"Thy steps are dancing towards the bound
Between the child and woman,
And thoughts and feelings more profound
And other years are coming;
And thou shalt be more deeply fair,
More precious to the heart,
But never canst thou be again
The lovely thing thou art."
SIDNEY WALKER.
"My dear, I cannot understand it!" said Miss Charlotte Willoughby.
"It is most strange--you don't think Mrs. Battishill can have kept them
to tea?" hazarded Miss Fanny, in her gentle way.
Miss Charlotte crushed her, as usual.
"Jane stay out to tea without leave? She has never done such thing a
before."
"It's very warm. They may be lingering on account of the heat," put in
Miss Ellen's quiet voice.
"The heat is not too great for any healthy girl," said Miss Emily, with
decision. "I have noticed lately in Elaine a very languid and dawdling
way of doing things. I shall speak to her on the subject. I don't know
what she has to occupy her thoughts, but she evidently is never thinking
of what she is doing."
"She is a dear good child, on the whole," said Miss Fanny, comfortably.
"I cannot help thinking that she sometimes finds her life dull," said
Ellen.
"Dull!" cried the three ladies in chorus; and Charlotte added, in high
and amazed tones:
"Why, she is occupied from morning till night!"
"It was only to-day I let her off a quarter-of-an-hour practising on
account of the heat," continued Fanny.
"If you think she might devote more time to her calisthenics----" began
Emily.
"It was not that I meant at all," said Ellen, when she could get a
hearing. "I do not complain of want of occupation for hers, but want of
amusement."
"I was always taught to consider," said Charlotte, in a tone of some
displeasure, "that those who were fully employed need never complain of
_ennui_. Occupation is amusement."
"Then, to follow on your argument," said Ellen, half playfully, "the
convicts who are sentenced to hard labor must have a most amusing time
of it."
This remark, savoring dangerously of irony, was received by the three
sisters with utter silence, and Charlotte thought, as she often did,
what a pity it was that Ellen read so many books; really it quite warped
her judgment.
"Of course everything should be in moderation," she said frigidly, after
a pause; "too severe labor would be as bad for the body as too little is
for the mind."
This speech sounded rather well, and Charlotte's temper was somewhat
soothed by the feeling that she had made a hit.
Miss Ellen sighed. She felt that nothing could be done on Elaine's
behalf, if she began by setting up the backs of the entire council of
education. Yet so narrow had the minds of these excellent women grown,
by living so perpetually in one groove, that it seemed impossible even
to hint that they were mistaken without putting them out of temper.
"Of course I know that occupation is most necessary," said she, "and I
agree with you that every woman should be well employed; but I only
wanted to suggest that perhaps a little more variety than we find
necessary might be good for the young. We are glad to live our quiet,
untroubled days through; but for Elaine,--don't you think that some
diversion now and then would be beneficial? Remember, as girls, we went
to London for a month each spring, our dear father always gave us that
treat; and I know that I, at least, used to get through my work here
with all the greater zest because of looking forward to that month's
enjoyment."
"And what is the result?" burst out Miss Charlotte, with quite unusual
energy. "What is the result of all this going to London, pray? I am sure
I heartily wish, and Fanny for one agrees with me, that we had never
gone near the place! If we had not gadded about to London our poor
pretty Alice would never have met that vile Valentine Brabourne with his
deceitful face, and the family tragedy would never have taken place----"
"And we should never have had Elaine to brighten our home and give us
something to care for," said Ellen, speaking bravely, though the
remembrance of her favorite sister brought the color to her wan face,
and dimmed her eyes.
"You know the reason we never took Elaine to London was to keep her as
much as possible dissociated from her step-mother and step-brother,"
went on Miss Charlotte, combatively.
"Yes, I know," answered her sister, quietly, "and that is where I think
we have been so wrong. Because, much as we may have disliked Mrs.
Brabourne, she was Valentine Brabourne's wife, and we had no right to
allow Elaine to grow up quite estranged from her brother."
This took Charlotte's breath quite away. It was rare to hear Ellen
assert herself at all, but to hear her deliberately say that Charlotte
was wrong----!
"I am much more to blame than any of you," went on Ellen, "because I
will admit that, at the time Elaine came to us, I was very, very sore at
the conduct of Mrs. Brabourne and her relations, and I was only eager to
get possession of the child and keep her from them all; but I was quite
wrong, Charlotte. Think what an interest her little brother would have
been to her."
