troublesome conscience which continually reminded her she was shirking
her duty. Her relief was not unmixed, for at times she felt convicted
of disloyalty.
Ever since the episode of the spool of twist Caroline had been a
little disagreeable, though in an intangible way that hardly stood
analysis. Where Charlotte was concerned, Miss Virginia considered her
sister's severity extreme, and she had been hurt that her own protest
and plea of extenuating circumstances should have been so scornfully
dismissed. Now if events turned out as they promised, all would be
well again. If only she dared give Charlotte a hint. The child looked
pale and unhappy.
Could there be any harm in saying to her that something was about to
happen which would make everything right? Miss Virginia resolved to do
it. There could be no reasonable doubt as to what Caroline's decision
would be. She ran upstairs light-heartedly.
Charlotte's door was closed, perhaps she was already asleep. Softly
Miss Virginia turned the knob. The room was dark, except for the
outside electric light that threw a vivid shadow of the window-frame
and curtain on the opposite wall. She crossed the room to lower the
blind, and as she did so, discovered the bed was unoccupied.
[Illustration: SHE SANK INTO A CHAIR.]
With nervous haste she searched for the matches. Why did she tremble
so? It seemed an age till she found them. No, Charlotte was not
there; but how absurd to be alarmed, she must be somewhere in the
house. Mechanically Miss Virginia began to fold a ribbon that lay on
the dressing-table. Then her eye fell on a folded paper addressed to
herself. Scarcely able to breathe, she sank into a chair and opened
it. It was written in a large, schoolgirl hand.
"DEAR AUNT VIRGINIA: I am going away to Uncle Landor.
I am sorry to give you so much trouble. I am going to
ask him to send me to boarding school, because I can't
stand it any longer. I know how to go to Philadelphia,
and I have money enough. I did not mean to be
deceitful, but Miss Alex said I was, and that I was
making you miserable, so I think I ought to go.
"Your niece,
"CHARLOTTE CRESTON."
To Philadelphia--that child! Miss Virginia, who never travelled alone,
was overcome with the terror of it. What could she do? Was it too late
to stop her? Oh, for some one to help! She ran out into the hall, but
something checked her first impulse to call the servants. At what
hour did the evening train leave for the north? She hastened
downstairs for the paper.
"It is all my fault! all my fault!" she murmured to herself, as with
trembling hands she searched for the railroad column. It was too late;
the train must have left half an hour ago.
She must consult somebody. Surely, something could be done. Opening
the front door, she looked out into the night. A bright light shone
from the Russells' across the way. Forgetting to close the door behind
her, she hurried over the street and rang the bell.
She told the servant tremblingly that she wished to speak to Miss
Alex, who presently came to her in evident surprise.
"Why, Miss Virginia! Is anything the matter?"
"Oh, Alex, something dreadful has happened!" In her agitation it was
not possible to say more.
"Is any one ill?"
"No, it is Charlotte--she has gone!"
"Gone?" echoed Alex. "But do come in, Miss Virginia."
"I can't; I left the door open. I don't want people to know. Oh, Alex,
what shall I do?"
"I'll go back with you," said Alex. "I don't understand yet what has
happened. Where has Charlotte gone?"
Once inside her own door, Miss Virginia thrust Charlotte's note into
Alexina's hand. "What shall I do?" she cried. "That long journey
alone, and it is all my fault!"
"Don't say that; I am afraid it is partly mine. I was hard on her this
afternoon, but I didn't dream-- There must be some way to stop
her,--by telegraphing ahead, you know. I wonder-- It should be done at
once. The train left half an hour ago, you say?"
Miss Virginia nodded; words were beyond her.
And now into the drawing-room, where they stood in agitated
uncertainty, walked Miss Pennington, the shopkeeper. Her face was
flushed, her hair a little disordered by the wind, but she was
smiling, and somehow her presence seemed at once to relieve the
tension.
"Perhaps you can help me," cried poor Miss Virginia, hardly knowing
what she said.
"I am sure I can," answered the stranger, going to her and taking the
trembling hands in her own firm ones. "Are you worried about
Charlotte? If you are, I have come to tell you she is safe, and is not
going to Philadelphia to-night."
"You are sure? How do you know?" cried Miss Virginia, in bewilderment.
Alex drew near in surprise. She had not at first recognized Miss
Pennington.
