After Christmas the boys went to school--to the great public school
where their father and their elder brother had been educated, and a
great quietness fell on the sisters after they went away. It was their
first separation since the day their father had been, laid beside their
mother on the hillside far away, and they missed them sadly for awhile.
They all missed them, but Frederica especially felt lost without the
constant sense of responsibility which had rested on her with regard to
them since that day. It was well that they still lingered in beautiful
Eastwood. Cecilia did not like to think of how dull the days would have
been in London at this time. But every one in the large and happy
household of Colonel Bentham strove more than ever to interest and amuse
them, so as to beguile them from regretful thoughts; and when there came
first one letter and then another from the little lads, showing that
they were falling more easily and happily than could have been supposed
into their right places, and taking the good of the pleasant things in
school, even Frederica became content about them, and confessed that it
was a relief to know that they were safe and well, and to let the sense
of responsibility slip from her for a time.
But a greater trial was before her than the parting from their brothers.
By-and-by they returned to London, and she and Tessie were soon as
earnestly engaged with lessons and masters as could be desired. It was
partly from a sense of duty, and from a desire to make the most of the
exceptional advantages afforded them, that they worked so well, but they
also enjoyed their work. It was made pleasant to them, and they were
not allowed to do too much. Walks and drives, visits and sight-seeing
prevented their work from becoming monotonous, or from injuring them in
any way, and the time to them passed quickly.
But Selina drooped. She missed her brothers, and though she shared
Frederica's reading as far as was possible, and enjoyed the sight-seeing
at second-hand, still she was not so bright and cheerful as usual; and
strange to say, Frederica was not the first to see it Selina's best time
was when they were all together, so that this was not surprising; but
Cecilia became anxious about her, and longed for the time when their
brother Edgar should be at home again.
He came at Easter, and in a day or two declared himself at liberty to do
as he pleased for three months at least. After that he was to settle
down to the practice of his profession in another part of London, and
then there would be no more leisure days for him.
"And you are going to make the most of these three months," said Tessie,
"and have a great deal of pleasure."
"I hope so," said Edgar, but he looked more grave than people usually do
who are anticipating three months of pleasure; and when Tessie went on
to suggest, that instead of going away by himself, as he had proposed,
he should take them all with him, he looked grave still, and said that
would be impossible. He could not take them all at this time, but it
was his intention to take Selina away for a little while. They all
looked grave at that, and there came a look over Frederica's face which
neither he nor Cecilia had ever seen before, but which made Tessie think
of the rule of Madame Ascot, and the days when Fred took her own way in
spite of her. It would not be right, Edgar went on to say, to interrupt
the studies of the others so happily and successfully commenced, for
though their company might be agreeable to Selina, it was not necessary
to her, as he would care for her, and Miss Agnace was to go with her.
Frederica uttered an impatient exclamation. "Studies! In comparison
with Selina's happiness her studies and masters counted for nothing.
Selina must come first always. They had never been separated since--
since--" Fred could get no further. It was only by a great effort that
she kept back her tears. And her brother said gently,--
"But if it were to be for Selina's good that she should go away for a
little while, and that you should remain at home, surely you would be
willing to deny yourself? At this time it is better for our sister to
be in my care, and in the care of Miss Agnace."
"That is because you do not know," broke in Frederica. "Ask Selina.
Let her decide."
"No, we will not ask Selina this time. Of course it will be a trial for
her to leave you both; but still it is best."
"And, Fred darling, you will not make the trial harder for her by
objecting," said Cecilia. "Believe me, dear, Edgar is right. You must
trust him."
"Edgar does not know," persisted Frederica. "Selina cannot go alone.
It would break her heart. Selina alone! without me or mama--"
Frederica was determined she would not cry, and she stopped suddenly.
Edgar was very gentle with her, but he was very firm also, and when he
forbade her or Tessie alluding to the subject in Selina's presence till
he should give them leave, Frederica rose and walked out of the room,
carrying her head very highland with a look on her face that made
Cecilia regard her brother anxiously as the door closed upon her. Edgar
smiled reassuringly. He was surprised, but he was amused also, Tessie
could see as she rose to follow her sister. He looked grave enough in a
moment.
The case stood thus. Selina was not looking well, and the change was
necessary for her, but that was not all. It was of the utmost
importance that she should be strong and cheerful just now, because the
time had come when her brother hoped to get the opinion of a friend of
his, a celebrated oculist who resided in a German city, as to the state
of her eyes, and the possibility of something being done to restore to
her some measure of sight. The prospect of success was not so assured
as to make it wise to say anything about his plans and wishes to his
sisters. The suspense would not be good for them, and the trial of
remaining behind would be all the greater to Frederica, should she be
made aware that her sister might have doubt and anxiety, and perhaps
pain and disappointment, to undergo alone. Her being with her sister at
such a time would not be good for either of them, he thought; and should
his brotherly influence fail, her guardian's authority must be exercised
over Frederica.
