Miss Agnace was right. The next day Frederica began with her own hands
the preparations for the voyage she was determined to make, and Miss
Agnace, going up in a little while to her room, found her lying on the
floor, among the garments she had gathered together, quite insensible.
She had come to the end of her strength now. For the next few weeks she
knew little of what was going on in the house. Except that Selina was
with her now, as well as Miss Agnace, the days passed very much as they
had done after her father went away.
Tessie went willingly back to school, for Madame Precoe's presence in
the house was altogether distasteful to her. Madame had taken up her
abode with them, no one knew at whose request or suggestion. Her stay
gave pleasure to no one. Mrs Brandon was more than displeased, she was
indignant. But there was no one to whom appeal could be made. It was
to be presumed that Mr Jerome was carrying out the plans of Mr St.
Cyr, who was the proper person to act for Mrs Vane's children, and Mr
Jerome approved of Madame's residence with them. There was nothing to
be done therefore but to wait patiently till their father came home.
The boys were sent to school again within a few days after their
mother's funeral. Mr Jerome took them away, saying that school was the
best place for them, and so no doubt it was. The boys went away
willingly, for their home was altogether changed now.
For a good while Frederica was not sufficiently able to notice what was
going on about her, to be unhappy because of these things. Selina was
constantly saying to herself and her sister, that it would be well with
them, and they need not fear, and she believed it, and Frederica came to
believe it too.
But whether it was to be well with them or not, Frederica knew there was
nothing she could do to help it. What a poor weak little creature she
felt herself to be! Even Selina, whom she had meant to care for and
comfort, was stronger than she--stronger and wiser, and more to be
relied on in a time of trouble; and she found it difficult sometimes not
to murmur at her weakness.
She was very weak. The slightest exertion tired her. A word brought
tears to her eyes. She needed quite another kind of discipline than
that which she was getting at the hands of her sister and Miss Agnace,
Madame Precoe hinted to Mr Jerome, and she also hinted what sort of
discipline it ought to be. But either he did not agree with her, or had
not the power to put her plans in practice, for the girls were left
undisturbed together under Miss Agnace's care.
"Selina," said Frederica one day, after a hint from Madame Precoe, "I
had forgotten how very disagreeable Mrs Ascot used to be. Her visit
has taken away all the good effect of Miss Agnace's medicine."
"Don't be foolish, Fred dear," said her sister.
"Oh! you did not see her face, or the horrible shrug of her shoulders.
You cannot know. Has she quite taken possession of us and the house. I
wonder what her beloved Precoe can do without her!"
"Fred," said Selina, laughing, and kissing her, "you are almost your old
self again. It delights me to see you vexed with Prickly Polly."
Frederica laughed, partly at the old nickname, and partly at Selina's
way of saying it; for French had always been Selina's language with her
mother, and she spoke English with an accent not at all like the rest.
"But she is not `Prickly Polly' now. She is not easily offended as she
used to be. I have not tried certainly; but she has a grand and
satisfied air, as though she had but to speak to put things on a
pleasant footing--for herself at least."
"You must rise, Fred, and sit on this chair. You are quite well, I am
sure. She was not ten minutes in the room, and you saw all that."
"Oh! Selina," said Frederica, with a sigh, "it is very sad to think now
of the days when we were young and had no trouble."
"But then, we are still rather young, are we not?" said Selina gravely.
"And if you remember, there never was a time when we were quite without
trouble. Always mama was ill, and there were other things sometimes."
"Yes, that is true."
"Mama will not suffer any more, and I am glad for her."
But it was a tearful smile that bore witness to her gladness, and
Frederica broke into weeping as she looked at her sister's face.
"Oh! Lena! Lena!" she gasped, "are we never to have her with us any
more? nor papa--"
"Hush, Fred! Don't cry like that," said Selina, crying herself, but
more gently. "Think how well she is, and how satisfied. And papa may
come home; but I don't think he will: I think he will go to mama. He
has had all this long time to think, and to be sorry. And Jesus loves
him too. He gave Himself for _him_."
"Oh! Lena! Lena!" was all that Frederica could say.
"And, darling, think how glad mama will be! and nothing shall grieve
them any more. We shall be with them there; and you may go very soon,
for you are not strong."
Frederica was startled by her sister's words.
