Madame Precoe's care in sending Sister Agnace into the garden because of
old Dixen, had been more needed than she supposed, but it came too late
to be of use. The old man had been busy near one of the walks as they
entered, and he had answered their greeting very briefly. But as he
stooped again he said hurriedly,--
"She thinks I am blind, but I can see her and the priest at the window
looking out. Go round to the other side behind the hedge, young ladies
dear, for I have something to tell you."
He worked on for a little while after they had disappeared. He worked
his way along the walk till he was out of sight of the windows, then
coming close to them he said in a whisper, as though he feared to be
overheard,--
"I have seen the little lads. Mrs Hearn told me something that made me
think they were at the school with her boys. I never let on that it was
not all right, and I watched afterwards, and saw them walking with the
rest. But they do not always walk, and they are well watched."
"I knew it was Charlie's voice," said Selina.
"Oh! Lena! Oh! Dixen! What shall we do?" said Frederica, clasping
her hands.
"Fred love! God will take care of them." But Selina herself grew pale.
"And is it true that Miss Tessie was sent away to the convent without a
word to you two?" went on Dixen. "I'm sore feared that something must
have happened to the master, or they would never have dared to do that."
"But it cannot be that, Dixen. For the boys must have been there a long
time. They were never sent back, I suppose," said Frederica.
"And we have heard nothing from papa for a fortnight," said Selina.
"It does not look well," said Dixen. "But, children dear, you are not
to fret. The boys are safe enough. No harm can come to them. We are
living in the Queen's dominions, thank God, and evil things can only be
done in secret. And, Miss Fred dear, you should go to Mrs Brandon, and
tell her about Miss Tessie and the little lads. And somebody that is
wise in the law should be told. I would have gone myself, but nobody
would heed such a story from the like of me. I am sore feared that no
good is meant to you all. And the priests are everywhere, and have the
means of making men do their will, that we know nothing of. Only here
they must keep things quieter than in some places. But don't let them
smuggle you all off without a word. They will tell you it is your souls
they would save, but it is your grandfather's money they want as well.
And here is that soft-spoken nun coming to hear what I may be saying.
Be sure you go to your sister this very day."
In his increasing excitement the old man used some words that are not
put down, and he went muttering to himself away.
"Here is Miss Agnace," said Frederica.
"We must be very quiet, and let her see nothing. Let us walk round the
other way to the house," said Selina.
"And I will go to Caroline. Anything is better than to sit still and
think about it," said Frederica excitedly.
They walked very quietly into the house, and went to their room.
"I will go at once, as Dixen said," and Frederica's preparations were
soon made.
The room where Madame and the priest were sitting looked back upon the
garden, so she got away without being seen. She had gone but a few
steps, when she heard Dixen's voice behind her.
"You are but weakly yet, Miss Frederica," said he, when she waited for
him, "and I will come with you. Just you go on without heeding me. I
will keep in sight. Can you walk all the way, think you?"
Frederica was doubtful about it. She was excited, and trembling, hot
and cold by turns. She was not very hopeful as to any help she could
get from her sister. She was ill, and her husband was cautious, and not
easily moved, and above all averse to interfere in matters where his
right to do so was not acknowledged.
"And he will say it is Mr St. Cyr that is doing all this--and it is not
impossible," said Frederica, with a new pang of terror. "But I don't
think he would deceive us. I will go to the school myself. I will take
them by surprise, and they will not have time to hide them as they must
have done before, and I will take them away."
It was not a very wise idea. Dixen shook his head, but Frederica
persisted, and the old man followed her up the street. But before they
had gone far they heard the hum of many voices, and the long line of
boys came in sight. Frederica turned into a doorway, and waited till
they passed, scanning each face eagerly. They were for the most part
bigger boys than her brothers. She looked in vain for the face of
either of them, and stood gazing blankly after the long line as it
passed down the street. The gate stood open, and she went and looked
in. The side door stood open also.
"Dixen," said she hurriedly, "I am going in. They cannot do me any
harm, and I may see Charlie, or little Hubert."
But this seemed a dreadful thing to Dixen.
"Miss Frederica, I cannot think it would be well to go. No one knows
what might happen," said he in distress.
