"Take me down this long pretty road. There must be delicious houses
inside the walls. Look here; drive slowly, and let us have a peep in at
this open door," said Nettie. "How sweet and cosy! and who is that
pretty young lady coming out? I saw her in the chapel this morning. Oh,"
added Nettie, with a little sharpness, "she knows _you_--tell me who she
is."
"That is Miss Lucy Wodehouse--one of our Carlingford beauties," said Dr
Rider.
"Do you know her very well?" asked the inquisitive Nettie. "How she
stares--why does she stare, do you suppose? Is there anything absurd
about my dress? Look here--don't they wear bonnets just like this in
England?"
"So far as I am able to judge," said the doctor, looking at the tiny
head overladen with hair, from which the bonnet had fallen half off.
"I suppose she is surprised to see me here. Drive on faster, Dr Edward,
I want to talk to you. I see Fred has been telling us a parcel of
stories. It would be cruel to tell Susan, you know, for she believes in
him; but you may quite trust me. Is your brother good for anything, Dr
Edward, do you suppose?"
"Not very much now, I fear," said the doctor.
"Not very much _now_. I suppose he never was good for much," said the
indignant Nettie; "but he was said to be very clever when he first came
out to the colony. I can't tell why Susan married him. She is very
self-willed, though you would fancy her so submissive. She is one of
those people, you know, who fall ill when they are crossed, and threaten
to die, so that one daren't cross her. Now, then, what is to be done
with them? He will not go back to the colony, and I don't care to do it
myself. Must I keep them here?"
"Miss Underwood----" began the perplexed doctor.
"It would save trouble to call me Nettie--everybody does," said his
strange companion; "besides, you are my brother in a kind of a way, and
the only person I can consult with; for, of course, it would not do to
tell one's difficulties to strangers. Fred may not be very much to depend
upon, you know, but still he is Fred."
"Yes," said the doctor, with a little self-reproach, "still he is Fred;
but pardon me, the name suggests long aggravations. You can't tell how
often I have had to put up with affronts and injuries because it was
Fred. I shouldn't like to grieve you----"
"Never mind about grieving me;--_I_ am not in love with him;--let me
hear all about it!" said Nettie.
Dr Rider paused a little; seeing the abyss upon the brink of which this
brave little girl was standing, he had not the heart to aggravate her
by telling the failures of the past. Better to soften the inevitable
discovery if possible. But his hesitation was quite apparent to Nettie.
With considerable impatience she turned round upon him.
"If you think I don't know what I am doing, but have gone into this
business like a fool, you are quite mistaken, Dr Edward," she said, a
little sharply. "I see how it is as well as anybody can do. I knew how
it was when I left the colony. Don't be alarmed about me. Do you think
I am to be turned against my own flesh and blood by finding out their
follies; or to grumble at the place God put me in?--Nothing of the sort!
I know the kind of situation perfectly--but one _may_ make the best of
it, you know: and for that reason tell me everything, please."
"But, Miss Underwood, consider," cried the doctor, in consternation.
"You are taking responsibilities upon yourself which nobody could lay
upon you; you! young--tender" (the doctor paused for a word, afraid to
be too complimentary)--"delicate! Why, the whole burden of this family
will come upon you. There is not one able to help himself in the whole
bundle! I am shocked!--I am alarmed!--I don't know what to say to
you----"
"Don't say anything, please," said Nettie. "I know what I am about. Do
you call this a street or a lane, or what do you call it? Oh, such nice
houses! shouldn't I like to be able to afford to have one of them, and
nurses, and governesses, and everything proper for the children! I should
like to dress them so nicely, and give them such a good education. I
don't know anything particular to speak of, myself--I shall never be
able to teach them when they grow older. If Fred, now, was only to be
trusted, and would go and work like a man and make something for the
children, I daresay I could keep up the house;--but if he won't do
anything, you know, it will take us every farthing just to live. Look
here, Dr Edward: I have two hundred a-year;--Susan had the same, you
know, but Fred got all the money when they were married, and muddled it
away. Now, how much can one do in Carlingford with three children upon
two hundred a-year?"
