THE MISTRESS OF BRIERWOOD COTTAGE.
"By night we lingered on the lawn,
For underfoot the herb was dry;
And genial warmth; and o'er the sky
The silvery haze of summer dawn;
"And calm that let the tapers burn
Unwavering: not a cricket chirr'd:
The brook alone far off was heard,
And on the board the fluttering urn."
_Tennyson._
"A penny for your thoughts, little Emmie," cried Garth gaily, a few
evenings afterwards, when his abrupt entrance had broken up a
somewhat silent group. The child, who was sitting at Langley's feet
as usual, with her head in her lap, held up her hand warningly.
"Hush! I was counting them; now I have lost one."
"Counting what, you small elf?"
"The angels, of course; we have had ever so many passing through the
room this evening. Just now Langley sighed and disturbed one. They
never come when we talk and laugh, you know," continued Emmie, with a
child's beautiful unreasoning faith in what would seem to older minds
a piece of fond superstition. "I do love a real long silence, when
people are all thinking together; the angels have such a good time of
it then."
"What a queer little thinking machine that is," muttered Ted,
drowsily; but Garth only patted her head kindly.
It was never his way to laugh at a child's fancies. "The real germ
is hidden in the bud; a mere infant will sometimes turn our wisdom
into foolishness," he had observed more than once in his graver
moments. "Well, my white May-flower," he continued, using his pet
name for her; "so the angels were having it all to themselves this
evening, eh?"
"I did not know we were assisting at a _séance_," growled Ted,
stretching himself; "we have got a precious small medium, it strikes
me. What sort of spirits were they, Emmie, black, white, or grey? I
fancied my own familiar, in the shape of an elongated cat, with
yellow sparks for eyes, grinned at me with feline and whiskered face
from behind the sofa corner. 'Avaunt thee, witch,' I cried, and with
diabolic stare and hiss it vanished."
"A truce with your nonsense, Ted; you will scare the child."
"I think we have all been very stupid and silent this evening,"
interposed Langley. "I fancy that we are all sorry to lose Queenie
and Emmie from our circle to-morrow."
"The sofa-cushion is drenched with my tears," continued Ted, the
incorrigible. "The drip, drip of them was mistaken by Langley for
rain. 'A wet evening,' quoth she; but my sobs prevented me from
undeceiving her."
"Isn't Mr. Ted wicked to tell so many stories in play?" interrupted
Emmie, in a shocked tone.
"Play!" reiterated that remorseless youth, "is that how you
stigmatize an honest grief, and mistaken though blighted devotion? is
it nothing to this lacerated heart to know that the beloved heads of
the Marriott sisters will rest for the last time to-night beneath our
roof? 'Quoth the raven, nevermore, rests sweet Marriott at thy
door.'"
"Oh, shut up, you young idiot," exclaimed his brother in a tone of
deep disgust.
"He has been so tiresome all day," observed Cathy; "he has not left
Queenie and me a moment in peace."
"Only a lock of hair, and that was refused; even a hair-pin would
have been prized, or the frayed end of a ribbon; all, all denied.
'Oh stay, the Clayton said; and yield
A withered rose, or weed of field.
Indignant glared her bright brown eye,
And with a frown she made reply,
You botherer.'"
Ted, in another moment--"
"You have the heart of a barbarian, Garth; the softer passion is
unknown to you--the 'pills and paradise' of a man's existence. Look
at me, like Etna half consumed, a mighty ruin--all thy work, oh
woman! Ah, as the soothing bard, the glorious Will of immortal
memory, once wrote--
'He never told his love; no, never;
No more did she, but did you ever'--
She gave him one long glance, and then"--but Ted never finished his
ridiculous effusion, for in another moment Garth had pinned him in
his powerful grasp, and stretched him prone and struggling on the
floor. "And there shall you lie until you have promised not to spout
any more nonsense," was the inexorable mandate of his tyrant.
"Floored by fate, and crushed by the gigantic hoof of destiny, I
submit. 'More kicks than half-pence,' quoth he, under the healing
(heeling) process; but what boots such trifles to the stalwart heart
of a young Briton. Alas, thy sole is open and clear to me, my
brother, and the footprint of ignoble passion is stamped upon it."
"Pax, pax," groaned Garth.
"Oh, leave him alone, you are only making him worse," laughed
Queenie; "if he sees nobody heeds his nonsense he will soon leave
off."
