Ogilvie made a will leaving the ten thousand pounds which Lord
Grayleigh had given him absolutely to Sibyl for her sole use and
benefit. He also made all other preparations for his absence from
home, and started for Queensland on Saturday. He wrote to his wife on
the night before he left England, repeating his injunction that on no
account was Sibyl to be yet told of his departure.
"When she absolutely must learn it, break it to her in the tenderest
way possible," he said; "but as Grayleigh has kindly invited you both
to stay on at Grayleigh Manor for another week, you may as well do so,
and while there I want the child to be happy. The country air and the
companionship of other children are doing her a great deal of good. I
never saw her look better than I did the other day. I should also be
extremely glad, Mildred, if on your return to town you would arrange
to send Sibyl to a nice day-school, where she could have companions. I
have nothing to say against Miss Winstead, but I think the child would
be better, less old-fashioned, and might place us more on the pedestal
which we really ought to occupy, if she had other children to talk to
and exchange thoughts with. Try to act, my dear wife, as I would like
in this particular, I beg of you. Also when you have to let my darling
know that I am away, you will find a letter for her in my left-hand
top drawer in my study table. Give it to her, and do not ask to see
it. It is just a little private communication from her father, and for
her eyes alone. Be sure, also, you tell her that, all being well, I
hope to be back in England by the end of the summer."
Ogilvie added some more words to his letter, and Mrs. Ogilvie received
it on Saturday morning. She read it over carelessly, and then turned
to Jim Rochester who stood near. During her visit to Grayleigh Manor
she had got to know this young man very well, and to like him
extremely. He was good-looking, pleasant to talk to, well informed,
and with genial, hearty views of life. He had been well brought up,
and his principles were firm and unshaken. His notion of living was to
do right on every possible occasion, to turn from the wrong with
horror, to have faith in God, to keep religion well in view, and as
far as in him lay to love his neighbor better than himself.
Rochester, it may be frankly stated, had some time ago lost his heart
to Lady Helen Douglas, who, on her part, to all appearance returned
his affection. Nothing had yet, however, been said between the pair,
although Rochester's eyes proclaimed his secret whenever they rested
on Lady Helen's fair face.
He watched Mrs. Ogilvie now with a sudden interest as she folded up
her husband's letter.
"Well," she said, turning to him and uttering a quick sigh; "he is
off, it is a _fait accompli_. Do you know, I am relieved."
"Are you?" he answered. He looked at her almost wistfully. He himself
was sorry for Ogilvie, he did not know why. He was, of course, aware
that he was going to Queensland to assay the Lombard Deeps, for the
talk of the great new gold mine had already reached his ears. He knew
that Ogilvie, moreover, looked pale, ill at ease, and worried. He
supposed that this uneasiness and want of alacrity in carrying a very
pleasurable business to a successful issue was caused by the man's
great attachment to his wife and child. Mrs. Ogilvie must also be
sorry when she remembered that it would be many months before she saw
him again. But there was no sorrow now in the soft eyes which met his,
nothing but a look of distinct annoyance.
"Really," she said with an impatient movement, "I must confide in some
one, and why not in you, Mr. Rochester, as well as another? I have
already told you that my husband is absolutely silly about that
child. From her birth he has done all that man could do to spoil her."
"But without succeeding," interrupted Jim Rochester. "I am quite
friendly with your little Sibyl now," he added, "and I never saw a
nicer little girl."
"Oh, that is what strangers always say," replied Mrs. Ogilvie,
shrugging her shoulders, "and the child is nice, I am not denying it
for a moment, but she would be nicer if she were not simply ruined. He
wants her to live in an impossible world, without any contradictions
or even the smallest pain. You will scarcely believe it, but he would
not allow me, the other day, to tell her such a very simple, ordinary
thing as that he was going to Queensland on business, and now, in his
letter, he still begs of me to keep it a secret from her. She is not
to know anything about his absence until she returns to London,
because, forsooth, the extra week she is to spend in the country would
not do her so much good if she were fretting. Why should Sibyl fret?