"Fred will be the meanest blackguard in existence," cried the doctor,
"if he takes his living from you."
"He took his living from _you_, it appears," said Nettie, coolly, "and
did not thank you much. We must make the best of him. We can't help
ourselves. Now, there is the pretty church, and there is our little
house. Come in with me and answer for me, Dr Edward. You can say I
am your sister-in-law, you know, and then, perhaps, we can get into
possession at once; for," said Nettie, suddenly turning round upon the
doctor with her brilliant eyes shining out quaintly under the little
brow all puckered into curves of foresight, "it is so sadly expensive
living where we are now."
To look at the creature thus flashing those shining eyes, not without a
smile lurking in their depths, upon him--to see the triumphant, undaunted,
undoubting youthfulness which never dreamt of failure--to note that
pretty anxiety, the look which might have become a bride in her first
troubles "playing at housekeeping," and think how desperate was the
position she had assumed, how dreary the burden she had taken upon
her--was almost too much for the doctor's self-control. He did not know
whether to admire the little heroine as half-divine, or to turn from
her as half-crazy. Probably, had the strange little spirit possessed a
different frame, the latter was the sentiment which would have influenced
the unimaginative mind of Edward Rider. But there was no resisting that
little brown Titania, with her little head overladen with its beautiful
hair, her red, delicate mouth closing firm and sweet above that little
decided chin, her eyes which seemed to concentrate the light. She seemed
only a featherweight when the bewildered doctor helped her to alight--an
undoubted sprite and creature of romance. But to hear her arranging about
all the domestic necessities within, and disclosing her future plans
for the children, and all the order of that life of which she took the
charge so unhesitatingly, bewildered the mistress of the house as much
as it did the wondering doctor. The two together stood gazing at her as
she moved about the room, pouring forth floods of eager talk. Her words
were almost as rapid as her step,--her foot, light as it was, almost as
decided and firm as her resolutions. She was a wonder to behold as she
pushed about the furniture, and considered how it could be brightened
up and made more comfortable. Gazing at her with his silent lips apart,
Dr Rider sighed at the word. Comfortable! Was she to give her mind to
making Fred and his children comfortable--such a creature as this?
Involuntarily it occurred to Edward that, under such ministrations,
sundry changes might come over the aspect of that prim apartment in
which he had seen her first; the room with the bookcase and the red
curtains, and the prints over the mantelpiece--a very tidy, comfortable
room before any bewitching imp came to haunt it, and whisper suspicions
of its imperfection--the doctor's own retirement, where he had chewed
the cud of sweet and bitter fancies often enough, without much thought
of his surroundings. But Nettie now had taken possession of the prosaic
place, and, all unconscious of that spiritual occupation, was as busy
and as excited about Mrs Smith's lodgings at St Roque's Cottage as if it
were an ideal home she was preparing, and the life to be lived in it was
the brightest and most hopeful in the world.
When Dr Rider reached home that night, and took his lonely meal in his
lonely room, certain bitter thoughts of unequal fortune occupied the
young man's mind. Let a fellow be but useless, thankless, and heartless
enough, and people spring up on all sides to do his work for him, said
the doctor to himself, with a bitterness as natural as it was untrue.
The more worthless a fellow is, the more all the women connected with
him cling to him and make excuses for him, said Edward Rider in his
indignant heart. Mother and sister in the past--wife and Nettie now--to
think how Fred had secured for himself such perpetual ministrations,
by neglecting all the duties of life! No wonder an indignant pang
transfixed the lonely bosom of the virtuous doctor, solitary and
unconsoled as he was. _His_ laborious days knew no such solace. And as
he fretted and pondered, no visions of Bessie Christian perplexed his
thoughts. He had forgotten that young woman. All his mind was fully
occupied chafing at the sacrifice of Nettie. He was not sorry, he was
angry, to think of her odd position, and the duties she had taken upon
herself. What had she to do with those wretched children, and that
faded spiteful mother? Edward Rider was supremely disgusted. He said to
himself, with the highest moral indignation, that such a girl ought not
to be permitted to tie herself to such a fate.