"I am not afraid, Dixen. Yes, I am a little afraid. But I have prayed
to God, and so has Selina, and He will take care of me. Wait at the
corner; and if I don't come out in half an hour; you must tell some one,
and come for me."
But she did not keep him half that time. She went slowly up the steps
and in at the door. She did not go forward into the wide hall as she
had done when they came with Father Jerome, but turned at once, and went
up a narrow stair, down which the sound of voices came. Still following
the sound, she came to a room where a score or two of little boys were
amusing themselves. They did not see her at first, and she stood
watching them for a little while. She did not see her brothers, but she
called softly several times,--
"Charlie! Hubert! are you here?" And as she spoke, a little hand
touched hers, and she turned to meet the wondering eyes of her youngest
brother. Without a word, she drew him outside of the room, and along
the passage toward the stairs.
"Where is Charlie?" uttered she with difficulty. "No, we must not look
for him. I have one safe, and I can come again for Charlie."
It does not sound possible that this should have happened, but it is
perfectly true. The stairs were passed, and the hall, and they ran
across the yard, and into the street, and no eye had seen them. At
least, no hand had stopped them. It would not have been easy to stop
them, Frederica thought; for her courage rose to the occasion the moment
she felt the touch of her little brother's hand. It was a happy thing
that no one tried. Dixen rubbed his eyes as they passed him without a
word, but he lost not a moment in following them. After they had
crossed a good many streets, they paused, and he overtook them.
"Where shall we go? Not home. To Mrs Brandon's? Yes. And you must
go home and tell Selina. Go quickly, Dixen, before you are missed."
In her haste she had not noticed the way she was taking. The streets
were not familiar to her and as she hurried on, hardly daring to speak
to her brother, or even to look at him, she became bewildered and
anxious, and her courage failed a little.
"I am afraid Caroline will think I have been foolish. And they will be
sure to look in her house, as they will not find him at home. Oh! if I
only had a safe place in which to hide him for a few days!"
She thought of Mr St. Cyr's house. But then she was not sure that
their old friend had remained true to them. And besides, he was ill,
and Father Jerome was often there, and the house was no place for
Hubert.
"A safe place," repeated she, and then there came into her mind the
thought of Mistress Campbell and her garret, where there never entered a
creature, but Eppie herself. Without a moment's hesitation, she turned
her steps in the direction of Mrs Glencairn's house.
"Hubert dear," said she coaxingly, "you will be very good, won't you,
and stay with Mistress Campbell till I know what I ought to do. No one
will think of looking for you there."
"But are we not going home? Why should we not go home?" demanded
Hubert.
"It is quite impossible to-night," said Fred firmly. "Father Jerome
would have you back at school again this very night. You cannot go
home."
"Father Jerome? What has he to do with it? I don't know what you mean,
Fred."
"Was it not he who took you there, when he should have taken you back to
your former school again?"
No, Hubert thought not. He did not remember very well about it. But
Father Jerome had nothing to do with their going to school. But
Frederica had her doubts about it all the same, and hurried on.
"But we cannot go home, because mama is not there, nor papa. But Madame
is there, and you may be sure she would not let you even stay one night,
but send you back at once, and they would be sure to punish you for
coming without leave."
"It is you they ought to punish, Fred, I think," said Hubert.
"Ah! wouldn't they. If they could! And tell me about about Charlie.
Where was he?"
"But Hubert knew very little about his brother. They very seldom saw
each other. They were not in the same class."
"And are they good to you? Are you glad to come away?"
It was not so, bad as it might be. Still, Hubert was very glad to get
away. Some of the boys were not nice, and they had queer ways there.
But of his life there he had no complaint to make. In the midst of his
talk they reached Mrs Glencairn's house. They went round to the door
at the wing at which the pupils entered. They stumbled over a
scrubbing-brush and a pail of water at the open door, but they saw no
one; and went up till they reached the attic unseen.
"Where are we going?" said Hubert, holding fast his sister's hand in the
dimness, of the little passage. "Into the spider's parlour, I think."
"By no means," said Frederica, as she knocked. "We are going to see
Mistress Campbell; who used to be so good to Tessie and me when we were
at school. And you must not look surprised at anything you may see.