"I feel like the gladiator, butchered to make a Clayton holiday; my
breast-bone is staved in by the barbarian. 'Dying, we salute thee,
Caesar.' Well, it is of 'no consequence,' as Toots remarks."
"There, get up and behave yourself," interrupted Garth, with a final
kick; "and now, to get rid of this foolish fellow, I vote that some
of us take a turn in the plane-tree walk. Come, Miss Marriott, you
and Cathy put on your hats." But Cathy, who was in a curious mood
to-night, and had done nothing but sigh and interlace her fingers
restlessly in the twilight, muttered something about Miss Cosie and
the Vicarage, and vanished from the room; and so it came to pass that
Queenie found herself gravely pacing up and down the plane-tree walk
by Garth's side.
Naturally as it had come about--for no one else had volunteered to
accompany them--the novelty of the circumstance caused them both a
little embarrassment; and, by some curious physiological coincidence,
each fell to thinking of Dora Cunningham. Garth smoked his cigar
meditatively, and cast curious side-long glances at the slender black
figure beside him. Visions of a white dress and golden hair still
haunted him. Why was he shy and silent all at once? had he anything
in common with this grave, brown-eyed girl? He was wondering, if she
were Dora would he have found anything to say to her? He was sorry
to think that this was Miss Marriott's last night. Sorry! yes; it
made him feel all at once as though the old house had grown suddenly
dull and empty; and yet if it had been Dora--
"Miss Marriott, how is it that you and Miss Cunningham don't hit it
off better?" he said, so abruptly that Queenie started and changed
color. She was feeling very heavy-hearted, poor little soul, to
think it was her last night at Church-Stile House; and how she would
miss the slow, even tramp of Garth's footsteps under her windows, and
the red end of his cigar emerging from the trees every ten minutes.
She had often sat and watched it with unconscious interest even to
herself; she was loath to part with that, and his cheery good morning
when she looked out to smell the roses.
She was just wondering how much he would miss her, and whether her
absence would leave any perceptible gap in the family circle; and
this question jarred upon her with sudden discord.
"What do you mean?" she asked faintly, conscious all at once of a
certain chilliness round the region of the heart. She had hoped for
a few words of friendly interest and advice on her own affairs
to-night. Had he only brought her out there to talk of Dora
Cunningham?
"Why don't you two girls get on better together?" pursued Garth,
inexorably. He was quite aware of the reluctance of Queenie's tone
as she answered him, but the opportunity was a good one, and he
thought he would have it out with her. She was indebted to him for
much kindness, he told himself; his sisters and he had taken her by
the hand, and found her occupation, and a roof to cover her head; he
had a right to ask, as a return, that she should show a little
consideration for him and his friends; and her manner to Dora somehow
galled him. Perhaps he was a little curious on the subject as well;
anyway, he would have his answer.
"How do you know that we do not?" she replied, fencing in her turn.
"I have not seen Miss Cunningham more than three or four times; we
are comparative strangers to each other."
"You know her as well as you know Mrs. Fawcett or Miss Faith Palmer;
they are all comparative strangers to you, but to them your manner is
always so bright and genial."
"Ah; one cannot help getting on with them."
"I should have said the same of Miss Cunningham. There, you shake
your head; how impossible it is to understand you women. Miss Dora
seems so willing to be friendly on her side. She has driven over
twice to see you, and tender her advice and help; but one cannot help
seeing how these overtures have been repelled."
"Mr. Clayton, pray don't speak as though you were hurt with me."
"I do feel a little hurt about this," he replied, gravely; "at least
it disappoints me. You see Dora, I mean Miss Cunningham, has been
intimate with us ever since we were children together, and we think
so much of her opinion in things. When you came among us, and
decided on taking up this new work, I thought at once what a valuable
friend you would secure in her."
"You were very kind," stammered poor Queenie with downcast eyes.
"Confess that my kindness was thrown away though," he continued in a
lighter tone, for her distress was not lost on him. "You are such an
iceberg in her presence that even her good nature has failed to thaw
you. You are never proud with Langley or Cathy, and yet Cathy can
say rude things sometimes."
"I am never proud with those I love."
"Then you don't mean to love Miss Cunningham."
"No," reluctantly; "but I do not dislike her. There is simply no
sympathy between us, and her manner jars and irritates me somehow.
It seems as though, she were trying to keep me down in my place, and
make me remember that I am only the poor school-mistress in Hepshaw,
when, when you all try to make me forget it," continued the girl, and
now the tears rushed to her eyes. Garth had never seen her so moved,
but her frankness did not displease him. It might be his duty to
give her a little wholesome advice, and to bid her curb that
troublesome pride of hers; but, on the whole, he felt sorry for her.
