SORROWFUL PARTINGS
BY Mr. Hollys' pressing invitation, Mr. Harvey became his guest for a
time. Coral quickly lost all fear of him. His bronzed, bearded face had
a kind look, and his manner to the children was gentle and winning. He
could not make enough of little Coral, who reminded him so vividly of
the sister he had lost, and it seemed to him that by goodness to her
child he might, to some extent, make amends to his dead sister for the
unkindness he now so deeply regretted.
It may be imagined what a blow it was to the children when they learned
that Mr. Harvey had made up his mind to return to Australia in the
following month, and that he meant to take Coral with him.
Beryl protested indignantly against the cruelty of taking Coral from
her. Coral's sorrow was less demonstrative, but she grieved sorely as
the parting drew near.
"Australia is such miles and miles and miles away!" Beryl would
declare. "I shall never see you again, Coral, if you go there; I know I
never shall. And I thought you were always going to be my dear little
sister, and we should never be parted. Oh, it is too dreadful!"
"And to think that the great wide sea will be always between us," said
Coral; "that will make you seem such an immense way off."
"I shall never look at the waves without thinking of you," said Beryl.
"I shall fancy you are right away there, as far as one can see, and I
shall call across the waves—'Coral! Coral!' But you will not hear me."
"Perhaps I shall, if you call very loud," replied Coral.
The children had their photographs taken before they parted, and as
souvenirs they exchanged lockets, made of solid gold, with a wreath of
forget-me-nots wrought in turquoise, which Mr. Hollys bought for them.
Beryl's locket held Coral's likeness, and Coral's Beryl's, and each
promised the other to look at the portrait and kiss it every morning
and night. But we must not dwell on that sad parting. The children's
last farewell was painful to see. Mr. Hollys had forcibly to separate
them at last.
Coral disappeared with her uncle. She would have the relief of fresh
scenes and new interests; but Beryl, left alone amid the familiar
scenes, was as one broken-hearted. It was long ere Beryl could be
roused from her sorrow. She missed her little sister at every turn, and
all attempts to cheer her proved vain. She loved to dwell on her loss,
and she would wander disconsolately through the garden or along the
beach, thinking, with a heavy heart, of the happy times that had passed
away for ever.
But every one was so kind to her, and so anxious to give her pleasure,
that gradually Beryl's natural buoyancy of spirit returned. Her father
took her for many a ride with him, mounted on her little grey pony.
When the hunting season commenced, he allowed Beryl to ride with him to
the various meets, consigning her to Andrew's care, whilst he followed
the hounds. Beryl thoroughly enjoyed these glimpses of the hunt. She
longed to be grown-up, that she might ride after the hounds, as did
some daring young ladies of the neighbourhood.
Children are seldom observant of the demeanour of their elders, or
Beryl might have seen that her governess was not so happy as she had
been when first she came to Egloshayle. One day the truth came to her
knowledge in a surprising way.
It was a bright November day, one of those late autumn days which have
a beauty of their own. There was a crisp freshness in the still air,
the sky was clear and gloriously blue, the sea calm and bright, whilst
the trees in the garden showed the rich russets and yellows peculiar to
this season.
Beryl had been longing for a walk; but Miss Burton had been obliged to
insist upon a French exercise being first re-written, and she had gone
to make some calls in the village, having arranged that Beryl should
join her there as soon as the exercise was creditably written.
Beryl was not in a working mood, and the exercise took her a long time.
When, at last, she pushed aside her books with a sigh of relief, she
was dismayed to find how late it was. She hurried upstairs to get ready
for her walk, when a glance from her bedroom window showed her that
Miss Burton had already returned, and was walking in the garden with
Mr. Hollys.
Something in their appearance made Beryl stand at the window to watch
them. She wondered what her father could be talking about so earnestly
as he gazed into Miss Burton's face. And Miss Burton looked pale,
startled, unlike herself. Her father seemed to be urging some request,
to which Miss Burton would not listen.