"No. I am not strong: but to die! Lena, I must not die. I must live
to take care of you all. Oh! what a foolish girl I am! As though I
could do anything!" and her tears fell fast as her sister tried to
soothe her.
"And, Lena, I would not like to die yet, even to see mama. I am not
good like you."
"Hush, dear. I think God will let you live to take care of us all. And
you are not to cry any more to-night. For indeed, except that you are
weak and tired, there is no cause."
But Frederica was weak in body and mind, and cried herself to sleep, and
Miss Agnace saw with anxiety her flushed wet cheeks when she came in.
"I almost wish she might have her desire, and go away to England," said
she as she stood looking at her. "She needs something to rouse and
interest her. But perhaps Madame's plan for her would be best."
"What is her plan?" asked Selina quickly. "My child, Madame has given
me no authority to speak of any plan of hers. But I wish there could
come a change of some kind for this poor Miss Frederica."
"She is better, and I don't know why Madame Precoe should take trouble
in making plans for us. What has she to do with us, or our plans?"
"Nay, my child! It is not well to say anything in that voice and
manner. It is not like you. It will all be well, as you often say.
Why should you be afraid?"
"Yes, it will be well," said Selina, and she thought so still, though
she felt that her sister's eyes were wet beneath her kiss. "We must
have patience a little while. It will all be well."
"Yes, it will be well," said Miss Agnace, thinking how Father Jerome had
set himself to the work of saving these children. Yet she sighed, too;
for she had learned to love them dearly, and she longed that they should
be happy, as well as safe. If Father Jerome were permitted to have his
will as to their future life, she feared that suffering must come before
the happiness. She could not help them much, she knew, still she gave
them good counsel, repeated her little legends, and prayed earnestly to
Mary and the saints in their behalf. In her heart she believed it would
be well with them in the end, and in the meantime she longed to comfort
them and to teach them as well. So that night, as the young girls sat
in the darkening room a little sad and dreary, with the tears not very
far from the eyes of either of them, she said softly,--
"My children, do you never comfort yourselves and one another by praying
for your dear mother's soul?"
Frederica looked at her in astonishment, not quite free from anger.
"I do not understand you, Miss Agnace," said Selina gently.
"It would soothe and comfort you, would it not, to feel that you might
still do something for your dear mama?"
"We do what we think would please her by loving one another, and caring
for our brothers and Tessie. We can do nothing more," said Selina.
"Ah! who knows?" said Miss Agnace. "It is dark beyond the grave."
"The grave is dark, but beyond the grave is heaven. Do you know what is
said of it, Miss Agnace? `And the city had no need of the sun neither
of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and
the Lamb is the light thereof.' Frederica, read about it to Miss
Agnace."
But Frederica made no movement.
"Miss Agnace does not care for the Bible. Father Jerome is her Bible.
I am glad he is not mine," said Frederica contemptuously; for she was
not pleased with what Miss Agnace had said. Miss Agnace took no notice.
"We know so little," said she. "But the Church teaches us that there
are purifying fires through which some, even some of the saints, have
had to pass to heaven. Every day I pray that if your dear mother is not
yet safe and happy, the time may be hastened."
Frederica uttered an angry cry.
"Nay, but I fear Father Jerome would say all that was wrong--to pray for
the soul of a heretic."
"Fred dear, that is quite wrong," said Selina, but she was herself very
pale. "If you please, Miss Agnace will not speak of these things on
which we do not think alike. But, Frederica, it is foolish to be
angry."
"But, my dear children, though we may keep silence, or forget, that will
change nothing. And the Church teaches no doctrine more clearly than
that some must enter heaven through purifying fires."
"We will not talk about it," said Frederica.
If they had talked all night about it, Miss Agnace could have said no
more. The Church taught the doctrine--none more plainly--and there were
examples enough, of which she could have told them.
"No, we will speak no more," said Selina. "Only this, Miss Agnace.
There is a word which you believe as well as we: `The blood of Jesus
Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.' Now surely those who are
cleansed in this precious blood need no purifying fires. And there is
nothing else. The Book of God tells of no other way."
"Yes, I know it is the blood of Jesus. Still the Church is clear in her
teaching, and it would do no harm to ask. It might comfort you, and who
knows--?"
"It would be mockery; for we do not believe in it," said Frederica.
"It would be wrong," said Selina. "It would dishonour the Lord Jesus.
