A RUBY RING
HONORA stayed with Miss Webb until the classes were all formed and
the time-table arranged. Then telling Daisy to come home by the
five-o'clock train, she left the College, and set out to cross the
moor. She said to Miss Webb—
"I must get home before it is dark, for Annie does not know that I mean
to walk, so she will not meet me."
And she walked steadily, not pausing here and there, as she usually
did, until she reached S. Michael's stone, which stood on the highest
ridge of the moor, and from which there was a gradual slope till one
reached the cliffs that hid S. Canice as it nestled below. There was a
zigzag path, with here and there a wooden ladder or a few rough stone
steps, by which the sea-shore was reached.
Honora, walking with bent head and unelastic step, went round the great
rock to the quarry, in which she could find shelter from the somewhat
blusterous wind. Here she sought her accustomed seat, on which she
often rested, and she now sat down without looking round.
"Now," she muttered, "I am alone at last, and the battle must be fought
out."
So preoccupied was she that she never perceived that there was already
some one in the quarry, though not near her seat. She covered her face
with her hands, and was very still. The intruder stole softly away and
disappeared.
Soon afterwards, some one was heard whistling a tune—some one coming
from S. Canice, not likely, thought Honora, to come round this way. But
still, it was as well to be prepared. So she let her hands fall into
her lap, gave her skirts a shake, and fondly thought that she looked
"just as usual," which I may as well confess she did not.
The whistle ceased. And in a moment, Dr. Egerton sprang down into the
quarry.
"Why, who would have expected to meet you here, Dr. Egerton? I was
resting after my struggle with this high wind. But I suppose I had
better go on, and get down the cliff before it gets dusky."
"I came here in hopes of meeting you if you came this way," replied
Egerton.
"Has anything happened at home?" she asked hastily.
"Nothing that I know of. Sit down again for a few minutes, if you are
not too cold."
"It is cold, and—"
"I won't delay you long. I want to tell you a story—my story—and to
tell you why I did not do so before. Listen. When I left Dinar, after
my dear mother's death, I went home, intending to make some arrangement
with my father; for I am now his only son, and I have very little
income but what I make by my profession. By the way, I find I am taking
it for granted that you know my mother's story?"
"Dr. Musgrave told me that—that dear Mrs. Egerton had been a very
unhappy wife."
"That's putting her case very mildly. Well, would you believe that I
found my father on the point of marriage? He actually married before
the woman whose heart he had broken was a month in her grave. He and
I parted without my having said a word to him about my own affairs. I
really could not ask anything of him after the insult to my mother. Do
you think I could?"
"Certainly not. I quite agree with you."
"But that's not all I have to say to you. Why are you in such a
hurry?"—as she seemed about to rise.
"I hate going down the cliff when it is dusk."
"I'll see you safely down the cliff. My father has already greatly
impaired his estate. I suspect it is mortgaged for every penny it is
worth. And now, after this, I feel sure that I shall never be a penny
the richer from being his heir."
He waited for a minute or so, looking at her gravely. At last, he added—
"Don't you care to know why I never told you all this long ago?"
"Why should you tell me at all, Dr. Egerton?" she said, and looked him
bravely in the face, with her pretty head well up and a flash in her
eyes.
His answer was prompt. "Because I love you, Honora. Because I want you
to promise to be my wife when I can earn enough to let me marry. I told
mother, and she was glad. I loved you from the very first, and she said
you were the very girl she would have chosen for me. Do you remember
her ruby ring—the only jewel she had kept, as it was her mother's
before her? She gave it to me to give to you, if you could care for
me. If not, I shall never give it to any one, I think. But, you see,
when things turned out as they did, I knew that I might be a long time
before I could make a decent income; and when I remembered how young
you are, and how sure to be sought by others, I thought I ought not to
speak. Waiting is sad work, and to bind you when the waiting might be
so long seemed to me cruel. I really, honestly, thought that you were
too young to have seen how things were with me."
"I shall be twenty-three next spring," she said.
"I know that. But I thought that if you had not begun to care for me,
you would learn to care for some one else, and be a happy wife before I
could make a home for you."
Honora sprang up, and faced him with crimson cheeks.
"And why," said she, speaking very slowly and carefully—"why, Dr.
Egerton, do you tell me now?"
