THE FIRST WARNING.
For a day or two Jane Merrick seemed to improve in health. Indeed,
Martha Phibbs declared her mistress was better than she had been for
weeks. Then, one night, the old attendant was awakened by a scream,
and rushed to her mistress' side.
"What is it, ma'am?" she asked, tremblingly.
"My leg! I can't move my leg," gasped the mistress of Elmhurst. "Rub
it, you old fool! Rub it till you drop, and see if you can bring back
the life to it."
Martha rubbed, of course, but the task was useless. Oscar the groom
was sent on horseback for the nearest doctor, who came just as day
was breaking. He gave the old woman a brief examination and shook his
head.
"It's the first warning," said he; "but nothing to be frightened
about. That is, for the present."
"Is it paralysis?" asked Jane Merrick.
"Yes; a slight stroke."
"But I'll have another?"
"Perhaps, in time."
"How long?"
"It may be a week--or a month--or a year. Sometimes there is
never another stroke. Don't worry, ma'am. Just lie still and be
comfortable."
"Huh!" grunted the old woman. But she became more composed and obeyed
the doctor's instructions with unwonted meekness. Silas Watson arrived
during the forenoon, and pressed her thin hand with real sympathy,
for these two were friends despite the great difference in their
temperaments.
"Shall I draw your will, Jane?" he asked. "No!" she snapped. "I'm not
going to die just yet, I assure you. I shall live to carry out my
plans, Silas."
She did live, and grew better as the days wore on, although she never
recovered the use of the paralyzed limb.
Each day Phibbs drew the invalid chair to the porch and old James
lifted it to the garden walk, where his mistress might enjoy the
flowers he so carefully and skillfully tended. They seldom spoke
together, these two; yet there seemed a strange bond of sympathy
between them.
At last the first of July arrived, and Oscar was dispatched to the
railway station, four miles distant, to meet Miss Elizabeth De
Graf, the first of the nieces to appear in answer to Jane Merrick's
invitation.
Beth looked very charming and fresh in her new gown, and she greeted
her aunt with a calm graciousness that would have amazed the professor
to behold. She had observed carefully the grandeur and beauty of
Elmhurst, as she drove through the grounds, and instantly decided the
place was worth an effort to win.
"So, this is Elizabeth, is it?" asked Aunt June, as the girl stood
before her for inspection. "You may kiss me, child."
Elizabeth advanced, striving to quell the antipathy she felt to kiss
the stern featured, old woman, and touched her lips to the wrinkled
forehead.
Jane Merrick laughed, a bit sneeringly, while Beth drew back, still
composed, and looked at her relative enquiringly.
"Well, what do you think of me?" demanded Aunt Jane, as if embarrassed
at the scrutiny she received.
"Surely, it is too early to ask me that," replied Beth, gently. "I am
going to try to like you, and my first sight of my new aunt leads me
to hope I shall succeed."
"Why shouldn't you like me?" cried the old woman. "Why must you try to
like your mother's sister?"
Beth flushed. She had promised herself not to become angry or
discomposed, whatever her aunt might say or do; but before she could
control herself an indignant expression flashed across her face and
Jane Merrick saw it.
"There are reasons," said Beth, slowly, "why your name is seldom
mentioned in my father's family. Until your letter came I scarcely
knew I possessed an aunt. It was your desire we should become better
acquainted, and I am here for that purpose. I hope we shall become
friends, Aunt Jane, but until then, it is better we should not discuss
the past."
The woman frowned. It was not difficult for her to read the character
of the child before her, and she knew intuitively that Beth was
strongly prejudiced against her, but was honestly trying not to allow
that prejudice to influence her. She decided to postpone further
interrogations until another time.
"Your journey has tired you," she said abruptly. "I'll have Misery
show you to your room."
She touched a bell beside her.
"I'm not tired, but I'll go to my room, if you please," answered Beth,
who realized that she had in some way failed to make as favorable an
impression as she had hoped. "When may I see you again?"
