I RECEIVE AN INVITATION.
Thus abruptly uncle Bryan concluded his story. Some parts of it had
moved me very deeply with sympathy for him; but the latter part, where
he spoke of Jessie in such a strangely unjust and inexplicable manner,
filled me with indignation. I had no time, however, to think about it,
for almost immediately upon the conclusion of his story, Jessie came
home, flushed and radiant, from her visit to the Wests. Our grave
faces checked her exuberant spirits, and, looking from one to another,
she sought for an explanation.
'Are you angry with me for going out?' she asked, divining that she
was the cause of all this seriousness.
'No, my dear,' replied my mother; 'no one is, I am sure. I hope you
enjoyed yourself.'
'I always do,' said Jessie, her face clouding, when I go to the Wests.
Has anything disagreeable occurred?'
'No, Jessie, nothing.'
Jessie had a habit of shaking her head at herself when she was not
satisfied with things; it was the slightest motion in the world, but
there was much meaning in it. On the present occasion it expressed to
me very plainly, 'I know that you have been talking of me, and that I
have done something wrong which I am not to be told of.' My mother
understood it also, for with expressive tenderness she assisted Jessie
to take off her bonnet and mantle, and smoothed Jessie's hair in fond
admiration. I could have embraced my mother for those marks of
affection towards Jessie; they were an answer to uncle Bryan's unjust
words.
'I think,' said Jessie, looking into my mother's face, that _you_ are
fond of me.'
'My dear,' responded my mother, kissing her, 'I regard you almost as
my daughter.'
'I like to be loved,' murmured Jessie, almost wistfully, with tender
looks at my mother, and keeping close to her as if for shelter from
unkindness.
'Which would you rather have, Jessie,' I asked most suddenly, 'love or
money?'
Heaven only knows how the words came to my tongue! They certainly were
not the result of deliberate thought. Perhaps it was because of some
unconscious connection between the words Jessie had just spoken and
those which she had spoken to me a little time before: 'Chris, I think
I would do anything in the world for money.' The words were often in
my mind, or perhaps they were prompted by an episode in the story I
had just heard. Uncle Bryan's keen eyes were turned upon Jessie
immediately the question passed my lips, and his scrutiny did not
escape Jessie's observation.
'Ask me again, Chris,' she said, with a sudden colour in her cheeks.
'I said, which would you rather have--love or money?'
'How much money--a great deal?'
'Yes, a great deal.'
'What a question to ask! What does uncle Bryan say to it?'
'Uncle Bryan is too old for such follies,' he replied roughly.
'That is a crooked way of getting out of an argument,' she said
defiantly, as if being provoked herself, she wished to provoke him.
'Money is not a folly, and money can buy anything. So, Chris, I think
I would rather have money; for then,' she continued, with a disdainful
laugh, 'I could buy new dresses and new bonnets, and everything else
in the world that's worth having.'
I listened ruefully, hoping she did not mean what she said, for she
spoke mockingly. My mother, seeing that the conversation was taking an
unfortunate direction, turned it by speaking of the West family, and
Jessie entertained us with lively descriptions of her friends,
throwing at the same time an air of mystery over them, which
considerably enhanced my curiosity concerning them. Soon afterwards
all in the house had retired to rest.
But I knew that my mother would come down for a few minutes' quiet
chat, and that we should have something to say to each other about
uncle Bryan's wonderful story. It was in every way wonderful to me. I
had always imagined that he had led a quiet uneventful life, and
suddenly he had become a hero; but I could not associate the uncle
Bryan I knew with the man who had fallen in love with Frances Glaive,
and so I told my mother as we sat together half an hour later in my
quiet little bedroom.
'His life has been a life of great suffering,' my mother said, 'and we
can never feel too kindly towards him. He has shown us his heart
to-night; and yet, my dear, I think I understand him better than you
do.'
'I daresay, mother; that's because you _are_ better than I am.'
'No, no, my dear,' she replied. 'Who can be better than my darling
boy? It is because I have more experience of the world. Chris, my
heart melted to him to-night more than it has ever done. I had a
curious fancy once when he was speaking. I wished that he had been a
boy like you instead of an old man, for I yearned to take him in my
arms and comfort him.'
