THE CHILD-ANGEL AND HER WOES.
Mrs. Willoughby was in her room at the hotel in Milan, when the door
opened, and Minnie came in. She looked around the room, drew a long
breath, then locked the door, and flinging herself upon a sofa, she
reclined there in silence for some time, looking hard at the ceiling.
Mrs. Willoughby looked a little surprised at first; but after waiting
a few moments for Minnie to say something, resumed her reading, which
had been interrupted.
"Kitty," said Minnie at last.
"What?" said her sister, looking up.
"I think you're horrid."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"Why, because when you see and know that I'm dying to speak to you,
you go on reading that wretched book."
"Why, Minnie darling," said Mrs. Willoughby, "how in the world was I
to know that you wanted to speak to me?"
"You _might_ have known," said Minnie, with a pout--"you saw me look
all round, and lock the door; and you saw how worried I looked, and I
think it a shame, and I've a great mind not to tell you any thing
about it."
"About it--what _it_?" and Mrs. Willoughby put down her book, and
regarded her sister with some curiosity.
"I've a great mind not to tell you, but I can't help it. Besides, I'm
dying to ask your advice. I don't know what to do; and I wish I was
dead--there!"
"My poor Minnie! what _is_ the matter? You're _so_ incoherent."
"Well, Kitty, it's all my accident."
"Your accident!"
"Yes; on the Alps, you know."
"What! You haven't received any serious injury, have you?" asked Mrs.
Willoughby, with some alarm.
"Oh! I don't mean that, but I'll tell you what I mean;" and here
Minnie got up from her reclining position, and allowed her little feet
to touch the carpet, while she fastened her great, fond, pleading,
piteous eyes upon her sister.
"It's the Count, you know," said she.
"The Count!" repeated Mrs. Willoughby, somewhat dryly. "Well?"
"Well--don't you know what I mean? Oh, how stupid you are!"
"I really can not imagine."
"Well--he--he--he pro--proposed, you know."
"Proposed!" cried the other, in a voice of dismay.
"Now, Kitty, if you speak in that horrid way I won't say another word.
I'm worried too much already, and I don't want you to scold me. And I
won't have it."
"Minnie darling, I wish you would tell me something. I'm not scolding.
I merely wish to know what you mean. Do you really mean that the Count
has proposed to you?"
"Of course that's what I mean."
"What puzzles me is, how he could have got the chance. It's more than
a week since he saved you, and we all felt deeply grateful to him. But
saving a girl's life doesn't give a man any claim over her; and we
don't altogether like him; and so we all have tried, in a quiet way,
without hurting his feelings, you know, to prevent him from having any
acquaintance with you."
"Oh, I know, I know," said Minnie, briskly. "He told me all that. He
understands that; but he doesn't care, he says, if _I_ only consent.
He will forgive _you_, he says."
Minnie's volubility was suddenly checked by catching her sister's eye
fixed on her in new amazement.
"Now you're beginning to be horrid," she cried. "Don't, don't--"
"Will you have the kindness to tell me," said Mrs. Willoughby, very
quietly, "how in the world the Count contrived to tell you all this?"
"Why--why--several times."
"Several times!"
"Yes."
"Tell me where?"
"Why, once at the amphitheatre. You were walking ahead, and I sat down
to rest, and he came and joined me. He left before you came back."
"He must have been following us, then."
"Yes. And another time in the picture-gallery; and yesterday in a
shop; and this morning at the Cathedral."
"The Cathedral!"
"Yes, Kitty. You know we all went, and Lady Dalrymple would not go up.
So Ethel and I went up. And when we got up to the top I walked about,
and Ethel sat down to admire the view. And, you know, I found myself
off at a little distance, when suddenly I saw Count Girasole. And
then, you know, he--he--proposed."
Mrs. Willoughby sat silent for some time.
"And what did you say to him?" she asked at length.
"Why, what else could I say?"
"What else than _what_?"
"I don't see why you should act _so_ like a grand inquisitor, Kitty.
You really make me feel quite nervous," said Minnie, who put her
little rosy-tipped fingers to one of her eyes, and attempted a sob,
which turned out a failure.
"Oh, I only asked you what you told him, you know."