And, Hubert dear, you will be a good boy, won't you?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Why should I not be good?" said Hubert
impatiently.
"Eh, Missy! is this you?" exclaimed the old woman, holding up her hands
in astonishment. "And this is your wee brother?--a bonny laddie, but--"
Mistress Campbell could not finish her sentence; for, excited and tired
beyond her strength, Frederica burst into tears.
"My bairn! what is it?" said Eppie. "To think of my folly in speiring
that I after all that has come to you and yours, since we saw you here.
But, my dear, you have no cause to grieve--for your mama--"
Frederica put up her hand to stop her.
"No--I am glad for mama--but--I am frightened--and tired."
"Sit down and rest you, my bairn," said her old friend tenderly. "Go
away yonder to your window, and I'll make acquaintance with your brother
here--a fine lad he is."
Hubert, though a little startled at the sight of Frederica's tears, had
never taken his eyes from the small brown wrinkled face of the old
woman, and he met her look with an undisguised curiosity and wonder that
amused her.
"Your wee brother, did I say? No, this must be the elder of the two--
and a fine well-grown lad he is," said Mistress Campbell admiringly.
"No, Charlie is bigger than I am," said Hubert gravely.
"Dear me! I ay thought Miss Frederica's brothers were but wee boys; but
you have had time to grow, it's true, since I have been in the way of
hearing about you. You're near hand as big as Miss Frederica herself."
This was not saying very much, but it won the good-will of Hubert,
whether she meant it to do so or not. And some interesting confidences
followed on his part, in the midst of which his sister found him, when
she recovered herself.
"And you'll bide to your tea with me," said Mistress Campbell. "I'm
sore failed since you were here, Miss Frederica, but I am not altogether
helpless yet. So you'll bide still a wee while."
But Frederica was not sure that they ought to stay.
"First, I must tell you why we came," said she.
She told the story hurriedly, and it was doubtful whether Mrs Campbell
followed her closely through it all. She understood, however, that Miss
Tessie had been "spirited away," as she called it, and that from some
dread mysterious fate Frederica had courageously rescued her little
brother, and that in some way she was relied on for help.
"But I thought the days for such things were long past, and that they
only whiles happen in books," said he wondering. "But dear! dear! What
is the like o' me to ken about what is going on in the world? And one
has but to look out, first at one window and then another, at the great
buildings that are rising up on every hand, to be sure that the `scarlet
woman' has this for a favoured abiding-place. And I doubt she's no'
much changed since the old days, though her hands are a wee tied. And
you rescued your brother, did you? 'Deed you're a brave lassie."
But Hubert had no idea of being looked on as rescued.
"If I had known you cared about it, Fred, I could have run away any
time--I could have done it quite easily."
"I'm no' just so sure o' that," said Mistress Campbell gravely. "If
these long-coated gentry had a motive for keeping you, they wouldna have
let you go, or they would have had you back again."
"Yes, and no one must know where he is," said Frederica anxiously. "I
could think of no other safe place to bring him to. And, Hubert dear,
if Mistress Campbell will have you, you will stay here quietly till I
can see Caroline and Mr Brandon, or till papa comes home."
"There has nothing happened to your papa, has there? They're bold,
these folk, or they're sure o' their ground," said Mistress Campbell
gravely.
"Dixen said that about papa. But we have had no more news. We had no
letter last mail."
"Oh well! No news is good news, they say; and it's utter nonsense to
think that anything can really happen to harm you in a Christian country
like this."
"And in the Queen's dominions, as Dixen said," echoed Frederica
hopefully.
"And I'll keep the laddie safe, though the whole Inquisition were after
him. That's no' just the name they get here, I daresay; but I'll keep
the laddie, if he'll bide."
"You cannot go home, Hubert dear; for Madame Precoe is there, and Father
Jerome; and though he is so smooth and pleasant, I do not trust him;
and, indeed, I don't know what to do. Will you stay, dear Hubert?"
"Oh, yes, I'll stay, if you make a point of it. But there is no danger
for me," said Hubert loftily.
"Did you like staying at the school, my lad? Were they good to you?"