"I think we ought to be very patient with a person that displeases
us, and ask ourselves whether the fault may not lie on our side,"
continued her young Mentor gravely. He rather liked the right he had
assumed of lecturing this girl; the occupation was piquant and
interesting, and then she took his rebukes so meekly. "Miss
Cunningham is a very superior person, you cannot fail to own that, I
am sure; so many people rely upon her. She is the mainstay at home;
her father's right hand in every thing; and then her sisters idolize
her. She must be truly lovable, or they would not be so fond of her."
"Mr. Clayton, what does it matter whether we get on together or not?"
exclaimed Queenie at this point, stung by all this praise, and sore
almost to unhappiness. "It cannot matter to her, or to you either,
whether I like her or not."
"It matters a good deal to me whether my friends are appreciated. I
am disappointed about it, because I wanted to secure you a valuable
ally, that is all; but I suppose it cannot be helped. Women are
unaccountable beings; it is best, after all, to leave them alone,"
and Garth's voice was so full of kindness and regret that Queenie's
soreness vanished in a sudden effort of magnanimity.
"I dare say it was my fault; I am sure Miss Cunningham meant to be
kind," she faltered out hurriedly. "Only when one is poor, one is
proud and sensitive over little things. Don't say anything more
about it, Mr. Clayton; I mean to like her. I will like her, and you
shall not have reason to complain of my disagreeable manner again."
"No; not disagreeable, only cold," he returned, with a smile of
genuine content, for this admission pleased him well. They had
stopped simultaneously at the little gate, and Queenie made a
movement as though to go in, but he would not suffer it. "No; you
shall not leave me in this way, we will have another turn," he said
cheerfully. "Let us talk of something else--of yourself and your
plans. Do you know, I feel quite dull at the thought of losing you
and Emmie to-morrow. I wonder how much you intend to miss us."
"More than I ever missed any one in my whole life before," was the
answer on Queenie's lips, but she prudently forbore to utter it, as
she moved again by his side in the darkness. Did no warning monitor
within her whisper that this man was growing dangerously dear to her;
that the snare was already spread for her unconscious feet?
"He means to marry Dora; but I have a right to claim him still as my
friend. No one shall steal his friendship from me. I will have what
belongs to me," she had said to herself, almost fiercely; but the
falseness of the sophistry was glossed over and hidden from her eyes.
For the last few days a great sadness had crept over her. Since the
evening Dora had passed through the little gate, and had walked with
him up and down in the sunset, some visionary hope, baseless and
unsubstantial as a dream, had vanished from her heart.
Of what avail was her idle whim now? Would it not have been better,
so she told herself, to have shaken off the dust of Hepshaw from her
feet? Whose blame was it if she had tangled her own life? Some
impulse, some undefinable influence, had drawn her to weave these
strange plans of hers; more than a girl's fancy and love of mystery
and adventure were wrapped up in them. But might it not be that
bitter failure and remorse should be her portion hereafter?
Would there not have been greater peace and safety for her in that
house in Carlisle? Queenie asked herself these questions with a sigh
long after she had left Garth, and retired to her own room, where
Emmie was slumbering peacefully. She kissed the child, and placed
herself under the shadow of the window-curtain, and watched, for the
last time, the tiny red spark emerging every now and then from under
the trees.
"Miss him! he little knows how I shall miss him!" she said to
herself, bitterly. "Right or wrong, he has got into my life, and I
cannot get him out. Does he love Dora, I wonder? I cannot make up
my mind; but he will marry her, for all that; and then, then, if I
find it very hard to bear, if she will not let me keep him as a
friend, we will go away, Emmie and I, somewhere a long way off, where
I can have plenty of work, and forget, and begin afresh."
But when Queenie came to this point she suddenly broke down; an
oppressive sense of loneliness, as new as it was terrible, crushed on
her with overwhelming force. For the first time Queenie's brave
spirit seemed utterly broken, and some of the bitterest tears she
ever shed wetted the child's pillow.
As for Garth, he strolled on for a long time, placidly enjoying his
cigar. He had delivered his little lecture, and had then sent the
girl in soothed and comforted; so he told himself. It is true a sad
and wistful glance from two large dark eyes somewhat haunted him at
intervals, but he drove it persistently away.
