GOD BLESS ANTONIA.
Mrs. Bernard Temple waited up for Sir John that night; but he did not
appear. When he left Antonia he went straight to his club, ordered
dinner, and ate it with his usual refined and somewhat languid appetite.
He then went up to his room, and being tired thought he would go early
to bed. He did go to bed--he even went to the length of shutting his
eyes, preparatory for a peaceful night's slumber. Up to that point he
was the Sir John of old. The calculating, reserved, cold-natured
Englishman; but beyond that point he was different, altogether different
from what he had been before. Between him and his accustomed night's
rest came the eager face and passionate words of a girl--a lanky,
untidy, and, in his opinion, most disagreeable girl. Still, she had
roused him as he had never yet been roused. She had absolutely awakened
a sort of conscience in him. For the first time in his whole existence,
he carefully considered the question, who is my neighbour?
Certainly Squire Lorrimer was his neighbour. Their estates joined; they
had been good friends from boyhood upward; they had been lads at the
same school, and afterwards men of the same college. His children and
Squire Lorrimer's children loved each other dearly. He had noticed of
late how often Hester's eyes had been red as if with tears. She had been
very good about his own proposed marriage, but she had cried when the
Lorrimers were mentioned Nan had been sulky and disagreeable and
defiant, and this was also on account of the Lorrimers. He was very
sorry for his children, and very sorry also for the Lorrimers, but never
until to-night had it entered into his head to help the Lorrimers out of
their trouble.
He could do so, of course--he was a very rich man--he was also a careful
man, never living up to his large yearly income. By no means extravagant
in his tastes, not specially fond of hoarding money, but being really
possessed of more than his wants required. He lay awake, and thought and
thought, and after an early breakfast the next morning he did adopt
Antonia's suggestion, and went to see his solicitor. From there he wrote
a brief note to Mrs. Bernard Temple.
"As she had not, after all, required his presence in town," he wrote,
"he would not come to see her. He happened to be particularly engaged,
and wanted to return to the Grange that evening."
This letter was delivered at Mrs. Bernard Temple's house by a
Commissionaire. It made that good lady very uneasy, but when Antonia
read it she proceeded to skip up and down the drawing-room with such
energy that two papier-mache tables were knocked over and a valuable
china cup and saucer smashed.
"Don't speak to me, mother," she exclaimed. "I have nothing whatever to
say, only if I don't give vent to my feelings in some sort of exercise I
shall go mad."
The next day or two passed without anything special occurring, but on
the third day Mrs. Bernard Temple received a letter which astonished her
very much.
It was from Sir John, begging of her to come back to the Grange, and
especially asking that Antonia should accompany her.
"Dear old man," murmured Antonia when she received this message. "I knew
he'd rise to it; I knew he would. Mother, which is the most fashionable
shop in London?"
"For what, my dear?"
"For an up-to-date costume. I must go at once and be rigged up. You had
better order a hansom--never mind the extravagance--it will be untold
torture, but it is a promise, and it must be done. Annie, love, you are
exquisite on the subject of dress; come and see Antonia made
fashionable."
"Yes, go with her, Annie," said Mrs. Bernard Temple. "I cannot imagine
what this queer thing portends, but anything to make Antonia look like
an ordinary girl I willingly agree to. Don't be extravagant, my love,
for my purse is not too heavy; but anything under ten pounds I will
willingly spend to make you presentable."
"It's appalling to think of the waste of money," said Antonia. "Oh, what
would not ten pounds do in the cause of Art? But a promise is a promise.
Come along, Annie, we'll go to Regent Street and choose."
Five minutes later, the two girls set off. Antonia's face was wreathed
with wonderful smiles, but she was mute as to the subject of her
thoughts, even to Annie.
"I suppose I must have a respectable hat," she said, suddenly; "and I
suppose it must sit in the correct way on my head; therefore, the first
thing is to go to a hairdresser's. I must be fringed, and curled, and
frizzed."
"Oh, Antonia, no, no;" said Annie. "Your beautiful hair--it would be a
sin to put a pair of scissors near it."
"A promise is a promise," said Antonia. "Which is the best hairdresser?"
They stopped at one in Bond Street, and half an hour later Antonia left
the shop, very stiff about the head and red about the face.
"The hairpins are sticking into me all over," she gasped, "and the
weight of the fringe is like a furnace on my forehead; but never mind."
"It isn't at all becoming either," said Annie.
Antonia looked at her with large eyes of reproach.
"Do you think I _want_ it to be becoming?" she said. "That would be the
final straw."
The fashionable dress was not only bought, but put on, and Mrs. Bernard
Temple scarcely knew her daughter when she saw her back again.