"At first I did not like it. Oh, yes, they were kind enough. They're a
rough lot, however, and I would not like to go back, since Fred objects
to it."
The door opened, and Frederica uttered a cry. It was only Miss Robina,
however, not one of the servants, as she had feared. Of course there
were more exclamations, and the story was told again, but the part dwelt
on now was the taking away of Tessie from Mrs Glencairn's, and sending
her to the convent, without even telling her sisters.
"We did not know it till this morning, and I was angry and frightened.
We could have done nothing, even if we had known. There is no one but
Mr Brandon who has a right to say anything, and he does not like to
interfere with Mr St. Cyr. But I think that has been done by Mr
Jerome and Madame Precoe, and not Mr St. Cyr. I should be in despair
if I thought Mr St. Cyr had turned against us."
"Have they heard that Mr Vane is worse?" asked Miss Robina anxiously.
Frederica turned pale: "They all ask that. Dear Miss Robina, do you
think he is really worse. What must we then do?"
"My darling, don't be troubled. No harm can really come to you. It is
not to be believed. Have you seen Mr St. Cyr? He is a man of high
character. He will do nothing wrong--nothing unlawful, surely."
"He has been ill. They thought him dying. I have not seen him for a
long time. Oh! if papa would only come home! No, I am not going to
cry. But I am tired, and--yes--I am afraid."
"When had you your dinner?" asked Mistress Campbell gravely. Frederica
laughed.
"I don't know; I don't think I had any."
"And no wonder you are faint-hearted. Just you lie down and rest you,
and you will be another creature when you get your tea."
But Frederica was too excited and anxious to rest. She enjoyed her tea,
however, and so did Hubert. He had evidently not been used to dainty
fare of late, and he yielded to Mistress Campbell's entreaties to eat,
with entire willingness and enjoyment Fred found her strength and
courage renewed when she rose to go. "I will come again soon, if I am
not carried away too," said she laughing.
"My dear, it is no laughing matter," said Mistress Campbell gravely.
"May the Lord preserve you all?"
"He will, Selina says. She is not afraid. Selina is better than I am,"
said Fred humbly.
"But then it's no' our deserts we are to lippen to. You'll be cared
for, never fear. He'll give His angels charge, and He'll no' leave it
altogether to them either. He'll raise some one up to take the orphan's
part."
Miss Robina promised to come and see her soon, and bring her tidings of
Hubert, who was already so sound asleep, that he could not be awakened
to say good-bye; and somewhat reassured and comforted, Frederica went
away.
But how lonely and friendless she felt, as she went down the familiar
street! By some association, which it would not have been easy to
trace, there came back to her the remembrance of their unexpected
holiday at Easter. Oh, how long it seemed, since these two happy
children had gone dancing down the street! How light-hearted they had
been! how fearless of all possible evil!
At the corner of the street down which she and Tessie had run to avoid
the chance of meeting Mrs Ascot, she paused a moment. Could it be
possible that their old friend who had been so kind to them that day,
should have turned against them? She remembered how he had walked on
with them, and the promise he had made to help her if ever she were in
trouble.
"And he did help me ever so many times. I cannot believe that he knows
all that is making us unhappy and afraid. I will go and see him now."
In a minute she was standing on the steps that went down to the wide
door of the house. It was not open as she had found it once before,
when she came to him with her troubles. But when it opened at the sound
of the bell, she gave the servant no time to say as usual, that her
master could see no one; but passing her softly and quickly, sprang
upstairs like a bird. It was still quite light out of doors, but the
passage was dark, and so was the room into which she went. There was a
fire in the grate, however; and before she saw Mr St. Cyr, she saw his
shadow on the wall, and paused a moment to get breath. Then as she
heard a footstep at the door, she came forward. Mr St. Cyr must have
been asleep, she thought, for at first he looked at her in a wondering
way, as though he did not know her, and she therefore hastened to speak.
"Are you better, Cousin Cyprien?"
"It is not Theresa--is it?" said he, with little pauses between the
words, as though he did not find it easy to utter them.
"Not Theresa, but Fred. Are you better, cousin?"
"Ah! my little cousin--who comes to me--in her trouble--but who does not
come to me in mine."
"I have been here often, but you were too ill to see me, they said
always. Are you better now?"