"Because I find that I shall not have to wait so long; because I am
going away, and I could not leave you till I knew the truth. Honora, I
never loved any one but you. I never gave any one reason to think I did
but you. And had I gone away without speaking, you would have had good
reason to—forget me as fast as you could."
She looked out over the sea, where little squalls were chasing each
other like children at play. Not that Honora saw the tumbling waves or
anything else.
He drew out his pocket-book, and from it he took his mother's ring—a
hoop of splendid rubies, which made a flash of red light in the shadowy
corner. He took her hand in his, and pulled off her little glove; then
he rose and looked at her, saying—"May I put it on, Honora?"
But he did not play fairly, for he did not wait for an answer.
"Oh, stop!" she cried. "Take it back! Wait a moment! I want to think!
How can I tell you? I—was—told—that you were trying to make—another
girl like you."
"Well, Honora, I believe I never told a lie yet. And I tell you
solemnly that whoever told you so was mistaken. I am utterly innocent
of such treachery—I swear it to you! Do you believe me?"
She glanced up at him, raised her hand, and kissed the ring.
"I do believe you," she said; "and—I love you, Dr. Egerton."
Whereupon, I believe he kissed her, and there ensued a long silence.
"Where are you going?" she whispered presently.
He put her back into her seat, and perched himself on the stone which
formed a kind of arm to it.
"To London. The man under whom I studied has offered me a post in the
hospital of which he is the head. And I am to assist him in his private
practice. It ensures me success, if I can please him. And I'll work
like a dozen men—for Honourbright."
"And when do you go?"
"To-morrow. I was very lucky in making arrangements quickly. Your old
friend Dr. Musgrave is coming back."
"Will you do something to please me without asking why?"
"I think I may safely say yes."
"Then, see. I put the ring on this chain; it is my watch-chain, but the
watch will not fall out of my pocket. And I clasp it round my neck—so,
and hide it in my dress. And you are to come to our house, to say
good-bye, and nothing more. And I may keep this secret for a while."
"For how long? I am not fond of secrets."
"But you promised, and I am very anxious about it."
"Well, don't wrinkle your forehead over it. Will you tell Marian?"
"Oh yes, indeed I will."
"Then for a little while, I consent. But the first time I get a
holiday, I fear the secret will come out. Honora, it is very pleasant
here, but the light is going fast."
"What 'have' I been thinking of? Daisy will have got home, and they
will think I am lost."
"We must go. I believe it is cold, too, but I'm quite warm. Are you
cold, Honourbright?"
"Yes, but I do not feel it. Oh, Dr. Egerton, it 'was' bitter to think
that you had—had made me think of you only for amusement."
"And now just let me say one word, and don't flash blue lightning at
me, you—"
"Spitfire; that's what Miss Drury called me, you know."
"What a discerning woman she must be!"
"I was very angry, Dr. Egerton."
"Do you not know my Christian name, my dear?"
"I believe it to be Piers. And tell me what you were going to say."
"Just this, and I venture on it in fear and quaking. There is no one
in your home, dear, who will be in the least grieved by hearing of our
engagement. There may be annoyance, but not sorrow, and the sooner you
make it known the better."
"I will tell Marian everything. And I do not understand you in the
least."
"Honourbright! Take care, you rash child. The idea of jumping down
those steps with that sheer descent before you! My hair will be grey
before we get to the bottom."
Honora laughed, and she had not laughed like that for a long time. The
descent was made safely, and near the bottom thereof they met Annie
coming up.
"Oh, Honora, what delayed you? Who is that with you?"
"It is I, Miss Annie. I have been telling your sister that I am coming
to the castle to-morrow to say good-bye for a time, as I have got an
appointment in London which may be a great thing for me. I have to go
by the five-o'clock train, so may I run in at four?"
"I'm very sorry you are going," Annie said. "We shall all miss you; but
I suppose some one is coming in your place? Oh, that sounds so rude,
but you know, with Marian so weak, we should be afraid to be without a
doctor."
"Dr. Musgrave will be here in a day or so. Well, good-bye. I must run
home, for I have all my books to pack up."
The two sisters walked on.
"Honora," said Annie, "Frances will be vexed."
"Do you think so?" said Honora.
"Yes, but to tell you the truth, neither Marian nor I ever saw the
least sign of anything but common politeness on his part. However, we
shall know to-morrow."
