“Unless he is in love with some woman there is no believing old
signs.”
_Much Ado About Nothing._
Before the plans for his new school were well settled Lionel’s time
was much occupied. The autumn had been rainy, and in a violent storm
in the middle of November the river rose above its banks, and the
whole low-lying country was flooded. One or two villages belonging to
Lord Ashford suffered terribly; and as after the floods abated a hard
frost, long and severe, set in, there was great distress in the whole
country. It was a poor district, fertile but improvident; and though,
because fertile, a moderate share of comfort was generally enjoyed,
any casual grievance became a grievance indeed; changing comfortable
poverty into beggary.
Lord Ashford could not bear to see distress, and though his finances
had suffered in common with those of his poor neighbours, he was
anxious to relieve them to the utmost of his power. He did not
like trouble, but he gave Lionel a commission to inquire into the
circumstances of his tenantry, and to relieve them as he thought best.
Lionel entered zealously into the work, and he found ready help around
him.
Mr. Pope was extremely annoyed at the state of things. That distress,
distress beyond the power of any man entirely to relieve, should exist
in his parish, in that delightful country whose air he breathed, was a
circumstance as unforeseen as unpleasing. He felt personally insulted,
and could only bear the shame by remarking, three or four times each
day, to all who would hear, but especially to Violet, that it was
an “exceptional year.” In the whole course of his acquaintance with
the country he had never known so much rain to fall, and never had
experienced so hard a frost. His injured feelings, however, did not
destroy his kindly ones, and he gave liberally both time and money.
Violet felt her poverty, and smarted under the sting. It was long since
she had ceased to mourn over the loss of riches for her own sake,
but now, had she but been as she once had been, where would poverty
have been found? It seemed hard that she who would have melted her own
self, had she been made of gold, to give to the suffering, should not
now, with all her desires, have more than a mite to give. She sighed,
and resolved that since money could not be given she would indeed give
herself. Very zealously therefore did she help Lionel in any and every
part of his work that could be undertaken by another.
Among other projects, a shop for the sale of provisions at and under
cost price was established in Holywell. This was a great boon, for
the town was five miles distant, and the small retail shops in the
district were short of money, charged high prices, and gave bad
goods. The shop was held for some hours three times a week, and was
almost entirely managed--accountants and money to provide better ones,
both being scarce--by Violet and Ida, with Lionel’s and Mr. Pope’s
occasional help.
The frost continued, with one or two breaks, during the whole of
December and the early part of January; and with the frost the
suffering and distress; and with the distress the hardworking of all
who were anxious to relieve it.
The severe weather was at its height when Albert Ellis wrote to propose
a few days’ visit. He wrote to Mrs. Osborne, and his letter ended
thus:--
“I came back to London from a long visit in Norfolk, where, though cold
enough, the sun was brilliant and the sky blue. I found London foggy
as well as cold, and as dismal-looking as can be imagined. I thought
it unbearable till I heard a piece of good news which made its dull
features become charming. Tell Violet that I have a piece of good news
to tell her, in which she is interested as well as I.”
Mrs. Osborne read the letter aloud, and without any definite thought,
till she saw the crimson glow which dyed her daughter’s cheeks. A
definite idea did then present itself, and though she quietly said,
“Poor Albert and his news! What can he have to tell?” she, after that
one observation, suffered the subject to drop.
But all the day long she questioned with herself what that blush had
meant; what Violet could expect, and what Albert intended to convey.
No less perplexed was Violet; yet that Albert should have good news to
tell her, that was unconnected with Leicester, never so much as swept
over the mirror of her fancy.
“What so sweet,” as the author of “Nathalie” says prettily, “as a
nameless joy?” And such a vague inspiring brightness was that which
quickened Violet’s elastic step, and shone in her sparkling eye.
Albert arrived just before luncheon, an accident having forced him to
lose half a day, and sleep on the road.
Mrs. Osborne and Violet were in the drawing-room, and after they had
warmed and comforted the cold traveller, he turned from his seat in
the fire, and said,
“Are you not curious, Violet? Don’t you want to hear my news?”
Violet’s heart whirled about. She wished Albert would not speak
so openly; but after a moment she conquered, and stilled herself
sufficiently to say,
“Oh! yes; very curious. What can it be?”
“Why, it is rather a singular thing, I must tell you; an unexpected
thing to hear from a stranger in India.” He rubbed his hands, and
Violet’s heart beat as if it would burst. “Now prepare. Well, Violet,
it is no less than a legacy of £20,000 between you and me.”
“Is that all?” she said, turning pale with the bitterness of the
disappointment.
“That all!” he cried, staring at her; and even Mrs. Osborne opened
her eyes. “Why, Violet, our circumstances, yours and mine, are not
such, I can tell you, that we need scorn £500 a year; and that is what
it will be, for it’s well invested. I can tell you I--though I am not
mercenary--was so elated that I could not sleep.”
“Who is it from?” Violet asked, while she was collecting her thoughts.
