About this time Mrs. Ogilvie was subjected to a somewhat severe form
of temptation. It had been one of the biggest dreams of her life to
possess a country place. She had never been satisfied with the fact
that she and her husband must live in town except when they went to
lodgings at the seaside, or were on visits to their friends. She
wanted to have their own country place to go to just when she pleased,
a place where she could invite her friends whenever the whim seized
her. In an evil moment, almost immediately after Ogilvie had gone to
Australia, she had visited a house agent and told him some of her
desires.
"My husband is not prepared to buy a place now," she said in
conclusion, "but he soon will be in a position to do so, and I want
you to look round for me and tell me if anything nice happens to come
into the market."
The agent had replied that he would be sure to let his client know if
anything suitable came his way. Very soon places, apparently quite to
Mrs. Ogilvie's heart, did come in the agent's way, and then somehow,
in some fashion, other house agents got wind of Mrs. Ogilvie's
desire, and now scarcely a post came that did not bring her most
tempting prospectuses with regard to country places. There was one in
particular which so exactly pleased her that she became quite
_distrait_ and restless except when she was talking of it. She went to
see this special place several times. It was on the Thames just above
Richmond. The grounds sloped down to the water. The house itself was
built in a low, rambling, eccentric fashion. It covered a considerable
extent of ground; there were several gardens, and they were all nicely
kept and were bright with flowers, and had many overhanging trees. The
house itself, too, had every modern comfort. There were many bedrooms
and several fine reception rooms, and there were tennis and croquet
lawns in the grounds, all smooth as velvet and perfectly level. There
were also kitchen-gardens, and some acres of land, as yet undevoted to
any special purpose, at the back of the house. It was just the sort of
place which a man who was in a nice position in society might be glad
to own. Its late owner had given it the somewhat eccentric title of
Silverbel, and certainly the place was as bright and charming as its
name.
This desirable little property was to be obtained, with its
surrounding acres, for the modest sum of twenty thousand pounds, and
Mrs. Ogilvie was so fascinated by the thought of being mistress of
Silverbel, on the lovely winding River Thames, that she wrote to her
husband on the subject.
"It is the very best place of its kind in the market," she wrote. "It
was sold to its present owner for thirty thousand pounds, but he is
obliged to live abroad and is anxious to sell it, and would give it
for twenty thousand. I want you, when you receive this, to wire to me
to carry on negotiations in your absence. I have already consulted our
lawyer, Mr. Acland. He says the house is drained, and the air of the
place would be just the kind to suit Sibyl. She would enjoy so much
her row on the river, and all our friends would like it. With the
money you must now have at your disposal you can surely gratify me
with regard to Silverbel."
Mrs. Ogilvie had, of course, not yet received any answer to her
letter, but she visited Silverbel twice a week, and took Sibyl also to
see the beautiful place.
"It will be yours when father comes home," she said to the child.
Sibyl skipped about madly.
"It's just too 'licious!" she said. "Is this one of the things God
gives us because we are rich? Isn't it kind of Lord Jesus to make us
rich? Don't you love Him very, very much, mother?"
Mrs. Ogilvie always turned aside when Sibyl spoke to her about her
love for the Lord Jesus. Not that she considered herself by any means
an irreligious woman. She went to church always once, and sometimes
twice on Sunday. She subscribed to any number of charities, and as the
little girl now spoke her eyes became full of a soft light.
"We can have a bazaar here," she said, "a bazaar for the Home for
Incurables at Watleigh. Lady Severn was talking to me about it last
night, and said how terribly it needed funds. Sibyl, when father comes
back we will have a great big bazaar here at lovely Silverbel, and a
marquee on the lawn, and we will ask all the most charitable people in
London to take stalls; some of the big-wigs, you know."
"Big-wigs?" said Sibyl, "what are they?"
"People, my dear child, who are high up in the social scale."
"I don't understand, mother," answered Sibyl. "Oh, do look at this
rose, did you ever see such a perfect beauty? May I pick it, mother?
It is just perfect, isn't it, not quite full out and yet not a bud.
I'd like very much to send it to my ownest father."
"Silly child! Yes, of course you may pick it, but it will be dead long
before it reaches him."
"It's heart won't be dead," said Sibyl. She did not know why she made
the latter remark. She often did say things which she but half
understood. She carefully picked the rose and fastened it into the
front of her white dress. When she returned to town that evening she
put the rose in water and looked at it with affectionate interest.
"What a pretty flower! Where did my darling get it?" said nurse.
"At Silverbel, the beautiful, beautiful place that father is going to
buy when he is rich. You can't think how good mother is growing,
nursie; she is getting better and better every day."
"H'm!" said nurse.
