exclaimed the elder angrily. ‘What have I had to make me cry? No; I am tired, and my eyes burn.’
‘Then close them and sleep for a couple of hours.’
Barbara left the room and shut the door behind her. In the early morning none of the servants could be spared to sit with the sick man.
Eve went to the table and arranged a bunch of oxlips, dripping with dew, in a glass of water.
‘How sweet they are!’ she said, smiling. ‘Smell them, they will do you good. These are of the old monks’ planting; they grow in abundance in the orchard, but nowhere else. The oxlips and the orchis suit together perfectly. If the oxlip had been a little more yellow and the orchis a little more purple, they would have made an ill-assorted posy.’
Jasper looked at the flowers, then at her.
‘Are you her sister?’
‘What, Barbara’s sister?’
‘Yes, her name is Barbara.’
‘Of course I am.’
He looked at Eve. He could trace in her no likeness to her sister. Involuntarily he said, ‘You are very beautiful.’
She coloured—with pleasure. Twice within a few days the same compliment had been paid her.
‘What is your name, young lady?’
‘My name is Eve.’
‘Eve!’ repeated Jasper. ‘How strange!’
Twice also, within a few days, had this remark been passed on her name.
‘Why should it be strange?’
‘Because that was also the name of my mother and of my sister.’
‘Is your mother alive?’
He shook his head.
‘And your sister?’
‘I do not know. I remember her only faintly, and my father never speaks of her.’ Then he changed the subject. ‘You are very unlike Miss Barbara. I should not have supposed you were sisters.’
‘We are half-sisters. We had not the same mother.’
He was exhausted with speaking, and turned towards the wall. Eve seated herself in the chair vacated by Barbara. She occupied her fingers with making a cowslip ball, and when it was made she tossed it. Then, as he moved, she feared that she disturbed him, so she put the ball on the table, from which, however, it rolled off.
Jasper turned as she was groping for it.
‘Do I trouble you?’ she said. ‘Honour bright, I will sit quiet.’
How beautiful she looked with her chestnut hair; how delicate and pearly was her lovely neck; what sweet eyes were hers, blue as a heaven full of sunshine!
‘Have you sat much with me, Miss Eve, whilst I have been ill?’
‘Not much; my sister would not suffer me. I am such a fidget that she thought I might irritate you; such a giddypate that I might forget your draughts and compresses. Barbara is one of those people who do all things themselves, and rely on no one else.’
‘I must have given Miss Barbara much trouble. How good she has been!’
‘Oh, Barbara is good to everyone! She can’t help it. Some people are born good-tempered and practical, and others are born pretty and poetical; some to be good needlewomen, others to wear smart clothes.’
‘Tell me, Miss Eve, did anyone come near me when I met with my accident?’
‘Your friend Martin and Barbara brought you here.’
‘And when I was here who had to do with my clothes?’
‘Martin undressed you whilst my sister and I got ready what was necessary for you.’
‘And my clothes—who touched them?’
‘After your friend Martin, only Barbara; she folded them and put them away. Why do you ask?’
Jasper sighed and put his hand to his head. Silence ensued for some time; had not he held his hand to the wound Eve would have supposed he was asleep. Now, all at once, Eve saw the cowslip ball; it was under the table, and with the point of her little foot she could touch it and roll it to her. So she played with the ball, rolling it with her feet, but so lightly that she made no noise.
All at once he looked round at her. Startled, she kicked the cowslip ball away. He turned his head away again.
About five minutes later she was on tiptoe, stealing across the room to where the ball had rolled. She picked it up and laid it on the pillow near Jasper’s face. He opened his eyes. They had been closed.
‘I thought,’ explained Eve, ‘that the scent of the flowers might do you good. They are somewhat bruised and so smell the stronger.’
He half nodded and closed his eyes again.
Presently she plucked timidly at the sheet. As he paid no attention she plucked again. He looked at her. The bright face, like an opening wild rose, was bending over him.
‘Will it disturb you greatly if I ask you a question?’
He shook his head.
‘Who was that young man whom you called Martin?’
He looked earnestly into her eyes, and the colour mounted under the transparent skin of her throat, cheeks, and brow.
‘Eve,’ he said gravely, ‘have you ever been ill—cut, wounded’—he put out his hand and lightly indicated her heart—‘there?’
She shook her pretty head with a smile.
‘Then think and ask no more about Martin. He came to you out of darkness, he went from you into darkness. Put him utterly and for ever out of your thoughts as you value your happiness.’
CHAPTER VIII.
BAB.
As Jasper recovered, he saw less of the sisters. June had come, and with it lovely weather, and with the lovely weather the haysel. The air was sweet about the house with the fragrance of hay, and the soft summer breath wafted the pollen and fine strands on its wings into the court and in at the windows of the old house. Hay harvest was a busy time, especially for Barbara Jordan. She engaged extra hands, and saw that cake was baked and beer brewed for the harvesters. Mr. Jordan had become, as years passed, more abstracted from the cares of the farm, and more steeped in his fantastic semi-scientific pursuits. As his eldest daughter put her strong shoulder to the wheel of business, Mr. Jordan edged his from under