He has done all for His people. He saves to the uttermost, He needs no
help from purifying fires. Could any one say, could even David have
said, `Yea, though I walk through the valley and shadow of death, I will
fear no evil, for Thou art with me,' if there had been any danger that
after all he might be left behind? And the old man told us, `Death is
swallowed up in victory.'"
"The Bible is what we go by," said Frederica, "and we do not mind what
else is said."
"But, dear child," said Miss Agnace, showing no anger, though
Frederica's manner might well have provoked it, "you have not read even
all the Bible carefully; and besides, how can children like you
interpret what is written there? Indeed, it is because I love you that
I speak of these things."
"We know you love us," said Selina. "But there is only this to be said:
Jesus died that we might live for ever. This is for you, and for us,
and for all who believe on Him and love Him. All other words are vain."
Nothing more was said; but that Miss Agnace was grieved and anxious
about them, they could plainly see.
"Selina," said Frederica, when they were left alone, "did her words make
you afraid?"
"No," said Selina slowly, "I am not afraid."
"But how did you know how to answer her? I could only be angry. But we
will not speak about it. Oh, dear! I am so tired of Miss Agnace and
her teaching. I wish--"
"But you like her better than Madame Precoe."
"Much better, but why should we have either?"
"I do not know. But now we have both, and there seems to be no one
else," said Selina, with a sigh.
"Oh! if papa could only come! We should have no more of Madame Precoe,
or Father Jerome, or any of them. Everybody seems to have forsaken us."
"No. A great many people have called. But you have been so ill--and
Madame does not care to have even Miss Robina come up. Oh! Fred dear,
if you were only quite well again?"
"I shall be well, I am determined. I shall be equal to Madame Precoe
very soon."
"I do not know why she is here. We do not need her more than we did
before. When you are well, you must ask Mr St. Cyr."
"I shall be well I feel quite strong when I think of Madame Ascot
Precoe. And we can get Tessie home."
"But that is not a very sure strength, I am afraid. And the best way
will be to wait patiently till papa comes home, or till--"
Selina stopped suddenly, and Frederica, notwithstanding her boasted
strength, burst into tears. They felt very forlorn and friendless,
these young girls. There were many in M--who cared for them, and who
would gladly have come to them with help and counsel. But they seemed
to be under other guardianship. No offered kindness to them was well
received either by Mr Jerome St. Cyr, or by Madame Precoe. To the
young people themselves there was little chance of access, and those who
felt kindly towards them had no opportunity of showing their feelings.
Even Mrs Brandon was kept at home by the care of an infant daughter,
and no wonder that they began to feel their loneliness press sadly on
them.
"We can have Tessie home for awhile. I will write a note to Miss
Robina, and she will let her come. Then she can read to us, and go out
in the sleigh with you."
The note was written, and Tessie came home, well pleased to be made
useful, and they brightened up a little. Frederica grew better, and was
soon able to drive with her sisters. She made several attempts, more or
less successful, to let Madame Precoe see that she was not the mistress
of the house, nor even the housekeeper, as she once had been. She was
too well bred, and heeded too entirely the peacemaking suggestions of
Selina, to say or do anything to make her aware that she was not
altogether a welcome visitor. To all appearance Madame was quite
content with her ill-defined position in the house, and willing to be on
the best of terms with them all. Tessie took less pains than the rest
to be agreeable to her, but Madame would take no offence; and beyond a
suggestion, that it was not wise to have Tessie losing so much of her
time from school, she did not interfere with their arrangements with
regard to her.
But though there was nothing to disturb the outward quiet of the time,
it was a time of trial to them all. There was in every one of them a
feeling that they were waiting for something--a sense of dread and
doubt, that went deeper than the fear that they might never see their
father again. Of that there was little hope. The tidings that came
from him varied with every mail, and did not become more hopeful. There
never had been much hope that he would be quite well, and now it seemed
doubtful whether he would be able to return home again; and gradually,
as the winter wore away, there fell on them a dread of what might follow
his death to them all.
Mr St. Cyr was still an invalid, quite confined to the house. They
used to go round that way when they went to drive, and several times
Frederica had made an attempt to see him. But he was able to see no
one, she was always told: His brother seemed to have taken his place
with them, as far as the guidance of their affairs was concerned; but
they did not trust Mr Jerome as they had been taught to trust Mr St.