Surely it is not worse for her than for me; not nearly as bad, for
that matter."
"I am glad you feel it," said Rochester.
"Feel it? What a strange remark! Did you think I was heartless? Of
course I feel it, but I am not going to be silly or sentimental over
the matter. Philip is a very lucky man to have this business to do. I
would not be so foolish as to keep him at home; but he is ruining that
child, ruining her. She gets more spoilt and intolerable every day."
"Forgive me, Mrs. Ogilvie," said Lady Helen, who came upon the scene
at that moment, "I heard you talking of your little daughter. I don't
think I ever met a sweeter child."
Mrs. Ogilvie threw up her hands in protest.
"There you go," she said. "Mr. Rochester has been saying almost the
very same words, Lady Helen. Now let me tell you that Sibyl is not
your child; no one can be more charming to strangers."
As Mrs. Ogilvie spoke she walked a few steps away; then she turned and
resumed her conversation.
"The annoying part of this letter," she said, "is that Philip has
written a private communication to Sibyl, and when she hears of his
absence she is to be given this letter, and I am not even to see it. I
don't think I shall give it to her; I really must now take the
management of the child into my own hands. Her father will be
absent----Oh, there you are, Sibyl. What are you doing, loitering
about near windows? Why don't you play with your companions?" For
Sibyl had burst in by the open window, looking breathless.
"I thought--I thought," she began; "I thought, mother, that I heard
you----" her face was strangely white, and her wide-open eyes looked
almost wild in expression.
"It's not true, of course; but I thought I heard you say something
about father, and a--a letter I was to have in his absence. Did you
say it, mother?"
"I said nothing of the sort," replied Mrs. Ogilvie, flushing red, and
almost pushing Sibyl from the room, "nothing of the sort; go and
play."
Sibyl gave her an earnest and very penetrating look. She did not
glance either at Mr. Rochester or Lady Helen.
"It's wicked for good people to tell lies, isn't it?" she said then,
slowly.
"Wicked," cried her mother; "it's shamefully wicked."
"And you are good, mother, you don't ever tell lies; I believe you,
mother, of course." She turned and went out of the room. As she went
slowly in the direction of the field where the other children were
taking turns to ride bareback one of the horses, her thoughts were
very puzzled.
"I wish things would be 'splained to me," she said, half aloud, and
she pushed back her curls from her forehead. "There are more and more
things every day want 'splaining. I certainly did hear her say it. I
heard them all talking, and Lady Helen said something, and Mr.
Rochester said something, and mother said that father wished me not to
know, and I was to have a letter, and then mother said 'in his
absence.' Oh, what can it mean?"
The other children shouted to her from the field, but she was in no
mood to join them, and just then Lord Grayleigh, who was pacing up and
down his favorite walk, called her to his side.
"What a puzzled expression you are wearing, my little girl," he said.
"Is anything the matter?"
Sibyl skipped up to him. Some of the cloud left her face. Perhaps he
could put things straight for her.
"I want to ask you a question," she said.
"You are always asking questions. Now ask me something really nice;
but first, I have something to say. I am in a very giving mood this
morning. Sometimes I am in a saving mood, and would not give so much
as a brass farthing to anybody, but I am in the other sort of mood
to-day. I am in the mood to give a little golden-haired girl
called----"
"Sibyl," said the child, beginning to laugh; "if she is golden-haired
it must be me. What is it you want to give me?"
Her attention was immediately arrested; her eyes shone and her lips
smiled.
"What would you like best in the world?"
"Oh, best in the whole world? But I cannot have that, not for a
week--we are going home this day week."
"And what will you have when you go home?"
"Father's kiss every night. He always comes up, Lord Grayleigh, and
tucks me in bed, and he kisses me, and we have a cozy talk. He never
misses, never, when he is at home. I am lonesome here, Lord Grayleigh,
because mother does not think it good for me that she should come; she
would if she thought it good for me."