"I'll tell you about it as quickly as I can, but you must sit down;"
and Norah drew her to a sofa, where, sitting beside her, she explained
that her friend, Miss Carpenter, had had occasion that night to go to
the station with her maid, whose nephew was to pass through the city
on his way to a western army post. In the waiting-room her attention
had been attracted by the efforts of a man to annoy a little girl.
Finally it became so marked, and the child seemed so alarmed, that
Miss Carpenter interfered, and appealed to a passing official. Then,
surprised that a girl of her appearance should be travelling alone at
night, she questioned her; and thoroughly frightened, Charlotte had
revealed the fact that she was running away.
"Miss Carpenter is a very decided person, and when she understood the
matter, would not let her go, but instead brought her home, where we
talked it over. I hope you won't think me very presuming when I say
that it seemed to us if there were any way of keeping it quiet, it
would be so much better. It was just the momentary rebellion of a
high-spirited girl. I know she is sorry now."
"Caroline need never know a thing about it," exclaimed Miss Virginia,
looking at Alex.
"I am sure that would be best. I'll never speak of it," answered Alex.
"Then I'll bring her over," said Norah, rising. "She is a good deal
excited, so I offered to come over and pave the way."
"You can tell her I will be as good to her--things are going to be
very different." Tears came into Miss Virginia's eyes.
"I am sure you are always good. I haven't the least doubt she was
naughty, but girls are very foolish sometimes." Norah looked at Alex
as if she might be expected to agree to this.
* * * * *
A very pale, subdued Charlotte made her appearance soon after. There
was nobody to receive her but Aunt Virginia, who waited at the door.
Little was said that night. "We'll just pretend it never happened,
dear," Aunt Virginia said tearfully, as she took her into her arms and
kissed her. "You didn't know it, but your Aunt Caroline is going away
for the winter," she added. "It is a secret yet, but she is going very
soon; and I was thinking you and I would have such a good time, and
then--" They both fell to crying over this in a manner to suggest to
one unenlightened that a good time without Aunt Caroline would prove
but a dreary affair.
"I am so sorry, and I am going to be good," Charlotte whispered, when
her aunt came to tuck her in. "And oh, Aunt Virginia, they are lovely!
They were so good." This, of course, referred to the shopkeepers.
"I didn't thank Miss Pennington; I didn't say one word, so far as I
remember," exclaimed Miss Wilbur, "and she was certainly kind. I shall
have to go over and express my appreciation. Judging from her
appearance she is a charming young woman."
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH
AFTERWARD
The newly built fire crackled and blazed merrily, putting to rout what
little daylight sifted through the slats of the window-shutters. How
pleasant to lie there safe and warm! Charlotte hugged her pillow in
thankfulness.
Far from being the heroine she had imagined herself, she realized she
was only a foolish little girl. For once she felt the truth of that
objectionable phrase. The experience of the night before had subdued
her. She went all over it as she lay there, waiting for the rising
bell.
On her way to the station the persistent stare of a man who sat
opposite in the street-car made her uneasy; and when at the station,
after she had bought her ticket, he again appeared and attempted to
talk to her, even following her when she changed her seat, her
uneasiness became alarm.
The dreadful loneliness of that great station, with its hurrying
crowds, she would not soon forget. If it had been day, Charlotte was
sure she would have been braver. In her despair Miss Carpenter came to
her rescue. She recalled vividly how the young lady swept down upon
her tormentor, with blazing eyes, demanding imperiously what he meant
by annoying a little girl; and then Charlotte, clinging to the
friendly hand held out to her, had allowed herself to be led meekly
away. It was all over in a moment, and in a quiet corner out of the
crowd she was replying brokenly to the questions of her rescuer.
Why was it that under the serious gaze of those dark eyes all her
self-confidence and determination had oozed away? Miss Carpenter's
manner was kind, but her decision had been prompt and final. It seemed
to Charlotte no one could have resisted her.
"My child," she said, still holding Charlotte's hand, "you cannot take
such a journey alone. I cannot let you. Come home with me, where we
can talk it over. We'll find some way out of the trouble." And she
added: "You live on the corner of Pleasant Street and the Terrace,
don't you? I think I have seen you there. I am Miss Carpenter of the
shop."
In a sort of bewilderment Charlotte had submitted, and escorted by
Miss Carpenter and the elderly maid she rode back to the Terrace. And
that half-hour in the shop, where they found Miss Pennington
comfortably established by the fire with a book! Charlotte could still
feel the atmosphere of sympathy and reason that enveloped her as she
poured out her story to these strangers with all the pent-up
unhappiness of the past week. How gently they had pointed out that
running away would only add difficulties to the situation.
