Aunt Patty's Paying Guests by Eglanton Thorne

WHEN we all met at breakfast the next morning there was a good deal of laughing and joking about the burglar, as we congratulated each other that he had not disturbed our rest. Agneta took no part in it. She feigned not to hear what was going on as she studied the envelopes of the letters which lay beside her plate; but I saw that her colour had risen, and felt sure that she was not so indifferent as she appeared.

There was another person at the table who took no part in the talk. Alan Faulkner was unusually grave that morning. Suddenly glancing up, I became aware that his eyes were upon me, studying me with an earnest, questioning glance I could not understand. My eyes fell beneath it and my colour rose. I fancied there was something reproachful in his look; but, as I had done nothing to deserve this, I tried to persuade myself that my imagination was wholly at fault. Yet the mere fancy had a lowering effect upon my spirits. It was with a sense of flatness and depression that I set about my daily duties.

Ere long Agneta claimed my attention. She had risen with a headache, which increased in violence as the day wore on. In vain she struggled against it with all the power of her strong will; she had to succumb at last, and spent the afternoon lying on her bed, while I kept applying cold bandages to her forehead. At last she said that she was better and felt inclined to sleep, so I darkened the room and left her.

When I went downstairs there was no one about. I passed into the garden and found that, too, deserted. As I walked round to the back of the house I wondered where the others were. Aunt Patty, I knew, had driven into Chelmsford to do some shopping, and I believed that Mr. Dicks had accompanied her. The Colonel probably was at the Vicarage. "Gay Bowers" wore the quiet, drowsy appearance that had marked it in the days when paying guests were unknown there.

Somewhat discontentedly I wandered down the long lawns, past the tennis nets and the croquet hoops, till I reached the part of the garden devoted to vegetables and fruit. To the right lay the strawberry bed, and, seeing some ripe berries, I paused to regale myself with them. I was wearing the check skirt I had worn on the previous day. It was foolish of me, but I liked it the better because Alan Faulkner had said a word in approval of It. It seemed that he was particularly fond of that admixture of black and white.

I lingered for some minutes by the strawberry bed, and was still hunting amid the green leaves when I saw a lad, who sometimes assisted Hobbes in the garden, coming towards me. Touching his cap awkwardly, he handed me a folded slip of paper, and as he did so I saw that a shilling lay in the palm of his hand.

"The gentleman told me to give you this, miss," he said.

"What gentleman? " I asked.

"Don't know," said the boy; "none of them as is here, miss."

I looked at the paper. It appeared to be a leaf torn from a pocket-book and folded with a corner turned down. There was no address on it. Turning from the boy's curious gaze, I strolled on, opening the missive as I went. I was amazed as I read the following words:

"My Darling, I have been waiting so impatiently in the wood and wondering what had kept you, till at last I was daring enough to approach the house, and from the one place where it is possible to look over the garden wall caught a glimpse of your frock, flitting to and fro amid the bushes. Dearest, why do you waste the time, when we might be together? I have got our plans laid now, and I must tell you about them. Let me assure you that the way is clear. There in not another soul about the place. Your puritanical cousin seems to have kindly taken herself off. I am tempted to scale the wall and join you where you are; but I dare not risk being caught again, as I was last night. I will tell you about it when we meet, so make haste and join me in the wood beyond the common."

"Your devoted"

"RALPH."

I read this extraordinary note in utter bewilderment until I came to the allusion to the "puritanical cousin," when the truth suddenly flashed on me. Why such an epithet was applied to myself I could not quite see, but I took it home, and leaped to the conclusion that the writer was Agneta's unworthy lover, who had mistaken me for her, owing to the fact of our dresses being similar. How he came to be in the neighbourhood I could not tell, but the idea that the supposed "burglar" was none other than he had struck me on the previous evening. I smiled to think how annoyed he would be, if he knew how his note had miscarried. Then I made a sudden resolve. He should know what had happened. I would go to the wood and confront him. I would tell him what I thought of his conduct, and warn him that if he continued to haunt the place I would let my aunt know of the discovery I had made. I was self-confident enough to believe that I could reason with him and persuade him to abandon a course of action which was so unworthy a true lover and gentleman.

I acted far too impulsively, as I learned to my sorrow. Waiting only to snatch my sailor hat from the peg in the back lobby where it hung, I hastened off to the common, and found my way into the wood at the nearest point to "Gay Bowers. " It was the same wood, which ran down to the Wood End Oaks.