"She is a sweet girl, a very sweet girl; but she has her faults, like
all of us," he said to himself. "I am glad I put her right about
Dora. If Dora ever comes here, it would not do for Miss Marriott not
to be friendly with her. Dora would have a right to expect then that
the others should give way to her, if she ever comes here as my
wife;" and here the young man's pulses quickened a little, and in the
darkness the hot blood rushed to his face. "Dora my wife! how
strange it sounds! Well, I suppose it will come to that some day;
things seem shaping themselves that way. She will expect it, and her
father too, after what has passed. I fancy there is a kind of
understanding between us. I wonder what sort of feeling she has for
me? She keeps a fellow at such a distance, there is no finding out;
but I'll master her yet. She will soon find out, if I once make up
my mind, that I am not one to bear any shilly-shallying. I don't
think I could stand nonsense from any woman, not even from Dora. Her
father told me once that if he died Dora would not have a penny,
though the other girls have tidy little sums, each of them. I like
her all the better for that. Well, after all there is no hurry.
Being in love is all very well, but it is better to take life easily,
and digest matters a little;" and with a conscious laugh that sounded
oddly to him in the darkness, Garth swung back the little gate, and
walked towards the house.
It was arranged that the sisters' modest luggage should be sent over
to the cottage in the course of the morning, and that Queenie should
take possession of her new abode as soon as her afternoon duties were
discharged, and that Cathy and Emmie should be there to receive her.
"I am to pour out tea my own self, and Cathy has promised to make
some of her delicious cakes," exclaimed Emmie, rapturously. "Langley
will not come, though I have begged her over and over again; she says
we three will be so much cosier together."
Queenie nodded and smiled as she bade her little sister good-bye, and
trudged down the lane. The sun was shining brightly; a rose-laden
wind blew freshly in her face; with the morning light courage and
hope had returned; she felt half ashamed of her last night's sadness.
Queenie was young, and life was strong within her. In youth
happiness is a necessity, a second nature. When the heart is young
it rebels fiercely against sorrow. To exist is to hope; to hope is
to believe.
In youth we believe in miracles; utterly impossible combinations
would not surprise us; the sun must stand still in our firmament, the
stars in their course fight against Sisera; what has happened to
others cannot happen to us.
It is only bitter experience that tears down this fairy glamor, the
thin, gossamer film through which we so long looked. How barren and
loveless life appears then! Our fairest hopes are shipwrecked; a
moral earthquake has shattered our little world. We look up at the
heavens, and they are as brass, and the earth under our feet as
wrought iron; while beyond, and in the dim horizon, hollow voices
seem to whisper a perpetual dirge.
It is a terrible subject, this awful mystery of pain, this dim and
inscrutable decree, that man is born to trouble. Ah, well for those
who, like that tired wanderer in that far-off land, can discern in
their darkness and loneliness the ladder that reaches from earth to
heaven, and feel the fanning of invisible wings even in their
heaviest stupor.
Queenie's healthy young nature recoiled and shuddered at the first
touch of probable pain; it lay folded like a troublesome nightmare
far back among her thoughts. It had mastered her last night in the
darkness; this morning the sunshine had chased it away.
"How do I know? how does any one know?" she said to herself, somewhat
ambiguously, as she sat among her children that morning. "I may be
wrong; it may never happen; and if it does, what is, is best, I
suppose," and here she sighed. "I am thinking of him, of them both,
too much. After all, what is he to me? a dear friend, a very dear
friend; but my friendship must not cost me too much. I will be good
and reasonable, and not ask more than a fair amount of happiness; it
is only children who cry for the moon."
If you want to be happy, be good; it is a very safe maxim. Queenie
felt quite bright as she walked through the little town. True, she
had a slight qualm as she passed the turning that led to Church-Stile
House; but she bravely stifled the feeling, and hummed an air as she
opened her own little gate.
How fresh and bright it all looked. The walk was new gravelled, the
little lawn looked trim and green; roses and geraniums bloomed under
the windows; a honeysuckle was nicely trained round the porch. Emmie
met her on the threshold, and dragged her in with both hands.
"Oh, Queen, it is all so lovely; just like a bit out of a story-book.
To think of you and me living alone together in our own little
cottage; only you and me!"
"I am so glad you are happy, darling, because that makes me happy,"
returned her sister, affectionately. "Ah, there is our little maid
Patience," as the girl stood curtseying and smoothing down her clean
apron, with a pleased, excited face. "Cathy--oh, Mr. Clayton, are
you here too?" as Garth's dark handsome face suddenly beamed on her
from the little parlor.