"Well," said Minnie, gravely, "I told him, you know, that I was
awfully grateful to him, and that I'd give any thing if I could to
express my gratitude. And then, you know--oh, he speaks such darling
broken English--he called me his 'mees,' and tried to make a pretty
speech, which was so mixed with Italian that I didn't understand one
single word. By-the-way, Kitty, isn't it odd how every body here
speaks Italian, even the children?"
"Yes, very odd; but, Minnie dear, I want to know what you told him."
"Why, I told him that I didn't know, you know."
"And then?"
"And then he took my hand. Now, Kitty, you're unkind. I really _can
not_ tell you all this."
"Yes, but I only ask so as to advise you. I want to know how the case
stands."
"Well, you know, he was so urgent--"
"Yes?"
"And so handsome--"
"Well?"
"And then, you know, he saved my life--didn't he, now? You must
acknowledge that much, mustn't you?"
"Oh yes."
"Well--"
"Well?"
Minnie sighed.
"So what could I say?"
Minnie paused.
Mrs. Willoughby looked troubled.
"Kitty, I _wish_ you wouldn't look at me with that dreadful
expression. You really make me feel quite frightened."
"Minnie," said the other, in a serious voice, "do you really _love_
this man?"
"Love this man! why no, not particularly; but I _like_ him; that is, I
think I do, or rather I thought I did; but really I'm so worried about
all my troubles that I wish he had never come down after me. I don't
see why he did, either. I didn't ask him to. I remember, now, I really
felt quite embarrassed when I saw him. I knew there would be trouble
about it. And I wish you would take me back home. I hate Italy. Do,
Kitty darling. But then--"
Minnie paused again.
"Well, Minnie dear, we certainly must contrive some plan to shake him
off without hurting his feelings. It can't be thought of. There are a
hundred objections. If the worst comes to the worst we can go back, as
you say, to England."
"I know; but then," said Minnie, "that's the very thing that I can't
do--"
"Can't do what?"
"Go back to England."
"Back to England! Why not? I don't know what you mean."
"Well, you see, Kitty, that's the very thing I came to see you about.
This dreadful man--the Count, you know--has some wonderful way of
finding out where I go; and he keeps all the time appearing and
disappearing in the very strangest manner; and when I saw him on the
roof of the Cathedral it really made me feel quite giddy. He is _so_
determined to win me that I'm afraid to look round. He takes the
commonest civility as encouragement. And then, you know--there it
is--I really can't go back to England."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why there's--a--a dreadful person there," said Minnie, with an awful
look in her eyes.
"A what?"
"A--person," said Minnie.
"A man?"
Minnie nodded. "Oh yes--of course. Really when one thinks of one's
troubles it's enough to drive one distracted. This person is a man. I
don't know why it is that I should be _so_ worried and _so_ distracted
by men. I do _not_ like them, and I wish there were no such persons."
"Another man!" said Mrs. Willoughby, in some surprise. "Well, Minnie,
you certainly--"
"Now don't, don't--not a word; I know all you're going to say, and I
won't stand it;" and Minnie ran over to her sister and held her hand
over her mouth.
"I won't say a word," said Mrs. Willoughby, as soon as she had removed
Minnie's hand; "so begin."
Minnie resumed her place on the sofa, and gave a long sigh.
"Well, you know, Kitty darling, it happened at Brighton last
September. You were in Scotland then. I was with old Lady Shrewsbury,
who is as blind as a bat--and where's the use of having a person to
look after you when they're blind! You see, my horse ran away, and I
think he must have gone ever so many miles, over railroad bridges and
hedges and stone walls. I'm certain he jumped over a small cottage.
Well, you know, when all seemed lost, suddenly there was a strong hand
laid on the reins, and my horse was stopped. I tumbled into some
strange gentleman's arms, and was carried into a house, where I was
resuscitated. I returned home in the gentleman's carriage.
"Now the worst of it is," said Minnie, with a piteous look, "that the
person who stopped the horse called to inquire after me the next day.
Lady Shrewsbury, like an old goose, was awfully civil to him; and so
there I was! His name is Captain Kirby, and I wish there were no
captains in the world. The life he led me! He used to call, and I had
to go out riding with him, and old Lady Shrewsbury utterly neglected
me; and so, you know, Kitty darling, he at last, you know, of course,
proposed. That's what they all do, you know, when they save your life.
Always! It's awful!"