Cyr. He was kind in many ways, granting without hesitation almost all
the requests made to him, and refusing, when he was obliged to refuse,
in a way which ought not to have offended them. But it was not clear to
them, that he had a right to assume any guardianship or authority over
them, and they made one another unhappy, and sometimes angry, by
discussing his possible motives, and the designs he might have with
regard to them.
If there had been nothing else, the stand he took with regard to Madame
Precoe's residence with them would have made them dislike him. He said
decidedly, when appealed to, that she must remain. A family of young
girls in their circumstances could not well be left without some
responsible person to take charge of them. There was no one so well
fitted for the position as Madame. Her former residence in the house
made this evident. Her society was not, it seemed, indispensable to the
happiness of Mr Precoe. At least, she could be spared, and was willing
to devote herself to their interests. What complaint had they against
her?
They had no complaints, except that Tessie detested her, and Frederica
did not trust her; but neither the one nor the other could give any
satisfactory reason for the feelings entertained toward her, and she
remained.
She had taken the affairs of the house into her own hands from the very
first. There were changes made in various respects. Old servants were
dismissed for reasons which commended themselves to her judgment and the
judgment of Mr Jerome, and she did not trouble the young ladies about
the matter. Still she was not unreasonable with regard to this, nor
arbitrary, as the priest took pains to point out to them. For when they
indignantly exclaimed against the dismissal of old Dixen, Madame
certainly did not look pleased, but she did not insist. Dixen still
kept his place in the house, and came and went at everybody's bidding,
but he was no longer permitted to drive the young ladies as he had
always done before. It was dangerous in the crowded streets, Madame
said, for Dixen was getting both deaf and blind, and his place was given
to one whom she considered in every way worthy of confidence.
Madame did not trouble herself to answer expostulations or objections.
She did not resent Frederica's but half-concealed distrust, or Tessie's
open impertinence. Like every one else in the house, she seemed waiting
for something--"biding her time," as Tessie said, and knowing her as
they did, they were hardly to be blamed for looking forward with dread,
and for the determination, daily strengthening, to resist her influence
and interference when the time for change should come.
Miss Agnace was with them still, but she was very grave and silent at
this time. Any day or hour she might be recalled to her hospital and
her sick people again, and she was sad at the thought of leaving the
children whom she had learned to love so well. But she was sad for
another reason too--a reason which ought _not_ to have troubled her.
This silent, patient, humble woman, who had long ago forgotten what it
was to have hopes, or fears, or wishes of her own, had her heart stirred
to its utmost depths for the sake of these orphan children. She was
afraid for them. And yet, why should she be afraid? Why should she
look forward with such dread to the change and separation that sooner or
later must come to them? Were they not to be in good keeping? Had not
Father Jerome given himself to the work of caring for their souls, of
bringing them into the true Church? thus ensuring their happiness, both
in this world and the next. They must suffer a little while, being
separated from each other; but with such good and gentle children the
struggle would not be long. Why should she fear for them? So blessed
an end would justify the use of any means, and who was she that she
should judge the actions of one like Father Jerome?
But in spite of her confidence in the priest, in spite of her reasonings
and her indignation at herself because of her misgivings, she had
painful sinkings of heart for the children's sakes. Sometimes, as she
sat listening to their conversation, or watched Frederica writing to
their little brothers letters which would never reach them, because she
knew they must be given by her into Father Jerome's hands, to be read
and smiled at, and put into the fire, she had a feeling of pain and
shame which no confidence in the priest, no belief in the good work he
was to do in the saving of these children's souls, could quite put away.
She knew that, with the will of Father Jerome, the sisters would not
for years see their brothers again. She knew that into his plans for
them the entire separation of the sisters entered. It might be best for
them, she acknowledged, but it was very, very sad.
The boys had not been sent back to the school from which they had been
brought at the time of their mother's death. They were in one of the
great Catholic schools of the city, where hundreds of boys of all ages
and classes were taught. It was a good school, Miss Agnace believed,
and they would be well taught and well disciplined, and where no evil
could befall them. It was the best place in the world for them, she was
sure. But she shrank with a feeling of pain and shame from the thought
that their sisters were being deceived with regard to them. And if it
was wrong for Father Jerome and Madame Precoe, what was it for her, whom
they loved and trusted, to deceive them? Many a painful question, which
she could not answer, came into Miss Agnace's thoughts during these days
of waiting--questions which she called sinful--but which she could
neither answer nor put quite away.