"Well," said Lord Grayleigh, who for some reason did not feel quite
comfortable as Sibyl talked of her father's kisses, "we must find
something for you, not quite the best thing of all. What would be the
next best?"
"I know," said Sibyl, laughing, "a Shetland pony; oh, I do want one so
badly. Mother sometimes rides in the Park, and I do so long to go with
her, but she said we couldn't afford it. Oh, I do want a pony."
"You shall have one," said Lord Grayleigh; "it shall be my present to
a very good, charming little girl."
"Do you really think I am good?"
"Good? Excellent; you are a pattern to us all."
"Wouldn't father like to hear you. It's wonderful how he talked to me
about being good. I am not really good, you know; but I mean to try.
If you were to look into my heart, you would see--oh, but you shan't
look." She started back, clasped her hands, and laughed. "But when
father looks next, he shall see, oh, a white heart with all the
naughtiness gone."
"Tell me exactly what sort of pony you would like," said Lord
Grayleigh, who thought it desirable to turn the conversation.
"It must have a long mane, and not too short a tail," said Sibyl; "and
be sure you give me the very nicest, newest sort of side-saddle, same
as mother has herself, for mother's side-saddle is very comfy. Oh, and
I'd like a riding habit like mother's, too. Mother will be sure to say
she can't 'ford one for me, but you'll give me one if you give me the
pony and the side-saddle, won't you?"
"I'll give you the pony and the side-saddle, and the habit," said Lord
Grayleigh. "I'll choose the pony to-morrow, and bring him back with
me. I am going to Lyndhurst, in the New Forest, where they are going
to have a big horse fair. You will not mind having a New Forest pony
instead of a Shetland?"
[Illustration: "A perfect person could not tell a lie, could she?"
asked Sibyl.--Page 123. _Daddy's Girl._]
"I don't mind what sort my darling pony is," answered the child. "I
only want to have it. Oh, you are nice. I began by not liking you,
but I like you awfully now. You are very nice, indeed."
"And so are you. It seems to me we suit each other admirably."
"There are lots of nice people in the world," said Sibyl. "It's a very
pleasant place. There are two quite perfect, and there are others very
nice; you and Mr. Rochester and Lady Helen. But, oh, Lord Grayleigh, I
know now what I wanted to say. A perfect person couldn't never tell a
lie, could she?"
"Oh, it's the feminine gender," said Lord Grayleigh softly, under his
breath.
"It's a she," said Sibyl; "could she; could she?"
"A perfect person could not, little girl."
"Now you have made me so happy that I am going to kiss you," said
Sibyl. She made a spring forward, flung her arms round his neck, and
kissed him twice on his rough cheek. The next instant she had vanished
out of sight and joined her companions.
"It's all right," she said to Gus, who looked at her in some
amazement. "It's all right; I got a fright, but there wasn't a word of
it true. Come, let's play. Oh, do you know your father is going to
give me a pony? I am so happy."
In a week's time Mrs. Ogilvie and Sibyl returned to town. Sibyl was
intensely joyful on this occasion, and confided in everyone what a
happy night she would have.
"You don't know what father is," she said, looking full up into
Rochester's eyes. He was standing on the terrace, and the little girl
went and stood by his side. Sibyl was in her most confiding mood. She
considered Lord Grayleigh, Mr. Rochester, Lady Helen, and the children
were all her special friends. It was impossible to doubt their entire
sympathy and absolute ability to rejoice in her joy.
"I have had a good time here," she said, "very good. Lord Grayleigh
has been nice; I began by not liking him, but I like him now, and I
like you awfully, but after all there's no place for me like my own,
own home. It's 'cos of father."
"Yes," said Rochester. He looked anxiously, as Sibyl spoke, towards
the house. Everyone at Grayleigh Manor now knew that Sibyl was not to
be told of her father's absence during her visit. No one approved of
this course, although no one felt quite towards it with the same sense
of irritation that Mrs. Ogilvie herself did. Rochester wished at this
instant that Lord Grayleigh or someone else would appear. He wanted
anything to cause a diversion, but Sibyl, in happy ignorance of his
sentiments, talked on.