"I'm in misery," said Antonia; "but a promise is a promise. My dear
mother, when you are married to Sir John, that dear, dear old man, you
need not expect to see me often at the Grange."
"I really do not see, Antonia, why you should speak of your future
father as so very old."
"He's old to me," said Antonia. "I always speak of people as I find
them."
"You are a most extraordinary girl," remarked her mother.
But she made this remark so often that Antonia did not think it
necessary to reply.
By a late train in the afternoon the whole party were conveyed back to
the Grange, where Hester received them with rather a puzzled expression
on her face. As soon as possible she drew Annie aside, and began to
speak to her.
"I cannot imagine what is the matter," she said; "father is going on in
a most extraordinary way. You won't mind my speaking frankly, Annie, but
he seemed really quite relieved when you all went away. Then he got that
telegram from Mrs. Bernard Temple, and rushed off to town in a hurry. He
came back the following evening completely altered--very silent and
absorbed, but with a kind of change over him which Nan and I could not
help noticing. I asked him if he had seen anything of Squire Lorrimer,
and he looked hard at me and said--'I wonder if you are in it, too.'"
"Oh, I know, I know," said Annie softly, rubbing her hands; "dear
Antonia, dear Antonia."
"Oh, for pity's sake, Annie, don't you get mysterious," exclaimed
Hester, almost fretfully. "What can Antonia have to say to Squire
Lorrimer? Let me finish my story. I asked father if he had seen him, and
he replied, 'I have heard and seen enough of Lorrimer to fill all my
thoughts.' He would not tell me another word; but he went to town again
the next morning, and came back absolutely excited in the evening. Fancy
my father in a state of excitement! He was ever so nice to me; and when
Nan said that she must go to school almost immediately, he said that
Mrs. Willis should be invited to come back to the Grange, for he wanted
us all to have a happy meeting before his wedding. And he has been
telegraphing to all kinds of people all day, and I believe all the
Lorrimers are coming here to-morrow. Father said he wanted to have a
real, jolly time, and that everyone of the Lorrimers, even to little
Phil, and, of course, Jane Macalister, were to be asked. I ventured to
remind him that dear Molly and all of them were not just in the mood for
festivities at present, but he would not listen to me for a moment. He
said, that on such an auspicious occasion he must have his own way, and
that he would engage that they would be jolly enough when the time
came."
"So they will, I am sure," said Annie. "Did you say Mrs. Willis was
here, Hester?"
"Yes, she came an hour ago. She is in her room. She says she will take
you and Nan back with her to Lavender House the day after to-morrow."
Annie's face, which had been very bright a moment before, grew suddenly
grave. She murmured something half aloud.
"I won't be outdone by Antonia," she said.
"Really, really, Annie," exclaimed Hester, "I shall get to hate Antonia,
if you allude to her in that sphinx-like way any longer."
Annie looked hard at Hester with dilating eyes and paling cheeks.
"Do you remember," she said, suddenly coming up to her friend, "the old
Annie of Lavender House?"
"How can I forget her," said Hester; "when she is my dearest friend?"
"Do you remember," continued Annie, "the heaps and heaps of scrapes she
used to get into, and how there was no peace for her, and no way out of
them at all except by confession?"
"Yes, I remember," said Hester, gravely.
"Well, I am going to confess now."
"To confess! But you have done nothing wrong, Annie darling."
"Oh, haven't I; I've been just at my old pranks--just as heedless, as
impetuous, as mad, as I have ever been. Hester, I have done wrong, but
as it does not concern you, I won't tell you, dear. Only before I go to
Mrs. Willis, I should like to congratulate you."
"To congratulate me? On what?" asked poor Hester.
"On having the chance of such a girl as Antonia for your sister."
"Now, really, I wont listen to another word," said Hester. "I have quite
made up my mind to _endure_ Antonia, and to be patient with her, but if,
in addition, I am to congratulate myself, I'm just afraid I can't rise
to it. Run away if you want to, Annie, and when you cease to be
mysterious I will talk to you again."
Annie left the room and went slowly upstairs to Mrs. Willis's bedroom.
She knocked and was admitted. What she said--what words passed between
the two were never known, but when Annie left that room there was a look
on her face which reminded those who saw her of the best of Annie in the
old days, and Mrs. Willis was more affectionate than ever to her dear
pupil that evening.
The next day dawned bright and splendid. The trees were beginning to put
on their autumn tints, but the air was still full of summer. The
Lorrimers at the Towers were busy making preparations to come over to
the Grange. They had been invited to the festival by no less a personage
than Sir John Thornton himself, and he had couched his epistle in gay
and pleasant words.
