_A SHADOW._
"HERE'S Mr. Alick's tutor called, ma'am," said Mrs. Chantry's little
maid that afternoon, throwing open the door of the dining-room where
her mistress was sitting with Marian.
Mrs. Chantry turned round hastily.
"Good morning, Mr. Fortescue."
"I am so sorry to hear this bad news," began the tutor.
"Yes, it is very bad news."
"Lionel came round to tell me about it just now. I had not heard it, on
account of its being Alick's birthday and a holiday. What do you think
had better be done with regard to their studies?"
"I have been thinking about it. It has occurred to me that, as we are
so short of room in our cottage, perhaps they might use Mr. Courtenay's
library. I am sure he would be glad for us to do so."
"Just so," answered Mr. Fortescue; "I had thought the same thing.
Lionel walked up with me— Oh, here he is!"
Mrs. Chantry explained to her nephew what they had been proposing, and
had hardly finished when Lionel burst out:
"Then, if we go to The Towers at all, why should we not take up our
abode there altogether? Marian and I could do finely together."
Mrs. Chantry shook her head; but Lionel continued:
"You see, Mr. Fortescue, there is not room for us here; and though it
is very good of aunt to have us, if we could clear out, it would be a
charity to everybody, I'm sure."
"I should not wish to 'take French leave' like that," interposed Marian.
"Nor I," answered Mrs. Chantry, "unless under great necessity. We
can make room for you here, and therefore I do not feel justified in
proposing it."
"I shall then. I shall go over at once, and ask mother," said Lionel.
Mrs. Chantry stopped him.
"Not with my permission, Lionel," she said decidedly. "I told your
mother that there must be no communication backwards and forwards
between you young people. What may be necessary to say, must be said
between us elders. You are not to go into your own garden even."
Lionel stared. His gentle aunt was speaking as he had never heard her
speak before.
"Am I to be treated like a baby?" he asked haughtily.
"You are to keep to the few rules that are made," answered his aunt
gravely.
"Certainly," said Mr. Fortescue, "you must see, Lionel, the necessity
of that."
"I see the necessity, but not the obligation," said Lionel. "Do your
rules allow of my writing to my mother?"
Mrs. Chantry thought for an instant.
"There can be no objection to that," she answered. "My sister can
answer through me."
"Not to get an answer myself?" fumed Lionel, freshly affronted.
"No!" answered his aunt.
He took himself off without further words, feeling even then that he
had gone beyond all the limits of respect due to his hostess, to say
nothing of that hostess being his dearly-loved aunt.
"It is a sore trial," said Mrs. Chantry, turning to Mr. Fortescue.
"Lionel should be better able to bear it," answered the tutor severely.
"Aunt Greta, I am so sorry," said Marian, looking up with burning
cheeks. "I cannot think how Lionel—"
"Do not distress yourself, my dear," answered her aunt kindly; "Lionel
will be sorry by-and-by."
"Shall we begin studies to-morrow, then?" asked Mr. Fortescue.
"I believe Alick said that was the arrangement."
"That is all right then. I only came over to ask that, and to condole
with you on the misfortune."
He took leave, and Marian and her aunt were left alone.
"Salome would not call it 'a misfortune,' would she?" said Marian
quietly.
Mrs. Chantry smiled.
"It is not a word I like," she answered. "I would rather feel it was
'permitted,' Marian."
"Aunt Greta—" Marian hesitated. "Do you think mother will wish us to
take up our abode at The Towers?"
"We shall see what she says; that is, if Lionel asks her."
"I would a great deal rather be here, auntie."
"I like to have you, dear."
Just at this moment, Mr. Chantry came in—a tall, pale man, whose health
had been greatly impaired by a long residence in India.
"Well, my dear, is tea coming? Let us gather all our new family
together, and settle in as we are to be."
"Before it gets dark, I was going to see if I could get any news from
Sunnyside. I should like to know how Claude is to-night."
"I will go, my dear; you look worn out."
Mrs. Chantry made no objection. She felt indeed that she had passed
through a great deal since that morning-hour when her sister had come
to her over the grass.
"Tea will be ready then," she said, ringing the bell.
"I will make the tea, auntie," exclaimed Marian, springing up, "I
always do it at home."