Minnie heaved a sigh, and sat apparently meditating on the enormous
baseness of the man who saved a lady's life and then proposed; and it
was not until Mrs. Willoughby had spoken twice that she was recalled
to herself.
"What did you tell him?" was her sister's question.
"Why, what could I tell him?"
"What!" cried Mrs. Willoughby; "you don't--"
"Now, Kitty, I think it's very unkind in you, when I want all your
sympathy, to be _so_ horrid."
"Well, tell it your own way, Minnie dearest."
Minnie sat for a time regarding vacancy with a soft, sad, and piteous
expression in her large blue eyes; with her head also a little on one
side, and her delicate hands gently clasped in front of her.
[Illustration: "ANOTHER MAN!"]
"You see, Kitty darling, he took me out riding, and--he took me to the
place where I had met him, and then he proposed. Well, you know, I
didn't know what to say. He was _so_ earnest, and _so_ despairing. And
then, you know, Kitty dearest, he had saved my life, and so--"
"And so?"
"Well, I told him I didn't know, and was shockingly confused, and then
we got up quite a scene. He swore that he would go to Mexico, though
why I can't imagine; and I really wish he had; but I was frightened at
the time, and I cried; and then he got worse, and I told him not to;
whereupon he went into raptures, and began to call me no end of
names--spooney names, you know; and I--oh, I did _so_ want him to
stop!--I think I must have promised him all that he wanted; and when I
got home I was frightened out of my poor little wits, and cried all
night."
"Poor dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, with tender sympathy.
"What a wretch!"
"No, he wasn't a wretch at all; he was awfully handsome, only, you
know, he--was--so--_aw_fully persevering, and kept _so_ at my heels;
but I hurried home from Brighton, and thought I had got rid of him."
"And hadn't you?"
"Oh dear, no," said Minnie, mournfully. "On the day after my arrival
there came a letter; and, you know, I had to answer it; and then
another; and so it went on--"
"Oh, Minnie! why didn't you tell me before?"
"How could I when you were off in that horrid Scotland? I _always_
hated Scotland."
"You might have told papa."
"I couldn't. I think papa's cruel _too_. He doesn't care for me at
all. Why didn't he find out our correspondence and intercept it, the
way papas always do in novels? If I were _his_ papa I'd not let _him_
be so worried."
"And did he never call on you?"
"Yes; he got leave of absence once, and I had a dreadful time with
him. He was in a desperate state of mind. He was ordered off to
Gibraltar. But I managed to comfort him; and, oh dear, Kitty dear, did
you _ever_ try to comfort a man, and the man a total stranger?"
At this innocent question Mrs. Willoughby's gravity gave way a little.
Minnie frowned, and then sighed.
"Well, you needn't be so unkind," said she; and then her little hand
tried to wipe away a tear, but failed.
"Did he go to Gibraltar?" asked Mrs. Willoughby at length.
"Yes, he did," said Minnie, with a little asperity.
"Did he write?"
"Of course he wrote," in the same tone.
"Well, how did it end?"
"End! It didn't end at all. And it never will end. It'll go on getting
worse and worse every day. You see he wrote, and said a lot of rubbish
about his getting leave of absence and coming to see me. And then I
determined to run away; and you know I begged you to take me to Italy,
and this is the first time I've told you the real reason."
"So that was the real reason?"
"Yes."
"Well, Minnie, my poor child," said Mrs. Willoughby, after a pause,
"you're safe from your officer, at any rate; and as to Count Girasole,
we must save you from him. Don't give way."
"But you can't save me. They'll come after me, I know. Captain Kirby,
the moment he finds out that I am here, will come flying after me; and
then, oh dear! the other one will come, and the American, too, of
course."
"The what? who?" cried Mrs. Willoughby, starting up with new
excitement. "Who's that? What did you say, Minnie? The American? What
American?"
Minnie threw a look of reproach at her sister, and her eyes fell.
"You can't possibly mean that there are any more--"
"There--is--_one_--more," said Minnie, in a low, faint voice, stealing
a glance at her sister, and looking a little frightened.
"One more!" repeated her sister, breathless.
"Well, I didn't come here to be scolded," said Minnie, rising, "and
I'll go. But I hoped that you'd help me; and I think you're very
unkind; and I wouldn't treat you so."