'But what person in the world,' I thought, 'would she not wish to
comfort if she knew that they needed it?' And I said aloud: 'If he had
had a mother like mine, it would have been different with him.' (Such
words as these were the natural outcome of my affection for this
dearest of women, and I did not know then, although I believe I have
learnt since, how sweet they were to her.) 'But, mother, I can't think
of him as you do, when I remember what he said about Jessie. And tell
me--would you like me to look on things as uncle Bryan does?'
'God forbid, child!' she exclaimed warmly. 'It would take the
sweetness out of your life; but I pray that you may never be tried as
he has been. All that I want to impress upon you is to be tolerant to
him and kind, because of his great trials and troubles. And now, my
dear, I have something to tell you that you will be glad to hear.
Jessie, before she went to sleep, asked me not to believe what she had
said about money. "I couldn't help saying it," she said; "but I would
rather be loved than have all the money there is in the world." Jessie
puzzles me sometimes, my darling; but I have seen nothing in her
nature that is not good.'
And with these sweet words of comfort my mother left me to my rest.
The battle between Jessie and me with respect to the Wests still
continued. Jessie, standing upon her dignity, as she had declared she
would, did not ask me again to call for her when she visited them, and
as her visits were growing more frequent, my sufferings were
proportionately intensified. I felt that I could not hold out much
longer, and I was on the point of giving way and sacrificing my
manliness, when the difficulty was resolved for me by the following
note, which my mother placed in my hands with a smile:
'Miss West presents her compliments to Mr. Christopher Carey, and will
be happy to see him at nine o'clock to-night.'
I was greatly delighted, and I congratulated myself upon my powers of
endurance, thinking, naturally enough, that I had Jessie to thank for
the invitation. In obedience to the summons, and feeling really very
curious about the Wests--and most anxious also, I must confess, to be
where Jessie was--I presented myself at the house at the hour named to
the minute. There was no need to knock at the street-door, for it was
open. I tapped on the wall of the dark passage, and waited for an
answer. There was a great deal of laughter below, and my soft tapping
was not heard, so I advanced two or three steps, and knocked more
loudly.
'Who's there?' a voice cried, and the laughter ceased.
'It's me,' I answered; and I was about to announce myself more
explicitly, when my words were taken up mockingly.
'Oh, it's Me, is it? Well, come downstairs, Mr. Me. Flora child, open
the door. Take care! Mind your head!'
The warning came too late. I knocked my head smartly against a beam in
the ceiling, and stumbling down the stairs, entered the kitchen--the
door of which was opened, by Flora I presume, just in time to receive
me--in a very undignified manner. Screams of laughter greeted me as I
picked myself up, very hot and red at my loss of dignity.
'Be quiet, children!' cried the voice which I had first heard. 'I hope
you haven't hurt yourself, Mr. Me! Come along and shake hands. Very
glad to see you. "And Jack fell down and broke his crown."'--This
quotation because I was rubbing my head, which I had bumped severely.
'I am not hurt much, thank you,' I said, as I walked towards the
speaker, who was either a girl or a woman, or both in one, for I could
not guess her age within ten years. She was sitting on a bench before
a table; and as I gave her my hand, she placed her fingers to her
lips, and glanced expressively towards a curtain, made of two
patchwork quilts, which partitioned off a part of the kitchen. There
was something going on behind this curtain, for there was a shuffling
of feet there, and I heard low voices.
'Don't speak loud,' said my hostess, as I guessed her to be. 'I'm Miss
West. Jessie's behind there; you'll see her presently. Don't let her
know you're here.'
'Why, doesn't she know?' I exclaimed, in a maze of bewilderment.
'Bless your heart, no! _I_ sent you the note without her knowing
anything of it. I thought you'd be glad.' As Miss West made this
remark she gave me a sharp look.
'I _am_ glad,' I said.
'I knew you would be. Rubbing your head again! Well, you _have_ raised
a bump! Shall I brown-paper-and-vinegar you?'
'No, thank you,' I said, laughing; and then I looked round in wonder
upon the strange scene.