AT ROSE COTTAGE.
On regaining my senses I found myself in a cozy little bed, in a cozy
little room, with an old gentleman sitting by my side gently chafing
one of my hands--a gentleman with white hair and a white moustache,
with a ruddy face, and a smile that made me fall in love with him at
first sight.
"Did I not say that she would do famously in a little while?" he
cried, in a cheery voice that it did one good to listen to. "I believe
the Poppetina has only been hoaxing us all this time: pretending to be
half-drowned just to find out whether anybody would make a fuss about
her. Is not that the truth, little one?"
"If you please, sir, where am I? And are you a doctor?" I asked,
faintly.
"I am not a doctor, either of medicine or law," answered the
white-haired gentleman. "I am Major Strickland, and this place is Rose
Cottage--the magnificent mansion which I call my own. But you had
better not talk, dearie--at least not just yet: not till the doctor
himself has seen you."
"But how did I get here?" I pleaded. "Do tell me that, please."
"Simply thus. My nephew Geordie was out mooning on the bridge when he
heard a cry for help. Next minute he saw you and your boat go over the
weir. He rushed down to the quiet water at the foot of the falls,
plunged in, and fished you out before you had time to get more than
half-drowned. My housekeeper, Deborah, put you to bed, and here you
are. But I am afraid that you have hurt yourself among those ugly
stones that line the weir; so Geordie has gone off for the doctor, and
we shall soon know how you really are. One question I must ask you in
order that I may send word to your friends. What is your name? and
where do you live?"
Before I could reply the village doctor came bounding up the stairs
three at a time. Five minutes sufficed him for my case. A good night's
rest and a bottle of his mixture were all that was required. A few
hours would see me as well as ever. Then he went.
"And now for the name and address, Poppetina," said the smiling major.
"We must send word to papa and mamma without a moment's delay."
"I have neither papa nor mamma," I answered. "My name is Janet Holme,
and I come from Dupley Walls."
"From Dupley Walls!" exclaimed the major. "I thought I knew everybody
under Lady Pollexfen's roof, but I never heard of you before to-night,
my dear."
Then I told him that I had been only two days with Lady Pollexfen, and
that all of my previous life that I could remember had been spent at
Park Hill Seminary.
The major was evidently puzzled by what I had told him. He mused
for several moments without speaking. Hitherto my face had been in
half-shadow, the candle having been placed behind the curtain that
fell round the head of the bed, so as not to dazzle my eyes. This
candle the major now took, and held it about a yard above my head, so
that its full light fell on my upturned face. I was swathed in a
blanket, and while addressing the major had raised myself on my elbow
in bed. My long black hair, still damp, fell wildly round my
shoulders.
The moment Major Strickland's eyes rested on my face, on which the
full light of the candle was now shining, his ruddy cheek paled; he
started back in amazement, and was obliged to replace the candlestick
on the table.
"Great Heavens! what a marvellous resemblance!" he exclaimed. "It
cannot arise from accident merely. There must be a hidden link
somewhere."
Then taking the candle for the second time, he scanned my face again
with eyes that seemed to pierce me through and through. "It is as if
one had come to me suddenly from the dead," I heard him say in a low
voice. Then with down-bent head and folded arms he took several turns
across the room.
"Sir, of whom do I remind you?" I timidly asked.
"Of some one, child, whom I knew when I was young--of some one who
died long years before you were born." There was a ring of pathos in
his voice that seemed like the echo of some sorrowful story.
"Are you sure that you have no other name than Janet Holme?" he asked,
presently.
"None, sir, that I know of. I have been called Janet Holme ever since
I can remember."
"But about your parents. What were they called, and where did they
live?"
"I know nothing whatever about them except what Sister Agnes told me
yesterday."
"And she said--what?"
"That my father was drowned abroad several years ago, and that my
mother died a year later."
"Poverina! But it is strange that Sister Agnes should have known your
parents. Perhaps she can supply the missing link. The mention of her
name reminds me that I have not yet sent word to Dupley Walls that you
are safe and sound at Rose Cottage. Geordie must start without a
moment's delay. I am an old friend of Lady Pollexfen, my dear, so that
she will be quite satisfied when she learns that you are under my
roof."
