Common as were the small fends between Ascott and his Aunt Selina,
they seldom reached such a catastrophe as that described in my last
chapter. Hilary had to fly to the rescue, and literally drag the
furious lad back into the school-room; while Johanna, pale and
trembling, persuaded Selina to quit the field and go and lie down.
This was not difficult; for the instant she saw what she had done,
how she had disgraced herself and insulted her nephew. Selina felt
sorry. Her passion ended in a gush of "nervous" tears under the
influence of which she was led up stairs and put to bed, almost like
a child--the usual termination of these pitiful outbreaks.
For the time nobody thought of Elizabeth. The hapless cause of all
stood "spectatress of the fray" beside her kitchen fire. What she
thought history saith not. Whether in her own rough home she was used
to see brothers and sisters quarrelling, and mothers boxing their
childrens' ears, can not be known; whether she was or was not
surprised to see the same proceedings among ladies and gentlemen, she
never betrayed, but certain it is that the little servant became
uncommonly serious; yes, serious rather than sulky, for her "black"
looks vanished gradually, as soon as Miss Selina left the kitchen.
On the reappearance of Miss Hilary it had quite gone. But Hilary took
no notice of her; she was in search of Johanna, who, shaking and cold
with agitation, came slowly down stairs.
"Is she gone to bed?"
"Yes, my dear. It was the best thing for her; she is not at all well
to-day."
Hilary's lip curled a little, but she replied not a word. She had not
the patience with Selina that Johanna had. She drew her elder sister
into the little parlor, placed her in the arm-chair, shut the door,
came and sat beside her, and took her hand. Johanna pressed it, shed
a quiet tear or two, and wiped them away. Then the two sisters
remained silent, with hearts sad and sore.
Every family has its skeleton in the house: this was theirs. Whether
they acknowledged it or not, they knew quite well that every
discomfort they had, every slight jar which disturbed the current of
household peace, somehow or other originated with "poor Selina." They
often called her "poor" with a sort of pity--not unneeded. Heaven
knows! for if the unhappy are to be pitied, ten times more so are
those who make others miserable.
This was Selina's case, and had been all her life. And, sometimes,
she herself knew it. Sometimes, after an especially bad outbreak, her
compunction and remorse would be almost as terrible as her passion;
forcing her sisters to make every excuse for her; she "did not mean
it," it was only "ill health," or "nerves," or her "unfortunate way
of taking things."
But they knew in their hearts that not all their poverty and the
toils it entailed, not all the hardships and humiliation of their
changed estate, were half so bitter to bear as this something--no
moral crime, and yet in its results as fatal as crime--which they
called Selina's "way."
Ascott was the only one who did not attempt to mince matters. When a
little boy he had openly declared he hated Aunt Salina; when he grew
up he as openly defied her, and it was a most difficult matter to
keep even decent peace between them. Hilary's wrath had never gone
further than wishing Selina was married, that appearing the easiest
way of getting rid of her. Latterly she had ceased this earnest
aspiration; it might be, because, learning to think more seriously of
marriage, she felt that a woman who is no blessing in her own
household, is never likely much to bless a husband's; and that,
looking still farther forward, it was, on the whole, a mercy of
Providence, which made Selina not the mother of children.
Yet her not marrying had been somewhat a surprise; for she had been
attractive in her day, handsome and agreeable in society. But
perhaps, for all that, the sharp eye of the opposite sex had
discovered the cloven foot; since, though she had received various
promising attentions, poor Selina had never had an offer. Nor,
fortunately, had she ever been known to care for any body; she was
one of those women who would have married as a matter of course, but
who never would have been guilty of the weakness of falling in love.
There seemed small probability of shipping her off, to carry into a
new household the restlessness, the fretfulness, the captious
fault-finding with others, the readiness to take offence at what was
done and said to herself, which made poor Selina Leaf the
unacknowledged grief and torment of her own.
Her two sisters sat silent. What was the use of talking? It would be
only going ever and over again the old thing; trying to ease and
shift a little the long familiar burden which they knew must be
borne. Nearly every household has, near or remote, some such burden,
which Heaven only can lift off or help to bear. And sometimes,
looking round the world outside, these two congratulated themselves,
in a half sort of way, that theirs was as light as it was; that
Selina was after all, a well-meaning well-principled woman, and, in
spite of her little tempers, really fond of her family, as she truly
was, at least as fond as a nature which has its centre in self can
manage to be.
Only when Hilary looked, as to-night, into her eldest sister's pale
face, where year by year the lines were deepening, and saw how every
agitation such as the present shook her more and more--she who ought
to have a quiet life and a cheerful home, after so many hard
years--then Hilary, fierce in the resistance of her youth, felt as if
what she could have borne for herself she could not bear for Johanna,
and at the moment, sympathized with Ascott in actually "hating" Aunt
Selina.
"Where is that boy? He ought to be spoken to," Johanna said, at
length, rising wearily.
"I have spoken to him; I gave him a good scolding. He is sorry, and
promises never to be so rude again."
"Oh no; not till the next time," replied Miss Leaf. hopelessly. "But
Hilary." with a sudden consternation, "what are we to do about
Elizabeth?"