"Why do you make those sort of noises when I speak of my mother? I
don't like it," said the child. "But I must tell you about Silverbel.
Mother says it is practicalically ours now. I don't quite know what
she means by practicalically, but I suppose she means that it is
almost our place. Anyhow, when my dearest rich father comes back it
will be ours, and we are going to make poor Mr. Holman quite rich, and
you, darling nursie, quite rich, and--and others quite rich. We are
going to have a great big bazaar at Silverbel, and the _big-wigs_ are
coming to it. Isn't it a funny word! perhaps you don't know what
big-wigs are, but I do."
Nurse laughed.
"Eat your supper and go to bed, Miss Sibyl. You are staying up a great
deal too late, and you are learning things you had better know nothing
about."
Meanwhile Mrs. Ogilvie downstairs was having a consultation with her
lawyer.
"I don't want to lose the place," she said. "My husband is safe to be
satisfied with my decision."
"If you have really made up your mind to pay twenty thousand pounds
for the place, and I cannot say that I think it at all dear," replied
the lawyer, "I have no objection to lending you a couple of thousand
pounds to pay a deposit. You need not complete the purchase for at
least three months, and I have not the slightest doubt I can further
arrange that you may go into possession, say--well, any time you like
after the deposit money is paid."
"Can you really?" said Mrs. Ogilvie, her eyes growing dark and almost
passionate in their eagerness.
"At the worst it could be taken off your hands," he answered; "but
doubtless, from what you tell me, Ogilvie will be well able to
complete the thing; only remember, pray remember, Mrs. Ogilvie, that
this is rather a big matter, and if by any chance your husband does
not find the Lombard Deeps all that Lord Grayleigh expects"--he paused
and looked thoughtful. "I can lend you the money if you wish it," he
said then abruptly.
"The money to enable me to pay a deposit?" she said.
"Yes; two thousand pounds; I believe the owners will take that on
condition that the purchase is completed, say, in October."
"My husband will be back by then. I have a great mind to agree," she
said. She almost trembled in her eagerness. After a moment's pause she
spoke.
"I will accept your offer, Mr. Acland. I don't know where to go in
August and September, and Silverbel will be the very place. Mr.
Ogilvie will thank you most heartily for your generous trust in us
both when he comes back."
"I have plenty of funds to meet this loan," thought the lawyer. "I am
safe so far." Aloud he said, "Then I will go and see the owners
to-morrow."
"This clinches the matter," said Mrs. Ogilvie, "I will begin ordering
the furniture immediately."
The lawyer and the lady had a little further conversation, and then
Mrs. Ogilvie dressed and went out to dine, and told many of her
friends of her golden dreams.
"A place in the country, a place like Silverbel, has always been the
longing of my life," she said, and she looked pathetic and almost
ethereal, as she spoke, and as though nothing pleased her more than a
ramble through country lanes with buttercups and daisies within reach.
On the following Sunday, Rochester happened to lunch with Mrs. Ogilvie
and her little daughter. Mrs. Ogilvie talked during the entire meal of
the beautiful place which was soon to be hers.
"You shall come with Sibyl and me to see it to-morrow," she said. "I
will ask Lady Helen to come, too. I will send her a note by messenger.
We might meet at Victoria Station at eleven o'clock, and go to
Silverbel and have lunch at the little inn on the river."
Rochester agreed somewhat eagerly. His eyes brightened. He looked at
Sibyl, who gave him a meaning, affectionate, sympathetic glance. She
would enjoy very much seeing the lovers wandering through beautiful
Silverbel side by side.
"It's the most darling, lovely place," she said; "nobody knows how
beautiful it is. I do hope it will soon be ours."
"When our ship comes in, it will be ours," said Mrs. Ogilvie, and she
laughed merrily and looked full of happiness.
When the servants left the room, however, Rochester bent forward and
said something to Mrs. Ogilvie which did not please that good lady
quite so much.
"Have you heard the rumors with regard to the Lombard Deeps Gold
Mine?" he asked.
"What rumors?" Mrs. Ogilvie looked anxious. "I know nothing whatever
about business," she said, testily, "I leave all that absolutely to my
husband. I know that he considers the mine an excellent one, but his
full report cannot yet have reached England."
"Of course it has not. Ogilvie's report in full cannot come to hand
for another six weeks. I allude now to a paragraph in one of the great
financial papers, in which the mine is somewhat depreciated, the gold
being said to be much less to the ton than was originally supposed,
and the strata somewhat shallow, and terminating abruptly. Doubtless
there is no truth in it."
"Not a word, not a word," said Mrs. Ogilvie; "but I make a point of
being absolutely ignorant with regard to gold mines. I consider it
positively wrong of a woman to mix herself up in such masculine
matters. All the sweet femininity of character must depart if such
knowledge is carried to any extent."
