A DREAM AND AN AWAKENING
MRS. TRACY came downstairs on the morning after Juliet's departure
looking white and weary. Hannah and Salome were wont to sit down to
breakfast punctually at a quarter before eight. Hannah liked to have
ample leisure for her preparations ere she departed for the high
school, where she presented herself about nine o'clock, and Salome was
always glad to begin her housekeeping duties at as early an hour as
possible. While Juliet attended the school, Mrs. Tracy had striven—not
always successfully—to appear at the early meal; but since Juliet's
schooldays ended, that young lady had positively declined to get up
early, and she and her mother had fallen into the habit of breakfasting
together some time after the two sisters had left the table.
But on this morning, although her head ached sorely, Mrs. Tracy was
possessed by a feeling of restlessness which made it impossible to
remain in bed, and, to her daughters' surprise, she came into the
breakfast room soon after the first gong had sounded.
"Why, mother!" exclaimed Salome. "Whatever has made you get up so
early? I meant to bring you your breakfast presently. Do you think you
were wise to do so? You are not looking well."
"I do not feel well," said Mrs. Tracy. "I have had a wretched night,
but I felt obliged to get up; I was so weary of lying still and
worrying. Has the post come?"
"The postman never arrives till after eight o'clock, and it wants ten
minutes to the hour yet," said Hannah. "What can you have found to
worry about?"
"Oh, I hardly know! I am very foolish. I suppose it was Juliet's
going away that upset me. I had such wretched dreams about her. You
remember—you must often have heard me speak of the time we lost Juliet
when she was a little child in India. It was through the carelessness
of her ayah. The woman must have left her for some time, though she
vowed she had only turned her back for a moment. Anyhow, the child
strayed from her, and wandered out of the compound into the jungle. I
shall never forget how I felt when they told me she was lost.
"I knew the jungle was full of wild beasts, and I thought I should
never see my child again; I pictured her sweet little body all mangled
and bleeding. I thought I should have lost my senses. It seemed to me
an eternity that I endured that suspense, but within an hour, she was
found chasing butterflies on the edge of a swamp, and they brought her
to me smiling and unscathed. Well, do you know, I lived through that
again in my dream. I thought Juliet was my little one still, and she
was lost and in deadly peril; but there was no happy ending. They came
and told me that she had been carried off by a tiger, and I should
never see her again. I was in an agony. I woke screaming and bathed in
perspiration. You cannot think what a horrid dream it was, it seemed so
real."
"It must have been a horrid dream indeed," said Salome, her voice a
trifle unsteady, for the simple, pathetic way in which her mother had
told the dream had touched her, although she was not of an emotional
nature.
But Hannah only said, "What did you take for supper, mother, to give
you such a nightmare? Depend upon it, indigestion was the cause of that
trouble."
"My dear, you know that I never eat suppers. I do not believe that
indigestion had anything to do with it. The dream came, I suppose,
because I was anxious about Juliet; even now, I cannot get rid of the
impression it left on my mind. I shall feel easier when I have heard
from her."
"Really, mother, do you imagine that your dream is prophetic?" said
Hannah, with a laugh. "Since there are no tigers at large in England,
you need hardly distress yourself with the idea that Juliet has been
carried off by one."
Mrs. Tracy tried to join in the laugh, but there were tears in her
eyes. The arrival of the postman was a welcome relief.
"Here you are, mother," said Hannah, as she distributed the letters;
"the tiger has not carried Juliet away yet; or, at least, she was able
to write a postcard before he despatched her."
Mrs. Tracy took the card eagerly.
"Folkestone Station," she read aloud—
"Have arrived here safely, and all so far well. Will write in a day
or two.—
"Your—
"JULIET."
"Fancy her staying to scribble that at the station!" she said. "It was
good of the child. She knew I should want to hear as soon as possible."
"Here is a letter for Juliet," said Salome. "If you can tell me the
address, mother, I will re-direct it, and get Hannah to post it as she
goes to school."
"17, Ferndale Road, The Lees, Folkestone," said Mrs. Tracy, who could
always be depended upon for accurate information where Juliet was
concerned. "You had better put the Felgates' name."
"Of course I shall do that," said Salome.
"I daresay I shall write to Juliet by and by," said Mrs. Tracy; "but it
is well that letter should be sent on at once."
"Do you intend to write to Juliet every day during her absence?" asked
Hannah, with a suggestion of sarcasm in her voice.
"I cannot say at this moment what I intend to do," replied Mrs. Tracy,
rather nettled; "but I see no reason why I should not write to her
every day if I choose."
Mrs. Tracy's mood did not brighten as the day wore on. A heavy,
unaccountable burden of depression lay on her heart. She missed Juliet
terribly. The house seemed dreary and unhomelike without her bright
young presence. It afforded Mrs. Tracy some comfort to sit down and
write a long letter to her darling child, though the mental effort it
involved intensified her headache, and obliged her shortly afterwards
to retire to her bedroom.