"But, sir, when shall I see the gentleman who got me out of the
water?" I asked.
"What, Geordie? Oh, you'll see Geordie in the morning, never fear. A
good boy! a fine boy! though it's his old uncle that says it."
Then he rang the bell, and when Deborah, his only servant, came up, he
committed me with many injunctions into her charge. Then taking my
head gently between his hands, he kissed me tenderly on the forehead,
and wished me "Good-night, and happy dreams."
Deborah was very kind. She brought me up a delicious little supper,
and decided that there was no need for me to take the doctor's
nauseous mixture. She took it herself instead, but merely as a sop to
her conscience and my own; "for, after all, you know, there's very
little difference in physic--it's all nasty; and I daresay this
mixture will do my lumbago no harm."
The effects of the accident had almost entirely passed away by next
morning, and I was dressed and downstairs by seven o'clock. I found
the major hard at work digging up the garden for his winter crops.
"Ah, Poppetina, down so early!" he cried. "And how do we feel this
morning, eh? None the worse for our ducking, I hope."
I assured him that I was quite well, and that I had never felt better
in my life.
"That will be good news for her ladyship," he replied, "and will prove
to her that Miss Holme has not fallen among Philistines. In any case,
she cannot be more pleased than I am to find that you have sustained
no harm from your accident. There is something, Poverina, in that face
of yours that brings back the past to me strangely. But here comes
Master Geordie."
I turned and saw a young man sauntering slowly down the pathway. He
was very fair, and, to me, seemed very handsome. He had blue eyes, and
his hair was a mass of short, crisp flaxen curls. From the way in
which the major regarded him as he came lounging up, I could see that
the old soldier was very proud of his young Adonis of a nephew. The
latter lifted his hat as he opened the wicket, and bade his uncle good
morning. Me he did not for the moment see.
"Miss Holme is not up yet, I suppose?" he said. "I hope she is none
the worse for her tumble over the weir."
"Our little water-nymph is here to answer for herself," said the
major. "The roses in her cheeks seem all the brighter for their
wetting."
George Strickland turned smilingly towards me, and held out his hand.
"I am very glad, Miss Holme, to find that you have suffered so little
from your accident," he said. "When I fished you out of the river last
night you looked so death-like that I was afraid we should not be able
to bring you round without difficulty."
Tears stood in my eyes as I took his hand. "Oh, sir, how brave, how
noble it was of you to act as you did! You saved my life at the risk
of your own, and how can I ever thank you enough?"
A bright colour came into his cheek as I spoke. "My dear Miss Holme,
you must not speak in that way," he said. "What I did was a very
ordinary thing. Any one else in my place would have done precisely the
same. I must not claim more merit than is due for an action so
simple."
"To you it may seem a simple thing to do, but I cannot forget that it
was my life that you saved."
"What an old-fashioned princess it is!" said the major. "Why it must
have been born a hundred years ago, and have had a fairy for its
godmother. But here comes Deborah to tell us that breakfast is ready.
Toasted bacon is better than pretty speeches, so come along with you,
and make believe that you have known each other for a twelvemonth at
least."
Rose Cottage was a tiny place, and there were not wanting proofs that
the major's income was commensurate with the scale of his
establishment. A wise economy had to be a guiding rule in Major
Strickland's life, otherwise Mr. George's college expenses would never
have been met, and that young gentleman would not have had a proper
start in life. Deborah was the only servant that the little household
could afford; but then the major himself was gardener, butler, valet,
and page in one. Thus--he cleaned the knives in a machine of his own
invention; he brushed his own clothes; he lacquered his own boots, and
at a pinch could mend them. He dug and planted his own garden, and
grew enough potatoes and green-stuff to serve his little family the
year round. In a little paddock behind his garden the major kept a
cow; in the garden itself he had half a dozen hives; while not far
away was a fowl-house that supplied him with more eggs than he could
dispose of, except by sale. The major's maxim was, that the humblest
offices of labour could be dignified by a gentleman, and by his own
example he proved the rule. What few leisure hours he allowed himself
were chiefly spent with rod and line on the banks of the Adair.
