A whole month had gone by since Jasper had left Evelyn, and Evelyn after
a fashion had grown accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes had
taken place in the little girl during that time. She was no longer
dressed in an _outré_ style. She wore her hair as any other very young
girl of her age would. She had ceased to consider herself grown-up; and
although she knew deep down in her heart that she was the heiress--that
by and by all the fine property would belong to her--and although she
still gloried in the fact, either fear, or perhaps the dawnings of a
better nature prevented her talking so much about it as she had done
during the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The guests had all
departed, and schoolroom life held sway over both the girls. Miss
Sinclair was the very soul of order; she insisted on meals being served
in the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom work being pursued with
regularity and method. There were so many hours for work and so many
hours for amusement. There were times when the girls might be present
with the Squire and Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed the
society of Miss Sinclair. There were masters for several
accomplishments, and the girls had horses to ride, and a pony-carriage
was placed at their disposal, and the hours were so full of occupation
that they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times better and happier
than she had done when she first arrived at Castle Wynford, and even
Lady Frances was forced to own that the child was turning out better
than she expected. How long this comparatively happy state of things
might have lasted it is hard to say, but it was brought to an abrupt
conclusion by an event which occurred just then. This was no less than
the departure of kind Miss Sinclair. Her mother had died quite suddenly;
her father needed her at home. She could not even stay for the customary
period after giving notice of her intention to leave. Lady Frances,
under the circumstances, did not press her; and now the subject of how
the two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly discussed. Lady
Frances was a born educationist; she had the greatest love for subjects
dealing with the education of the young. She had her own theories with
regard to this important matter, and when Miss Sinclair went away she
was for a time puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, of
course, the only thing to be done; but for a time she wavered much as to
the advisability of sending Evelyn to school.
"I really think she ought to go," said Lady Frances to the Squire. "Even
now she does not half know her place. She has improved, I grant you, but
the thorough discipline of school would do her good."
"You have never sent Audrey to school," was the Squire's answer.
"I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different."
"I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn's case which has not
been done in Audrey's," was the Squire's reply.
"But surely you cannot compare the girls!"
"I do not intend to compare them. They are absolutely different. Audrey
is all that the heart of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn is
still----"
"A little savage at heart," interrupted Lady Frances.
"Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has some fine points in
her--indeed, I am sure of it. She is, for instance, very affectionate."
Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant.
"I am tired of hearing of Evelyn's good qualities. When I perceive them
for myself I shall be the first to acknowledge them. But now, my dear
Edward, the point to be considered is this: What are we to do at once?
It is nearly the middle of the term. To give those two girls holidays
would be ruinous. There is an excellent school of a very superior sort
kept by the Misses Henderson in that large house just outside the
village. What do you say to their both going there until we can look
round us and find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair's place?"
"If they both go it does not so much matter," said the Squire. "You can
arrange it in that way if you like, my dear Frances."
Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was much interested in the
Misses Henderson; she herself had helped them to start their school.
Accordingly, that very afternoon she ordered the carriage and drove to
Chepstow House. The Misses Henderson were expecting her, and received
her in state in their drawing-room.
"You know what I have come about?" she said. "Now, the thing is this--can
you do it?"
"I am quite certain of one thing," said the elder Miss Henderson--"that
there will be no stone left unturned on our parts to make the experiment
satisfactory."
"Poor, dear Miss Sinclair--it is too terrible her having to leave!" said
Lady Frances. "We shall never get her like again. To find exactly the
governess for girls like my daughter and niece is no easy matter."
"As to your dear daughter, she certainly will not be hard to manage,"
said the younger Miss Henderson.
"You are right, Miss Lucy," said Lady Frances, turning to her and
speaking with decision. "I have always endeavored to train Audrey in
those nice observances, those moral principles, and that high tone which
befits a girl who is a lady and who in the future will occupy a high
position."
"But your niece--your niece; she is the real problem," said the elder
Miss Henderson.
"Yes," answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. "When she came to me she was
little less than a savage. She has improved. I do not like her--I do not
pretend for a moment that I do--but I wish to give the poor child every
possible advantage, and I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudice
shall not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with her; but she
requires very firm treatment."
"She shall have it," said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look of
distinct pleasure crossed her face. "I have had refractory girls before
now," she said, "and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that I
have always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of Miss
Wynford."
"Firm discipline is essential," replied Lady Frances. "I told Miss
Sinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what her
method was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she learnt
her lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust the
improvement will continue under your management."
Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours,
etc., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House as
day-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished school
was to begin on the following morning.
Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was to
be sent to school. She had cried and flung her arms round Miss
Sinclair's neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on the
contrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter than
usual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess's hand and
wrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again on the cheek, Miss
Sinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poor
Evelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girls
looked at each other.
"I did not know you could be so stony-hearted," said Evelyn. She took
out her handkerchief as she spoke and mopped her eyes. "Oh dear!" she
added, "I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am _such_ an
affectionate girl."
"We had better prepare for school," said Audrey. "We are to go there
to-morrow morning, remember."
