"I wonder, Rachel," said Kitty, "I wonder when the heir will be found."
Rachel had curled herself up in a luxurious arm-chair, was devouring a
new story-book, and was in consequence displeased with Kitty for her
question.
"Let me read, Kitty. In half an hour I have to go to my drill, and then
practicing, and then learning those tiresome lessons. I don't care if an
heir is never found; do let me read!"
"There's another one coming to-morrow," continued Kitty in a by no means
abashed voice; "his name is Philip and his mother is coming with him. I
heard Aunt Grizel telling Mrs. Eyre all about it, and, Rachel--oh,
Rachel, do listen! they are to sleep in the bedroom directly under Aunt
Katharine's and Aunt Grizel's room in the tower."
This last piece of information was sufficiently interesting to Rachel to
make her fling down her book with an impetuous gesture.
"What a tiresome Kitty you are. I never can read when you come into the
room. I was in a most exciting part, but never mind. My half-hour of
quiet will be gone in no time. I had better keep the book until I can
steal away into the forest and read it in peace."
"But isn't it exciting," pursued Kitty, "to think that they are going to
sleep in the tower bedroom?"
"And his name is Philip!" repeated Rachel, "Philip is the name of this
one--the last was Guy, and the one before was Ferdinand, and the one
before that was Augustus. I want an heir to come of the name of
Zerubbabel. I like Zerubbabel, and it's uncommon. What a pity this one's
name is Philip!"
"Oh, he's not the real heir," said little Kitty, shaking her head
solemnly; "he's only another make-believe; but it's rather exciting his
mother coming too and the tower room being prepared. Rachel, aren't you
almost certain that when the real, true heir comes his name will be
Rupert? Why, of course it must be Rupert--mustn't it, Rachel?"
"I don't know and I don't care," answered Rachel, tumbling out of her
luxurious chair and shaking back her dark, untidy locks. "How old is
Philip, Kitty? Poor Philip, I wish him joy of the place! He'll find it
dull enough, and he'll find Aunt Grizel very tiresome and Aunt Katharine
very sweet, but very stupid, and he'll wish he wasn't the heir a
thousand times in the twenty-four hours. How old is he, Kitty-cat? Just
tell me quickly, for I must go."
"He's eight years old," replied Kitty in a very interested tone; "that's
another thing that's exciting--his being so near to my age. Aunt Grizel
says that he'll be a sort of a companion for me. I do hope he'll be a
nice little boy."
"I don't care anything at all about him," said Rachel; "he may be the
heir or he may not. I'm not in the least interested. I don't see
anything exciting in the fact of a stupid little boy coming to Avonsyde
with his mother; it's a slow place and he'll have a slow life, and
there's nothing to interest me about it."
"Oh, Rachel, I never could guess that you found Avonsyde slow. If you
do, why do you laugh so merrily and why do you look so gay?"
"I never said that I found Avonsyde dull," answered Rachel, turning
round with a quick, flashing movement. "No place is slow or dull to me.
But I'm not going to stay here; I'm going to school, and then afterward
I'm going right round the world looking for mother. Oh, that's my
drill-sergeant's bell! What a worry he is! Good-by, Kitty-cat."
Rachel skipped out of the room, banging the door after her, and Kitty
climbed into her chair, and leaning back in it shut her pretty blue
eyes.
It was five years now since the children had come to Avonsyde, and Kitty
had absolutely forgotten the dismal day of their arrival. She knew that
she had a mother, for Rachel reminded her of the fact; but she could
recall no outline of her face.
Rachel not only spoke of her mother, but remembered her. Vivid memories
of a grave, sweet, sad face came to her at intervals, and when these
memories visited the child longings came also. Why had her mother gone
away? Why were Kitty and she practically motherless? Who were the wicked
people who had divided this mother and these children?
When these thoughts came Rachel's dark little face would work with
strong emotion; and if Aunt Griselda or Aunt Katharine happened to be
near, she would feel tempted to answer them defiantly and to favor them
with flashing, angry glances.
"I miss my mother!" she would sob sometimes at night. "I wish--oh, how I
wish I could give her a long, big, great kiss! Well, never mind: when I
am old enough I'll go all round the world looking for her, for I know
she is not dead."
These storms of grief did not come often, and on the whole the children
had spent five very happy years at Avonsyde. Aunt Grizel and Aunt
Katharine had each in her own way been good to them--Aunt Grizel erring
on the side of over-severity, Aunt Katharine on the side of
over-indulgence. But the children had no fear in their natures, and were
so bright and frank and charming that even Aunt Katharine's petting
could not do them any harm. They were well taught and well cared for,
and were universal favorites wherever they went--the extreme side of
Kitty being prone to over-tenderness; the extreme side of Rachel to
over-brusqueness and almost fierceness.
Miss Griselda and Miss Katharine said very little about their affection
for the children--very little either to the children themselves or to one
another. They were reserved women and thought it undignified to speak of
their feelings. Neither Rachel nor Kitty was at all proud of being
Lovels of Avonsyde; but Miss Griselda thought her position above that of
a countess, and Miss Katharine supported her great honors with a meek
little air of becoming pride. The old ladies' great object in life was
to find the missing heir, and Miss Griselda had even once picked up
sufficient courage to go to America, accompanied by the family lawyer
and his wife, in search of him; but though many little boys came to
Avonsyde and many fathers and mothers sent in all kinds of extraordinary
claims, the heir who could claim direct descent from Rupert Lovel, the
strong and sturdy boy who was to bring back a fresh epoch of health and
life and vigor to the old family tree, and not yet arrived.
Now, however, shortly after Rachel's twelfth birthday and in the middle
of a glorious summer, little Philip Lovel was expected. His mother was
to bring him and he was to sleep in the tower room, which, as Kitty
said, was most exciting. Miss Griselda and Miss Katharine too were
excited; and Miss Griselda said with an unusual burst of confidence to
her younger sister:
"If the boy turns out to be a true descendant of Rupert's, and if he is
blessed with good physical health, I shall feel a great load off my
mind."
Miss Katharine smiled in reply.
"God grant the little boy may be the heir," she said; "but, Griselda, I
don't like the tone of the mother's letters."