Her face grew hot now at the thought of how silly she must have seemed
to them. And she wished these young ladies to think well of
her,--which, of course, they never could do.
Aunt Virginia had been good, too. A wave of warm affection surged up
in Charlotte's heart, and with it a determination to be a comfort to
her after this. As she dressed, she wondered if she would ever again
be free from this dreadful feeling of shame. She hated to go down to
breakfast, even though Aunt Caroline did not know.
Later in the day Aunt Virginia called her into her room and closed
the door. There was a pretty flush on her face as she sat erect in an
arm-chair which, like the other furniture in the room, had been her
grandmother's. Beside her on a table was an old Bible with yellow
leaves, and some ancient books of devotion.
"I have been talking to your Aunt Caroline," Miss Wilbur began.
Charlotte started.
"I do not mean about last night. While I feel almost deceitful in
keeping it from her, I have decided to do it. As I told you, your Aunt
Georgiana is out of health and must go to California, and it seems
Caroline's duty to go with her. This will leave you in my charge. You
were really put in my charge at first, but I felt inexperienced and--"
Miss Virginia hesitated, then continued: "What I have been thinking is
this. I should like to try again, starting fresh and forgetting all
that has happened. I think if you would promise always to be frank
with me, and perhaps put up with some things that seem to you foolish
and old-fashioned notions, that we could get along together. I loved
your mother, and I want to love you and have your affection. But if
you cannot be happy, I will write to Mr. Landor and explain--"
"Aunt Virginia, I do love you. I don't want to go away. I am so sorry
about last night!" Charlotte buried her face in her aunt's lap.
"Don't cry, dear. It is all over, then, and we will forget it." Miss
Virginia caressed the brown head.
"But I am so ashamed. It hurts--I can't forget."
"Well, dear, perhaps you had some excuse. Caroline overlooked the fact
that you have lived an unusually independent life, and I think she did
not just understand how you felt about Lucile. I don't mean you were
right to go there, but-- Well, from now on you are my charge, and the
punishment is over. After this we'll try to understand and trust each
other."
"I am going to be good; you'll see," Charlotte whispered, her arms
about her aunt's neck.
She felt impatient to show Aunt Virginia she was really in earnest.
What could she do? As she dressed for the evening an idea occurred to
her. With many a pang she shook out her wavy brown hair and combed it
resolutely back from her face. It had always taken an absurd length of
time to arrange that drooping mass in just the proper manner, but
Lucile had commended her skill. It was much easier to brush it back in
a way to show how prettily it grew about her forehead, but Charlotte
really considered herself a fright as she tied a blue ribbon on her
long braid.
The change gave her rather a chastened look, combined as it was with a
timid self-consciousness when she entered the dining-room. Her aunts
surveyed her with evident astonishment.
"Well, Charlotte," Mrs. Millard remarked, affably, "you are really a
nice-looking little girl when you let yourself alone."
Aunt Virginia patted her hand and said nothing, but Charlotte felt
sure she understood.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH
MRS. MILLARD DEPARTS
Relieved and thankful though Miss Virginia felt, and confident, too,
that she and Charlotte would now get on very well together, she still
had something on her mind. The feeling that she was concealing
something from her sister weighed upon her, but not so heavily as her
sense of obligation to the shopkeepers. In her agitation she had
hardly thanked Miss Pennington; and the more she considered it, the
more remarkable their kindness and thoughtfulness appeared. Would
Caroline call it officiousness?
Mrs. Millard had gone so far as to acknowledge the shopkeepers
_seemed_ to be persons of refinement, and their effort to make a
living was, of course, creditable; but she feared they did not quite
know their position. Perhaps they were from some small town, where
social distinctions were overlooked.
"Perhaps they are well born, but have lost their money and have to do
something," Miss Virginia suggested, thinking that the manners of the
young women in question were not in the least rustic.
Ignoring this her sister continued: "It is quite evident to my mind
that they are pushing. Why else should they have come into a
neighborhood like this, instead of going where they belong, among
other shops? They evidently hope for some social recognition, and this
is why I lay stress upon not giving them our patronage in any respect.
I see plainly they will leave no stone unturned to ingratiate
themselves."