Now she appeared to utter a final word, and turning from Mr. Hollys,
walked quickly to the house.
What could it mean? Beryl wondered.
She hastily put on her hat and jacket, and ran downstairs to join her
governess. But she was not to be found in the schoolroom, nor in any
of the sitting-rooms, and after waiting a few minutes Beryl, growing
impatient, went to Miss Burton's room.
Beryl did as children not seldom do. She knocked at the door, and
opened it at the same instant.
"Can you come for a walk, now, Miss Burton?" she said, as she advanced
into the room.
There was no reply, and to Beryl's dismay she saw Miss Burton kneeling
beside the bed, her hands clasped, her face hidden, whilst stifled sobs
shook her frame. At the sound of the child's approach she started and
raised her head, but could not at once conquer her emotion.
"Oh, what is the matter, Miss Burton?" cried Beryl, greatly alarmed.
"Are you feeling ill?"
"No, I am not ill," said Miss Burton faintly, as she rose from her
knees and sank on to the nearest chair.
"Then what is it?" asked Beryl. "Have you had bad news? Is your mother
ill?"
"No, no, dear; it is not that," said Miss Burton, struggling to subdue
her sobs.
"Oh, Miss Burton, do tell me what is making you unhappy!" Beryl
implored her.
"I cannot, dear; so please do not ask me any more questions," said Miss
Burton, trying to smile. "I have my troubles as well as you; but they
won't bear talking about. Now run away, and take a walk by yourself;
for I do not feel equal to going with you."
Slowly and reluctantly Beryl turned away. She went into the garden. Her
father was still there, and she thought that she would join him; but
as she came in sight, he turned hastily towards the stable-yard. Beryl
felt sure that he had seen her, and she fancied that he too must wish
to be left to himself. She did not follow him, but took a solitary and
dreary walk.
Miss Burton did not come down during the remainder of the day, nor
did she appear at breakfast the next morning. At that meal Mr. Hollys
announced to his sister his intention of leaving home forthwith. This
was a surprise both to her and to Beryl.
"You will not be away long, papa?" Beryl cried. "You will come back for
Christmas?"
"I cannot say," he returned hastily. "I may be away some time—perhaps I
shall go abroad."
Beryl was perplexed and grieved; but something in her father's manner
restrained her from asking questions. He was given to making and
carrying out his plans promptly, and in less than an hour he had driven
away from Egloshayle House to catch the London express. Another painful
surprise awaited Beryl. A few days later her governess told her that
she would be obliged to leave her at Christmas.
"Leave me!" repeated Beryl. "You do not mean altogether?"
"Yes, dear; it grieves me to say it, but I shall be obliged to leave
you for good."
"Oh, Miss Burton, you cannot mean it! How could I do without you?"
cried Beryl wildly.
"You must learn to do without me, Beryl."
"I will not; you shall not go!" exclaimed Beryl passionately. "Why are
you going? Does papa wish you to go?"
"No, it is not that," said her governess tremulously.
"Then you really must not go; I will write to papa!" cried Beryl.
"No, no, dear; you must not do that," replied Miss Burton, laying her
hand on Beryl's arm. "Listen to me. I am obliged to go. Your father
knows about it, and will not attempt to hinder me. It is painful enough
to leave you; do not make it harder for me by your words."
Beryl could not understand why, if it was painful to her, Miss Burton
should insist on going. Nor when she spoke to her aunt on the subject
could she get any satisfactory explanation. Miss Hollys understood Miss
Burton's reasons for the step as little as Beryl.
There was about it all an element of mystification which added to the
pain with which Beryl contemplated the coming change. It was bad enough
to lose Coral, but what would life at Egloshayle be like when Miss
Burton too was gone? Miss Burton tried to cheer her by saying that
perhaps Beryl would be able to come, and stay with her at Hampstead
sometimes. But Beryl only shook her head. Nothing would ever be nice
again. When the parting day came, it was a sad, despairful young face
Miss Burton looked back upon as the train carried her out of Egloshayle
station.