LEVESON'S SECRET.
THEY stood looking each at the other,—the little daintily-dressed
girl, in her warm winter clothing, with furs, and muff, and sheltering
jacket; and the poor child, with wasted frame, and hollow eyes, and
threadbare rags, through which every gust of wind swept piercingly.
"Now, Miss Josie!"
"Yes, I know, nurse," said Josie, turning in self-defence at the sound
of reproof. "But this is the same little girl I saw once before, and
you know what mother said."
"Don't believe it is the same," said nurse shortly.
"O yes, it is, because I know her face. She has been living with her
grandfather ever since,—at least she says so,—and he isn't her real
grandfather, but he gave her a home when she was starving. Wasn't that
it, little girl?"
Ailie nodded. "An' gran'father grows weaker an' weaker, an' there ain't
a morsel to give him," she said passionately. "An' it's all along of my
livin' with him, that he's come to this."
"It is very dreadful," said Josie. "I wish I had my shilling back.
Nurse, couldn't you lend me a penny? I'll pay you back when I have my
allowance."
"'Tisn't any way to encourage beggars," said nurse decidedly. "I wash
my hands of the whole concern, Miss Josie. If you go and catch a mortal
fever, and get the house broken into and burned down, and all of us
shot and smothered alive, like them Fenians do in Ireland, 'tain't my
fault."
"I am sure this little girl wouldn't burn anybody," said Josie. "I
haven't anything to give you now, little girl, but you must come to our
house this evening,—no, not this evening, because I am going out with
mother to tea,—but you must come to-morrow morning. Now mind."
"Thank ye, Miss," said Ailie.
"You don't know where we live though," said Josie, and with some
difficulty she made the matter clear to Ailie. "Now mind you don't
forget. Number Sixteen, and you are to ask for Miss Therlock." Josie
looked dignified as she spoke. "If we find out that you have told me
the exact truth, we will give you help."
"An' grandfather?" whispered Ailie.
"Yes, and your old grandfather too, of course. But mother likes to help
little girls best, because—"
Josie paused, and looked grave, before continuing, "Yes, I know she
will help you. It always makes her so unhappy to see any little girl
hungry. That is the only reason I don't like you to come to the house.
But you must come, and we'll give you something to eat before she sees
you, and then you won't look so pinched. I wish I had a penny here, but
I haven't."
"Nor I neither, so it's no good looking at me," said nurse. "Shows how
much you think of your mamma's feelings, Miss Josie,—taking to her a
child like that. When you know it'll make her think of Miss Vi, and
she'll cry."
"I do think of her feelings," said Josie indignantly. "But I can't
leave the little girl to starve. That isn't what mother would like.
Mind you come, little girl, for I shall tell my mother all about you,
and it would make her very unhappy, if you didn't. So mind you come."
And with a little parting nod, she marched off, followed by nurse.
Suddenly remembering that Leveson had promised to look in on them that
afternoon, she quickened her steps. All the way home her mind was
full of the hungry child; but on reaching the house, that subject was
banished by the sight of Leveson in the passage.
"Oh, how nice! I was so afraid you wouldn't come," and she flung
herself into his arms.
"I was afraid too that I could not manage it, but having told you to
expect me, I thought I must spare a couple of hours."
"Is mother in?" asked Josie, clinging to him, and leading him into the
dining-room. "She meant to be back early from her walk."
"No, I hear she was delayed in going out by a visitor, so she has not
returned yet. You and I must be content with each other's company for a
while."
"And now tell me all sorts of things, and ask me a hundred questions,"
said Josie, establishing herself on the sofa arm, with her hand on his
shoulder. "Do!"
But Leveson was provokingly absent. He smiled and talked, but his
questions were few, and his answers wide of the mark.
"What are you thinking about?" she said at length.
"Not of what you were saying, I am afraid," said Leveson, rousing
himself. "I beg your pardon, Josie."
"But what is it?" asked Josie.
"Never mind now. I am afraid your tongue runs a little too fast, my
small woman, for you to be trusted with secrets."
"Now, Leveson—when I kept that secret about mother's birthday present
for a whole six weeks!"
"Ah, that was a different thing. And hints and conscious looks will not
do here."
"I am sure I shall look conscious now," said Josie. "And mother will
ask me why, and I shall tell her I don't know, so she had better ask
you."
"Not if I ask you to tell her no such thing!"
"Oh, but do tell me your secret, Leveson. Indeed you may trust me. Oh,
do."
Leveson shook his head, and looked out of the window.
"What is it about?" asked Josie. "Nothing bad, I suppose. No, I can see
that in your face. Is it very good?"
"Almost too good to be true—if true," muttered Leveson. "I hardly dare
to hope, and yet—it seems more than probable—"
"Leveson! It's about Vi," exclaimed Josie, starting up with a shriek.
"Hush, hush, Josie. I am very unwise to say so much."
"Oh, won't you—oh, do tell me," implored Josie. "Have you heard the
least little bit of anything about Vi?"
"It is just possible; I can say no more than that. A friend of mine
has come across a child who might be—may be—but it is all uncertain.
To-morrow I shall search out all particulars, and go to see her."
"And won't you tell mother?"
"On no account. The uncertainty, and the possible disappointment after
all, would half kill her. Josie, for her sake, you must allow no sign
of this to escape you in her presence,—not even an allusion to what you
have heard."
"No, I won't—I won't," promised Josie. "But how soon shall we know?"
"You may depend upon me to look in to-morrow evening, whether I have
anything certain or not to tell you."
"Is it near here that the little girl lives? Fancy, if she is Vi!"
cried Josie.
"No, far away, quite in another part of London. She lives with an old
charwoman."
"Vi herself! Think of that! Won't it be a change for her to come home?
Don't you think it must be Vi?"
"I can't say. It may be, but that is all, though I certainly have
hopes."
"Do you think she will remember us?" asked Josie.
"Hardly possible. A little creature only two and a half years old,—but
her face was not one likely to change much, and she was the very image
of your mother. Do you recollect her?"
"Not much. You see I was so small—only four or five; but I remember us
two playing with our dolls, together. And then the day she was lost—I
haven't forgotten that. Nurse had dressed her out in that lovely worked
frock, which her godmamma gave her. I know that, because nurse told
me I didn't look one quarter so nice in mine, and that made me angry
with Vi. We were going to tea somewhere, weren't we?—And on the way, I
remember a great crowd of people, and I was frightened, and clung to
nurse ever so tight, and then nurse missed Vi. And I remember how wild
she was, when she hunted and couldn't find her, and no one seemed to
have noticed her. And then mother's crying—oh, how dreadfully she used
to cry—and nurse's illness and going away, and the new nurse coming,
and mother's saying she could never leave London again till Vi was
found, and how I used to long for the green fields again. I remember
all quite well. Oh, if you really have found her—only think!—won't it
be great, great happiness?"
"We shall never be able to thank God enough, if it is so," said
Leveson. "But I hardly venture yet to hope, after all this vain
searching for years."
"And then we should go into the country, shouldn't we?" said Josie. "I
wish I knew. I wish you had seen the little girl."
"Only a few hours to wait, I trust. It was not till I was in the act of
starting to come here, that my friend told me about her, and he could
not go with me to-night, but to-morrow—early—"
"O Leveson!"
"Hush, that is my mother's step."
And hard as they both found it, they talked naturally and quietly, so
that she saw nothing unusual in their faces or voices—nothing to make
her suspect what was going on.
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