"Yes," answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; "and do you know, although
I am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about
school. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like mine
could never find a proper vent except in school-life. I wonder what sort
of girls there are at Chepstow House?"
"I don't know anything about it," said Audrey.
"Are you sorry to go, Audrey?"
"Yes--rather. I have never been to school."
"How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you be
shy and awkward?"
"I don't think so. I hope not."
"It would be fun to see it, all the same," said Evelyn. "But there, I am
going for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to
run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often and often I ran a whole
mile without stopping. Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do what
I like to-day."
Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speed
through the shrubbery on her way to a big field, which was known as the
ten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came full
tilt against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly at
her.
"Do you know, Uncle Edward," she said, "that I am going to school
to-morrow?"
"So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there."
Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly:
"I am glad; mother wished me to go."
"You love your mother's memory very much, do you not, Eve?"
"Yes," she said; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. "I
love her just as much as if she were alive," she continued--"better, I
think. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me."
"You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?"
"Yes," answered the child.
"Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when you
came here, but I think to a certain extent you have conquered. Our ways
were not your ways--everything was strange--and at first, my dear little
girl, you rebelled, and were not very happy."
"I was miserable--miserable!"
"But you have done, on the whole, well; and if your mother could come
back again she would be pleased. I thought I should like to tell you."
"But, please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery be pleased? She often told
me that I was not to submit; that I was to hold my own; that----"
"My dear, she told you those things when she was on earth; but now, in
the presence of God, she has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure,
could she now speak to you, she would tell you that you did right to
submit, and were doing well when you tried to please me, for instance."
"Why you, Uncle Edward?"
"Because I am your father's brother, and because I loved your father
better than any one on earth."
"Better than Aunt Frances?" said Evelyn, with a sparkle of pleasure in
her eyes.
"In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I loved him well, and I
would do my utmost to promote the happiness of his child."
"I love you," said the little girl. "I am glad--I am _glad_ that you are
my uncle."
She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the next moment was
lost to view.
"Queer, erratic little soul!" thought Squire Wynford to himself. "If
only we can train her aright! I often feel that Frank is watching me,
and wondering how I am dealing with the child. It seems almost cruel
that Frances should dislike her, but I trust in the end all will be
well."
Meanwhile Evelyn, having tired herself racing round the ten-acre field,
suddenly conceived a daring idea. She had known long ere this that her
beloved Jasper was not in reality out of reach. More than once the maid
and the little girl had met. These meetings were by no means conducive
to Evelyn's best interests, but they added a great spice of excitement
to her life; and the thought of seeing her now, and telling her of the
change which was about to take place with regard to her education, was
too great a temptation to be resisted. Evelyn accordingly, skirting the
high-roads and making many detours through fields and lanes, presently
arrived close to The Priory. She had never ventured yet into The Priory;
she had as a rule sent a message to Jasper, and Jasper had waited for
her outside. She knew now that she must be quick or she would be late
for lunch. She did not want on this day of all days to seriously
displease Lady Frances. She went, therefore, boldly up to the gate,
pushed it open, and entered. Here she was immediately confronted by
Pilot. Pilot walked down the path, uttered one or two deep bays, growled
audibly, and showed his strong white teeth. Whatever Evelyn's faults
were, she was no coward. An angry dog standing in her path was not going
to deter her. But she was afraid of something else. Jasper had told her
how insecure her tenure at The Priory was--how it all absolutely depended
on Mr. Leeson never finding out that she was there. Evelyn therefore did
not want to bring Mr. Leeson to her rescue. Were there no means by which
she could induce Pilot to let her pass? She went boldly up to the dog.
The dog growled more fiercely, and put himself in an attitude which the
little girl knew well meant that he was going to spring. She did not
want him to bound upon her; she knew he was much stronger than herself.
"Good, good dog--good, good," she said.
But Pilot, exasperated beyond measure, began to bark savagely.
Who was this small girl who dared to defy him? His custom was to stand
as he stood to-day and terrify every one off the premises. But this
small person did not mean to go. He therefore really lost his temper,
and became decidedly dangerous.
Mr. Leeson, in his study, was busily engaged over some of that abstruse
work which occupied all his time. He was annoyed at Pilot's barking, and
went to the window to ascertain the cause. He saw a stumpy,
stout-looking little girl standing on the path, and Pilot barring her
way. He opened the window and called out:
"Go away, child; go away. We don't have visitors here. Go away
immediately, and shut the gate firmly after you."
"But, if you please," said Evelyn, "I cannot go away. I want to see
Sylvia."
"You cannot see her. Go away."
"No, I won't," said Evelyn, her courage coming now boldly to her aid. "I
have come here on business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let your
horrid dog spring on me; and I am going to stand just where I am till
Sylvia comes."
These very independent words astonished Mr. Leeson so much that he
absolutely went out of the house and came down the avenue to meet
Evelyn.
"Who are you, child?" he said, as the bold light eyes were fixed on his
face.
"I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford Castle."
A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson's eyes.
"And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford Castle?"
"Yes; I want to speak to her."
"She is not in at present. She is never in at this hour. Sylvia likes an
open-air life, and I am glad to encourage her in her taste. May I show
you to the gate?"