"Well, I do think, Ellen, you cannot quite reflect on what you are
saying," said Charlotte, her tongue loosed at last in a perfect torrent
of words. "I have always said you read too many books, and I suppose you
have some romantic notion of reconciliation in your head now. I have
every respect for you, Ellen, as the head of this family, but you must
allow me to say that, invalid as you are, and always confined to the
house, you are apt to be taken hold of by crotchets and fancies. Let us
look for a moment at the facts of the case: do you consider that Mrs.
Brabourne was a fit person to have the bringing-up of Elaine?"
"No, I frankly say I do not. I am not suggesting that Mrs. Brabourne
should have brought her up."
"Do you consider that the Ortons would be a nice house for Elaine to be
constantly visiting at?"
"No, Charlotte, I cannot say I do."
"Do you imagine it at all likely that we could have been on terms of any
intimacy with Mrs. Brabourne and her brother _without_ allowing Elaine
to visit there?"
"It might have been difficult," Miss Ellen, with rising color was
constrained to admit; "but I was not advocating intimacy exactly; only
that Elaine should be on friendly terms with little Godfrey."
"Is she _not_ on friendly terms? I am sure then it is not my fault. She
sends him a card every Christmas and a present every birthday, and
always writes to her step-mother once a year. I really do not see how
one could go much further without the intimacy which you admit is
undesirable," cried Charlotte, in triumph.
"I do not admit that it is undesirable for Elaine to be intimate with
her brother," said Ellen, with firmness.
"And pray how is the brother to be separated from the Orton crew, with
their Sunday tennis-parties, their actors and actresses, their racing
and their betting?"
"By asking him down here to stay with his sister," said Ellen, quietly.
A pause followed, an awful pause, which to good little Miss Fanny boded
so darkly, that she hurled herself into the breach with energetic
good-will.
"Dear me!" she cried, "what a good idea! What a treat for dear Elaine! I
wonder nobody ever thought of it before!"
"Do you? _I_ do not," said Charlotte, with withering contempt. "I wish,
Fanny, I really wish you would reflect a little before you speak--you
are as unpractical as Ellen is!"
Miss Fanny rejoiced in having at least partially diverted the storm to
her own head--she was well used to it, and would emerge from Charlotte's
ponderous admonitions as fresh and smiling as a daisy from under a
roller.
"Do you know the atmosphere in which that boy has been brought up?" went
on the irate speaker. "Do you know the society to which he is
accustomed--the language he usually hears--and, very probably, speaks?
He smokes and drinks, I should say--plays billiards and bets, very
probably--a charming companion for our Elaine."
"My dear Charlotte, he is not fourteen yet, and he is being educated at
the most costly private school--he can scarcely drink and gamble yet, I
really think," remonstrated Ellen.
"Oh, of course, if you choose to invite him, there is no need to say
more--no need to consult me--the house is not mine, as no doubt you wish
to remind me," said Charlotte, with virulent injustice.
"Char!" cried Ellen, in much tribulation, "you know, my dear, so well
that I would not for worlds annoy you--I would do nothing contrary to
your judgment. You know how I lean upon you in everything. But think,
dear, if this poor little boy is brought up, as you say, in a house-hold
of Sabbath breaking, careless people, is it not only right, only
charitable on our part to ask him here and see if we cannot show him the
force of a good example? Are we so uncertain of the results of our
teaching on Elaine that we feel sure he will corrupt her? May we not
hope that the contrary will be the case--that the care we have lavished
on our girl may help her to serve her brother?"
"My dear Ellen, I never yet put a rotten apple into a basket of good
ones with the idea that the sound apples would cure the rotten one,"
said Miss Charlotte, grimly.
"Oh, surely the case is not the same," cried Miss Ellen, too flurried to
search for the fallacy in her sister's analogy.
"Put it in this way: In two years--only two years, mind--Elaine will be
her own mistress, whether or not she inherits the fortune which we think
is hers by right, she will at least have a handsome allowance. With what
confidence will you be able to launch her out into the world if you fear
now that, in her own home, and surrounded by her home influences, she
will not be able to withstand the corrupting power of a little boy of
fourteen?"