“From that old ... that friend of yours, Aunt Elizabeth ... poor old
fellow, he’s dead; Mr. Woodrowffe, his name was, I think. Don’t you
remember, Violet?”
“Oh! yes, I remember.”
“He fell in love with you. I saw that at the time; but why he so kindly
thought of me is more than I can guess. His will is dated two days
after your birthday. But guess or not, I am thankful; which is more
than it seems you are.”
But Violet meanwhile had received the import of his words into her
heart, and her feelings had undergone a change. She now spoke earnestly
enough.
“I am not ungrateful, Albert, but I am overwhelmed and ashamed. I did
not deserve this. I was so cross and discontented when the change
of fortune came, that I do not deserve this should come to _me_,”
and whether from previous agitation, or from the genuine feeling of
the moment, a large tear fell from her eye. “Does papa know?” she
continued, springing up. “I must go and tell him,” and she left the
room.
Albert looked at his aunt, as much as to say,
“That is a curious young woman,” but she did not respond to the gaze.
“He saw she would make a good use of his money,” she said softly. “Poor
darling! I am so thankful it has come to her.”
“So am I; and I hope it will make you all comfortable.”
“It will indeed. Now, whether we live or die, she is provided for. My
poor old friend! I thank him much. And, dear Albert, I am so glad and
so grateful for your good fortune too.”
“Good fortune you may well call it, Aunt Elizabeth. It is a sort of
luck I had long given up dreaming of. I can’t say, like Violet, that I
don’t deserve it, for I have been very steady and industrious of late;
and as much as a poor mortal man can ever be said to deserve anything,
I do deserve a little praise. But we don’t always get it, and I am
sure I never thought of having it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Osborne were relieved by this event from many anxious
parental fears and cares. And seeing their joy, Violet gave a readier
admission to rejoicing and gratitude in her own heart. She had learnt
by experience something of the dangers of riches, and had a dread of
them; she had felt that poverty was a very necessary discipline to her
peculiar disposition; necessary for the preservation within her of
anything of a lowly mind; and she had tried very sincerely to receive
the discipline and profit by it. This sudden accession of wealth (for
wealth it was to those who had been rich, and had learnt how to be
poor) startled and also humbled her. She no longer felt what once she
had felt, and often said that “they must be naturally mean, who by the
possession of money were made proud.” She knew better now what the word
pride meant, and felt by experience that it was the freedom, the power
to please ourselves, whatever that pleasure--selfish or unselfish--may
be, which causes the temper of mind which makes riches dangerous. She
knew this now, and doubting herself, was humbled, and trembled. But
unselfish thoughts forced their way, and soon turned the fears it
brought to rapture. The increased good that could be done with it! the
added comforts to her parents! Before twenty-four hours were over she
was dreaming sweet dreams, and her disappointment, that momentary but
bitter disappointment, was chased away under their bright influence.
Albert remained only for two or three days. The last day of his stay
was one of the days on which the shop was held in Holywell. He was
anxious to walk with Violet to a place at some distance, and she
promised, if she could possibly be spared altogether, or as soon as she
could be spared, to take a holiday and go with him.
On arriving at the place, a kind of store-house lent by a farmer, and
fitted up tolerably comfortably for the purpose, she found that Ida was
there alone, and Albert sat down by the fire, patiently to wait till
she could be free.
Violet told her wishes to Ida, and asked if Mr. Vane was likely to
come, and would be likely to be at liberty to take her work.
“He said yesterday he would look in,” she replied; and then added
smiling, “and I think he is sure to come, because he is curious to see
your cousin.”
“There is nothing remarkable in poor Albert, is there?”
“Oh! no, Violet, only a new person, you know,” Ida apologized.
There was a great deal of business, and Violet and Ida were soon fully
employed. In the midst of it Lionel entered. Violet was occupied with
a purchaser, and did not move. Lionel took a slight survey of Albert,
bowed to him stiffly but civilly, and went and stood by Ida.
Her account-book was lying open, and as he stood by he ran over it with
his eyes.
“This is wrong, Ida,” he said. “You have entered this item twice, and
you have put down several shillings too much.”
He spoke with authority.
“How stupid I am!” Ida said without examination or defence. “I will put
it right in a moment.”
Violet was always quick to hear when Ida was reproved, and, if need be,
to take up the cudgels in her defence. She left her purchaser, and came
to Ida’s side.
“Wait a moment, Ida. I don’t think it is wrong, for I looked over the
book a quarter of a hour ago.”
“Did you?” Lionel said quickly. “Then I may be wrong.”
“Yes,” Violet showed triumphantly; “Ida is right. That item, as you
call it, is _not_ the same, though, I must own, it looks as if it was.
See, it is all right.”
“Yes, I see,” he said penitently. “I beg your pardon for having given
you so much trouble; and I beg yours, Ida,” he added.
“I make so many mistakes that you have good reason to suspect me, I am
afraid,” she said in her usual gentle manner.
