"Thank you," I said. "You will be glad some day to have had that
letter."
"I am glad now," said Annas, quietly, as she restored it to its place.
"And ere long we shall be glad together. The tears help the journey,
not hinder it."
"How calm you are, Annas!" I said, wondering at her.
"The time for Miss Keith to be otherwise has not come yet," said Mr
Raymond's voice behind me. "I think, Miss Courtenay, you have not seen
much sorrow."
"I have not, Sir," said I, turning to him. "I think I have seen--and
felt--more in the last six months than ever before."
"And I dare say you have grown more in that period," he made answer,
"than in all the years before. You know in what sort of stature I
mean."
He left us, and went up-stairs, and Ephraim came in soon after. I had
no words with Flora alone, and only a moment with Annas. She came with
us to the door.
"Does Flora understand?" I whispered, as I kissed Annas for good-bye.
"I think not, Cary. I hope not. It would be far better."
"_You_ do?" said I.
"I knew it long ago," she answered. "It is no new thing."
We went back to Bloomsbury Square, where I found in the drawing-room a
whole parcel of visitors--Mrs Newton and her daughters, and a lot of
the Pages (there are twelve of them), Sir Anthony Parmenter, and a young
gentleman and gentlewoman who were strangers to me. Grandmamma called
me up at once.
"Here, child," said she, "come and speak to your cousins. These are my
brother's grandchildren--your second cousins, my dear." And she
introduced them--Mr Roland and Miss Hilary Carlingford.
What contrasts there are in this world, to be sure! As my Cousin Hilary
sat by me, and asked me if I went often to the play, and if I had seen
Mrs Bellamy, [A noted actress of that day] and whether I loved music,
and all those endless questions that people seem as if they must ask you
when they first make acquaintance with you,--all at once there came up
before me the white, calm face of Annas Keith, and the inner vision of
Colonel Keith in his prison, waiting so patiently and heroically for
death. And oh, how small did the one seem, and how grand the other!
Could there be a doubt which was nearer God?
A lump came up in my throat, which I had to swallow before I could tell
Hilary that I loved old ballads and such things better than what they
call classical music, much of which seems to me like running up and down
without any aim or tune to it--and she was giving me a tap with her fan,
and saying,--
"Oh, fie, Cousin Caroline! Don't tell the world your taste is so bad as
that!"
Suddenly a sound broke across it all, that sent everything vanishing
away, present and future, good and ill, and carried me off to the old
winter parlour at Brocklebank.
"Bless me, man! don't you know how to carry a basket?" said a voice,
which I felt as ready and as glad to welcome as if it had been that of
an angel. "Well, you Londoners have not much pith. We Cumberland folks
don't carry our baskets with the tips of our fingers--can't, very often;
they are a good heft."
"Madam," said Dobson at the door, looking more uncomfortable than I had
ever seen him, "here is a--a person--who--"
"Woman, man! I'm a woman, and not ashamed of it! Mrs Desborough,
Madam, I hope you are well."
What Grandmamma was going to do or say, I cannot tell. She sat looking
at her visitor from head to foot, as if she were some kind of curiosity.
I am afraid I spoilt the effect completely, for with a cry of "Aunt
Kezia!" I rushed to her and threw my arms round her neck, and got a
warmer hug than I expected my Aunt Kezia to have given me. Oh dear,
what a comfort it was to see her! She was what nobody else was in
Bloomsbury Square--something to lean on and cling to. And I did cling
to her: and if I went down in the esteem of all the big people round me,
I felt as if I did not care a straw about it, now that I had got my own
dear Aunt Kezia again.
"Here's one glad to see me, at any rate!" said my Aunt Kezia; and I
fancy her eyes were not quite dry.
"Here are two, Aunt Kezia," said Hatty, coming up.
"Mrs Kezia Courtenay, is it not?" said Grandmamma, so extra graciously
that I felt sure she was vexed. "I am extreme glad to see you, Madam.
Have you come from the North to-day? Hester, my dear, you will like to
take your aunt to your chamber. Caroline, you may go also, if you
desire it."
Thus benignantly dismissed, we carried off my Aunt Kezia as if she had
been a casket of jewels. And as to what the fine folks said behind our
backs, either of her or of us, I do not believe either Hatty or I cared
a bit. I can answer for one of us, anyhow.
"Now sit down and rest yourself, Aunt Kezia," said I, when we reached
our chamber. "Oh, how delightful it is to have you! Is Father well?
Are we to go home?"
And then it flashed upon me--to go home, leaving Colonel Keith in
prison, and Annas and Flora in such a position! Must we do that? I
listened somewhat anxiously for my Aunt Kezia's answer.
"It is pleasant to see you, girls, I can tell you. And it is double
pleasant to have such a hearty welcome to anybody. Your Father and
Sophy are quite well, and everybody else. You are to go home?--ay: but
when, we'll see by-and-by. But now I want my questions answered, if you
please. I shall be glad to know what has come to you both? I sent off
two throddy, rosy-cheeked maids to London, that did a bit of credit to
Cumberland air and country milk, and here are two poor, thin, limp,
white creatures, that look as if they had lost all the sunshine out of
them. What have you been doing to yourselves?--or what has somebody
else been doing to you? Which is it?"
"Cary must speak for herself," said Hatty, "Hatty must speak for
herself," said I.
Hatty laughed.
"It is somebody else, with Hatty," I went on, "and I don't quite know
how it is with me, Aunt Kezia. I have been feeling for some weeks past
as if I had the world on my shoulders."
"Your shoulders are not strong enough for that, child," replied my Aunt
Kezia. "There is but one shoulder which can carry the world. `The
government shall be upon His shoulder.' You may well look poor if you
have been at that work. Where are Flora and Miss Keith?--and what has
become of their brothers, both?"
"Annas and Flora have just come back to London," said Hatty. "But Angus
is in dreadful trouble, Aunt; and I do not know where Colonel Keith is--
with the Prince, I suppose."
"No, Hatty," said I. "Aunt Kezia, Angus is safe, but an exile in
France; and Colonel Keith lies in Newgate Prison, waiting for death."
"What do you know about it?" asked Hatty, in an astonished tone.
My Aunt Kezia looked from one of us to the other.
"You cannot both be right," said she. "I hope you are mistaken, Cary."
"I have no chance to be so," I answered; and I heard my voice tremble.
"Colonel Keith bought Angus's freedom with his own life. At least,
there is every reason to fear that result, and none to hope."
"Then that man who escaped was Angus?" asked Hatty.