A Woman Martyr

								

told you, auntie, but you were busy, and I thought it did not matter."
"It matters very much, unless you drive, for I cannot accompany you this
afternoon," said her uncle, raising his voice so that his wife could
hear.  "Joan can drive with her maid, my dear."  He was well aware that
Joan detested driving accompanied by her maid.  "You can postpone it
till to-morrow? I could not go with you then, Joan, I have to attend a
meeting.  Perhaps Vansittart will spare time to escort you?  You are not
deep in engagements yet I expect, my boy, are you?"
"I should be only too pleased, if Miss Thorne will accept my services,
as she has done on occasion in the hunting-field," he said, with an
effort not to betray his violent delight at such an opportunity to plead
his cause.
"London is not the country, Lord Vansittart, thanks," said Joan, calmly;
although she had suddenly paled to lividity with dread, with the
indescribable fear she felt of self betrayal to this man who loved her.
"I shall be perfectly safe, alone.  One only meets a few wagons and
carts along the highroads."
There was a slightly displeased expostulation from her uncle, a
deprecatory word or two in favour of Vansittart as her squire on the
part of Lady Thorne; and Joan, desperate, capitulated, feeling unequal
to being focussed by all the pairs of eyes around the table. She went
upstairs to change her habit and hat for one more suited to the muddy
suburban roads, and presently found herself trotting northwards on her
spirited grey mare Nora, Vansittart at her side.
She had chosen Nora, she coldly remarked--she meant to be an icicle to
Vansittart, it was her only chance--because she "wanted a good gallop,"
and Nora had not been out that day. And as soon as the young mare had
frisked and capered through the suburbs in a manner which made
Vansittart somewhat anxious, and effectually prevented conversation, she
and her mistress bounded off in a canter, and literally tore along the
soft roads, startling the few pedestrians and drivers of tradesmen’s
carts, Lord Vansittart’s horse galloping after, and the groom scampering
in the rear to keep in sight of the pair.  Joan only slackened speed for
more than a few moments when she saw the row of cottages where old Mrs.
Todd lived, at the foot of the wide sloping road that wound downhill.
"There is the cottage," she said, pointing with her whip.  "The poor old
soul who lives in it loves me best in the world, and I think I return it
with interest!  She was my nurse when I was a child, helped my mother
nurse my father through his long illness, then nursed her to her death,
and only left me because she felt too helpless to be of any use!"
"And now you make her life happy by seeing her now and then," he said,
gazing passionately at the pure, white, girlish profile under the felt
hat.
"She can hardly be happy--doubled up with rheumatism, lonely, poor--it