"It is at night that my father is the most perfect of all," she said.
"I wish you could see him when he comes into my room. I am in bed, you
know, lying down flat on my back, and mostly thinking about the
angels. I do that a lot at night, I have no time in the day; I think
of the angels, and Lord Jesus Christ, and heaven, and then father
comes in. He opens the door soft, and he treads on tiptoe for fear I'm
asleep, as if I could be! And then he kisses me, and I think in the
whole of heaven there can never be an angel so good and beautiful as
he is, and he says something to me which keeps me strong until the
next night, when he says something else."
"But your mother?" stammered Rochester. He was about to add, "She
would go to your room, would she not?" when he remembered that she
herself had told him that nothing would induce her to adopt so
pernicious a course.
"Oh, you're thinking about my perfect mother, too," said Sibyl. "Yes,
she is perfect, but there are different sorts in the world. My own
mother thinks it is not good for me to lie awake at night and think of
the angels and wait for father. She thinks that I ought to bear the
yoke in my youth. Solomon, the wise King Solomon--you have heard of
him, haven't you?"
Rochester nodded.
"He wrote that verse about bearing the yoke when you are young. I
learnt it a week ago, and I felt it just 'splained about my mother.
It's really very brave of mother; but, you see, father thinks
different, and, of course, I nat'rally like father's way best.
Mother's way is the goodest for me, p'waps. Don't you think mother's
way is the goodest for me, Mr. Rochester?"
"I dare say it is good for you, Sibyl. Now, shall we go and find Lady
Helen?"
"Seems to me," said Sibyl, "I'm always looking for Lady Helen when I'm
with you. Is it 'cos you're so desperate fond of her?"
"Don't you like her yourself?" said the young man, reddening visibly.
"Like her? I like her just awfully. She's the most 'licious person to
tell stories I ever comed across in all my borned days. She tells
every sort of story about giants and fairies and adventures, and
stories of little girls just like me. Does she tell you stories about
men just like you, and is that why you like to be with her?"
"Well, I can't honestly say that she has ever yet told me a story, but
I will ask her to do so."
"Do," said Sibyl; "ask her to tell you a story about a man like
yourself. Make him rather pwoper and stiff and shy, and let him blush
sometimes. You do, you know you do. Maybe it will do you good to hear
about him. Now come along and let's find her."
So Sibyl and Rochester hunted all over the place for Lady Helen, and
when they found her not, for she had gone to the nearest village on a
commission with one of the children, Rochester's face looked somewhat
grave, and his answers to the child were a little _distrait_. Sibyl
said to him in a tone of absolute sympathy and good faith--
"Cheer up, won't you? She is quite certain to marry you in the long
run."
"Don't talk like that," said Rochester in a voice of pain.
"Don't what? You do want to marry Lady Helen. I heard mother say so
yesterday. I heard her say so to Hortense. Hortense was brushing her
hair, and mother said, 'It would be a good match on the whole for Lady
Helen, 'cos she is as poor as a church mouse, and Jim Rochester has
money.' Is my darling Lady Helen as poor as a church mouse, and have
you lots of money, Mr. Rochester?"
"I have money, but not lots. You ought not to repeat what you hear,"
said the young man.
"But why? I thought everybody knew. You are always trying to make her
marry you, I see it in your eyes; you don't know how you look when you
look at her, oh--ever so eager, same as I look when father's in the
room and he is not talking to me. I hope you will marry her, more
especial if she's as poor as a church mouse. I never knew why mice
were poor, nor why mother said it, but she did. Oh, and there is
mother, I must fly to her; good-by--good-by."
Rochester concealed his feelings as best he could, and hurried
immediately into a distant part of the grounds, where he cogitated
over what Sibyl, in her childish, way, had revealed.