Did this account for Charlotte's rescue? Miss Virginia shivered at the
thought. It had seemed to her the extreme of neighborly kindness. One
thing was certain,--Miss Carpenter had not invented the occasion. Had
she seized it in the hope of advancing her own interests? Miss
Virginia felt this was silly.
How friendly and helpful Miss Pennington had seemed! Could a
commonplace, pushing young woman have so won Miss Virginia's heart?
She lay awake at night thinking about it, wondering how she could
suitably express her gratitude and at the same time preserve a distant
dignity. In the silence and darkness all sorts of dreadful
possibilities floated through her mind. Perhaps these harmless-looking
young women were adventuresses, come into the neighborhood with some
deep scheme, and the attractive shop as a blind. They might be
burglars. One read of astonishing things done by women in these days.
Miss Virginia felt impatient over this new problem, and her irritation
caused a display of unusual spirit when her sister began to give her
parting instructions.
"You'd better send the drawing-room curtains to Lucinda in January,"
said that lady, thoughtfully, balancing her pencil above the pad on
her knee. "I have made a list--"
"It is quite unnecessary, Caroline," interrupted Miss Virginia; "I
kept house for a good many years without you, and you can't expect to
run things here while you are in California."
"It seems to me, Virginia, you use very unbecoming expressions. I have
no desire to _run things_; I only supposed you would be glad of a few
suggestions."
"I am sure I don't wish to be rude, but I will be frank and tell you,
Caroline, that I mean to do as I please while you are away."
Mrs. Millard gazed at her in surprise. "Why, Virginia, one would
suppose you had been a captive in chains! Very well, I wash my hands
of it all,--only," relapsing into a tone of pathetic reproach, "you do
such singular things at times, you know."
She was manifestly shaken by this declaration of independence, but she
was committed to her older sister. It was too late to change her
plans. She ventured one parting injunction. "Pray, Virginia, do not
patronize the shop. Let me beg of you, if you have any regard for me."
* * * * *
In Mrs. Millard's sudden departure the Terrace naturally felt an
interest.
"So Caroline's going to leave us," Judge Russell remarked at the
breakfast table. "We shall be free to do as we please this winter.
I'll have that poplar set out in February."
"Aren't you ashamed, grandfather!" laughed Madelaine. "As if you had
not strength of mind to do as you like."
The judge smiled as he stirred his coffee. "Caroline is a forceful
woman; and then, too, she is generally right. It may be, as she says,
the tree will not grow, but I want to try it."
"I wonder she is willing to leave Virginia all the responsibility of
Charlotte. She is such a headstrong child, and so northern," said Mrs.
Russell.
"Now, mother," expostulated Alexina, "isn't that dreadfully narrow?"
"What harm is there in liking your own part of the country best?"
asked her sister.
"I did not mean any such thing," cried Alex. "I only insist that no
locality has the monopoly of nice people."
"But some peculiarities are northern and some are southern, and I
don't see that it is narrow to prefer one sort above the other,"
Madelaine persisted. "How can Mrs. Millard make up her mind to leave
the shop?" she continued. "Miss Sarah has gone over to the enemy, and
Alex is going."
"I don't understand about that shop," said her grandfather, not for
the first time, by any means. "I told you about that young lady who
so kindly picked up my books,--a most intelligent person, and as
pretty as--as Madelaine." This with a smile at his youngest
granddaughter.
"Here is another conversion," laughed Madelaine.
"I can't understand about the shop," the judge repeated.
"Why isn't keeping a shop just as respectable as teaching or keeping
boarders?" asked Alex. She had in truth been strongly attracted to
Miss Pennington that evening at Miss Wilbur's, and had a secret desire
to see more of her.
* * * * *
Wayland Leigh brought the news of Mrs. Millard's proposed departure to
his two aunts. He had it from Madelaine Russell.
"I wish you could have such a trip, Sarah," said Mrs. Leigh. "It would
do you a world of good. As Aunt Nancy used to say, you are so thin you
have to stand up twice to cast a shadow."
"Caroline is going from a sense of duty, you may be sure. And what
would my boarders do while I was skylarking in California?" her niece
demanded. This was a mild joke, for the boarders had not as yet
materialized.
"I wish you would give up that idea, Aunt Sarah," growled Wayland.
"You agree with Mrs. Millard, I suppose. She thinks it involves the
whole Terrace in a downward step. But what am I to do? Caroline
assured me she could secure the position of matron at the Children's
Home for me, but what would you and Aunt Sally do then, poor things?"