"No, no, Minnie," said Mrs. Willoughby, rising, and putting her arm
round her sister, and drawing her back. "I had no idea of scolding. I
never scolded any one in my life, and wouldn't speak a cross word to
you for the world. Sit down now, Minnie darling, and tell me all. What
about the American? I won't express any more astonishment, no matter
what I may feel."
"But you mustn't _feel_ any astonishment," insisted Minnie.
"Well, darling, I won't," said her sister.
Minnie gave a sigh.
"It was last year, you know, in the spring. Papa and I were going out
to Montreal, to bring you home. You remember?"
Mrs. Willoughby nodded, while a sad expression came over her face.
"And, you remember, the steamer was wrecked."
"Yes."
"But I never told you how my life was saved."
"Why, yes, you did. Didn't papa tell all about the heroic sailor who
swam ashore with you? how he was frantic about you, having been swept
away by a wave from you? and how he fainted away with joy when you
were brought to him? How can you suppose I would forget that? And then
how papa tried to find the noble sailor to reward him."
"Oh yes," said Minnie, in a despondent tone. "That's all very true;
but he wasn't a noble sailor at all."
"What!"
"You see, he wasn't going to have a scene with papa, and so he kept
out of his way. Oh dear, how I wish he'd been as considerate with me!
But that's the way always; yes, always."
"Well, who was he?"
"Why, he was an American gentleman, returning home from a tour in
Europe. He saved me, as you have heard. I really don't remember much
about it, only there was a terrible rush of water, and a strong arm
seized me, and I thought it was papa all the time. And I found myself
carried, I don't know how, through the waves, and then I fainted; and
I really don't know any thing about it except papa's story."
Mrs. Willoughby looked at Minnie in silence, but said nothing.
"And then, you know, he traveled with us, and papa thought he was one
of the passengers, and was civil; and so he used to talk to me, and at
last, at Montreal, he used to call on me."
"Where?"
"At your house, dearest."
"Why, how was that?"
"You could not leave your room, darling, so I used to go down."
"Oh, Minnie!"
"And he proposed to me there."
"Where? in my parlor?"
"Yes; in your parlor, dearest."
"I suppose it's not necessary for me to ask what you said."
"I suppose not," said Minnie, in a sweet voice. "He was so grand and
so strong, and he never made any allusions to the wreck; and it
was--the--the--_very first_ time that any body ever--proposed; and so,
you know, I didn't know how to take it, and I didn't want to hurt his
feelings, and I couldn't deny that he had saved my life; and I don't
know when I _ever_ was so confused. It's awful, Kitty darling.
"And then, you know, darling," continued Minnie, "he went away, and
used to write regularly every month. He came to see me once, and I was
frightened to death almost. He is going to marry me next year. He used
an awful expression, dearest. He told me he was a struggling man.
Isn't that horrid? What is it, Kitty? Isn't it something very, very
dreadful?"
"He writes still, I suppose?"
"Oh dear, yes."
Mrs. Willoughby was silent for some time.
"Oh, Minnie," said she at last, "what a trouble all this is! How I
wish you had been with me all this time!"
"Well, what made you go and get married?" said Minnie.
"Hush," said Mrs. Willoughby, sadly, "never mind. I've made up my mind
to one thing, and that is, I will never leave you alone with a
gentleman, unless--"
[Illustration:
"HE BENT HIS HEAD DOWN, AND RAN HIS HAND THROUGH HIS BUSHY HAIR."]
"Well, I'm sure I don't want the horrid creatures," said Minnie. "And
you needn't be so unkind. I'm sure I don't see why people will come
always and save my life wherever I go. I don't want them to. I don't
want to have my life saved any more. I think it's dreadful to have men
chasing me all over the world. I'm afraid to stop in Italy, and I'm
afraid to go back to England. Then I'm always afraid of that dreadful
American. I suppose it's no use for me to go to the Holy Land, or
Egypt, or Australia; for then my life would be saved by an Arab, or a
New Zealander. And oh, Kitty, wouldn't it be dreadful to have some
Arab proposing to me, or a Hindu! Oh, what _am_ I to do?"
"Trust to me, darling. I'll get rid of Girasole. We will go to Naples.
He has to stop at Rome; I know that. We will thus pass quietly away
from him, without giving him any pain, and he'll soon forget all about
it. As for the others, I'll stop this correspondence first, and then
deal with them as they come."
"You'll never do it, never!" cried Minnie; "I know you won't. You
don't know them."