Chapter XIV: Mistrust

'Now that dear Eveline is off our hands,' said Lady Aberfeldie, 'I cannot help thinking seriously of Allan's affairs and those of Olive, and really some serious advice should be given to the foolish couple. Could not you----'

'No,' interrupted her husband; 'I wash my hands of lovers and their piques and plans. You have managed the matter of Eveline and Sir Paget--try your skill once more.'

'Neither Allan nor Olive is so compliant as poor Eveline.'

'No--poor Eveline indeed!'

'You think of her marriage thus, now?'

'Well, there is no denying it is rather a January-and-May style of thing; but let us not speak of it.'

Considering that her husband had from the first given his full assent to the whole transaction, Lady Aberfeldie could not help glancing at him rather reproachfully, but she only said,

'Olive has, of course, many admirers; but the rumour of her engagement to Allan keeps them all at a distance.'

'Poor Olive! Her fortune is almost a misfortune to her.'

'Why?'

'She imagines it to be the attraction of everyone, rather than her own beauty.'

'And once she conceived it to be the attraction of Allan; but she knows better now--that he loves, or loved, her for herself alone.'

'She has already had two peers and a baronet in her train, all drawn thither, I fear, by her money-bags alone, and young Carslogie of Ours seemed desperately smitten, too.'

'Ours?'

'Well, I always think of the Black Watch as 'Ours'--it is force of habit--a good-looking fellow, well-born, well-bred, with plenty of money.'

'Allan is his equal in all these and more; but what he and she mean by dallying and delaying as they do, I cannot conceive.'

Allan had looked upon Olive at the recent marriage in her striking costume as a bridesmaid, and thought she had never appeared to greater advantage.

Why should she not have figured there as a bride too? What was the secret spring of this doubt and mistrust that had come between them again, and which she shrank from attempting to explain?

To do her justice, she was often on the point of doing so; but a sentiment of miserable fear of what Allan might do, think, or say, if made aware of the deep affront Holcroft was capable of inflicting upon his future wife, tied her tongue.

Better would it have been a thousand times had she trusted to Allan fully and implicitly, and to the means he might put in force to procure or purchase the silence for ever of such a reptile as her tormentor.

The knowledge in the minds of both, that a time for separation must inevitably come soon now, if all the rumours of war proved true, softened their emotions, and drew the cousins towards each other again.

The intercourse between them had, as of old, its usual charm, but was strange and constrained, for as Allan did not attempt again the _rôle_ of lover, but seemed to 'bide his time,' Olive felt her pride alarmed, and would often reply to him coldly, with a straightening of her slim form, and a cresting up of her graceful neck and handsome head.

Time passed on; she heard nothing of Hawke Holcroft or his threats, and the courage of Olive rose; but it was awful to think of her name being at the mercy of such a creature, even if she were married!

Once the love that was really smouldering in the hearts of both nearly burst into a flame again.

Olive was seated in the garden at Maviswood so deeply lost in thought that she was unaware of Allan's approach until he overhung the rustic sofa she occupied.

'A penny for your thoughts, Olive,' said he.

'The sum usually offered for what might prove a perilous secret to know.'

'Well?'

'My thoughts were of many things till your voice scattered them,' said she, twirling her sunshade on her shoulder.

'I was in hope they were of--me.'

Olive only smiled, and remained silent, while he looked into her eyes with a curiously mingled expression, which seemed to be both imploring and commanding, but she only said,

'They were not of you--why should they be?'

Allan drew back a pace, with a cloudy brow.

'Forgive my being playful for a moment, Olive--I shall never in this way offend you again.'

She gave him a sweet and deprecating, almost an entreating, glance; but Allan did not perceive it; his face was turned angrily and sadly from her, so her pique--ever so ready--became roused.

'Olive,' said Allan, after a pause, 'love should always be stronger than pride.'

'Of course--when love exists,' she replied, turning a shoulder from him.

'And with you, Olive, do not let it stand between us as before. If your father's will is again the cause, let me tell you once more that I refuse to have any share in that lunatic arrangement, and will not marry you on any such conditions.'

'Who is thinking or talking of marriage?' said she, sarcastically, yet making an effort to restrain her tears; 'moreover, I fear that as a husband you would be very tyrannical and cruel.'

'My character in the present and the past does not bear out this, I think.'

'Suspicious, then?'

'Not without extreme and just reason,' replied Allan, as his mind flashed back to the Holcroft episode.

She strove to glance at him defiantly, but failing, smiled, though his handsome face had in it an expression of sorrow and anger.

'Ere a month be past, Olive, an Egyptian bullet may make you every way a free woman, so far as regards your father's will.'

'I do not wish to be free from it,' she was on the point of saying passionately, but controlled her speech and remained--unwisely--silent.

Allan regarded her wistfully.

'Are injudicious reticence and a little aversion the best beginning of a true love?' he asked.

'Perhaps--I am no casuist,' said she, tapping the ground with a pretty little foot impatiently.

Lovely, pouting, and wistful, her face was now turned to his with a mixture of petulance and shy reproach as she thought,

'Oh, why does he not take me in his arms, and kiss and make a fuss with me as he used to do.'

But, repelled by her curious manner, Allan had no intention of doing any such thing, and thought her a curious enigma. So thus the chance of a complete reunion ended, and ere long the luckless Olive was to have cause for repenting most bitterly her lack of candour and perfect trust, and the force of the overweening pride which engendered mistrust in one who loved her so well.