HOW THEY ALL LEFT S. CANICE
"GREAT peace," was Marian's answer, when Honora, coming home on the
first day of the term, asked how she had got on all alone. "And Stasy
is so kind," she added. "And Dr. Musgrave called, and so did Mr. Glynn,
and Mrs. Glynn is coming to-morrow. People are so very kind."
The rest of the winter passed quietly and peacefully. "Great peace"
continued, but Honora was sorrowfully certain that strength waned. In
May there came the time Honora had been expecting. She had to tell Miss
Webb that either she must resign her post in the College, or that a
substitute must be found for a time.
"For the rest of the term," she said, with a quiver in her voice; "for
I must stay at home while Marian is so weak."
"Stay with her, my dear. I will write to London about a temporary
teacher, but till she comes I will take your work myself."
"That is very kind of you. Marian would not let me give up until now,
but I told her this morning that I could 'not' go on any longer."
So from that day, Honora left her sister no more.
And in a few days, she telegraphed to Piers and to Frances.
Piers answered,—
"Early train to-morrow."
But no answer came from Frances. For this, however, she was not to
blame, as she and Miss Vandeleur were from home, and the telegram did
not reach them till the evening.
"Now," said Honora, when Stasy and she had made Marian comfortable for
the night—"now sleep, dear heart, and remember I am here close to you.
Call me if you wake. Promise."
"I will, really. Ah, my dear, it was a happy day for me when you
came over from France to me. It was so sad not to know even one of
my sisters, and now I know them all. And what you have been to me,
Honourbright, who can tell you that? You must give Frances my love; and
the children—tell them I hope to see them again—and Miss Vandeleur. She
meant kindly. And tell Piers I know he'll make you happy. Oh, I have
been so happy here! Do you hear the sea—my own dear sea? It makes me
sleep."
"But, Marian, I want to tell you what you have been to me. I knew
before, but from you I learned to love."
"My darling," murmured Marian, half-asleep.
And when Honora crept to her side a little later, she was in a sweet
sleep.
And when, waking up early, Honora crept to her side again, she slept
well indeed. Without pain or struggle, she had been carried over the
dark river, in arms even more loving than Honora's—poor Honora, whose
grievous wail brought Stasy to her side in a moment.
"Oh, look, Stasy—look! It's wrong to cry, but I must."
It was a very pale and tremulous Honora that Piers found all alone in
the little parlour—very quiet, and thankful to leave everything in his
hands.
Frances came by the two-o'clock train, and Honora felt more drawn to
her than ever before, for her grief was evidently sincere, and she was
kinder than Honora had thought she would be. She told Honora that the
two girls had wished to come, but that Miss Vandeleur would not hear of
it.
So sweet Marian Vandeleur was laid to rest beside her father and
mother, in the little churchyard over which the salt wind rushed, and
where the sound of the sea, which she had loved, was never silent.
When Piers was about to return to London, he told Honora that Marian
had made a will not very long ago, and had put it in her little desk;
and there they found it. To her sister Annie, she left her little
income; to Honora, the old house and garden, and what remained of the
money Mrs. Elliott had saved for her. There was very little of it left.
"I shall come down again very soon, Honora, for I will not torment you
now. But do not settle upon any plans until I see you again."
"I shall stay here quietly for a while," she answered, "and Frances
will stay with me. Then I must get back to my work at Heyward's."
But Frances had a letter from Miss Vandeleur recalling her in rather
peremptory fashion.
"I hate leaving you and S. Canice, Honora, but you see I cannot help
myself."
"I do 'not' see it, dear Frances. I seriously think it would be better
for you to write and say that you are a good deal knocked up, and that
you do not like to leave me. Do not be her slave, I entreat you. You
may believe me, she would like you all the better for doing as I say."
"My dear, you don't know her as I do. She would never put up with it.
I tell you honestly I am not like you; I never could have refused her
offer as you did. I mean to be her heir, and for that it is worth while
to bear a little unpleasantness. Besides, I enjoy my life with her; I
never was so well off before."
"I have not spirit enough to argue," Honora said, "but I would give
much to convince you that you do not understand her. Why do you think
she chose me first? Simply because I never tried to please her."
This view of the matter rather startled Frances, and she went to bed in
doubt. Yet in the morning, she packed up and departed.