"Oh, it is easy to laugh--" began Wayland.
"Is it? Then I wish you would favor us sometimes, my dear nephew."
"I was going to say," continued Wayland, with dignity, "that it was
easy to make fun of Mrs. Millard, but she is my idea of an elegant
woman."
"Far be it from me to deny Caroline's elegance. I am often proud to
know her. I believe there could be no emergency great enough to make
her say 'hello!' over the telephone, and I saw her on one occasion put
up her lorgnette when she answered a call."
"Now, Sarah," said Mrs. Leigh, laughing.
The two ladies talked on about neighborhood affairs, but Wayland paid
little heed, being absorbed in his own thoughts. He was in an
impatient and critical mood. What he considered his aunt's oddity
annoyed him. He wished she would dress like other people,--meaning
Mrs. Millard. He was twenty years old, and was working in a bank for
fifty dollars a month, with small chance of promotion. He had wished
to go to college,--not so much, however, as his aunt had wished it for
him,--but now this was overshadowed by the ambition to be rich. And
all for Madelaine. Sometimes he fiercely resolved that he _would_ be
rich; and again he lost heart at the thought that lovely, dainty
Madelaine was certain to find another palace long before his was
built. Her frank worldliness did not weaken his adoration, strange to
say.
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH
GIANT DESPAIR
"Miss Norah, I am afraid Miss Marion is falling back." Susanna stood
in the doorway, a tea towel in one hand, a cup in the other.
Norah, who was putting in order certain shelves before the day's work
began, asked, "Why do you think so, Susanna?"
"Well, Miss Norah, I caught her walking around the house with her eyes
shut, feeling her way like she was trying to get used to it." Susanna
advanced and spoke in a whisper, "And she hasn't had a smile for
anybody this last day or two. Haven't you noticed it?"
"To tell the truth, I have, Susanna; but, after all, it is not
unnatural. The excitement of getting settled and beginning work made
her forget, and now the novelty is wearing off she has, as you say,
slipped back. All this rain and fog is in itself depressing. Don't
worry, Susanna. Hasn't everything I promised you come true up till
now?"
"I suppose so, Miss Norah," was the reluctant answer.
"Then don't worry, and I'll let you keep shop this afternoon."
Where the shop was concerned, Susanna was like a child; and nothing
pleased her more than to be left in charge for an hour or so. Her own
domain, the three bedrooms, dining room, and kitchen, she kept in
spotless order, creating the daintiest repasts as if by magic, and
seeming always to have time to spare.
She went back to her dishes, and Norah worked away with a thoughtful
frown. Presently Marion entered and dropped into a chair with a weary
sigh. "It is a horrid day," she said.
"There is a bit of blue in the west; by afternoon it may be pleasant,"
Norah responded.
When one is immersed in gloom, the sight of determined cheerfulness is
irritating. So Marion found it.
"The air is so heavy one can hardly breathe," she went on. "I believe
I'll let Susanna attend to the plants; I am tired."
"I have time to do it," said Norah, closing the door of the case.
Marion rose impatiently. "You shall not touch them. If Susanna cannot
do them, I will."
"Susanna would cut off her hand if you asked it; but I know she has
more than usual to do this morning, and we agreed the shop was to be
our part. I am not in the least tired. Please, Marion!" Norah stood
between her and the door.
"Very well. I shall attend to it myself," and Marion swept by her.
"O dear!" sighed Norah, "I feel like a tyrant; but she must not give
up."
Marion returned presently and began washing the palms and clipping
away the dead leaves. She worked listlessly, her face wore an
expression of deep melancholy.
A diversion was created by the entrance of James Mandeville. He had
been kept in several days by a cold, and the joy of release radiated
from his small person.
"Mammy says she reckons the sun's going to shine by and by, so she let
me come," he announced.
"Mammy and I are of the same opinion, then," said Norah, helping him
off with his coat. "Can't you think of something to cheer Miss Marion?
She is very tired of this rainy weather."
"I'll sing her a song, that's what I'll do," James Mandeville cried
eagerly. "You wait."
He disappeared into the next room, where presently his voice was heard
uplifted in "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and if the tune was a trifle
uncertain, nothing was lacking in spirit. Through the open door he
marched, holding the morning paper before him, and proceeding the
length of the shop.