"How?" said Honora, with a start.
"Why, if he wants to speak, he will speak to-morrow."
"Oh yes, I suppose he would."
"You don't think he cares for her, do you?" Annie asked.
"No, I do not indeed."
"I expect she has quarrelled with poor Mr. Cooke, and— Help me to close
the gate. How it does blow! It is well the old house is solid."
They were soon in the safe shelter of the thick old walls. In the
sitting-room they found Marian and Frances. The latter sat by the
fire, with the lamp conveniently behind her, reading a newspaper which
had come to her by post from Dublin. Marian, in her easy-chair, was
knitting by the dim light that fell to her share, as Frances held her
paper so as to act as a screen. They both looked up, and Marian cried—
"Oh, Honourbright, what have you been about?"
And Frances, though she said nothing, acknowledged to herself that the
name was well chosen. "Wrestling with a high wind across the moor. I
can recommend it for the complexion."
"We met Dr. Egerton," said Annie, "and he told us that he has got
an appointment in London, and is going away at once. He is coming
to-morrow at four o'clock to say good-bye."
"And Daisy and I will be at the College," said Honora, as she left the
room to get ready for dinner.
So when the next day brought four o'clock in due time, Marian, Annie,
and Violet were in the parlour. Frances was out, Violet said, adding,
"And I sha'n't offer to go with her again in a hurry."
Annie laughed, and at that moment the big gate creaked, and from the
window they saw two figures coming up to the house.
"Why, it's Frances!" cried Violet. "Well, if she had told me 'that' was
what she wanted, I would have understood."
"Hush, Vio! Take care," said Annie.
And Dr. Egerton followed Frances into the room, he looking just as
usual, she with a slightly raised colour, handsomer even than her wont.
"Tea not ready," she said, "and Dr. Egerton has but a few minutes to
stay. Moreover, I am, as usual, very thirsty. I think the salt air
makes you thirsty."
"Tea is ready," Marian said, ringing her little bell. "I suppose you
are glad to go, Dr. Egerton, but we are very sorry to lose you. And I'm
sorry that Honora and Daisy are not here to say good-bye."
"It is not good-bye for ever," he said—"at least, I hope not. I shall
have an occasional holiday, and run down to see you."
He looked at Marian, but she did not look at him. He concluded that
Honora had not yet told her secret.
"My stay at S. Canice has been made pleasant to me by your kindness,
Miss Vandeleur."
"You have been very kind to us," Marian said.
"Do you know that Dr. Musgrave is coming back? He finds Taunton has so
much work for a doctor that he has no time for gardening. Miss Violet,
will you remember that no matter how hot the weather may be next
summer, no matter how well you feel, you must not venture to bathe?"
"I'm not likely to forget this illness," said Violet. "I shall not be
so foolish again."
"That's right. Now I must go. Say good-bye to your sisters for me."
"You may meet them at the station," said Frances, carelessly.
There was a chorus of good-byes, and Dr. Egerton departed.
Violet went to the window to watch him going down to the gate, a trick
of which she declined to break herself.
"Exit Dr. Egerton!" said Frances, with a laugh which was rather angry
than mirthful. "He thinks his appointment came just in time; things
were getting serious, and he is wondrous shy. Wait a bit, my young
Esculapius—we'll see."
"What shall we see?" asked Violet from the window. The big gate creaked
just then.
"Tiresome chit! I thought she had left the room. Oh, we shall see
wonders, Violet, if we keep our eyes open."
"I shouldn't wonder a bit if we saw more than we expect," Violet
answered, with a laugh. "You ought to do as I do, Frances, and look out
of the window."
"As you have been told before, it is a very unladylike trick," Frances
replied.
The girl laughed again, and said, "Oh, he did not look back."
And as she spoke, Daisy came in, followed by Honora.
"We met Dr. Egerton at the gate and bade him good-bye," said Daisy,
"and he set off running as hard as he could, and left us to shut the
gate."
"Well, there is no wind to-day. I dare say the train will wait a little
for him," remarked Honora.
And no more was said just then.
The next day was marked by an event which was only a wonder because it
had not happened before—Annie received a letter from Ernest Wilkinson.
He had been, he said, an extra clerk, and was not wanted any longer; he
found that there were no situations to be had, and he had a great mind
to enlist. He remarked casually that he had not a penny.