"Thank you," replied Evelyn, who felt considerably crestfallen.
Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied the little girl to
the high iron gates. These he opened, bowed to her as she passed through
them, and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar inside as he did
so.
"Good Pilot--excellent, brave, admirable dog!" Evelyn heard him say; and
she ground her small white teeth in anger.
A moment or two later, to her infinite delight, she saw Jasper coming up
the road to meet her. In an instant the child and maid were in each
other's arms. Evelyn was petting Jasper, and kissing her over and over
again on her dark cheek.
"Oh Jasper," said the little girl, "I got such a fright! I came here to
see you, and I was met by that horrible dog; and then a dreadful-looking
old man came out and told me I was to go right away, and he petted the
dog for trying to attack me. I was not frightened, of course--it is not
likely that mothery's little girl would be easily afraid--but, all the
same, it was not pleasant. Why do you live in such a horrid, horrid
place, Jasper darling?"
"Why do I live there?" answered Jasper. "Now, look at me--look me full in
the face. I live in that house because Providence wills it,
because--because---- Oh, I need not waste time telling you the reason. I
live there because I am near to you, and for another reason; and I hope
to goodness that you have not gone and made mischief, for if that
dreadful old man, as you call him, finds out for a single moment that I
am there, good-by to poor Miss Sylvia's chance of life."
"You are quite silly about Sylvia," said Evelyn in a jealous tone.
"She is a very fine, brave young lady," was Jasper's answer.
"I wish you would not talk of her like that; you make me feel quite
cross."
"You always were a jealous little piece," said Jasper, giving her former
charge a look of admiration; "but you need not be, Eve, for no one--no
one shall come inside my little white Eve. But there, now; do tell me.
You did not say anything about me to Mr. Leeson?"
"No, I did not," said Evelyn. "I only told him I had come to see Sylvia.
Was it not good of me, Jasper? Was it not clever and smart?"
"It was like you, pet," said Jasper. "You always were the canniest
little thing--always, always."
Evelyn was delighted at these words of praise.
"But how did you get here, my pet? Does her ladyship know you are out?"
"No, her ladyship does not," replied Evelyn, with a laugh. "I should be
very sorry to let her know, either. I came here all by myself because I
wanted to see you, Jasper. I have got news for you."
"Indeed, pet; and what is that?"
"Cannot you guess?"
"Oh, how can I? Perhaps that you have got courage and are sleeping by
yourself. You cannot stand that horrid old Read; you would rather be
alone than have her near you."
"Read has not slept in my room for over three weeks," said Evelyn
proudly. "I am not at all nervous now. It was Miss Sinclair who told me
how silly I was to want any one to sleep close to me."
"But you would like your old Jasper again?"
"Yes--oh yes; you are different."
"Well, and what is the change, dear?"
"It is this: poor Miss Sinclair--dear, nice Miss Sinclair--has been
obliged to leave."
"Oh, well, I am not sorry for that," said Jasper. "I was getting a bit
jealous of her. You seemed to be getting on so well with her."
"So I was. I quite loved her; she made my lessons so interesting. But
what do you think, Jasper? Although I am very sorry she has gone, I am
glad about the other thing. Audrey and I are going to school, as daily
boarders, just outside the village; Chepstow House it is called. We are
going to-morrow morning. Mothery would like that; she always did want me
to go to school. I am glad. Are you not glad too, Jasper?"
"That depends," said Jasper in an oracular voice.
"What does it all depend on? Why do you speak in that funny way?"
"It depends on you, my dear. I have heard a great deal about schools.
Some are nice and some are not. In some they give you a lot of freedom,
and you are petted and fussed over; in others they discipline you. When
you are disciplined you don't like it. If I were you----"
"Yes--what?"
"I would stay there if I liked it, and if I did not I would not stay. I
would not have my spirit broke. They often break your spirit at school.
I would not put up with that if I were you."
"I am sure they won't break my spirit," said Evelyn in a tone of alarm.
"Why do you speak so dismally, Jasper? Do you know, I am almost sorry I
told you. I was so happy at the thought of going, and now you have made
me miserable. No, there is not the slightest fear that they will break
my spirit."
"Then that is all right, dear. Don't forget that you are the heiress."
"I could let them know at school, could I not?"
"I would if I were you," said the injudicious woman. "I would tell the
girls if I were you."
"Oh yes; so I can. I wonder if they will be nice girls at Chepstow
House?"
"You let them feel your power, and don't knock under to any of them,"
said Jasper. "And now, my dear, I must really send you home. There, I'll
walk a bit of the way back with you. You are looking very bonny, my
little white Eve; you have got quite a nice color in your cheeks. I am
glad you are well; and I am glad, too, that the governess has gone, for
I don't want her to get the better of me. Remember what I said about
school."
"That I will, Jasper; I'll be sure to remember."
"It would please her ladyship if you got on well there," continued
Jasper.
"I don't want to please Aunt Frances."
"Of course you don't. Nasty, horrid thing! I shall never forgive her for
turning me off. Now then, dear, you had best run home. I don't want her
to see us talking together. Good-by, pet; good-by."