"But Colonel Bentham's authority will not be needed. Fred will think
better of it; and be reasonable."
But Cecilia was not so sure. "You give her no reasons," said she. And
then she went on to repeat some instances of Frederica's wilfulness in
the old days, of which their sister Caroline had told her, how she used
to rule the household, and set Madame Ascot at defiance. Some of these
it was not easy to believe, in view of Frederica's almost uniform
gentleness and sweetness since they had known her, but they were
doubtless quite true; and remembering her face and air as she walked out
of the room, some trouble with her seemed not impossible.
"But all the same she must yield," said her brother.
But it was not the wilful little Fred of the old days that had walked
out of the room with her head held high and haughtily. She was as angry
and indignant as ever the Fred of those days could have been, so angry
that she utterly forgot for the moment how dear was the love that had
grown up during the last year between her and her brother, or how
perfect the confidence she had had in his affection and wisdom until
now. She was so angry that she would not let the tears come even when
she was alone; and when Tessie ran in upon her, exclaiming indignantly
about their brother's unkindness, Frederica sat with a face that changed
from red to white and from white to red every moment, but she did not
utter a word. As she listened to her sister, she grew less angry and
more unhappy, for there was an echo of triumph mingling with Tessie's
indignation, that smote painfully on Frederica's heart.
"I have been wondering for a long time when all this was to come to an
end--your `docility and humility,' your `sweet bright gentleness,' as
your friend Captain Clare calls it. Oh, yes, I have been expecting it.
It is all very well within reasonable limits, obedience and submission,
and all that; but Edgar has not a particle of authority over us, and you
can wind Colonel Bentham round your finger, as you used to do with Mr
St. Cyr. It is just as well to make a stand about Selina as anything.
It must have come some time, and now we shall have the pleasant old days
back again." And so on. Yes, she grew very unhappy as she listened.
Were the old times coming back again?--the times when she did not know
where to turn to find a friend when anxiety for her little brothers and
Tessie made her heart-sick. Obedience! submission! She had not been
conscious of any such thing all this time. She had felt so safe, so
comforted, so at home with her brother and sister. They had no
authority certainly. But would it be a wise or happy thing to take even
the smallest of these affairs out of their hands into her own?
If only Edgar would be reasonable about Selina! No, she could not part
from her. She could bear it for herself; but what could Selina do
without her?
"I cannot, cannot let her go."
Tessie's voice startled her again. She was laughing merrily.
"I declare, Fred, I could quite have fancied myself at home again. I
had forgotten how _grand_ you could be;" and she threw back her head
with an air, and marched to the door as her sister had done. "You quite
frightened Cecilia, I could see. As for Edgar, I think he was laughing
a little. He cannot be harder to overcome than Madame Ascot. This
`turning the other cheek' is all very well to talk about; but Edgar has
no real authority over us, and if you are firm now, Fred, we shall have
it all our own way."
Did she want to have it all her own way? Had Edgar no authority over
them? Would her father have said that? And without him what was to be
done with the brothers or with Tessie, should she grow wilful, as she
used to be? And as to "the other cheek"! Had Edgar smitten her on the
one cheek? Was she right in resenting what he had planned and what he
had said to her? And now here was Tessie laughing and delighted at her
anger and her pride. Poor Fred! The very foundations seemed to be
removing. The tears she had kept back with such difficulty flowed
freely; but all this time she had never uttered a word.
"I thought it was all over and at an end, my foolish anger and pride and
disobedience, and now, at the very first word of opposition, I am as bad
as ever. Oh! if it were anything else, I would give up, and not mind!
Hush, Tessie," she said aloud, "you do not understand. No, you are not
to speak to Selina. I must think about it first. Edgar never was
unkind before. Perhaps to-morrow he may change his plans."
To-morrow found Frederica not at all well; a restless night had given
her a headache; and when she did not appear at breakfast, Edgar went up
to see her, only half convinced that real illness was keeping her in her
room. She was ill certainly, and very silent, but she was not angry any
longer. Selina was with her, and Edgar knew in a moment that nothing
had been said between them with regard to the coming separation. He was
very gentle and kind, but Fred could not look up and meet his eye,
because she had not fought out the battle with herself yet. She had got
so far as to acknowledge that it was very ungrateful in her to act and
speak as though Edgar had no right to interfere in their affairs, after
all his kindness to them. Every hour she had felt more deeply how
dearly she loved him, and how entirely she trusted him, and how terrible
a thing it would be for them if their brother were to leave them to
their own guidance, as she had yesterday wished him to do.