"There again, that is all rhodomontade," cried Charlotte, "talking on,
without reflection, which is very surprising in a woman of your sound
sense. 'Launch her out into the world,' indeed! As if we were going to
turn Elaine out of the house on her twenty first birthday, and wash our
hands of her. What is to prevent her staying here always, if she
pleases?"
"What is to keep her here a moment, if she chooses to go?" asked Ellen.
Charlotte hesitated a little.
"She is not likely to choose to go," she said.
"I am not so sure. There is a great deal--oh, a great deal in Elaine
which none of us have ever seen," replied her sister. "It sometimes
frightens me to think how little I know about her."
"I cannot imagine what you mean," said Charlotte, in the blank, dry tone
she always used when she could not understand what was said.
"You will see some day," said Ellen, which Micaiah-like prophecy
exasperated her sister the more.
"I think Ellen is right," said Emily, suddenly.
She had taken very little part in the discussion, but it was always
assumed in the family that Emily would agree with Charlotte. The open
desertion of this unfailing ally bereft the already much irritated lady
of the power of speech.
"I mean about having the boy Brabourne to stay here," said Emily, "I
have thought of the same thing myself more than once--that Elaine ought
to get acquainted with him, and that the only way to do it would be to
have him here, as we dislike the Ortons so much. I don't want people to
think that we grudge him his share of the inheritance, and I think it
looks like that, if we ignore him so persistently."
This was putting the matter on a ground less high than Ellen's, and one,
therefore, more easily grasped by the others.
"I quite agree with you," murmured Fanny, and Charlotte raised an
aroused face from her work.
"I daresay," said Emily, "that the Ortons all laugh at us for nasty
covetous old maids, and that they think we dislike the boy simply
because we are jealous, I don't exactly like to have people imagine
that."
"Naturally not," Charlotte was beginning, in muffled tones, when Fanny
exclaimed, in consternation,
"Bless us all! Look at the clock! Where can that child be?"
All looked up. The urn had long ceased to sing, the hot cake was cold,
the fried ham had turned to white lumps of fat, and the finger of the
clock pointed to seven.
They had been so absorbed in discussing Elaine's future that her present
whereabouts had entirely been forgotten. Now at last they were
thoroughly anxious.
Fanny rang the bell to have the tea re-made and the food heated, Emily
hurried out to see if there were any signs of the wanderers on the road
across the valley. Charlotte went to Acland, the coachman, to tell him
to go and look for them.
"You had better harness Charlie, and take the carriage," she said, "I am
afraid something is wrong--Miss Elaine has sprained her ankle, or
something; anyway, it is getting so late, they had better drive home. It
is very strange; I can't understand it at all."
"No, miss, not more can't I, for Jane's mostly a woonderful poonctual
body for her tea," said Acland, chuckling.
"Never known her late before; something _must_ have happened."
She walked nervously across the stable-yard, and looked down the drive.
Lo! and behold a trim little carriage was just entering, and perched on
the box beside a strange coachman was Jane herself.
"Jane!" screamed Charlotte, "where's Miss Elaine?"
The carriage came to a standstill, and Elaine, white, and, somehow,
altered-looking, stood up in it.
"Here I am, Aunt Char," she said; "I am quite safe."
"But what--what--what has happened?" gasped Miss Charlotte, staring at
Elaine's travelling-companion. "Jane, what has happened?"
For all answer, Jane went off into a perfect volley of hysterics. It was
scarcely to be wondered at, for her day's experience had far exceeded
anything which had previously happened to her in all her fifty years of
life.
Miss Charlotte was greatly alarmed, however, as Jane's usual demeanor
was staid and unemotional to a degree. She ran for sal volatile, salts,
for she hardly knew what, and soon her agitated and broken utterances
drew Fanny and Emily out into the stable-yard.
Elaine did not go into hysterics. She stood up, very white, with shining
eyes, which seemed bluer and larger than usual, as Lady Mabel introduced
herself to the ladies, and began a clear and graphic description of what
had taken place. It seemed too incredible, too horrifying to be true,
that their little Edge Combe had been the scene of such violence and
bloodshed.
So overcome were they that they quite forgot even to thank Lady Mabel
for her kindness in bringing Elaine home, until she said, with a
charmingly graceful bow, "And now I will not keep you, as I know you
are longing to be rid of me;" and extended a hand in leave taking.
Then Miss Charlotte suddenly rallied, and said,
"Oh, but we could not on any account allow you to go on without taking
some refreshment."