By the time it was ready, Alick and Lionel came in, and Mr. Chantry
returned from Sunnyside.
His wife looked up in his face, fearing to ask, but he spoke at once.
"There is no change to be expected at present, my dear; and your sister
says you must not be anxious. Claude has slept nearly all day, and the
doctor has not yet been again."
"How did you find out?" she asked.
"I tapped at the window where Uncle Malden sits, and he answered
through the glass."
Lionel stood listening, and as they took their seats at the small table
he said to Alick, in a low tone:
"What a plague that Claude is! I hope he'll make haste and get well."
"I hope so indeed," answered Alick gravely.
After tea Alick, Lionel, and Marian set themselves down to study at a
side-table, Lionel covertly complaining how small and inconvenient it
was, while Marian besought him in a low tone to behave properly, and
Alick whistled to himself an impatient tune.
Mrs. Chantry sat by the fire working, and teaching Charlie his lessons.
And her husband paced up and down the narrow space left to him, in
the restlessness of confirmed ill-health, which often came on with
increased discomfort in the evening.
After the lessons were put away, the young people got out a game in
which all joined, Mr. Chantry sitting down, and looking relieved to
have something to turn off his thoughts from himself.
When Alick and Lionel went up to their room and the door was shut,
there was silence for some little time. Alick got out his Bible,
finding the place, and putting a chair by the wide window-sill sat down.
"Look here, Alick," began Lionel, "are you and I to have a kind of feud
while I am here?"
"Not that I know of; that is, if you'll make the best of things."
"That's nice for you to say, but if you were turned out of house and
home, and stuck into a little place like this, when there's a great
empty house with nobody in it—"
"Where?" asked Alick.
"Courtenay's."
"Oh! Well, anyway, mother has not thought of that; and it makes
everything horrid to have you so complaining."
"I thought of it, but Aunt Greta would not even let me ask mother about
it."
"Then I suppose she had her reasons. Anyway, Lionel, do let me read;
for I'm tired enough of all this, and we have a tough day with Mr.
Fortescue before us."
Alick turned towards his Bible, and Lionel was forced to be silent,
though he rustled about his things in a disturbing kind of way.
As Alick read, he began to think over the frame of mind he had been in
all day. He blamed his cousin for it; for if Lionel had not been so
disagreeable, all would have been right, he argued to himself.
As his eyes ran over the familiar words, his thoughts chased each
other backwards and forwards, first accusing himself of impatience
and unkindness, then excusing himself with the plea of justifiable
indignation at unprovoked rudeness.
Without taking in the sense of any of the sacred words, he closed the
book, and knelt down to pray.
Used to be alone, with the exception of sleeping little Charlie, since
the time when he and Courtenay had sometimes shared the same room in
the old days, he could not forget the presence of his cousin, and he
could think of nothing to say. Still he justified himself, and still
the warning voice of conscience whispered that, however tempted he had
been, yet he had failed of his high standard.
At last, ashamed to rise from his knees without one prayer from his
heart, in despair of any other, he repeated slowly,—
"'Our Father, which art in heaven,'" and went on mechanically till he
came to the words, "'As we forgive our debtors.'"
Then he paused, and raised his head for a moment. His eyes rested on
his cousin's dark form, standing between him and the light, and he
almost hated him for being there—for making all his life dark and
miserable. Then came as a flash—
"'Neither will your Father . . . forgive your trespasses.'"
"I can't be sorry; he is in fault, and not I," he said bitterly to
himself, and buried his head in his hands again.
He knelt on. Lionel quickly got through his undressing and short
prayers, and jumped into bed, and still Alick felt he could not be
sorry.
At last, just as he was almost giving up the struggle, those words came
over him—
"I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also who is of a humble
and contrite spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble."
With one beseeching inward cry for help, he rose and went over to the
bed.
"Lionel," he said, in a smothered voice, "I'm sorry I've been cross to
you, and have not welcomed you more kindly; will you forgive me?"
"Eh?" asked sleepy Lionel.
Alick said it again more clearly, though it was very hard to do it
twice.
"Oh, all right!" answered Lionel. "Aren't you coming to bed? It's ever
so late."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "Blessed are the poor in spirit:
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."]