"It is time mother and Juliet were parted, if this is the effect
Juliet's going away has on mother," remarked Hannah to her sister. "It
is a pity she allows herself to be so governed by her feelings. How
would she bear it, if Juliet had gone away for good?"
"I do not know, I am sure," Salome replied; "I tremble sometimes when
I see how mother idolises Juliet. If any harm should come to her, I
believe it would break mother's heart."
Mrs. Tracy scarcely showed herself better able to rule her emotions on
the following day. She did indeed make spasmodic attempts to appear
cheerful, but these only served to show how very far her frame of mind
was removed from cheerfulness. It was a disappointment to her that no
letter came from Juliet, though she readily found excuses for "the
child."
"There would be so much to see and to do the first day, she would
naturally have no time to write," she said "Besides, if she writes in a
day or two, there will be so much more to tell."
Nevertheless she watched for the coming of every post throughout the
day, in the hope that it would bring her a letter. She regretted that
she had no acquaintance with Folkestone. It would be so much nicer, she
thought, if she could picture to herself the scenes on which Juliet's
eyes would rest. Mrs. Tracy was going with Hannah and Salome to the
Isle of Wight as soon as the high school term ended, but she did not
care greatly about the prospect. She hoped Juliet would join them there
after leaving Folkestone, but could not be sure of it, since that young
lady had refused to be tied by any plan.
"Won't you come out for a walk, mother?" Salome asked her in the
afternoon. "It is not nearly so warm to-day. The air would do you good."
But Mrs. Tracy languidly declined. She felt unequal to any exertion.
And there was a postal delivery at four o'clock, which might bring a
letter from Folkestone.
"Then I will go to my district," said Salome; "I want to see all the
people this week, since I shall be away from them for some time to
come. Perhaps on the way I shall call at the rectory, and see if the
Hayeses have returned. They were expected home on Tuesday."
"Very well, dear," said Mrs. Tracy, as she leaned back in her chair
with closed eyes. She was very weary, and her head ached; but worse
than languor or physical ache was that heavy sense of depression, which
almost amounted to a presentiment of impending trouble. She found it
impossible to sew or to read. She could only keep still, and endure.
The afternoon passed slowly on. Presently she lost herself in a doze,
from which she was roused by the postman's knock. In a moment, she was
up and hastening into the hall to fetch the letter.
It was addressed to herself, and the postmark was Folkestone. She
saw that instantly, but saw too that the writing was not Juliet's.
Something had happened, then. The presentiment of evil seemed already
confirmed, as with trembling hands she tore open the envelope. In utter
bewilderment, she read the following words:
"DEAR MRS. TRACY,—We are in a state of mystification here because two
letters have arrived addressed to our care for 'Miss Tracy.' At first
we could not understand it at all, for we never thought of Juliet till
mother fancied she recognised your handwriting on the second letter
that came. What does it mean? Has Juliet changed her mind, and is she
coming to us after all?
"I suppose she has already left home, since you are sending letters
here for her. Indeed it must be so, for our maid, Eliza, who went on
Tuesday to spend the afternoon at Dover, astonished us on her return by
declaring that she had seen Juliet walking there. So I am hoping every
hour that Juliet will either arrive, or send us a line from wherever
she is. It will be delightful if she is able to join us. Meanwhile we
will take care of the letters.—Believe me, yours affectionately,—
"DORA FELGATE."
The letter dropped from Mrs. Tracy's nerveless fingers. Every vestige
of colour had left her face, and her breath came in quick pants. The
room seemed to be moving round with her; there was a sound like the sea
in her ears as, with benumbed brain, she strove to take in the meaning
of this strange, inexplicable letter.
She was dimly conscious of a step crossing the hall, and knew that
Salome entered the room and stood beside her.
"Oh, mother!" cried Salome, as she saw her mother's face. "What has
happened? Why do you look like that?"
"Read that letter," said her mother faintly, "and tell me what it
means. I—I cannot make it out somehow."
Salome hastily read the letter. Its contents did not surprise her as
they had surprised her mother. But she did not speak directly she had
grasped its meaning. She shrank from dealing the blow that yet could
not be averted, and vainly sought for words that might soften it.
"Why do you not speak?" cried her mother. "Oh, Salome, tell me—where is
Juliet?"
"Mother dear," said Salome, speaking with the utmost gentleness, "I
fear Juliet has done what is very, very wrong. Mrs. Hayes has just told
me that she met her at Dover with a man whom she believes was Flossie
Chalcombe's brother. I am afraid, I am very much afraid, that they have
run away together."
"Salome!" exclaimed Mrs. Tracy, her tone sharp with indignation. "How
can you say it of your sister? Juliet would never do such a thing. Mrs.
Hayes ought to be ashamed of herself for suggesting it. It is wrong—it
is wicked of her! But she never understood Juliet."
"Alas, mother!" said Salome, too sorrowful to resent her mother's
anger. "It does not depend on Mrs. Hayes' word alone. This letter
says that the Felgates' servant saw her at Dover. And it is but too
plain that Juliet deceived us when she professed to be going to the
Felgates'."
Mrs. Tracy uttered a cry of despair, and sank back fainting.