"When I send for you," snapped Aunt Jane, as the housekeeper entered.
"I suppose you know I am a paralytic, and liable to die at any time?"
"I am very sorry," said Beth, hesitatingly. "You do not seem very
ill."
"I'm on my last legs. I may not live an hour. But that's none of your
business, I suppose. By the way, I expect your cousin on the afternoon
train."
Beth gave a start of surprise.
"My cousin?" she asked.
"Yes, Louise Merrick."
"Oh!" said Beth, and stopped short.
"What do you mean by that?" enquired Aunt Jane, with a smile that was
rather malicious.
"I did not know I had a cousin," said the girl. "That is," correcting
herself, "I did not know whether Louise Merrick was alive or not.
Mother has mentioned her name once or twice in my presence; but not
lately."
"Well, she's alive. Very much alive, I believe. And she's coming to
visit me, while you are here. I expect you to be friends."
"To be sure," said Beth, nevertheless discomfited at the news.
"We dine at seven," said Aunt Jane. "I always lunch in my own room,
and you may do the same," and with a wave of her thin hand she
dismissed the girl, who thoughtfully followed the old housekeeper
through the halls.
It was not going to be an easy task to win this old woman's affection.
Already she rebelled at the necessity of undertaking so distasteful a
venture and wondered if she had not made a mistake in trying to curb
her natural frankness, and to conciliate a creature whose very nature
seemed antagonistic to her own. And this new cousin, Louise Merrick,
why was she coming to Elmhurst? To compete for the prize Beth had
already determined to win? In that case she must consider carefully
her line of action, that no rival might deprive her of this great
estate. Beth felt that she could fight savagely for an object she so
much desired. Her very muscles hardened and grew tense at the thought
of conflict as she walked down the corridor in the wake of old Misery
the housekeeper. She had always resented the sordid life at Cloverton.
She had been discontented with her lot since her earliest girlhood,
and longed to escape the constant bickerings of her parents and their
vain struggles to obtain enough money to "keep up appearances" and
drive the wolf from the door. And here was an opportunity to win a
fortune and a home beautiful enough for a royal princess. All that was
necessary was to gain the esteem of a crabbed, garrulous old woman,
who had doubtless but a few more weeks to live. It must be done,
in one way or another; but how? How could she out-wit this unknown
cousin, and inspire the love of Aunt Jane?
"If there's any stuff of the right sort in my nature," decided the
girl, as she entered her pretty bedchamber and threw herself into a
chair, "I'll find a way to win out. One thing is certain--I'll never
again have another chance at so fine a fortune, and if I fail to get
it I shall deserve to live in poverty forever afterward."
Suddenly she noticed the old housekeeper standing before her and
regarding her with a kindly interest. In an instant she sprang up,
threw her arms around Misery and kissed her furrowed cheek.
"Thank you for being so kind," said she. "I've never been away from
home before and you must be a mother to me while I'm at Elmhurst."
Old Misery smiled and stroked the girl's glossy head.
"Bless the child!" she said, delightedly; "of course I'll be a mother
to you. You'll need a bit of comforting now and then, my dear, if
you're going to live with Jane Merrick."
"Is she cross?" asked Beth, softly.
"At times she's a fiend," confided the old housekeeper, in almost a
whisper. "But don't you mind her tantrums, or lay 'em to heart, and
you'll get along with her all right."
"Thank you," said the girl. "I'll try not to mind."
"Do you need anything else, deary?" asked Misery, with a glance around
the room.
"Nothing at all, thank you."
The housekeeper nodded and softly withdrew.
"That was one brilliant move, at any rate," said Beth to herself, as
she laid aside her hat and prepared to unstrap her small trunk. "I've
made a friend at Elmhurst who will be of use to me; and I shall make
more before long. Come as soon as you like, Cousin Louise! You'll have
to be more clever than I am, if you hope to win Elmhurst."