"It might do for you, Honora, because you began so, but if I changed
now, she would be angry. It would end in our parting, and I should be
no better off than Violet and Daisy. I mean to be her heir."
So she went; and Honora spent a very quiet time all alone with Stasy.
But one day as she sat by a small fire in the parlour, late in the
evening, she saw some one at the gate, and as the figure came towards
the house, she knew that it was Miss Vandeleur.
"I have come, you see," she said. "I felt I must see you, Honora."
"Come in. I will tell Stasy to get ready Frances' room for you, for
your own would want airing."
She led the way into the parlour, and then went to tell Stasy to bring
some tea.
"It is not warm enough yet to do without a fire," she said. "It is a
cold year, I think."
Marian's chair stood in its old place by the fire, and Honora had been
sitting near it. But now she pushed it back to the wall, and brought
the little tea-table to her own old corner, where she placed her guest.
Stasy brought in the tea, and a couple of eggs for the traveller; and
Honora did the honours of the simple entertainment, but she asked no
questions as to what brought Miss Vandeleur to S. Canice. Indeed, she
was very silent. Miss Vandeleur provided the conversation. She told how
greatly Daisy had improved in many ways, and that Violet proved to have
a very good voice. They talked for a while, and then Miss Vandeleur
looked at her watch.
"Half-past seven," she said. "Honora, you are looking very pale and
thin."
"I have had a trying time of late. I shall be glad to begin work again."
"Too soon, my dear. You need a longer rest."
"I am too lonely. If you had let Frances stay with me, I could have
rested."
"I wanted to see you alone. Honora, I want to tell you that there is no
change in my wishes. I repeat the offer I made to you. Dr. Egerton may
not be in a position to marry for years. What are you to do? You are
indeed too lonely. And why condemn yourself to years of work when—"
"Stop, Miss Vandeleur. You forget that I have been working ever since
I was sixteen. And I refused your offer when you were free to make it.
What should induce me to accept it now? You owe it to Frances to go on
as you are. Nothing shall make me interfere with her, even if there
were no other reason for my refusal, but there is. I told you before.
You would not find me what you wish, and I prefer work to dependence."
"Let me tell you that you do not owe such good faith to Frances. From
the first—"
"That is enough. I owe it to myself, and you owe it to her. I fear that
I am hardly fair to you, for we are so unlike that I sometimes think I
cannot understand you. But from the time you came here, I have thought
that you were carrying out a plan; that Annie and my dear Marian were
in your way; that the younger girls, being unfit for better employment,
annoyed you. I did not quite know what you wanted, but I was quite
aware that you determined to get rid of Annie, and that your conduct to
Marian was most selfish and unkind, all because you were in haste to
get your own way. I do not think your kindness to Violet and Daisy was
real, unselfish kindness, but that you did not choose to have cousins
employed as sorters in the post-office. I may have misjudged you—I may
have no right to judge, but with these thoughts, I could not do as
you wish, even if Frances were out of the question, and Piers did not
exist."
"There is no more to be said, then. Honora, you are right enough in
some things. From the first I wanted you, and I maintain that I had a
perfect right to clear the way of obstacles. Yet I have done much for
them, and can do nothing for you."
"Because I do not want anything. I am sad now, and lonely, but glad,
too. And I think I shall be a happy woman."
"Honora, if I had not taken Frances when you first refused, would you
have listened now?"
"No. But I think none the better of you for not standing to your
agreement."
"Then there is nothing before me but to be, as long as I live, what I
have been. Well, good-bye. I shall go back to town by the late train."
Honora let her go. The words "clear the way of obstacles" had hardened
her heart.
"I hope she will be fair to Frances. If not, I shall really find it
very difficult not to hate her. My Marian, nothing but an obstacle in
her path! She could not even wait till you were gone! Oh no; to be here
at the last would have been 'so' painful!"
In the morning, Honora had just breakfasted, and was preparing to go to
the College to see Miss Webb, when in walked Piers Egerton.
"Oh, Piers, how glad I am to see you! Have you had breakfast?"
"No. If Stasy will get me some, I shall be glad to have it, but I will
not eat a scrap if you leave me to get it ready."
"I will tell Stasy. Oh, she can do very well now; Annie drilled her
well."
When she returned from the kitchen, she said, "I had a visitor
yesterday."