Annie—poor Annie, believing in him in spite of countless failures, sent
him a couple of pounds which she had laid by for her dress expenses,
and begged him piteously to do nothing rash. To her sisters she said
that Ernest would soon get work again, but when alone she wept hot
tears of fear and pity.
Honora had kept her word, and the evening giving her a good opportunity
of being alone with Marian, she had told her her secret. Marian was
very glad; she said that now she had no fears for Honora whatever
happened. But she was also frightened as she thought of Frances,
and her fears told upon Honora's courage, and she put off the idea
of telling of her engagement publicly. She did not quite understand
Marian's very evident fear of Frances, which she saw was shared by
Annie.
Dr. Egerton wrote urging her to put an end to the concealment.
But Frances had told Marian that she found S. Canice "deadly dull," and
Marian hoped that she would soon depart, and begged for a little delay.
So far as Marian, Annie, and Honora were concerned, Frances was civil
and even pleasant. But then, they were careful not to annoy her in any
way. With the two younger girls, it was different. She ordered them
about, ridiculed them unmercifully, and was so disagreeable that she
drove them into open rebellion. Honora, in trying to make peace, said
to Daisy—
"But why are you so angry at her laughing at you, little one? I laughed
at you, do you remember, and you were not a bit angry."
"I don't know; there's a difference," said Daisy.
And Violet added, "'You' looked kind all the time, Honourbright. 'She'
looks as if she'd like to walk on you!"
At last, during the short Christmas holidays, Frances announced that
she had determined to go to London to complete her training as a nurse.
She spoke to Marian, for Annie, Honora, and Daisy were out. Violet was
there, however, an interested listener.
"It does seem hard," Frances said, "that I should be obliged to leave
you, Marian, when my care may be so necessary to you. But as you have
burdened yourself with the girls, who are incapable of doing anything
for themselves, and will live on you as long as you will let them, and
as I really cannot submit to their insolence, I must give up the idea
of living with you, and I have been inquiring about the best course to
take."
"Daisy and I have as good a right to be here as you have; and as to
insolence, we'd be civil if you would," Violet remarked.
Frances took no notice of her. "Dr. Egerton says there is a vacancy for
a probationer in the Children's Hospital in — Street," she continued,
"and I mean to offer myself."
"No vacancy in Hammond's Hospital?" inquired Violet.
"Vio, be quiet," said Marian, nervously.
"Won't it be lovely to be rid of her?" answered Violet. "Here come the
others. And Honora's looking at that big warming-pan that she calls a
watch. And I wonder why she wears it to a ribbon now, and has the chain
round her neck? I just tell you this, Frances, that before you go to
London, you'd better find out what Honora wears on that chain, and who
gave it to her."
"Violet, I do beg of you to hold your tongue," cried Marian. "You have
no right to—to say things like that."
But Violet, between a keen desire to mortify her enemy, and joy that
she was about to leave the house, was reckless, and quite determined,
as she afterwards said, "to see Frances's face when she knew." So she
replied to poor Marian's appeal with a laugh.
"It's a beautiful ring, Marian."
"You know nothing about any ring," said Marian.
Annie and Honora came into the room. Violet flew past them, seized upon
Daisy, who was about to shut the hall door, pushed her out into the
cold, and followed her, without so much as a shawl, though one lay on
a chair near the door. A whisper, a giggle, and the pair were peeping
into the parlour in great glee.
"We have had a lovely walk," said Honora. "It feels frosty, but frost
never lies here, I perceive."
"Not often," Marian said, with a nervous tremble in her voice, "but I
remember one great frost when I was a child."
If she hoped to divert Frances from what Violet had said, she failed,
poor thing.
"Honora, you used to wear a thick old-fashioned chain to your watch.
Why do you wear it round your neck now?"
Honora caught a despairing glance from Marian and a somewhat frightened
one from Annie, then she looked at Frances. Judging by the black wrath
expressed by the beautiful face and Marian's evident terror, she
divined that something had betrayed her secret, and that Frances was
very angry. And she made up her mind that bold measures were the best;
it was not easy to frighten Honora. There was hardly a perceptible
delay before she answered—
"I have fastened my ring to it. I am glad you have asked, for I feel
that it is not kind to keep Annie and you in the dark. I told Marian
quite lately that I must tell my secret."