The pony had been purchased, and Sibyl had ridden it once. It was a
bright bay with a white star on its forehead. It was a well-groomed,
well-trained little animal, and Lord Grayleigh had given Sibyl her
first riding lesson, and had shown her how to hold the reins, and how
to sit on her saddle, and the riding habit had come from town, and the
saddle was the newest and most comfortable that money could buy.
"It is my present to you," said Lord Grayleigh, "and remember when you
ride it that you are going to be a good girl."
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Sibyl, "I don't want _everyone_ to tell me
that I am to be a good girl. If it was father; but--don't please, Lord
Grayleigh; I'll do a badness if you talk to me any more about being so
good."
"Well, I won't," said Lord Grayleigh, laughing.
"I 'spect father will write you a most loving letter about this," said
Sibyl. "Won't he be 'sprised? And did you tell mother about me having
a ride every morning?"
"I did."
"And did you speak to her about the food for my pony all being paid
for?"
"Yes, everything is arranged. Your pony shall be the best cared for in
all London, and you shall ride him every day for half-an-hour before
you go to school."
"Oh, I never go to school," said Sibyl in a sorrowful voice. "I have a
Miss Winstead to teach me. She is the sort that--oh, well, no matter;
she means all right, poor thing. She wants the money, so of course she
has to stay. She doesn't suit me a bit, but she wants the money. It's
all right, isn't it?"
"So it seems, little girl; and now here is the carriage, and the pony
has gone off to London already, and will be ready to take you on his
back to-morrow morning. Be sure you think of a nice name for him."
"Father will tell me a name. I won't let anybody else christen my
ownest pony. Good-by, Lord Grayleigh. I like you very much. Say
good-by to Mr. Rochester for me--oh, and there is Lady Helen;
good-by, Lady Helen--good-by."
They all kissed Sibyl when they parted from her, and everyone was
sorry at seeing the last of her bright little face, and many
conjectures went forth with regard to the trouble that was before the
child when she got to London. One and all thought that Ogilvie had
behaved cruelly, and that his wife was somewhat silly to have yielded
to him.
Sibyl went up to town in the highest spirits. She chatted so much on
the road that her mother at last told her to hold her tongue.
"Sit back in your seat and don't chatter," she said, "you disturb
other people."
The other people in the carriage consisted of a very old gentleman and
a small boy of Sibyl's own age. The small boy smiled at Sibyl and she
smiled back, and if her mother had permitted it would have chatted to
him in a moment of her hopes and longings; but, when mother put on
that look, Sibyl knew that she must restrain her emotions, and she sat
back in her seat, and thought about the children who bore the yoke in
their youth, and how good it was for them, and how rapidly she was
growing into the sort of little girl her father most liked.
"Mother," she said, as they got towards the end of the journey, "I'm
'proving, aren't I?"
"Proving, what do you mean?"
"_Im_proving, mother."
"I can't say that I see it, Sibyl; you have been very troublesome for
the last few days."
"Oh!" said the child, "oh!"
Sibyl changed seats from the one opposite, and nestled up close to her
mother, she tucked her hand inside her arm, and then began to talk in
a loud, buzzing whisper.
"It's 'cos of father," she said; "he begged me so earnest to be a good
girl, and I _have_ tried, _haven't_ you noticed it, mother? Won't you
tell him when we get home that I have tried?"
"Don't worry me, Sibyl, you know my views. I want you to be just a
sensible, good child, without any of those high-flown notions. When we
return to town you must make up for your long holiday. You must do
your lessons with extreme care, and try to please Miss Winstead."
"And to please father and Lord Jesus."
"Yes, yes, child."
"And to have a ride every morning on my darling pony?"
"We will try and manage that. Lord Grayleigh has been almost silly
over that pony; I doubt whether it is wise for you to have it."
"Oh, mother, he did say he would buy everything--the pony, the
saddle, the habit, and he would 'ford the food, too. You have not got
to pay out any money, mother, have you?"
"Hush, don't talk so loud."
The old gentleman buried himself in _The Times_ in order not to hear
Sibyl's distressed voice, and the little boy stared out of the window
and got very red.