George Strickland was an orphan, and had been adopted and brought up
by his uncle since he was six years old. So far, the uncle had been
able to supply the means for having him educated in accordance with
his wishes. For the last three years George had been at one of the
public schools, and now he was at home for a few weeks' holiday
previously to going to Cambridge.
It will of course be understood that but a very small portion of what
is here set down respecting Rose Cottage and its inmates was patent to
me at that first visit; much of it, indeed, did not come within my
cognizance till several years afterwards.
When breakfast was over the major lighted an immense meerschaum, and
then invited me to accompany him over his little demesne. To a girl
like me, whose life had been spent within the four bare walls of a
school-room, everything was fresh and everything was delightful. First
to the fowl-house, then to the hives, and after that to see the
brindled calf in the paddock, whose gambols and general mode of
conducting himself were so utterly absurd that I laughed more in ten
minutes after seeing him than I had done in ten years previously.
When we got back to the cottage, George was ready to take me on the
river. The major went down with us and saw us safely aboard the _Water
Lily_, bade us good-bye for an hour, and then went about his morning's
business. I was rather frightened at first, the _Water Lily_ was such
a tiny craft, so long and narrow that it seemed to me as if the least
movement on one side must upset it. But George showed me exactly where
to sit, and gave me the tiller-ropes, with instructions how to manage
them, and was himself so full of quiet confidence that my fears
quickly died a natural death, and a sweet sense of enjoyment took
their place.
We were On that part of the river which was below the weir, and as we
put out from shore the scene of my last night's adventure was clearly
visible. There, spanning the river just above the weir, was the
open-work timber bridge on which George was standing when my cry for
help struck his ears. There was the weir itself, a sheet of foaming
frothing water, that as it fell dashed itself in white-lipped passion
against the rounded boulders that seemed striving in vain to turn it
from its course. And here, a little way from the bottom of the weir,
was the pool of quiet water over which our little boat was now
cleaving its way, and out of which the handsome young man now sitting
opposite to me had plucked me, bruised and senseless, only a few short
hours ago. I shuddered and could feel myself turn pale as I looked.
George seemed to read my thoughts; he smiled, but said nothing. Then
bending all his strength to the oars, he sent the _Water Lily_
spinning on her course. All my skill and attention were needed for the
proper management of the tiller, and for a little while all morbid
musings were banished from my mind.
Scarcely a word passed between us during the next half hour, but I was
too happy to care much for conversation. When we had gone a couple of
miles or more, George pointed out a ruinous old house that stood on a
dreary flat about a quarter of a mile from the river. Many years ago,
he told me, that house had been the scene of a terrible murder, and
was said to have been haunted ever since. Nobody would live in it; it
was shunned as a place accursed, and was now falling slowly into decay
and ruin. I listened to the story with breathless interest, and the
telling of it seemed to make us quite old friends. After this there
seemed no lack of subjects for conversation. George shipped his oars,
and the boat was allowed to float lazily down the stream. He told
about his school days, and I told about mine. The height of his
ambition, he said, was to go into the army, and become a soldier like
his dear old uncle. But Major Strickland wanted him to become a
lawyer; and owing everything to his uncle as he did, it was impossible
for him not to accede to his wishes. "Besides which," added George,
with a sigh, "a commission is an expensive thing to buy, and dear old
uncle is anything but rich."
When we first set out that morning I think that George, from the
summit of his eighteen years, had been inclined to look down upon me
as a little school miss, whom he might patronize in a kindly sort of
way, but whose conversation could not possibly interest a man of his
sense and knowledge of the world. But whether it arose from that
"old-fashioned" quality of which Major Strickland had made mention,
which caused me to seem so much older than my years; or whether it
arose from the genuine interest I showed in all he had to say; certain
it is that long before we got back to Rose Cottage we were talking as
equals in years and understanding, but that by no means prevented me
from looking up to him in my own mind as to a being superior not only
to myself but to the common run of humanity. I was sorry when we got
back in sight of the weir, and as I stepped ashore I thought that this
morning and the one I had spent with Sister Agnes in Charke Forest
were the two happiest of my life. I had no prevision that the
fair-haired young man with whom I had passed three such pleasant hours
would, in after years, influence my life in a way that just now I was
far too much a child even to dream of.