"Miss Vandeleur? I saw her in the station at Exeter, but kept out of
her way. What brought her here?"
"The old story. I think she is crazy at not getting her own way.
However, she will not ask me again."
"Why? Plain speaking on your part? Tell me what you said."
She told him, adding, "Was I too plain-spoken, Piers?"
"Do her good," said Piers. "My Honourbright, my own and only
possession, I cannot quite forgive her for trying to steal you from me.
I promised her not to interfere, but then I knew I was very safe. But
I don't pity her for your plain speaking. She had no business to come
here again, when she knew that you were feeling low and lonely. You did
not ask her what she proposed to do with Frances, did you?"
"She would no doubt have given her money and 'cleared her out of the
way.' No; I did not ask her. Poor Frances! I wish she was not likely to
be carried off to no-one's land, so that we can do nothing for her."
"I do not think you need fear for Frances. She thoroughly enjoys the
ease and wealth in which she lives, and I know no one better able to
take care of herself. I wish she had been here with you all this time.
You look but white and weary, Honora."
"I shall be the better for getting back to my work."
"You would be the better for a thorough change and a good rest, my
darling. I came here to-day to make you see that, if possible. I never
would have said a word about our marriage while dear Marian was with
you. But I am quite in a position to marry now; and a doctor ought,
I think, to be a married man. I am not offering you riches, Honora;
if you want to be rich, you must try Miss Vandeleur. But I can take a
house, and furnish it, and have a home; and I long for a home, for I am
very lonely, and so are you; you here alone, and I there alone; and why
should we wait when there is nothing to wait for?
"I want us to be quietly married the day after to-morrow. I'll get
a license; you get Frances to come to you. You can get your things
afterwards, if you want any, quite at your leisure. We'll take Stasy
with us, put an end to Miss Vandeleur's tenancy, put in a caretaker,
and—Honora, I don't know what you feel, but 'I' feel that I deserve a
reward for having waited so patiently. And you may as well say 'Yes,'
for I mean to get my own way. And our wedding trip shall be to that
quaint old town where I first saw you, and said to myself, 'That little
girl shall be Mrs. Piers Egerton.'"
"Oh, Piers, you take my breath away! And—"
"Listen! Marian said to me, the last time I saw her, that she hoped you
would leave S. Canice, even if you only lived at the College. I told
her what I wanted, and she was very glad."
"Was she? But it seems too soon."
"It is better so, believe me. Honora, you'll have to obey me some time
or other, you know. Why not begin now?"
She turned to look at him, with a gleam of her old spirit on her little
pale face.
"And you will take 'your' turn afterwards? That is a very fair
arrangement, but I am sure that I shall never ask you to—to be—in such
a hurry."
Then she suddenly began to cry softly, and said, "Yes, Piers; I will.
We are two lonely people, and—I will."
Then she dried her eyes, and smiled at him. "But, Piers, I will ask
Miss Webb to be with me that day. I do not like to ask Frances, and I
think Miss Vandeleur would either refuse to let her come, or would come
with her; and perhaps she would say that you were an obstacle that must
be got rid of."
"And the sea so handy, and very deep under the windows. Oh, Honora,
you'll never get over that unlucky speech of hers! I will fly off to
Exeter, get a license, buy a ring. Lend me the ruby for a moment. Yes;
a tight fit for my little finger. You have the most ridiculous little
digits. And I will come back as soon as I can, and do you be ready.
Next morning, we'll walk up to the dear wee church, and—" He finished
his sentence by putting the ruby ring on her finger again. "Now," said
he, "was I not good that time?"
"How were you good?"
"I wanted badly to kiss you, and I did not."
Again a little flash of sauciness crossed her face, and she said—
"What a disappointment for me!"
Well, he made up for it.
"That will do. Be quiet, you foolish fellow! I do think Marian would
rather I—did this."
"I know it. Marian was a rare good Christian, Honora—so unselfish, so
anxious to do right, so perfectly contented, though one was inclined to
think her lot a sad one, so ready to go, yet contented to wait. You'll
have a better husband, little girl, because he knew and loved your
sister Marian."
"You cannot say too much of her. And it was not that she was
strong—Frances has more strength by far, both mental and bodily—and she
was very timid. But from the first, I began to see that I had no right
to feel stronger or wiser than she was; for her way of thinking always
of God, and of His will, was strength and wisdom. I never knew any one
so quietly happy."