"Take up your book and stop talking," said Mrs. Ogilvie.
Sibyl took up a book which she already knew by heart, and kept back a
sorrowful sigh.
"But it don't matter," she said to herself; "when I see father, he'll
understand."
They got to town, where a carriage was waiting for them. Sibyl could
scarcely restrain her eagerness.
"Mother, may I ask John if father's likely to be at home? Sometimes he
comes home earlier than usual. P'waps he came home to lunch and is
waiting for us. Can I call out to John through the window, mother?"
"No, sit still, you do fidget so."
"I'll try to be quiet, mother; it's only 'cos I'm so incited."
"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Ogilvie to herself, "what an awful evening I am
likely to have! When the silly child really finds out that her father
has gone, she will burst into hysterics, or do something else absurd.
I really wish it had been my luck to marry a husband with a grain of
sense. I wonder if I had better tell her now. No, I really cannot.
Miss Winstead must do it. Miss Winstead has been having a nice
holiday, with no fuss or worry of any sort, and it is quite fair that
she should bear the burden of this. But why it should be regarded as a
burden or a trial is a puzzle. Philip goes on a sort of pleasure
expedition to Queensland, and the affair is treated almost as if--as
if it were a death. It is positively uncanny."
Sibyl noticed that her mother was silent, and that she looked worried.
Presently she stretched out her hand and stroked her mother's.
"What are you doing that for?"
"'Cos I thought I'd rub you the right way," said Sibyl. "You are like
a poor cat when it is rubbed the wrong way, aren't you, just now,
mother?"
"Don't be so ridiculous." Mrs. Ogilvie snatched her hand away.
They soon reached the house. The footman, Watson, sprang down and
lowered the steps. Sibyl bounded out and flew into the hall.
"Father, father!" she called. "I'm back. Are you in, father? Here I
are--Sibyl. I'm home again, father. The Angel is home again, father."
She did not often call herself the Angel, the name seemed to have more
or less slipped out of sight, but she did on this occasion, and she
threw back her pretty head and looked up the wide staircase, as if any
moment she might see her father hurrying down to meet her.
Mrs. Ogilvie turned to one of the servants, who was watching the child
in astonishment.
"She does not know yet," whispered Mrs. Ogilvie. "I am going into the
library; don't tell her anything, pray, but send Miss Winstead to me
immediately."
Mrs. Ogilvie entered the library. Sibyl danced in after her.
"I can't see father anywhere," she said: "I 'spect he's not back yet."
"Of course he is not back so early. Now run upstairs and ask Nurse to
make you ready for tea. Leave me, I have something to say to Miss
Winstead."
Miss Winstead appeared at that moment. She had enjoyed her holiday,
and looked the better for it. Though she understood Sibyl very little,
yet at this moment she gazed at the child almost with alarm, for Mrs.
Ogilvie had written to her telling her that Mr. Ogilvie's absence had
not been alluded to in the child's presence.
Sibyl rushed to her and kissed her.
"I am back, and I am going to be good," she said. "I really, truly am;
aren't you glad to see me?"
"Yes, Sibyl."
"Go upstairs now, Sibyl," said her mother. Sibyl obeyed somewhat
unwillingly, some of the laughter went out of her eyes, and a little
of the excitement faded from her heart. She went up the wide stairs
slowly, very slowly. Even now she hoped that it might be possible for
her father to appear, turning the angle of the winding stairs, coming
out of one of the rooms. He always had such a bright face, there was
an eagerness about it. He was tall and rather slender, and that bright
look in his eyes always caused the child's heart to leap; then his
mouth could wear such a beautiful smile. It did not smile for many
people, but it always did for Sibyl. She wanted to see him, oh, so
badly, so badly.
"Well, never mind," she said to herself, "he can't help it, the
darling; but he'll be back soon," and she tripped into her nursery and
sat down; but she did not ask Nurse any questions, she was too busy
with her own thoughts.