But she had not been able during the wakeful night to persuade herself
that he was right with regard to Selina. She had thought of many things
that she would like to say to him about her to make him change his mind;
but when she saw his face in the morning, so kind and yet so firm in its
expression, she doubted whether her words would avail, and so she did
not look up, and scarcely uttered a word. Tessie waited eagerly to hear
what might be said, but she heard nothing, and their brother took her
and Selina away with him, leaving Frederica to Miss Agnace's care. So
she had time to think over her trouble, and the longer she thought the
more clearly she saw how foolish had been her anger, and how wrong her
example to Tessie.
Still she could not yield the point in question. Edgar could not know
as well as she what was best for Selina. It would be like forsaking her
sister, were she to consent to his plan. It would be breaking her
promise to her mother, that Selina should always be considered before
herself. She could not do it.
And yet something made her feel sure that she must do as her brother
wished, and feeling confidence in his love and in his wisdom, she
thought if it had been anything else she would have yielded to him so
gladly. But she lay and turned about restless and feverish, more
unhappy than she had ever been since the days of her illness after her
father went away. Miss Agnace came in and went out softly, saying
little, but very gentle and kind.
"Is it something that you cannot tell to your best friend?" she said at
last, as she bathed her hot brow with cool water, and smoothed the hair
that lay in confusion on the pillow.
Frederica gave her a quick look. She longed to ask her about her
brother's plans, but it would not be right to do so. And besides, Miss
Agnace might not know, and might not tell her if she did.
"After all He has brought you through to these happy days, you are
surely not forgetting to bring your trouble to Him, are you?"
It was not just the way Miss Agnace was wont to speak; but even Miss
Agnace was beginning to see things differently, in the new light that
was shining on them, and for a minute Frederica forgot her own trouble,
looking at her wistfully.
"Are you glad to be here, Miss Agnace? Are you happy here?" said she.
"Will you never go away from us any more?"
"Oh! as to going away--no, while my young lady needs me," said Miss
Agnace.
"Not even if Father Jerome said you must?"
The name had not been mentioned for a long time between them. An odd
look came over Miss Agnace's face.
"He will not say it," said she.
"Did he wish you to come? I am very glad you came; but was he not
afraid to let you come? Was it for our sakes?" said Frederica, wishing
to get away from her own troubled thoughts, and speaking very much at
random.
"My dear, Father Jerome loved you, though you doubted it, and he wished
you well always, though perhaps he made mistakes," said Miss Agnace;
"but you are to rest, and not think of anything to vex you, and I will
leave you for a little while."
But though Miss Agnace went, Frederica's troubled thoughts stayed with
her, and she said to herself she must find courage to write to Colonel
Bentham, and ask him to interfere between her and her brother. Could
she ask it? would it do? oh! how helpless and miserable she felt!
Suddenly there came into her mind Miss Agnace's question: "Is it then
anything you cannot carry to your best Friend?--to Him who has brought
you through all to such happy days?"
Had she brought it to Him? Could she bring it? Not her anger, and her
pride, and her determination to rebel--to have her own way; but her
trouble--her fear for Selina being far away and unhappy. If Edgar did
not know what would be best for her, surely Jesus did, and He would help
them. But then it might not be in her way. They might have to be
separated all the same. Frederica cried bitterly as she thought about
it; but she did bring her trouble to her Friend, and the bitterness had
all gone out of her tears, and out of her heart too, before she fell
asleep. When she woke, her brother was looking down upon her with a
very grave face. Frederica smiled, though her tears came again.
"I am going to be good," said she, and she took the hand that rested on
hers, and Carried it to her lips.
"My darling! my precious little sister!" said her brother, moved by her
gentleness as her anger could not move him. "It grieves me sorely to
have to grieve you; but trust me, Frederica, this once."
"Ah! must you grieve us? I do trust you: I could bear it, but Selina!
I do not think I am vain, but I cannot think what she will do without
me," she pleaded. "No, I am not going to be naughty, and I do trust
you--"
Edgar soothed her with his touch and his voice. He was very gentle with
her.
"If I were sure--"
"But, darling, if you were sure, there would be no need to trust me.
And our Elder Brother--do you think He will forget Selina and you?"
"Oh, no," said Fred, but her tears fell fast. He was very tender with
her, and firm too, telling her that he depended on her to make the
parting easy to her sister, saying it would only be for a little while,
and in the meantime she could not be very unhappy, having many and
pleasant duties, and a willing mind. And then there was Tessie, who
needed her more even then Selina. And Frederica's conscience told her
that Tessie had been none the better for her influence for the last two
days at least.
