"What has papa been doing in the lumber-room, mamma?" asked Julia that
same evening.
"Examining some of the old furniture there, my dear," said Millicent,
looking up with a smile. "I think he is going to have it turned into a
play-room for you."
"Oh!" said Julia indifferently; and she turned her thoughtful little
face away, while her mother rose with the careworn look that so often
sat there, giving place to the happy, maternal smile that came whenever
she was alone with her child.
"Why, Julie darling, you seem so quiet and dull to-night. Your little
head is hot. You are not unwell, dear?"
She knelt down beside the child, and drew the soft little head to her
shoulder, and laid her cheek to the burning forehead.
"That is nice," said the child, with a sigh of content. "Oh! mamma, it
does do me so much good. My head doesn't ache now."
"And did it ache before?"
"Yes, a little," said the child thoughtfully, and turning up her face,
she kissed the sweet countenance that was by her side again and again.
"I do love you so, mamma."
"Why of course you do, my dear."
"I don't think I love papa."
"Julie!" cried Millicent, starting from her as if she had been stung.
"Oh I my child, my child," she continued, with passionate energy, "if
you only knew how that hurts me. My darling, you do--you do love him
more than you love me."
Julia shook her head and gazed back full in her mother's eyes, as
Millicent held her back at arm's length, and then caught her to her
breast, sobbing wildly.
"_I_ do try to love him, mamma," said the child, speaking quickly, in a
half-frightened tone; "but when I put my arms round his neck and kiss
him he pushes me away. I don't think he loves me; he seems so cross
with me. But if it makes you cry, I'm going to try and love him ever so
much. There."
She kissed her mother with all a child's effusion, and nestled close to
her.
"He does love you, my darling," said Millicent, holding the child
tightly to her, "as dearly as he loves me, and _I'm_ going to tell you
why papa looks so serious sometimes. It is because he has so many
business cares and troubles."
"But why does papa have so many business cares and troubles?" said the
child, throwing back her head, and beginning to toy with her mother's
hair.
"Because he has to think about making money, and saving, so as to render
us independent, my darling. It is because he loves us both that he
works so hard and is so serious."
"I wish he would not," said the child. "I wish he would love me ever so
instead, like Mr Bayle does. Mamma, why has not Mr Bayle been here
to-day?"
"I don't know, my child; he has been away perhaps."
"But he did walk to the door with papa, and then did not come in."
"Maybe he is busy, my dear."
"Oh! I do wish people would not be busy," said the child pettishly, "it
makes them so disagreeable. Thibs is always being busy, and then oh!
she is so cross."
"Why, Julie, you want people always to be laughing and playing with
you."
"No, no, mamma, I like to work sometimes--with Mr Bayle and learn, and
so I do like the lessons I learn with you. You never look cross at me,
and Mr Bayle never does."
"But, my darling, the world could not go on if people were never
serious. Why, the sun does not always shine: there are clouds over it
sometimes."
"But it's always shining behind the clouds, Mr Bayle says."
"And so is papa's love for his darling shining behind the clouds--the
serious looks that come upon his face," cried Millicent. "There, you
must remember that."
"Yes," said the child, nodding, and drawing two clusters of curls away
from her mother's face to look up at it laughingly and then kiss her
again and again. "Oh! how pretty you are, mamma! I never saw any one
with a face like yours."
"Silence, little nonsense talker," cried Millicent, with her face all
happy smiles and the old look of her unmarried life coming back as she
returned the child's caresses.
"I never did," continued Julia, tracing the outlines of the countenance
that bent over her, with one rosy finger. "Grandma's is very, very
nice, and I like grandpa's face, but it is very rough. Mamma!"
"Well, my darling."
"Does papa love you very, very much?"
"Very, very much, my darling," said her mother proudly.
"And do you love him very, very much?"
"Heaven only knows how dearly," said Millicent in a deep, low voice that
came from her heart.
"But does papa know too?"
"Why, of course, my darling."
"I wish he would not say such cross things to you sometimes."
"Yes, we both wish he had not so much trouble. Why, what a little
babbler it is to-night! Have you any more questions to ask before we go
up and fetch papa down and play to him?"
"Don't go yet," cried the child. "I like to talk to you this way, it's
so nice. I say, mamma, do people get married because they love one
another?"
"Hush, hush! what next?" said Millicent smiling, as she laid her hand
upon the child's lips. "Of course, of course."
Julie caught the hand in hers, kissed it, and held it fast.
"Why does not Mr Bayle love some one?"
A curious, fixed look came over Millicent's face, and she gazed down at
her babbling child in a half-frightened way.
"He will some day," she said at last.
"No, he won't," said the child, shaking her head and looking very wise.
"Why, what nonsense is this, Julie?"
"I asked him one day when we were sitting out in the woods, and he
looked at me almost like papa does, and then he jumped up and laughed,
and called me a little chatterer, and made me run till I was out of
breath. But I asked him, though."
"You asked him?"
"Yes; I asked him if he would marry a beautiful lady some day, as
beautiful as you are, and he took me in his arms and kissed me, and said
that he never should, because he had got a little girl to love--he meant
me. And oh! here's papa: let's tell him. No, I don't think I will. I
don't think he likes Mr Bayle."
Millicent rose from her knees as Hallam entered the room, looking
haggard and frowning. He glanced from one to the other, and then caught
sight of himself in the glass, and saw that there was a patch as of lime
or mortar upon his coat.
He brushed it off quickly, being always scrupulously particular about
his clothes, and then came towards them.
"Send that child away," he said harshly. "I want to be quiet."
Millicent bent down smiling over the child and kissed her.
"Go to Thisbe now, my darling," she whispered; "but say good-night first
to papa, and then you will not have to come to him again. Perhaps he
may be out."
The child's face became grave with a gravity beyond its years. It was
the mother's young face repeated, with Hallam's dark hair and eyes.
She advanced to him, timidly putting out her hand, and bending forward
with that sweetly innocent look of a child ready so trustingly to give
itself into your arms as it asks for a caress.
"Good-night, papa dear," she cried in her little silvery voice.
"Good-night, Julie, good-night," he said abruptly; and he just patted
her head, and was turning away, when he caught sight of the
disappointed, troubled look coming over her countenance, paused half
wonderingly, and then bent down and extended his hands to her.
There was a quick hysteric cry, a passionate sob or two, and the child
bounded into his arms, flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him,
his lips, his cheeks, his eyes again and again, in a quick, excited
manner.
Hallam's countenance wore a look of half-contemptuous doubt for a
moment, as he glanced at his wife, and then the good that was in him
mastered the ill. His face flushed, a spasm twitched it, and clasping
his child to his breast, he held her there for a few moments, then
kissed her tenderly, and set her down, her hair tumbled, her eyes wet,
but her sweet countenance irradiated with joy, as, clasping her hands,
she cried out:
"Papa loves--he loves me, he loves me! I am so happy now."
Then half mad with childish joy, she turned, kissed her hands to both,
and bounded out of the room.