The younger sister had thought of that. She had turned over in her
mind all the pros and cons, the inevitable "worries" that would
result from the presence of an additional member of the family,
especially one from whom the family skeleton could not be hid, to
whom it was already only too fatally revealed.
But Hilary was a clear headed girl, and she had the rare faculty of
seeing things as they really were, undistorted by her own likings or
dislikings--in fact, without reference to herself at all. She
perceived plainly that Johanna ought not to do the housework, that
Selina would not, and that she could not: ergo, they must keep a
servant. Better, perhaps, a small servant, over whom they could have
the same influence as over a child, than one older and more
independent, who would irritate her mistresses at home, and chatter
of them abroad. Besides, they had promised Mrs. Hand to give her
daughter a fair trial. For a month, then, Elizabeth was bound to
stay; afterward, time would show. It was best not to meet troubles
half way.
This explained, in Hilary's cheerful voice, seemed greatly to
reassure and comfort her sister.
"Yes, love, you are right; she must remain her month out, unless she
does something very wrong. Do you think that really was a lie she
told?"
"About the cat? I don't quite know what to think. Let us call her,
and put the question once more. Do you put it, Johanna. I don't think
she could look at you and tell you a story."
Other people, at sight of that sweet, grave face, its bloom faded,
and hairs silvered long before their time, yet beautiful, with an
almost childlike simplicity and childlike peace--most other people
would have been of Hilary's opinion.
"Sit down; I'll call her. Dear me, Johanna, we shall have to set up a
bell as well as a servant, unless we had managed to combine the two."
But Hilary's harmless little joke failed to make her sister smile;
and the entrance of the girl seemed to excite positive apprehension.
How was it possible to make excuse to a servant for her mistress's
shortcomings? how scold for ill-doing this young girl, to whom, ere
she had been a night in the house, so bad an example had been set?
Johanna half expected Elizabeth to take a leaf out of Selina's book
and begin abusing herself and Hilary.
No: she stood very sheepish, very uncomfortable, but not in the least
bold or sulky--on the whole, looking rather penitent and humble.
Her mistress took courage.
"Elizabeth I want you to tell me the truth about that unfortunate
breakage. Don't be afraid. I had rather you broke every thing in the
house than have told me what was not true."
"It was true; it was the cat."
"How could that be possible? You were coming down stairs with the
ewer in your hand."
"Her got under my feet, and throwed me down, and so I tumbled, and
smashed the thing agin the floor."
The Misses Leaf glanced at each other. This version of the momentous
event was probable enough, and the girl's eager, honest manner gave
internal confirmatory evidence pretty strong.
"I am sure she is telling the truth." said Hilary. "And remember what
her mother said about her word being always reliable."
This reference was too much for Elizabeth. She burst out, not into
actual crying, but into a smothered choke.
"If you donnot believe me, missus, I'd rather go home to mother."
"I do believe you," said Miss Leaf, kindly then waited till the
pinafore, used as a pocket handkerchief, had dried up grief and
restored composure.
"I can quite well understand the accident now; and I am sure if you
had put it as plainly at first, my sister would have understood it
too. She was very much annoyed, and no wonder. She will be equally
glad to find she was mistaken."
Here Miss Leaf paused, somewhat puzzled how to express what she felt
it her duty to say, so as to be comprehended by the servant, and yet
not let down the dignity of the family Hilary came to her aid.
"Miss Selina is sometimes hasty; but she means kindly always. You
must take care not to vex her, Elizabeth; and you must never answer
her back again, however sharply she speaks. It is not your business;
you are only a child, and she is your mistress."
"Is her? I thought it was this 'un."
The subdued clouding of Elizabeth's face, and her blunt pointing to
Miss Leaf as "this 'un." were too much for Hilary's gravity She was
obliged to retreat to the press, and begin an imaginary search for a
book.
"Yes, I am the eldest, and I suppose you may consider me specially as
your mistress," said Johanna, simply."
"Remember always to come to me in any difficulty; and above all, to
tell me every thing outright, as soon as it happens. I can forgive
you almost any fault, if you are truthful and honest; but there is
one thing I never could forgive, and that is deception. Now go with
Miss Hilary, and she will teach you how to make the porridge for
supper."
Elizabeth obeyed silently; she had apparently a great gift for
silence. And she was certainly both obedient and willing; not stupid,
either, though a nervousness of temperament which Hilary was
surprised to find in so big and coarse-looking a girl, made her
rather awkward at first. However, she succeeded in pouring out and
carrying into the parlor, without accident, three platefuls of that
excellent condiment which formed the frugal supper of the family; but
which they ate, I grieve to say, in an orthodox southern fashion,
with sugar or treacle, until Mr. Lyon--greatly horrified thereby--had
instituted his national custom of "supping" porridge with milk.