"Yes--I am better, I think. Once they told me--I was dying--" He
paused.
"And were you afraid, Cousin Cyprien?" said Frederica, looking with awe
into his changed face.
"Was it fear that I felt? There was fear, and a thrill of something
that was not fear. Now--I said--I shall know the mystery of death--and
the beyond."
"Cousin, mania was not afraid. Even at the last, when death was very
near, she was not afraid, because--"
In her earnestness she had knelt down beside the old man; and now, as
her voice failed, she laid her face down on his knee. His trembling
right hand was laid on her head.
"So--she has gone! She has solved the mystery."
"Did you not know, Cousin Cyprien? Did not Mr Jerome tell you? He
feared to grieve you."
"Doubtless--it was for that or for some other good reason. I am glad I
did not die."
"But mama was not afraid, after she knew how Jesus loved us and came to
die for us."
"Tell me of your mother, and the end."
"She was not afraid," repeated Frederica. "Miss Agnace was afraid for
her, and Mr Jerome and Sister Magdalen came often, and told her many
things she ought to do. But she was never afraid, after the old man
told us how `the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all
sin.' It is in the Bible, you know, and God taught her, I think God and
Selina. And it is for us all--the blood of Jesus--for those who think
as Miss Agnace does, and you, and all of us. Selina will tell you. May
I bring Selina, Mr St. Cyr?"
"Tell me about your mother," said he.
Frederica told him about how afraid her mother had been, and how she
longed to know the way to heaven. And then she told how she had brought
the old man in from the storm, never thinking what wonderful things he
was to tell them, and how after that her mother was at rest. She told
him how she had grown weaker, so slowly that they could see no change in
her from day to day, and how calm and peaceful she was through all the
time.
"Not even the thought of leaving us alone, when we feared papa was
dying, made her unhappy; for she said, `God will take care of my
children, against all who would do them harm.' And so He will," added
Frederica earnestly; and as she raised her eyes, they fell on the face
of Mr Jerome, standing in the shadow of the door. She rose hastily.
"Must you go? Sit by me for a little while," said her old friend.
The door closed softly, shutting out the priest, as she believed, and
Frederica sat down at the old man's feet again.
"Does the time seem long, Cousin Cyprien?" asked she.
"It seemed long in passing, but to look back on, it seems like a blank.
I must get strong again. Is your father dead too?"
"Papa! Oh, no! He was better when we heard last, but it is a long time
now. You have not heard that papa is worse?"
"I have heard nothing, and I can do nothing. Why have you come to-day?
Is it because of some new unhappiness? Madame Ascot is with you, I
hear. Are you unhappy, my child?"
Frederica paused a moment before she answered.
"Mama is gone, and papa, and sometimes we are afraid. But I did not
come because of Madame. I thought that you had forgotten us, and I came
to see. I am not afraid now that you are getting well."
"Ah! we will trust so. And have you nothing to tell me?--no trouble to
be helped through?"
"No," said Frederica thoughtfully. "I will wait till you are quite well
again, and then I will tell you all. And will you tell Babette that we
may come upstairs--Selina and I? I may bring Selina, may I not?"
"By all means, and I will warn Babette, you may be sure. Must you go
how?"
"It is growing dark, I think. Yes, I must go. So good night, Cousin
Cyprien."
"Are you alone? My child, it is not well for you to be alone in the
street at this hour."
"It was not dark when I came. It is only a little way. I am not
afraid."
"Well, be sure and come again. Good night, my child."
"I will see Miss Vane safely home, I have something to say to her," said
a voice from the darkness. Frederica with great difficulty suppressed a
cry as Mr Jerome stepped forward.
"Is it you, my brother? Ah, well, she need not be in haste, though it
is growing dark. You will see her safely home."
But Frederica bent hastily over Mr St. Cyr's hand.
"Good night, Cousin Cyprien. I do not fear the dark," said she; "but I
do fear Mr Jerome," added she, in an undertone, as she sprang out of
the room and down the stairs. She sped along the street like one
pursued by an enemy. But Mr Jerome did not follow her across the
threshold. He lingered a moment, looking out after her, and then went
up through the darkness to his brother's room.
