The next day, after lessons, Mrs. Grose found a moment to say to me
quietly: “Have you written, Miss?”
“Yes--I’ve written.” But I didn’t add--for the hour--that
my letter, sealed and directed, was still in my pocket. There would
be time enough to send it before the messenger should go to the
village. Meanwhile there had been, on the part of my pupils, no more
brilliant, more exemplary morning. It was exactly as if they had both
had at heart to gloss over any recent little friction. They performed
the dizziest feats of arithmetic, soaring quite out of _my_ feeble
range, and perpetrated, in higher spirits than ever, geographical and
historical jokes. It was conspicuous of course in Miles in particular
that he appeared to wish to show how easily he could let me down. This
child, to my memory, really lives in a setting of beauty and misery
that no words can translate; there was a distinction all his own in
every impulse he revealed; never was a small natural creature, to the
uninitiated eye all frankness and freedom, a more ingenious, a more
extraordinary little gentleman. I had perpetually to guard against
the wonder of contemplation into which my initiated view betrayed me;
to check the irrelevant gaze and discouraged sigh in which I constantly
both attacked and renounced the enigma of what such a little gentleman
could have done that deserved a penalty. Say that, by the dark prodigy
I knew, the imagination of all evil _had_ been opened up to him:
all the justice within me ached for the proof that it could ever have
flowered into an act.
He had never, at any rate, been such a little gentleman as when, after
our early dinner on this dreadful day, he came round to me and asked if
I shouldn’t like him, for half an hour, to play to me. David playing
to Saul could never have shown a finer sense of the occasion. It was
literally a charming exhibition of tact, of magnanimity, and quite
tantamount to his saying outright: “The true knights we love to read
about never push an advantage too far. I know what you mean now: you
mean that--to be let alone yourself and not followed up--you’ll cease
to worry and spy upon me, won’t keep me so close to you, will let me
go and come. Well, I ‘come,’ you see--but I don’t go! There’ll
be plenty of time for that. I do really delight in your society,
and I only want to show you that I contended for a principle.” It
may be imagined whether I resisted this appeal or failed to accompany
him again, hand in hand, to the schoolroom. He sat down at the old
piano and played as he had never played, and if there are those who
think he had better have been kicking a football I can only say that
I wholly agree with them. For at the end of a time that under his
influence I had quite ceased to measure I started up with a strange
sense of having literally slept at my post. It was after luncheon,
and by the schoolroom fire, and yet I hadn’t really, in the least,
slept: I had only done something much worse--I had forgotten. Where,
all this time, was Flora? When I put the question to Miles he played on
a minute before answering, and then could only say: “Why, my dear,
how do _I_ know?”--breaking moreover into a happy laugh which,
immediately after, as if it were a vocal accompaniment, he prolonged
into incoherent, extravagant song.
I went straight to my room, but his sister was not there; then, before
going downstairs, I looked into several others. As she was nowhere
about she would surely be with Mrs. Grose, whom, in the comfort of
that theory, I accordingly proceeded in quest of. I found her where I
had found her the evening before, but she met my quick challenge with
blank, scared ignorance. She had only supposed that, after the repast,
I had carried off both the children; as to which she was quite in her
right, for it was the very first time I had allowed the little girl
out of my sight without some special provision. Of course now indeed
she might be with the maids, so that the immediate thing was to look
for her without an air of alarm. This we promptly arranged between us;
but when, ten minutes later and in pursuance of our arrangement, we met
in the hall, it was only to report on either side that after guarded
inquiries we had altogether failed to trace her. For a minute there,
apart from observation, we exchanged mute alarms, and I could feel with
what high interest my friend returned me all those I had from the first
given her.
“She’ll be above,” she presently said--“in one of the rooms you
haven’t searched.”
“No; she’s at a distance.” I had made up my mind. “She has gone
out.”
Mrs. Grose stared. “Without a hat?”
I naturally also looked volumes. “Isn’t that woman always without
one?”
“She’s with _her_?”
“She’s with _her_!” I declared. “We must find them.”
My hand was on my friend’s arm, but she failed for the moment,
confronted with such an account of the matter, to respond to my
pressure. She communed, on the contrary, on the spot, with her
uneasiness. “And where’s Master Miles?”
“Oh, _he’s_ with Quint. They’re in the schoolroom.”
“Lord, Miss!” My view, I was myself aware--and therefore I suppose
my tone--had never yet reached so calm an assurance.
“The trick’s played,” I went on; “they’ve successfully worked
their plan. He found the most divine little way to keep me quiet while
she went off.”
“‘Divine’?” Mrs. Grose bewilderedly echoed.
“Infernal, then!” I almost cheerfully rejoined. “He has provided
for himself as well. But come!”
She had helplessly gloomed at the upper regions. “You leave
him----?”
“So long with Quint? Yes--I don’t mind that now.”
She always ended, at these moments, by getting possession of my hand,
and in this manner she could at present still stay me. But after
gasping an instant at my sudden resignation, “Because of your
letter?” she eagerly brought out.
I quickly, by way of answer, felt for my letter, drew it forth,
held it up, and then, freeing myself, went and laid it on the great
hall-table. “Luke will take it,” I said as I came back. I reached
the house-door and opened it; I was already on the steps.
My companion still demurred: the storm of the night and the early
morning had dropped, but the afternoon was damp and grey. I came down
to the drive while she stood in the doorway. “You go with nothing
on?”
“What do I care when the child has nothing? I can’t wait to
dress,” I cried, “and if you must do so, I leave you. Try
meanwhile, yourself, upstairs.”
“With _them_?” Oh, on this, the poor woman promptly joined me!