much," said the girl whom Sally admired, as Paul handed

her in and closed the door behind her.
"I was quite glad of the time to consider her more closely!" cried Sally,
as they drove off. "I've never seen what I call an absolutely perfect face
before. I wonder if I shall see her again?"
"For my part I don't wish it," Paul answered carelessly. "Beautiful she
is; but she bears the knowledge of it about with her like an
overpowering perfume, and is the very impersonation of the insolence
of riches!"
"Why, Paul, you are not often either narrow-minded or unjust."
"How dare she comment upon these Belgians, who nearly all possess a
smattering of English, under their very noses!" continued Paul, angrily.
"'Quite nice and respectable,' indeed! As she and her mother were in a
fix I was bound, as a man, to offer my services; but I did it
unwillingly."
Paul's indignation was short-lived, and he and Sally walked along the
streets leisurely, on their way back to their hotel, talking on indifferent
subjects. They paused in the hall of the hotel, running their eyes over
the letters displayed outside the post-office, to see if the evening post
had brought any for them. There were none for Sally; but two or three
for Paul, that had been forwarded from his chambers in London.
"I'll go into the salon and read them, and then we'll go upstairs to bed. I
feel infected by the early hours of these foreigners," he said, yawning a
little.
Sally turned over the leaves of a paper whilst her brother opened his
letters. The last of them he read and re-read several times; then rose and
laid his hand on Sally's shoulder.
"I'm awfully sorry, Sally, but I shall have to go back to London by the
first train to-morrow."
The long-drawn "O-o-o-h!" was powerless to express half the

disappointment his sister felt.
"It's business, I suppose: everything nasty is always business," she said
at last.
"Well, no, it's not business; and it certainly is not pleasure. You
remember I had an old godfather, Major Lessing? I'm sure he amply
fulfilled his godfatherly duty by the silver milk-jug he gave me at my
baptism--which I've never set eyes on for many a long year, by the
way--and the tips he shoved into the palm of my hand whenever I paid
him a visit on my way from school. I don't think I've seen him since;
and why, now that he's dying, he has a particular desire for a call, I
can't tell you. It's inconvenient, to say the least of it."
"Must you go?" asked Sally, despairingly.
"I'm afraid so. It's the last thing one can do for him, poor old chap!"
"He might have chosen some other time to be ill," said Sally, who, not
knowing the major, was inclined to be heartless.
"Well, yes. But we won't lose our holiday; we'll come again later,
Sally."
"We shan't! I'm perfectly certain we shan't!" cried Sally, turning away
her head so that Paul should not see that there were tears in her eyes. "It
was too delightful a plan to carry out."
The next day found Paul and his sister back in London. Sally was to go
to an aunt for a few days, until Paul could settle his plans; and when he
had seen her off from the station, he turned his own steps in the
direction of the quiet square where his godfather had spent his solitary
life since the days of his retirement from active service. His eyes turned
instinctively to