"I could not resist the pleasure of showing you the transformation,"
he returned, gaily. "You hardly know the place, do you? Langley and
Cathy have done wonders. It is a pretty little home after all, and
quite big enough for you two, and I hope you will be as happy as the
day is long."
"Oh, what have you all done!" exclaimed Queenie, in a stifled voice.
Her heart began to beat more quickly, an odd, choking feeling was in
her throat. Was this their thought for her? She could not for her
life have spoken another word as she followed Garth and Cathy into
the parlor.
"We have only put a table and some chairs into the front room; it
will be handy for Emmie to learn her lessons and play there. Langley
knew we must not put you to any unnecessary expense," went on Garth,
cheerfully. "This is very snug, is it not?"
Snug! Queenie looked round her half dazed. Had she ever seen this
room before? Though it was summer, a little fire burnt in the grate.
There was a crimson carpet; a grey rug was spread invitingly; a couch
stood by the open window. There was a bird-cage, and a stand of
flowers. A pretty print hung over the mantel-piece. Some
book-shelves with some tempting-looking volumes had been fitted up
over the corner cupboard. A gay little pink and white tea-service
was on the round table. Some low basket-work chairs gave an air of
comfort.
Outside the transformation was still more marked. Instead of the
green wilderness, all docks and nettles, there was a long green lawn.
A broad gravel path bordered the window; a few flower-beds had been
cut in the turf.
"It is too late to do much this season; we shall have it very pretty
next summer," observed Garth, in a cool, matter-of-fact tone, as he
followed her to the window. "We have cut away a good deal of the
turf, as it made the house so damp; the gravel path is far better.
Cathy wants you to have a rockery and some ferns in one corner."
"It will look very nice," returned Queenie, absently.
She had a misty vision after that of a bright little kitchen that
reminded her of a doll-house that she had had as a child, and then of
two bed-rooms, one for herself, and one for Emmie, with a small room
for Patience, all as fresh as white dimity could make them. There
were flowers on the toilet-table; the little painted chest of drawers
had a sweet perfume of lavender. Everything was simple and well
chosen, and testified to thoughtful and loving hands.
"Oh, Cathy, what am I to say to him? what am I to say to you all?"
exclaimed poor Queenie, feeling ready to throw her arms round her
friend's neck and burst into tears. They were standing in the little
entry, and Garth was watching them.
"Aren't you going to give me tea after all this?" he interposed, in a
droll voice. "Here I have been gardening and carpentering and acting
as odd man to the establishment for I do not know how long."
"Tea! oh, I forgot," returned Queenie, dashing the tears from her
eyes, and hurrying to her place.
Garth stood near her a moment as he brought her one of the basket
chairs.
"Does our work satisfy you? have we given you pleasure?" he asked,
looking into her downcast face rather anxiously. "Do you think you
will be happy here, you and Emmie, in your own little home?"
"It will be my own fault if I am not," she faltered, holding out her
hand; and such a look of pure childish gratitude lit her dark eyes
that the young man reddened and turned aside. "Oh, Mr. Clayton, what
can I do to repay you and Langley?"
"Hush," he replied, lightly, and trying to turn it off with a laugh;
"there is no talk of payment between friends; it is all understood
between us. You are only in our debt a little while; besides, you
are a rich woman now."
"Oh, I forgot," she exclaimed in such a tone of dismay that the
others looked quite startled. "I mean--ah, yes, it will all be right
soon," endeavouring to recover herself.
It was a cosy little meal after all. Garth, who saw that Queenie's
fluctuating spirits needed tranquillizing, set himself to reassure
and soothe her; and when he had succeeded, the three had one of their
long thoughtful talks. By-and-bye Langley came, and then Ted, and
filled the little room to overflowing, so that they betook themselves
to the porch and the lawn.
It was quite late when they separated, and Queenie went up to her new
little room. The glimmering lights in the village had been
extinguished. The roads looked white and still in the moonlight;
only a faint barking from a dog in the distance broke the stillness.
"How wrong and wicked I was last night!" thought the girl humbly, as
she stood by the table, touching Langley's roses with caressing
fingers. "I was lonely and sad; I wanted I cannot tell what. But
to-night it is so different; it is so sweet to feel he has done all
this for me; that it is his thought for me as well as theirs; that,
whatever happens, he will be my friend, always my friend."