It may be a very unsentimental thing to confess, but Hilary, who even
at twenty was rather practical than poetical, never made the porridge
without thinking of Robert Lyon, and the day when he first staid to
supper, and ate it, or as he said and was very much laughed at, ate
"them" with such infinite relish Since then, whenever he came, he
always asked for his porridge, saying it carried him back to his
childish days. And Hilary, with that curious pleasure that women take
in waiting upon any one unto whom the heart is ignorantly beginning
to own the allegiance, humble yet proud, of Miranda to Ferdinand:
"To be your fellow
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant
Whether you will or no."
Hilary always contrived to make his supper herself.
Those pleasant days were now over. Mr. Lyon was gone. As she stool
alone over the kitchen fire, she thought--as now and then she let
herself think for a minute or two in her busy prosaic life--of that
August night, standing at the front door, of his last "good-by," and
last hand-clasp, tight, warm, and firm; and somehow she, like
Johanna, trusted in him.
Not exactly in his love; it seemed almost impossible that he should
love her, at least till she grew much more worthy of him than now;
but in himself, that he would never be less himself, less thoroughly
good and true than now. That, some time, he would be sure to come
back again, and take up his old relations with them, brightening
their dull life with his cheerfulness; infusing in their feminine
household the new element of a clear, strong, energetic, manly will,
which sometimes made Johanna say that instead of twenty-five the
young man might be forty; and, above all, bringing into their poverty
the silent sympathy of one who had fought his own battle with the
world--a hard one, too, as his face sometimes showed--though he never
said much about it.
Of the results of this pleasant relation--whether she being the only
truly marriageable person in the house. Robert Lyon intended to marry
her, or was expected to do so, or that society would think it a very
odd thing if he did not do so--this unsophisticated Hilary never
thought at all. If he had said to her that the present state of
things was to go on forever; she to remain always Hilary Leaf, and he
Robert Lyon, the faithful friend of the family, she would have smiled
in his face and been perfectly satisfied.
True, she had never had any thing to drive away the smile from that
innocent face; no vague jealousies aroused; no maddening rumors
afloat in the small world that was his and theirs. Mr. Lyon was grave
and sedate in all his ways; he never paid the slightest attention to,
or expressed the slightest interest in, any woman whatsoever.
And so this hapless girl loved, him--just himself; without the
slightest reference to his "connections," for he had none; or his
"prospects," which, if he had any, she did not know of. Alas! to
practical and prudent people I can offer no excuse for her; except,
perhaps what Shakspeare gives in the creation of the poor Miranda.
When the small servant re-entered the kitchen, Hilary, with a half
sigh, shook off her dreams, called Ascott out of the school-room, and
returned to the work-a-day world and the family supper.
This being ended, seasoned with a few quiet words administered to
Ascott, and which on the whole he took pretty well, it was nearly ten
o'clock.
"Far too late to have kept up such a child as Elizabeth; we must not
do it again," said Miss Leaf, taking down the large Bible with which
she was accustomed to conclude the day--Ascott's early hours at
school and their own house-work making it difficult of mornings. Very
brief the reading was, sometimes not more than half a dozen verses,
with no comment thereon; she thought the Word of God might safely be
left to expound itself Being a very humble-minded woman, she did not
feel qualified to lead long devotional "exercises," and she disliked
formal written prayers. So she merely read the Bible to the family,
and said after it the Lord's Prayer.
But, constitutionally shy as Miss Leaf was to do even this in
presence of a stranger cost her some effort; and it was only a sense
of duty that made her say "yes" to Hilary's suggestion, "I suppose we
ought to call in Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth came.
"Sit down," said her mistress: and she sat down, staring uneasily
round about her, as if wondering what was going to befall her next.
Very silent was the little parlor; so small, that it was almost
filled up by its large square piano, its six cane-bottomed chairs,
and one easy chair, in which sat Miss Leaf with the great Book in her
lap.
"Can you read, Elizabeth?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Hilary, give her a bible."
And so Elizabeth followed, guided by her not too clean finger, the
words, read in that soft, low voice, somewhere out of the New
Testament; words simple enough for the comprehension of a child or a
heathen. The "South Sea Islander," as Ascott persisted in calling
her, then, doing as the family did, turned round to kneel down; but
in her confusion she knocked over a chair, causing Miss Leaf to wait
a minute till reverent silence was restored. Elizabeth knelt, with
her eyes fixed on the wall: it was a green paper, patterned with
bunches of nuts. How far she listened, or how much she understood, it
was impossible to say; but her manner was decent and decorous.
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against
us." Unconsciously Miss Leaf's gentle voice rested on these words, so
needed in the daily life of every human being, and especially of
every family. Was she the only one who thought of "poor Selina?"
They all rose from their knees, and Hilary out the Bible away. The
little servant "hung about," apparently uncertain what was next to be
done, or what was expected of her to do. Hilary touched her sister.
"Yes," said Miss Leaf. recollecting herself, and assuming the due
authority, "it is quite time for all the family to be in bed. Take
care of your candle, and mind and be up at six tomorrow morning."
This was addressed to the new maiden, who dropped a courtesy, and
said, almost cheerfully, "Yes, ma'am."
"Very well, Good night. Elizabeth."
And following Miss Leaf's example, the other two, even Ascott, said
civilly and kindly, "Good night, Elizabeth."