Chapter VI: Felicia and Her Grandfather

FELICIA was still trembling, though she no longer experienced any fears of the big dog, and her eyes looked startled as she raised them to meet the gaze of a pair as clear and blue as her own. Lion's master was a gentleman past middle age, but his tall figure, clad in a tweed knickerbocker suit, was erect and vigorous, and his brown hair was but sparsely sprinkled with gray. His face, the features of which were decidedly handsome, was clean-shaven; and child though she was, Felicia noticed that it was rather a hard face, though at present it was softened by a smile.

"I came here to rest," she explained as she scrambled out of the ditch; "I was asleep when your dog found me."

"I hope he did not frighten you?"

"He did, a little, at first; but then he licked my hands and face, and I knew he would not do that if he meant to hurt me."

"No, indeed! Lion must have taken a fancy to you; he does not, as a rule, make friends quickly." The gentleman looked at her attentively. "Do you live in the village?" he inquired.

"Oh no!" she replied.

"Ah, I thought not! The village children grow roses on their cheeks, and you have none. It takes sunshine and fresh air to grow roses." He released his hold of Lion's collar and smiled as the dog immediately went to the little girl to be noticed.

She patted his great head, not in the least afraid of him now, whilst he submitted to be made much of with great contentment.

"What a nice dog he is!" she exclaimed.

"You are accustomed to animals?"

"No, but I love them. We—mother and I—always lived in lodgings, and so, of course, I could not keep pets, and the last two years whilst we have been in Bristol—" She broke off and grew red, for she had been about to explain that they had had enough to do to feed themselves, but suddenly remembered there was no necessity to tell that to a stranger.

"And are you and your mother living in Bristol now?" he inquired after a brief pause.

"My mother died a week ago," Felicia responded in a low tone; "oh, it seems a great deal longer than that! And now—and now I have no home."

"No home? But you have friends?"

"Oh, yes!" she cried, her face brightening, "the best in the world!"

"Where are they? What are you doing at N—?"

Felicia hesitated and regarded him dubiously. He had a masterful way of asking questions as though he had a right to put them.

"My friends live at Bristol," she answered with a touch of reserve in her tone; "and I have come to N— on business about—about myself."

"On business about yourself!" he exclaimed, laughing, evidently amused at her reply; "and you mean to keep it to yourself, I perceive. Well, you're quite right. Come, Lion, we must be moving on, old boy."

"Oh, please, will you tell me the time?" demanded Felicia eagerly. "Is it seven o'clock yet?"

"Not quite, It is—let me see—" he looked at his watch—"it is half-past six exactly."

"Thank you. How long I must have slept! Two hours at least. Good evening!" and she hurried across the meadow in the direction of the gate.

The gentleman followed the small, black-gowned figure, wondering who the child could be, whilst, much to his surprise, he observed that the dog kept close to her side, though he glanced back at his master now and then to see if he was following.

Felicia climbed over the gate, the dog leaping it after her; then she walked at a more sedate pace, for she did not wish to arrive at the Priory in a breathless condition. At the entrance to the Priory grounds she glanced back and saw the gentleman not far behind, and before she had gone half the distance of the carriage drive he had overtaken her.

"Where are you going?" he demanded in a peremptory tone. "Do you know where this leads?"

"Yes, to the Priory," she responded. "I am going to see Mr. Renford. I called more than two hours ago, but he was not in then, so I'm going to find out if he's come home. Oh, I do hope he has!"

"What is your business with him?" he inquired, laying a detaining hand on her shoulder; "come, child, speak out and tell me."

"I cannot," replied Felicia, almost in tears, for she was alarmed to see the lines around his mouth had hardened, and the expression of his face had become stern; "I cannot tell my business to any one but Mr. Renford," she declared firmly.

"Well, here he is. I am he—Julius Renford, the master of the Priory. Why, what's the matter with you? You're shaking like an aspen leaf."

Felicia did not answer. A look of utter amazement had crept over her countenance, for her grandfather was so different from the mental picture she had formed of him. She had fancied he would be older—as old as the white-haired man with the bright, brown eyes who had interviewed her at the Priory—and this alert, vigorous gentleman upset all her preconceived ideas. She did not for a moment doubt he spoke the truth, however, for his countenance was honest and open as the day.

"Come, come," he said impatiently, "what do you want of me? First of all, tell me your name."

"It is Felicia—Felicia Renford," she informed him in faltering accents.

"What!" His clasp on her shoulder tightened, and his fine colour paled slightly, whilst he subjected her face to a keen scrutiny which Felicia bore with what fortitude she could muster for the occasion. "Do you mean to say you are the daughter of my son John?"

"Yes," she replied chokingly.

"And your mother is dead, I think you told me?" Again she assented.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, and Felicia's sensitive ears heard the ejaculation was one of relief. "Where are your proofs?" he asked, "and who sent you here?"

"My mother. She—"

"You said she was dead!" he interposed sternly.

"Yes. But before she died—"

"Come to the house," he interrupted again, "I cannot talk to you here."

