CHAPTER II. 12
CHAPTER III. 20
CHAPTER IV. 25
CHAPTER V. 34
CHAPTER VI. 49
CHAPTER VII. 58
CHAPTER VIII. 62
CHAPTER IX. 74
CHAPTER X. 86
CHAPTER XI. 95
CHAPTER XII. 108
CHAPTER XIII. 121
CHAPTER XIV. 132
CHAPTER XV. 140
CHAPTER XVI. 154
CHAPTER XVII. 166
UNCLE JOHN'S GIFT. 183
A GIRL WHO COULDN'T BE TRUSTED. 193
THE MOTHER'S LAST GIFT. 202
NOT THE BEST WAY. 209
RATHFELDER'S HOTEL.
CHAPTER I.
Standing back beside the picturesque road encircling Windburg hill, near
Cape Town, was a large, handsome house, rather long and high, however,
according to the style of architecture usual in that stormy region of the
world. The front windows on the ground floor opened out upon a broad
terrace, or "stoop," as it is termed by the Dutch, shaded by a wide
projecting trellised roof, which roof was so thickly interlaced by vines
of the rich Constantia grape, the branches being then clustered over with
massive bunches of the golden and purple fruit, that it was with
difficulty the sun obtained a peep here and there down upon the persons
beneath.
It was early in February, a late summer month in Africa, as some of my
young readers may know. The grounds surrounding the house were extensive
and varied, and laid out in the Cape fashion—that is to say, they owed
considerably more to Southern nature's luxuriant hand for their
attractiveness and abundance than to art. Such a state of things was not,
however, so much the result of choice or taste of the inhabitants, as
because gardeners, and indeed working hands of every kind, were sometimes
impossible to obtain at any price. One advantage, and a very decided one
in fresh English eyes, accrues from this style of semi-cultivation.
Flowers alike rare and prized in our costly green-houses, but regarded by
the Cape inhabitants as valueless, display a richness of bloom and
splendour little conceived of by the natives of colder climes.
On a bright and beautiful morning (though indeed the reverse of that is
the exception during the summer season at the Cape) a girl of between
fifteen and sixteen years of age was ascending the broad staircase which
half encircled the spacious hall within the above-mentioned house. The
sunshine streamed in softened rays through the coloured panes of a high
arched window, surrounding her form as an island in golden light as she
passed. It was a charming face and figure, and a thoughtful yet bright
expression seemed to pervade her whole person, filling it with love and
intelligence.
"Oh how pleasant! all day long! how glad Lotty will be! I am sure she
will. Dear, kind uncle! he always thinks of something good and delightful
for every one," she ejaculated half aloud while speeding up the stairs,
then along a wide passage, and finally opening the door of a bedroom at
the farther end. Seated on the side of a bed was a fine but rather
heavy-looking girl some two years senior of the first. Judging from her
appearance, she had but just risen, for she was still clad only in a
wrapper, while an abundant growth of fair hair, released from the cap
which lay on the floor beside her stockingless feet, fell dishevelled upon
her shoulders. Altogether, she presented a very impersonation of youthful
indolence as she sat there, one hand supporting her elbow, while lazily
she passed the other over her still sleepy-looking face.
"Oh, you are not up yet!" exclaimed her visitor, stopping short inside the
door and eyeing the drowsy form before her with a disappointed expression.
"If I am not up, what am I?" she retorted, yawning audibly.
"I mean, you are not dressed yet."
"Have you come up here for the express purpose of giving me that
undeniable piece of information?"
"Oh no," answered the other, quickly, as suddenly she bethought herself
again of her pleasant news, and with recovered cheerfulness came close to
her sister. "Uncle is going to take us with aunty to spend all to-day at
Rathfelder's Hotel!—won't that be charming?—and all night, too, returning
home to-morrow morning! Oh, isn't that nice?"
"Well, I don't see anything so particularly nice or charming in it,"
answered Charlotte in a wet-blanket sort of tone that very considerably
quenched the light in the sweet, bright face before her.
"Don't you, Lotty? why not?"
"Oh, you will find out fast enough for yourself when there; do not tease
me about it now, but go and send Susan here at once; I have been wanting
her this last half hour or more."
"Last half hour? Why didn't you ring for her?"
"There! don't ask any more questions, Mechie, you are such a tiresome girl
at that!" exclaimed Charlotte, impatiently; "go—do—and tell Susan to come
to me; if you delay any longer it will be your fault if I'm late, and I
shall get a scolding in consequence." So away went the young girl, wearing
a very different aspect from that she presented when first we introduced
her amidst sunbeams and smiles on the stairs.
* * * * *
In a pleasant room, the folding windows of which allowed egress upon the
vine-covered stoop—and which windows were now wide open, admitting the
fresh breeze from the in-coming ocean tide, the waters of the great
Pacific, whose sparkling waves were tumbling and leaping toward the base
of the Windburg far beneath—three persons sat at breakfast, Mr. and Mrs.
Rossiter, middle-aged and of benevolent aspect, and our little friend
Maria Marlow, or Mechie, as that name is given by the Dutch. Uncle and,
aunt were mere nominal appellations, adopted by the two girls according to
the wish of their kind benefactors, Mr. and Mrs. Rossiter, but no
relationship existed between them.
Major Marlow quitted the army and India to become a settler in Cape
Colony, and with his young wife and children—Charlotte and Maria—arrived
in Cape Town during what was to him the inclement season of winter.
Unhappily, his constitution, already injured by long service in hot
climates, gave way before the sudden change, and in one month he died of
inflammation of the lungs. His equally delicate wife, who loved him
tenderly, sank under her severe loss, and in a few months followed him to
the grave, but not before she had, through the goodness of God, found true
Christian friends in Mr. and Mrs. Rossiter, to whom she trustfully
consigned the possession and care of her little girls, then two and four
years of age. Being themselves childless, they willingly accepted the
charge, and in time loved the poor orphans as dearly as though they were
their own by birth.
Though reared with equal care and love, the two children, as they advanced
in years, displayed characters and dispositions of such opposite
tendencies that their noble-hearted benefactors might have experienced as
much vexation and disappointment in the apparent failure of their hopes on
the one hand as gratification with their success on the other, had they
not based their judgment of human nature upon the unerring word of God,
which tells of the strange inconsistencies, singular varieties,
perversities and inborn depravity of the souls of men. Happily, however,
for all those under the influence and control of these excellent,
right-thinking people, they had great faith in the influence of Christian
training and the power of divine grace. They remembered the promises
attached to patient and prayerful sowing the seed, the fruit of which
would appear in God's right time. So they kept the ancient precept: "These
words shall be in thine heart, and thou shalt teach them diligently unto
thy children; and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and
when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest, down, and when thou
risest up." In such a home were Charlotte and Maria Marlow reared.
But having introduced my readers thus far to Fern Bank and its
inhabitants, I will withdraw, and allow Maria Marlow to continue this
little history in her own simple way.