The winter wore slowly away. The snow was fast disappearing from
mountain and fields, and the streets were growing dirty and uneven, as,
under the influence of the sun in the lengthening days of March, the ice
began to yield, and an early spring was anticipated.
Except for the sunshine, which is usually bright, this is not a pleasant
time of the year in the city of M--. It is a time for high winds, and
the streets are rough when the frost is strong, and very wet and
slippery when the thaw sets in; and people who are not obliged to go
out, usually keep within doors for a week or two, till the season
advances, and the streets are cleared. But when, as happens in most
seasons, a heavy fall of snow comes to restore for a day the reign of
winter, few fail to avail themselves of the opportunity to renew the
winter's chief enjoyment. Sleigh bells tinkle merrily, and the streets
are full of gay equipages gliding smoothly and noiselessly to and fro.
Such a day came after a week of alternate rain and wind and sleet, and
the sisters gladly found themselves speeding away from home and from the
city streets. The fresh air, the sunshine, and the rapid motion had an
exhilarating effect upon their spirits after the confinement of the last
few days, and the burden of doubt and dread that had fallen on them grew
lighter. The last English letter had been less discouraging than the
former ones; Frederica was growing better and stronger, and they were
more cheerful and lively than they had been for a long time. Neither
Madame Precoe nor Miss Agnace was with them, and they amused themselves
with making plans as to what they were to do when their father came
home. For a long time it had been, "If papa comes home," but to-day
they said cheerfully, "When papa comes home."
"Oh, how glad papa will be to see us all again!" said Frederica. "And,
Lena and Tessie, I think he must have changed in some things."
"He will be glad to get home, I am sure; but as to his being changed--I
don't know about that," said Tessie.
"He has suffered so much," said Frederica; "and God sends suffering to
do people good. And besides, Cecilia's letters make me think so."
"And his little letters to us," said Selina.
"Oh! if he were only safe home with us again!" said Frederica. "This
has been such a long winter, and I am afraid to think of the summer
without papa or any one."
"Any one! We have only too many people;" and Tessie went on to say
something not at all polite about Madame and Father Jerome, and they
were in danger of taking up their burden again as they came back to the
town.
"Where are we?" asked Selina as the street noises told her they were
near home.
"We are in M--Street, near where the tall poplars are. They are
building a new house, and the fence has fallen down, and there are a
great many sleighs passing along," said Frederica, as her manner was,
using her eyes for her sister's benefit; and then Tessie went on,--
"And here are school-boys, hundreds of them, I should think. Listen to
the noise as they pass. A shabby lot they are. The Brothers should
dress their boys in uniform--they would look much nicer. One would
think all the old clothes in the town had been collected for their
benefit."
"Listen," said Selina suddenly, "Some one is calling Fred."
They listened, but amid the jingling of bells and the trampling of feet
nothing was heard.
"It was Charlie's voice. I am quite sure it was Charlie's voice," said
Selina.
"But Lena dear, it is quite impossible," said Tessie. "Charlie is far
away."
"It was Charlie's voice. First he called `Fred,' and then `Lena,
Lena.'"
The horses' heads were turned, and they drove slowly along by the line
of boys. There was noise enough, laughing, talking, and exclaiming, but
no voice called `Fred' or `Lena.' When they had passed, they turned
again, and waited as the boys moved on, and both Fred and Tessie eagerly
scanned each face as it came near. There were all sorts of faces, dark
and fair, handsome and ugly, bright, eager, laughing faces, and faces
stupid, dull, and unhappy. But the face of Charlie was not among them.
"It was Charlie's voice," said Selina, and nothing could move her from
that.
They went home full of wonder and anxiety. They told Miss Agnace about
the voice that Selina had heard, but Miss Agnace said nothing. They
told Madame Precoe, when she came in, and she expressed more surprise
than she needed to have expressed, seeing she had already heard all
about the incident from Louis the coachman, as indeed, she generally
heard of the incidents, and even of the conversations, that attended
their drives, when she was not with them.
By-and-by Mr Jerome came in, and he was interested too, but laughed a
little at Selina's fancy.
"You were thinking of your brother, and imagined the voice," said he.
Selina said nothing.
"Or rather, you heard many voices, and the names were a fancy, or why
should not your sisters have heard them also? It is nothing to look so
grave about, my child."
"It was Charlie's voice," said Selina.
"And we were not thinking of our brothers, but looking and talking. And
Selina hears much more readily than we do," said Tessie.
Frederica said nothing. She was not strong yet, and she was in that
nervous anxious state when nothing in the way of trouble seems
impossible, and she looked pale and unhappy.
"Could we not go to the school and ask if Charlie was among the boys?"
said Tessie.
"We could certainly do that," said Father Jerome, "if it would set your
minds at rest. Shall we go at once?"
But Madame said the girls needed rest, and they must wait till
to-morrow, or at least till afternoon, and this was acquiesced in by
them all.