“You depreciate yourself,” Violet observed. “You are not very quick
yet; that only comes with practice; but you are _very_ correct.” And
she returned to her purchaser.
Lionel leaned on the counter which had been erected, and watched idly
for a few moments the various groups in the room. Ida then touched his
arm, and asked in a low voice if he could stay and take Violet’s place.
“If you can, Violet wishes very much to go and walk with her cousin.”
He looked round quickly and curiously again at Albert; but after a
moment’s consideration said--
“Oh! yes.” And walked across the room to Violet.
“You wish to be released, Miss Osborne? Pray do not stay one moment
longer than you please. I will take your place, and fill it as well as
I can.”
“Can you really stay? Thank you, then. I shall certainly be glad to
have this one holiday. I hope it is not inconvenient.”
“No, it is not. But if it were, you have done so much for me and all my
plans, that I should only be thankful to feel a little inconvenience
for you in return.”
Violet laughed and thanked him, then showed him her book.
“This poor woman is buying for several families, she says. It will be a
long sum when it is done. I hoped to finish with her, but there seems
no end to her wants.”
“You distrust my powers for the long sum,” he said playfully, as he
took her place.
Violet spoke a few words to Ida, put on her bonnet, and she and Albert
set off for their walk.
“That is a nice girl, Violet,” he observed as they walked along. “My
uncle tells me that a marriage is projected between her and Mr. Vane.”
“So papa told me. I cannot think where he hears his news.”
“Mr. Vane will be lucky if it is so. I have seen very little of her,
but I think I am a pretty good judge, and I think she is a thoroughly
good girl.”
“She is indeed,” Violet said warmly. “She is the sort of girl that
would suit you, Albert.”
“So I was thinking. If I was not pre-engaged I should be afraid to be
much in her company.”
“Engaged! My dear Albert, are you engaged?”
“Not bodily; I meant in my thoughts, my fancy, or whatever you please
to call it. Have you no guess to whom my thoughts are engaged?”
“None whatever. How should I? Oh! yes,” with a sudden thought, and a
sudden flush overspreading her cheeks, “I do guess. Margaret Leicester.
I remember I used to think of that.”
“Right. Of course I should not have dreamed of mentioning it if I had
been as I was; but this poor old fellow’s kindness gives me the power
of making a settlement, and if she comes back to England free, I shall
take my chance.”
“You have still some time to wait,” Violet said constrainedly.
“Not long, I hope. I expect them home this spring or summer.”
Violet’s heart stood still with rapture and surprise. For a moment she
could say nothing; but strong effort, and the determination to show no
emotion, drew from her the observation, in an indifferent tone--
“So soon.”
“The six years will be out in June--six since Leicester left England at
least. How time passes! I once thought those six years would never be
gone. I believe there have been deaths and changes, and that Leicester
was offered a better thing if he would stay out there. However, he has
made up his mind to come home.”
Leicester returning, and Albert possibly becoming his brother-in-law!
How radiant looked the future to Violet! How far more glorious than
summer sunshine the cold frosty light of the closing January day!
“You are sure Margaret is unmarried?” Violet asked after a short pause.
“Yes; one or two are married, but she is not--was not, at least; man is
sure of nothing: and now let us have done with it. I thought I would
mention it before I went; but the less said on such things the better.
What were we saying before? Oh! I know! Miss Hamilton and Mr. Vane.
My dear Violet, will you, without thinking me interfering, allow me to
give you a small piece of advice.”
“Most certainly,” she said gaily, “anything you will.”
“Well, then, it struck me, I hardly know why, it just passed through
my head as I was sitting there, that Mr. Vane is or might be in love
with you. And if you don’t intend to have it so, I advise you not to
encourage him.”
“Mr. Vane in love with me! My dear Albert, what an idea!”
“I don’t say it is so. I only say it struck me, and I could not be easy
without giving you a hint. Don’t be angry, it is well-meant advice.”
“I am not angry--much more amused than angry. I am very much obliged
for advice when there is reason in it. But this--there is really no
sense in the idea.”
“I cannot see any want of reason or sense. You are a young woman, and
he is a young man; and I believe it is not usually considered very
nonsensical when young men and young women take to each other.”
“Young men and young women have nothing to do with this question. It is
_impossible_ what you think can be true. I cannot tell you my reasons,
but I have reasons for saying so.”
“If you have that is enough. I do not want to set myself up as an
infallible judge. I merely spoke my thought, and let us change the
subject. How cold it is! I always heard Devonshire had a mild climate,
but this evening surpasses the cold of Siberia. Can you step out a
little?”
“As fast as you please. Don’t let Mr. Pope hear your complaints.”
And they walked at a pace which brought them to the cottage with
tingling feet and cheeks glowing, as in the days of infancy.
With so much that was of a more interesting nature to occupy her
thoughts and dreamings, it was not strange that Albert’s piece of
advice was forgotten. The quick walk effaced it from her memory, and it
did not so much as once recur again.