"I will try and be good," she said, and her brother could not but wonder
at her gentleness; and as he went out he said softly to himself,
"`Except ye become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into
the kingdom of heaven.'"
In one sense Frederica's trouble was over now. Her anger was over, and
her rebellion; and in trying to speak cheerfully of their separation,
for Selina's sake, she did much to strengthen herself for the trial.
Selina was startled and grieved at the thought of going away from her
sisters, but she was gentle and yielding, as she always had been, and
never doubted that their brother was wise and right in the plans he had
made for them.
So she said "Good-bye," cheerfully enough, and so did the others for
that matter; but when she was gone, and Frederica found herself standing
looking after the departing carriage, it seemed to her that the feeling
of loss and loneliness was more than she could bear.
"And now we shall have our drive in the Park," said Colonel Bentham
cheerfully, as though nothing particular had happened, and Selina's
going away was an event of every-day occurrence. But Frederica stood
very white and still.
"I am--tired--I think. If Tessie would go without me to-day," said she
with difficulty, but she walked very quietly by Captain Clare's side
till they came to the drawing-room door. "I think I must--rest for a
little while. Will you excuse me to Colonel Bentham?"
She spoke quietly; but when she looked up and met the kind eyes that
were looking down on her, she gave a little cry, and ran upstairs into
her room, not at all sure that she was not rebellious and angry still.
Tessie came in soon, all ready for the drive, and found her sister
crying on the bed. She was quite inclined to feel aggrieved at the
delay. She went at her sister's entreaty to carry her excuses to
Colonel Bentham. Her guardian seemed quite to understand, and they went
out without her.
True to her determination to be good, Frederica did not long indulge her
tears, and within the hour she came downstairs, and walking sedately
into the drawing-room, found Captain Clare waiting for her. Her
elaborate cheerfulness was quite as pathetic, he thought, as her grief
had been, and so were her fears that her guardian might believe her to
be ungrateful for his kindness. Captain Clare laughed at her a little.
"You speak as though you were a child to be punished for being naughty
by being put in a corner," said he. "Shall we go and walk? we may meet
the carriage, and you can still have your drive."
Frederica hesitated, but only a moment.
"You were reading," said she.
"I was waiting for you, and now we must hasten, for the best of the
afternoon is passing."
They did not meet the carriage, though they went a long way round,
hoping to do so. Frederica was not sorry: she never forgot that walk
home in the twilight. As it grew dark she put her hand into that of her
friend, as simply as a little child might have done, and for a while she
had most of the talk to herself. She told him more than she had ever
told any one before about their mother, and their old home and their way
of life; and sometimes he smiled, and sometimes he was deeply touched,
as she dwelt with quite unconscious pathos on some of the incidents of
those days. Her face clouded as they drew near the house.
"I am almost afraid to go in," said she.
"Lest you should be naughty again? No, you will not," said her friend.
"See, I will give you something to prevent it: `Thou shalt keep him in
perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in
Thee.'"
"Thank you," said Frederica, without looking up. "A month is a long
time, two months perhaps."
"But it will soon pass, and summer will soon be here, and who knows what
summer may bring?"
"And this afternoon has not been so bad," said Frederica.
No time after that was so very bad. Frederica kept herself
conscientiously busy for one thing, and she kept Tessie busy also.
Their friends made pleasures for them. They had walks with Captain
Clare which were always delightful, and drives with their sister
Cecilia, and one day they went with them to visit their brothers, whose
school was not so very far away, and this they enjoyed wonderfully.
Frederica, who had had few letters in the course of her life, took great
delight in those of her brother Edgar. Besides bringing good news of
her sister's health and happiness, they were full of interest for other
reasons, and they never failed to contain just a word or two to remind
the sisters at home that all were alike safe in the best keeping.
And better than all other helps towards patience and content was the
young girl's trust in Him who had brought them to a safe place. On Him
she was learning to rest more lovingly every day. She suffered a good
deal at first; but peace came and stayed, not quite the perfect peace
promised to them whose trust is entire and full, but even that came
later.
Tessie watched her sister narrowly, and expressed her opinion of her way
of taking it all by little shrugs and laughing protests, in which
Frederica sometimes fancied there was a contemptuous echo. But Tessie
was subdued at last by her sister's never-failing gentleness and
sweetness, and showed it by devotion to her duties, and by deference to
her sister's wishes in little things.
The time of Selina's absence extended beyond what was first planned.
But this was not so great a trial as it seemed beforehand Spring passed
into summer before a word was said of their going home, and the time
came to leave hot and dusty London, and to return to Eastwood Park
again, and the sisters went gladly, though they had no thought of the
joyful surprise awaiting them there.