Of course, when they went there, they found no Charlie. They found a
great many boys, who scanned them with sharp, attentive eyes, as they
passed down the long class-room. They heard them sing and do some of
their lessons, and they saw them file down to the long dining-hall to
their supper of dry bread and pease coffee. Then they went through
other long rooms, and through the great dormitory, where the little grey
beds stood close together in long rows, and where nothing else was seen.
They went up many stairs, and looked down on numberless city roofs, and
that was all.
Everybody was polite and attentive, and thanked them for coming, and
asked them to come again. Then Madame Precoe and each of the girls put
a piece of money in the charity box that hung on the wall near the door,
and then they went away.
That was all. Of course it had been very foolish in them to expect to
see their brother, Fred and Tessie said to one another as they walked
down the stairs; but when they came home and saw Selina's expectant
face, they looked at one another in doubt again.
Madame sat with them that evening, and exerted herself to amuse them and
to withdraw their thoughts from their brother, and from Selina's foolish
fancy about the voice she had heard. Miss Agnace was rarely with them
when Madame was there, and when she went upstairs with them she would
not linger to talk with them as she sometimes did.
"You are not to listen to them or speak about this foolish fancy, and
they will forget it," said Madame to her. "In a few days it will not
matter what they know. But in the meantime they might complicate
matters by discussing their affairs with other people. And remember,
should any one call when I am out, the young ladies are engaged. And
should it be impossible to deny any one, remember you must know all that
may be said."
Miss Agnace assented silently.
"And when you go as usual to Mr St. Cyr's, remember you are to say
nothing of this foolish fancy of Miss Selina's. He could do nothing,
even if he understood; and they will soon be out of his hands, and the
sooner the better for all concerned. You understand what I wish, do you
not?"
Again Miss Agnace assented in silence. She was by no means sure how all
this would seem to her, when she should have time to think it over, but
there was nothing to be said. She was not bound to obey blindly Madame
Precoe's commands, except as they expressed the will of Father Jerome
also; and in the single moment in which she permitted herself to
question, a great many unhappy thoughts rushed into her mind. And they
would not be put away, even when it became clear to her that for the
plans with regard to the future of these children, and all that they
involved, Father Jerome was responsible. Madame Precoe was but an
instrument in his hands, as she herself was. Father Jerome must not be
accused of doing wrong--at least, the end he had in view was right, and
that ought to be enough.
Ought it to be enough? Poor Sister Agnace had never been in the habit
of deciding between right and wrong for herself, and she was sadly
puzzled now. It was such a pity, she thought, that it was necessary to
deceive these children for their good. There would be strong resistance
on their part, she began to fear, to the power that was shaping their
fate.
"And they will suffer. Oh! how they will suffer?" said the poor anxious
creature to herself. "But it is for their souls' sake, and their
suffering will only be for this world; and surely, Mary and the saints
will soften their trouble, poor darlings! Father Jerome must, of
course, be right. But it hurts me to deceive them, because they love me
a little, and trust me."
She went that night to pay her usual monthly visit to Mr St. Cyr. She
answered his questions. She told him no lie, but she kept silence, as
Madame had bidden her, about all that could have awakened the anxiety of
their friend and guardian on their account. Unintentionally she made
him aware that Madame Precoe was living with them; but he said nothing.
He thanked Miss Agnace for her care of the girls and their mother, and
for her love and faithfulness to them, and expressed a hope that as long
as they should need her, she might be permitted to remain with them.
Poor Miss Agnace! She went into a church on her way home, and knelt for
a long hour or two in the cold and darkness, but she carried still her
burden of doubt and care when she went away.
A few more weeks passed away. Frederica said nothing now about going to
her father, for they were not without hope that when the spring came he
might return home. He longed very much to come, they knew, and they
permitted themselves to hope, almost to believe, that they would see him
again, and waited for his coning with what patience they could command.
Tessie went to school again after the Easter holidays, and they missed
her sadly. But they both strove conscientiously, not only to be
patient, but to be happy, in the great lonely house that had so changed
to them. But waiting is weary work to young and eager hearts, and time
passed slowly.
The day for Tessie's first visit came, and they amused themselves making
preparations for her entertainment. But hour after hour passed, and she
did not appear. Instead of Tessie, came Madame with her work-basket in
her hand, and with the evident intention of remaining. It was not a
pleasant prospect, and it is to be feared they were not quite able to
hide their discomfort under it.
"Frederica," said Madame, "pray do not be so restless--so unsettled.
You had much better take your work, and be content to sit still." But
Frederica could settle to nothing till Tessie came.
"Expect Tessie? Nay, you need not do that Tessie is not coming home."
"Excuse me, Madame, but it was certainly to-day that we agreed on for
her visit, and Miss Glencairn will be sure to allow her."
"But unfortunately it is not a question of Miss Glencairn's kindness.
It has long been evident that Miss Tessie has got beyond Miss Glencairn
and her little attempts at education; and she has been sent elsewhere--
to the ladies of the Sacred Heart, where you all should have been sent
long ago. I have no doubt she will be quite happy there. She will, at
all events, be judiciously dealt with."