"As if we had any heart for it," murmured Molly to herself.
"It is over a week now since we have had even a line from father,"
whispered Nell to her own heart; "how can we care to go and laugh at the
Grange?"
"We are going from the dear old place in a week," thought Guy. "I don't
believe anyone can draw a smile out of me to-day."
But Boris was happy enough to go, for he was so young that any change
was delightful; and as his pets were also leaving the Towers, and he and
Kitty had just thought of a splendid way to prepare them for their
journey, he felt quite light-hearted once again, and that he would be
happy in his new home.
When Jane Macalister heard of the invitation, she flatly refused to
accept it.
"Go, if you choose to," she said, with a wave of her hand to the
assembled children; "you are young, and it's good for the young to
forget. But I shall take the opportunity of sewing up the feather beds
in their brown-holland cases. I vowed and declared that when this move
had to be made no outsider should come in to pack, so my hands are full,
and I have neither time nor heart for frivolity."
"But, Jane, you are specially asked; you are mentioned by name," said
Kitty.
"By name, am I?" asked Jane. "Who invited me? That chit of a Hester?"
"No, indeed; the great, magnificent Sir John himself."
"Hoots!" exclaimed Jane; "he's cracked over his second marriage, or he
wouldn't bother about an old body like me. I'll none of it. Go away
children, and let me get on with my work."
The children withdrew, apparently discomfited, but they guessed that
when the time came Jane would go with them, and it proved that they
were right.
She made no remark as she joined the group, only at intervals as they
all walked across the fields, the single expression, "Hoots!" passed her
lips.
In due course they all crossed the stile and entered the grounds of the
Grange. They had gone a little way, when Boris uttered a short, sharp
cry.
"Why, there's father!" he exclaimed. The others all looked up at this,
and then there was a rush and a helter-skelter, and Squire Lorrimer,
looking just like the Squire of old, no longer bent nor bowed, nor
broken hearted, was surrounded by his family.
Boris mounted on his father's shoulder, and Nell clasped the Squire's
hand and looked into his face. Mrs. Lorrimer came close to her husband's
side, and Molly stood behind him.
"Where's Guy?" said the Squire in a hoarse kind of voice. "Come here, my
boy, I want to say something. It was Sir John's will that I should tell
you the good news here, or you'd have all heard from me before I came
down to meet you by this path, and we'll all go up and thank him
presently."
"For what, father?" asked Molly.
"Why, the most wonderful thing," replied the Squire. "It seems that a
girl called Antonia--a strange girl whom I have only met once--put a
thought into my old friend's head, and he has acted on it in such a way
that, without anything being done which I could not accept, I am enabled
to continue as owner of the Towers."
"Oh, father!" said Guy, with a great gasp.
"Yes, my boy," continued the Squire, "I need not sell now. Sir John has
lent me money to get over my difficulties, and on such easy terms that
it will be possible to pay him back in the course of years without
ruining any of us. Drummond was glad to be out of his bargain, so the
whole thing was settled last night. We'll be poor enough still, but we
need not leave the Towers; and if we are all careful, and I let my farms
well--by the way, Sir John is going to take two of them--I have not the
least doubt that the debt will be cleared away by the time you are of
age, Guy. Anyhow, I feel like a new man. I can hold up my head once
more, and all I can say is, God bless Antonia!"
"What's the matter, Jane?" exclaimed Boris.
"Hoots!" said Jane, whose face was nearly purple. "I felt this morning
that I needn't go on sewing up those feather beds."
She turned her head aside, and, to the amazement of everyone, burst into
tears.
Those tears of Jane's seemed to loosen all tongues. Eyes grew bright,
eager voices flew, lips were wreathed in smiles. All the Lorrimers in a
body went up to the Grange, where Sir John and his family came out to
meet and welcome them.
"And where's Antonia?" asked the Squire.
Everyone else, even Mrs. Bernard Temple, was present, but Antonia was
not to be found. Annie volunteered to go and look for her.
After a long search she found her at last busily painting some huge dock
leaves, which she had found in her morning ramble, and pulled up by the
roots.
"Come, Antonia, you are wanted," said Annie.
"What for?" said Antonia. "Pray don't stand in my light, Annie."
"But they're all waiting for you, every one of them--the Lorrimers, and
Hester, and Sir John, and the rest. They want to thank you; it was your
doing, you know."
"Of all things in the world," replied Antonia, "I hate being thanked
most of all. I did nothing. It was all dear old Sir John. And look what
he has given me, Annie. This magnificent paint-box. Oh, the darling! the
beauty! Oh, the rapture of possessing it! I'll go if I must when I have
finished my dock leaves, but not before."