A very unpleasant part of the story has now to be touched upon. Unpleasant things occur in real life, and if true pictures have to be given of the world as it exists, as it goes on its round, day by day, to them cannot be wholly avoided.
Certain words of William Halliburton to Patience had run in this fashion: "Were Anna to be into a for Herbert Dare, I am sure it would not be agreeable to Mr. Lynn. He would never consider the Dares a desirable family for her to marry into." In thus speaking, William had striven to put the case in a polite sort of form to the ears of Patience. As to any probability of marriage between one of the Dares and Anna Lynn, he would scarcely have believed it within the range of possibility. The Dares, one and all, would have considered Anna far beneath them in position, whilst the difference of religion would on Anna's side be an almost insurmountable objection. The worst that William had was the "liking" he had hinted at. He cared for Anna's welfare as he would have cared for a sister's, and he believed it would not contribute to her happiness that she should become attached to Herbert Dare. But for compromising Anna—and he had given his word not to do it—he would have spoken out openly and said there was a danger of this liking coming to pass, if she met him as he feared she had been in the habit of doing. Certainly he would not have to the remote possibility of marriage, the mention of which had so scared Patience.
What had William thought, what had Patience said, could they have known that this liking was already implanted in Anna's heart beyond recall? ! that it should have been so! Quiet, childish, timid as Anna outwardly appeared, the strongest affection had been aroused in her heart for Herbert Dare—was filling its every . These shy, sensitive natures are sometimes only the more and wayward within. One evening a few months , Anna was walking in Atterly's Field, behind their house. Anna had been in the habit of walking there—nay, of playing there—since she was a child, and she would as soon have associated harm with their garden as with that field. Farmer Atterly kept his sheep in it, and Anna had run about with the lambs as long as she could remember. Herbert Dare came up accidentally—the path through it, leading along at the back of the houses, was public, though not much frequented—and he to Anna. Anna knew him to say "Good day" when she passed him in the street; and she now and then saw him at Mrs. Ashley's. Herbert stayed talking with her a few minutes, and then went on his way.
Somehow, from that time, he and Anna encountered each other there pretty frequently; and that was how the liking had grown. If a qualm of conscience crossed Miss Anna at times that it was not quite the thing for a young lady to do, thus to meet a gentleman in secret, she conveniently put the qualm away. That harm should arise from it in any way never so much as crossed her mind for a moment; and to do Herbert Dare justice, real harm was probably as far from his mind as from hers.
He grew to like her, almost as she liked him. Herbert Dare did not, in the sight of Helstonleigh, stand out as a model of all the ; but he was not all bad. Anna believed him all good—all honour, truth, ; and her heart had flashed out a to William when he hinted that Herbert was not exactly a . She only knew that the very sound of his footstep made her heart leap with happiness; she only knew that to her he appeared everything that was bright and fascinating. Her great was, lest their should become known and separation ensue. That separation would be , were her father or Patience to become cognizant of it, Anna rightly believed.
Cunning little sophist that she was! She would fain persuade herself that an innocent meeting out of doors was , where a meeting indoors was out of the question. They had no acquaintance with the Dares; consequently Herbert could plead no excuse for calling in upon them—none at least that would be likely to carry weight with Patience. And so the young lady reconciled her conscience in the best way she could, stole out as often as she was able to meet him, and left discovery to take care of itself.
Discovery came in the shape of William Halliburton. It was bad enough; but far less alarming to Anna than it might have been. Had her father dropped upon her, she would have run away and fallen into the nearest pond, in her terror and .
Though guilty of certain inaccuracies—such as protesting that she "did not care" for Herbert Dare—Anna, in that interview with William, meant to keep the promise she made, not to meet him again. Promises, however, given under the influence of terror or other sudden emotion, are not always kept. It would probably prove so with Anna's. One thing was indisputable—that where a mind could so far forget its moral rectitude as to practise deceit in one particular, as Anna was doing, it would not be very to keep its better promises.
Anna's thoughts for many a morning latterly, when she arose, had been "This evening I shall see him," and the seemed to quicken her fingers, as it quickened her heart. But on the morning after the discovery, her first thought was, "I must never see him again as I have done. How shall I warn him not to come?" That he would be in the field again that evening, unless warned, she knew: if William Halliburton saw him there a quarrel might ensue between them; at any rate, an unpleasant scene. Anna came down, feeling cross and , and inclined to wish William had been at the bottom of the sea before he had found them out the previous evening.
"Where there's a will, there's a way," it is said. Anna Lynn that day to exemplify it. Her will was set upon seeing Herbert Dare, and she did see him: it can scarcely be said by accident. Anna contrived to be sent into the town by Patience on an errand, and she managed to linger so long in the neighbourhood of Mr. Dare's office, gazing in at the shops in West Street (if Patience had only seen her!), that Herbert Dare passed.
"Anna!"
"Herbert, I have been waiting in the hope of seeing thee," she whispered, her manner timid as a , her pretty cheeks blushing. "Thee must not come again in the evening, for I cannot meet thee."
"Why so?" asked Herbert.
"William Halliburton saw me with thee last night, and he says it is not right. I had to give him my promise not to meet thee again, or he would have told my father."
Herbert cast a word to William; not a one. "What business is it of his?" he asked.
"I dare not stay talking to thee, Herbert. Patience will likely be sending Grace after me, finding me so long away. But I was obliged to tell thee this, lest thee should be coming again. Fare thee well!"
Passing swiftly from him, Anna went on her way. Herbert did not choose to follow her in the open street. She went along, poor child, with her head down and her eyelashes . It was little else than bitter sorrow thus to part wit............