"And so Theresa St. Hubert is gone!" said Mr St. Cyr, as he entered the
room, which was no longer dark.
"Yes," said his brother; "she is gone, and so is her husband."
"Dead! His daughter does not know."
"No. Why tell her sooner than needful? He, at least, is no loss to his
children."
"And yet they loved him, and they ought to know."
"They will be told when the right time comes."
"There will be much to do. There are many documents relating to their
affairs that must be looked over and arranged, and I have still so
little strength."
"My strength is yours in their cause;" said Mr Jerome.
"Brother," said Mr St. Cyr, "why did you not tell me of poor Theresa's
death?"
"Did I not tell you? Did not Sister Agnace? You were too ill at that
time to be told, I suppose. Or you have forgotten. Your memory fails
you at times, I fear, my brother."
"It may be," said Mr St. Cyr, after a moment's thought. "And yet I
think I should not have forgotten this."
"There is no time to be lost in the settlement of their affairs, you
must see," said Jerome.
"No, certainly."
"There must be guardians appointed."
"They are appointed."
"In your illness, having to act for them, I examined such papers
relating to their affairs as I had access to. I found none having
reference to what was to follow the death of their mother. None entire,
I mean. Was there not to be some change? some new choice? I found some
torn morsels of paper, a cancelled instrument of some sort. It is quite
as well. The court will be happier in the selection of guardians than
that unhappy woman was."
"There are guardians appointed!" repeated Mr St. Cyr.
"You have forgotten. Your illness has impaired your memory. There was
to be a change of names. The former appointment was set aside. You
yourself must have had some knowledge of it. You have forgotten."
Mr St. Cyr looked at his brother with a strange emotion visible in his
face.
"My brother, you are not glad of my weakness, are you? Have patience
with me. I _am_ weak."
"That is easily seen. Yes, I will be gentle with you, but I must be
faithful too: your weakness shall be helped and shielded by my
strength."
"Yes, but not to-night. I am tired to-night," said Mr St. Cyr, leaning
back wearily in his chair.
"You shall not be troubled. See, I have thought of the men whose names
are written here, and at an early day I shall see the judges as to their
legal appointment. And you shall not be troubled. If you are not
satisfied with my suggestions, of course you are at liberty to make what
change in the names you please."
"But their mother, by my advice, appointed their guardians in the manner
prescribed by Mr St. Hubert's will; and nothing can supersede that
appointment, you are aware."
"If any trace of such an instrument is to be found," said Mr Jerome.
"It is to be hoped it is to be found, or it may go badly with some of
us," said Mr St. Cyr gravely.
"As to that I cannot say. But the court, under your direction and mine,
can do all that is necessary, without reference to documents of doubtful
justice."
"The appointment must stand as it is," said Mr St. Cyr impatiently.
"It is time you were retiring, is it not? You seem tired. Shall I help
you?"
"Thanks, I am not inclined to go yet."
"Still I think you had better go. I shall speak to Babette, shall I
not?"
There was no reply; and he left the room. Listening intently to his
receding footsteps, Mr St. Cyr rose with difficulty, and holding by the
furniture, crossed the room to the cabinet in which Frederica, on her
first visit, had seen so many beautiful and curious things. From a
hidden compartment in one of its sides, he drew forth several papers,
and looked eagerly and attentively over them. He had only time to
replace them and return to his seat, before his brother came in again.
"Your fire is bright in yon chamber. My brother, I entreat you to allow
me to assist you thither, before I leave. I cannot divest myself of a
feeling of responsibility with regard to that foolish young girl
lingering in the street at this unseemly hour. I must see that she is
safe at home. And I must hasten."
"Thanks," said Mr St. Cyr, rising meekly. "You are most kind, but pray
do not stay. Babette can do all that is necessary for me. I fancy
myself better to-night."
"Better," repeated his brother, as he went down the stairs. "I do not
see it. For the present it is not necessary that you should be better.
I can do your work for you, better than you can do it yourself. I have
succeeded beyond hope--unless indeed, by some unimaginable chance, there
should exist such an instrument as Cyprien asserts. Even then something
might be done to put matters right, should I, and not Cyprien, guide
them. We shall see."