There they sat and talked, and the day seemed quite short. In the
evening, Piers left her, having first written a note to Mr. Glynn and
one to Dr. Musgrave, which he sent by the railway man.
When he was gone, Honora went in search of Stasy, and told her what was
about to happen.
"I guessed what he was here for," said Stasy. "And the very last talk I
had with my darling missy she told me that it was her hope there'd be
no delay about your marriage, for she said you couldn't be here alone,
and that he had been so good leaving you with her. But, Miss Honora,
don't ye be married in black; I think she might ha' been vexed."
"But I have not time to get a dress, Stasy."
"You have one—the one you made for Miss Annie's wedding. Take the blue
bows off it, and give it to me. I'll wash it to-night, and iron it
beautiful to-morrow, and it will look lovely—and missy would like it."
"I dare say Piers would rather I did not wear black, and all my
coloured dresses are shabby. I will get the dress. And I have some
white satin ribbon that I got for Miss Annie, who did not use it, and I
will make bows to replace the blue. And when we come back from France,
Stasy, you must come to me in London. Dr. Egerton says so."
"What are you going to do with the castle, Miss Honora?"
"Put in a caretaker. We mean to come here sometimes."
"Miss Honora, let me be the caretaker. I could not live anywhere but
here; I couldn't leave my missy. I'll take care of the graves that
belong to you as long as I live. I never was ten miles from S. Canice
in my life, and I won't go now, as you mean to be here again. I would
never make a servant fit for London town, but you'll find all things in
order for you here always."
Honora argued, but nothing altered Stasy's decision.
"No; I sha'n't be lonely," she declared. "How could I be lonely when my
people all live here? I'll have plenty to do. And I'll get a cat, and
I'll do right well. I can't leave my darling missy."
Eventually she was persuaded to have her widowed sister and her son to
live with her, as Piers did not like her being there alone.
Next day, Honora went over the moor to the College, and spoke to Miss
Webb of her change of plan.
"It is the right thing to do, my dear; and your successor is fairly
efficient, and anxious to remain. It will not be like having you,
child, but I couldn't expect such luck twice. I will meet you to-morrow
at the church, my dear."
"Oh no; come home with me if you can. Piers will only come for a few
minutes, and I do want a friend."
Piers Egerton looked in at a late hour to say that he had made all
arrangements, and that Mr. Glynn would have the church open at eight
o'clock.
"And I brought you this, my dear—" laying a small basket on the table.
"Never mind it now. Only tell me, have you any objection to Musgrave
giving you away? I never thought of bringing any one, and he asked if
he might."
Poor Honora! Her spirits were indeed at a low ebb when she had not a
word or a smile at this. She merely assented, quite forgetting all that
made poor Dr. Musgrave feel that he was performing an heroic action.
The basket was found to contain some sprays of orange-blossom, white
gloves, and a great bunch of violets. And the few who were present at
the wedding thought that they had seldom seen a sweeter-looking bride.
As to Dr. Musgrave, most unlucky of men, his action was not as heroic
as his intentions; for when the expected question came, instead of
replying, he choked precipitately, and coughed so terribly that he had
to hasten from the church. And Miss Webb, with great presence of mind,
replied, "I do."
From Dinar, Honora wrote to her sisters. But when she reached London,
she found that Miss Vandeleur and the three girls had gone abroad,
leaving no address.
But later in the year she had a letter from Frances.
"MY DEAR HONORA,
"You must not blame me for not writing until now. I have leave to do
so, and to tell you all the news. Daisy and Violet were both married
yesterday—Daisy to Captain Bruce, whose regiment is in India, where
they are to go at once; Violet to a German gentleman named Erckhart,
who lost his heart to her voice, which he declares is something
wonderful, or will be when he has trained it. He is music mad, but
seems a pleasant kind of man. I send you her address and Daisy's. Write
to them (this is a message from them), and they will write to you.
"Miss Vandeleur, having now married the two girls, is about to travel
extensively, and I am to go with her. She will not return to England
for years. I do not think she has decided on her route, but I will
write to you when I can, and tell you where a letter may find me. But
we shall be in very distant places. This is what I was to tell you. I
wish I could see you.
"Your affectionate sister,
"FRANCES VANDELEUR."
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