"Well, tell it then, without more speechifying," said Frances. "You've
told us nothing yet."
"It is my engagement ring," said Honora.
"Who gave it to you?"
[Illustration: _THE RUBY RING._]
"Piers—Dr. Egerton."
"I don't believe you," said Frances, furiously.
Honora looked surprised. "It is, however, true. Perhaps it would have
been better to make it known at once, but it makes no difference for
the present. Piers must work his way for a time."
"Ah, what an innocent you wish to be thought! You know, for I told you,
that this man is the only son of Mr. Egerton of Eltringham."
"I know it. I knew it before you told me. I knew Piers first in Dinar.
His father was a very extravagant man, and behaved most cruelly to his
wife, who had to leave him, and he married again before she was dead a
month. Piers says that the property will be utterly ruined, and that he
will never inherit a penny from it."
"Is that really true? Oh, well, then, I wish you joy of your
engagement. You have behaved most deceitfully; you deserve just the
kind of life you are likely to lead with the son of a man like that. I
know you concealed your engagement in the hope of getting me into an
embarrassing position, but in that you have failed. I hope devoutly
that you'll be as happy as you deserve. Let me see that ring."
"Don't!" whispered Annie.
Honora heard, but did not like to refuse. She unclasped the chain,
and let it and the ring fall into her lap. Annie uttered a cry of
admiration as the red rays flashed out. Frances, who had risen from her
chair, made a rapid movement, seized both ring and chain and flung them
towards the blazing fire. But the ring slipped off the chain and fell
on the rug.
Honora had it in her hand in a moment; and for a moment, too, she
thought that Frances would try to take it again.
Annie had seized poker and tongs, and with difficulty rescued the
chain, a good deal the worse for its adventure. The door opened, and in
walked the two girls.
"We came in just to see that you didn't pitch Honora after her ring,"
said Violet.
And they both went into a fit of laughter.
"It was great fun!" cried Daisy. "Oh, take care, Vio—I do believe she's
mad!"
It really seemed doubtful what would happen next, when Marian seized
the little brass bell and rang it loudly. Stasy's not very light step
made itself heard in a moment.
"Stand out of my way," Frances said in a hoarse tone.
The girls made haste to obey, being a good deal frightened. And Frances
passed Stasy in the hall, and locked herself into her own room.
"Did you ring, missy?" said Stasy at the door.
Marian was too much frightened to reply.
Honora said, "Yes, Stasy, but we did without you."
Stasy looked at them all thoughtfully, and went back to her kitchen,
murmuring—
"She's the old Miss Francie yet. I'll make tea. They're scared, the
creatures."
"Where were you two?" asked Annie.
"At the window. I knew she'd have it out with Honora. But I do hope
that lovely ring isn't hurt. I saw it on your bed the other morning,
Honora."
Honora, now that the battle was over, was in far too shaky a condition
to give Violet the lecture she deserved. And poor Marian was literally
speechless. The two young sinners scampered upstairs to their room, and
only the unusual thickness of the walls prevented their hilarity from
being heard.
"I don't think you were surprised," said Honora in a minute or so, "but
I was."
"You don't remember her. Besides, that poor, good-natured woman, Mrs.
Cooke, used to appeal to Mr. Wilkinson sometimes. When she's angry,
I just think she isn't right in her head. She smashed a plate-glass
window once with a poker. Mr. Cooke wanted to send her back then, but
they made it up somehow. Marian and I thought it better to say nothing
of her temper when she came. I do wish she would go away, for she does
the girls harm."
"She is going," Marian managed to say—"going to London—to a children's
hospital. She wrote to Mr. Egerton about it."
"Well, if she says no more about this, let us say nothing. Annie, do
you think you can get those two geese to be quiet? But I will wear my
ring now," and she put it on. "And here's that dear Stasy with tea.
Stasy, will you tell Miss Frances?"
But Frances appeared no more that day.
And the two girls, running hilariously down to tea, received such a
lecture from gentle Marian as no one imagined her capable of giving.
"It was unkind, unsisterly, unladylike, and unwomanly," was the
conclusion, "and I hope you will be ashamed when you come to think of
it."
Daisy stared, round-eyed, but Violet looked abashed.
[Illustration]