He retained his hold of her—almost as though he was afraid she might run away—until they reached the front door, which was opened by the old man Felicia had seen before. Mr. Renford addressed a few words to him.

"Order the dinner to be kept back for half-an-hour, Price," he commanded "and see I'm not interrupted. Follow me," he added to Felicia.

She did so, her mind in a whirl of bewilderment. Evidently the old man whom she had thought might be her grandfather was a servant, she reflected.

Mr. Renford led the way into a room on the right of the large entrance hall. It was a pleasant room facing the west, the windows of which opened upon a well-kept flower-garden, and it was comfortably furnished the little girl saw at a glance. A Turkey carpet covered the floor, and the dark walls, panelled in oak, made a suitable background for the heavy gilt frames of the pictures of dogs and horses which ornamented them. Over the high mantel-shelf hung several guns; and altogether it was plain to see that it was the room of a sportsman and not a student, though it was always called the "study."

Mr. Renford placed Felicia in a chair near the open window, and he was about to seat himself opposite to her, when there came an imperative scrape at the door. With an impatient exclamation he crossed the room and admitted Lion, who stalked up to the little girl and laid his great head in her lap. Mr. Renford closed the door; then he turned towards the child and the dog. By that time Felicia had produced the pocket-book which held all the papers her mother had treasured carefully, and she now handed it to him. He took it without a word, and seating himself at his writing-table, with his back towards her, examined its contents.

Though very excited, Felicia waited quietly. There was a tall, old-fashioned clock in the room, and she fastened her eyes on its brass face and watched the minute hand go round. More than fifteen minutes elapsed before Mr. Renford directed his attention to her again.

"So you are my son John's daughter," he said slowly, "and you are now an orphan, it appears. In spite of all your mother's fine boasts of what she could do for you, and her talk of independence, it seems she has not done much—except bring you to want."

"She did the best she could," Felicia answered in a low tone; but there was a glitter in her blue eyes as she spoke which her grandfather did not fail to note; "it was not her fault she had that dreadful illness."

"Illness? What illness was that? Tell me about it."

She did so, explaining how it had been the cause of their great poverty. She spoke of their attic home in Bristol, and the struggling existence of the last two years which had ended with her mother's death. If she had seen the faintest expression of sympathy for her mother in his face, she would have wept aloud, but she saw none, and that helped her to keep her composure.

"And now I suppose you expect to live at the Priory?" he asked when she had finished her tale.

"Mother thought you would want me to live here," she frankly admitted, "but I hope you won't—I have friends who will give me a home. I didn't want to come to the Priory at all, but I had promised mother, and of course I could not break my word. Oh, do please say I may go back to Bristol to Mr. and Mrs. M'Cosh!"

"Who are they? Not the people you have been staying with—that mason and his wife? Yes. So you would rather live with them—eh? Well, I may as well tell you at once that will not be permitted. I shall go to Bristol to-morrow and prove all your statements—not that I doubt them, I believe you have spoken the truth—and I shall pay a visit to this Mr. and Mrs. M'Cosh and settle matters with them; they must not be losers on account of anything they have done—but of course they must have known they would be repaid. Meanwhile, I will lock these papers away in my safe; and, for the present, you will remain at the Priory. Obey me, and you will have nothing to fear; disobey me, and—"

He paused expressively. She had listened with attention and a sinking heart, her arms clasped round the dog's neck. Suddenly, with a little, choking sob she turned away her face from his gaze.

"You are tired and hungry, no doubt," he proceeded hastily, "you must have some refreshment at once."

He rang the bell, and bade the servant who answered it to send Mrs. Price to him. Three minutes later, a stout, elderly woman, wearing a black gown and a white cap, entered the room. Mr. Renford smiled as he noticed the curious, expectant glance she cast at Felicia.

"Look at them," he said pointing at the child and the dog. "Lion found her asleep in the ditch at the bottom of Greenside meadow, and they are friends already. I augur well from that, for dogs seldom make mistakes. Observe her features, Mrs. Price, and tell me if you ever knew anyone like her."

The little girl lifted her eyes wistfully to the woman's face and saw a gleam of surprise and eagerness flit across it.

"I am not sure," Mrs. Price faltered, "but I think so, sir. She is very like poor Master John."

"She is his daughter; I see the likeness myself. Take her away, Mrs. Price; I entrust her to your care for the present. Consider her your guest until—until I give you further instructions."

"No, no, let me go!" Felicia implored. "Oh, let me return to Bristol to those who care for me! You do not, and I don't think you ever will. You were nicer before you knew I was your grandchild. You don't want me, and Mr. and Mrs. M'Cosh do. They love me, and they were kind to my dear, dear mother. Oh, mother, mother!" And she broke into a fit of bitter weeping.

"Come away," whispered Mrs. Price, pitying the forlorn child, and taking her gently by the hand she led her from the room, followed closely by the dog. "Don't cry, my dear, you'll find someone to love you at N—, never fear! You may take my word for that," she added as soon as she had shut the study door.

"Do you mean my grandmother?" asked Felicia, hope springing anew in her heart.

"Your grandmother? Why, my dear, she died more than three years ago. To think now that you didn't know that!"