"Lady Helen knows about all these sort of things, and yet I think she
is quite feminine," said Rochester; and then he colored faintly and
looked at Sibyl, whose eyes danced with fun.
Mrs. Ogilvie slowly rose from the table.
"You will find cigars in that box," she said. "No, Sibyl, you are not
to stay with Mr. Rochester; come to the drawing-room with me."
"Oh, do let her stay," earnestly pleaded the young man, "she has often
sat with me while I smoked before."
"Well, as you please, but don't spoil her," said the mother. She left
the room, and Sibyl curled herself up luxuriously in a deep armchair
near Mr. Rochester.
"I have a lot of things to ask you," she said; "I am not going to be
like my ownest mother, I am going to be like Lady Helen. I want to
understand about the gold mine. I want to understand why, if you give
your money to a certain thing, you get back little bits of gold. Can
you make the gold into sovereigns, is that what happens?"
"It is extremely difficult for me to explain," said Rochester, "but I
think the matter lies in a nutshell. If your father gives a good
report of the mine there will be a great deal of money subscribed, as
it is called, by different people."
"What's subscribed?"
"Well, given. You know what it means when people ask your mother to
subscribe to a charity?"
"Oh, yes, I know quite well; and Mr. and Mrs. Holman, they may
subscribe, may they?"
"Yes, whoever they may be. I don't know Mr. and Mrs. Holman, but of
course they may intend to subscribe, and other people will do the
same, and if we give, say, a hundred pounds we shall get back perhaps
one hundred and fifty, perhaps two hundred."
"Oh, that's very nice," said Sibyl; "I seem to understand, and yet I
don't understand."
"You understand enough, my dear little girl, quite enough. Don't
puzzle your poor little brain. Your mother is right, these are matters
for men."
"And you are quite certain that my father will say that the beautiful
mine is full of gold?" said Sibyl.
"He will say it if the gold is there."
"And if it is not?"
"Then he will tell the truth."
"Of course," said Sibyl, proudly. "My father couldn't tell a lie if he
was even to try. It would be impossible, wouldn't it, Mr. Rochester?"
"I should say quite impossible," replied Rochester firmly.
"You are awfully nice, you know," she said; "you are nice enough even
for Lady Helen. I do hope father will find the mine full up to the
brim with gold. Such a lot of people will be happy then."
"So they will," replied Rochester.
"And darlingest mother can have the beautiful place. Hasn't the new
place got a lovely name--Silverbel?"
"It sounds very pretty, Sibyl."
"And you will come to-morrow and see it, won't you?"
"Yes."
"And you will bring Lady Helen?"
"Your mother will bring Lady Helen."
"It's all the same," replied Sibyl. "Oh, I am so glad."
She talked a little longer, and then went upstairs.
Miss Winstead often spent Sunday with her friends. She was not in the
schoolroom now as Sibyl entered. Sibyl thought this was a golden
opportunity to write to her father. She sat down and prepared to write
a letter. This was always a somewhat laborious task. Her thoughts
flowed freely enough, but her hand could not wield the pen quite quick
enough for the eager thoughts, nor was her spelling perfect, nor her
written thoughts quite so much to the point as her spoken ones.
Nevertheless, it was full time for her father to hear from her, and
she had a great deal to say. She took a sheet of paper, dipped her pen
in the ink, and began:
"DARLINGIST FATHER,--Yesterday I picked a rose at Silverbel,
the place that mother wants us to have when you com bak
rich. Here's the rose for you. Pwaps it will be withered,
father, but its hart will be alive. Kiss it and think of
Sibyl. It's hart is like my hart, and my hart thinks of you
morning, noon, and night, evry night, father, and evry
morning, and allways, allways during the hole of the day.
It's most portant, father, that you should come back rich.
It's most solum nesesarey. I do so hope the mine will be
full up to the brim with gold, for if it is a lot of people
here will be made happy. Have you found the mine yet,
father, and is it ful to the brim of gold? You don't know
how portant it is. It's cos of Mr. and Mrs. Holman, father,
and their dusty broken toys, and cos of nursie and her
spectakles, and cos of one who wants to marry another one,
and I mustn't tell names, and cos of the big-wigs, father.
Oh, it is portant.
"Your lovin
"SIBYL."
"He'll understand," thought Sibyl; "he's wonderful for seeing right
through a thing, and he'll quite know what I mean by the 'heart of the
rose,'" and she kissed the rose passionately and put it inside the
letter, and nurse directed the letter for her, and it was dropped into
the pillar-box that same night.
The letter was not read by the one it was intended for until--but that
refers to another part of the story.