If Lavarcham had ever permitted herself excitement she would have
been excited the next day. But there is a curious means by which we
may postpone the spending of our emotions. There are many people who
can only do a particular thing on condition that they do it in two
directions. They can repress themselves only when they are engaged
in repressing some one else; for the thing we are doing outwardly
and to others is always the thing that we are doing inwardly and to
ourselves. If we treat others benevolently we are assuredly being kind
to ourselves: if we mete out torment we will receive that measure and
will writhe in it. A tyrant is ultimately one who is striving for
self-mastery by the wrong method. But in order to be good you must do
good, or to be anything you must do that thing concretely, for life
is movement and all else is movement too. Lavarcham by unconscious
processes discovered that Deirdre needed the utmost disciplinary and
repressive measures that could be applied to a human being.
“The child is running wild,” she complained to the air that circulated
about Deirdre’s head.
“But I have not done a thing,” cried Deirdre.
“There are a thousand things you should have done,” Lavarcham replied.
“What are they?” Deirdre demanded.
But Lavarcham did not know.
She certainly felt within herself the necessity for doing a thousand
things. She felt so busy that there must really be a thousand things to
be done. But she knew also that nothing remained for her to do, and,
consequently, that Deirdre was to blame.
The real thing she had to do was to master her own excitement, and she
perceived at a glance that Deirdre was in a very excited condition
indeed.
“You must sit quietly, my treasure,” she counselled. “You must not
move from one place to another, taking things up and putting them down.
You will become fidgety yourself and will give every one about you the
fidgets also.”
“But----” Deirdre expostulated.
“And you must not give back-answers. When you are told to do a thing
you must do it cheerfully and patiently----”
“But----” cried Deirdre.
“For,” Lavarcham continued, “lacking this self-control and gentleness
of movement no girl can become a lady.”
“But,” Deirdre exploded, “I have not done a thing.”
“You know, my one treasure, that everything I say is for your good, and
when I counsel you it is because I consider you need just that counsel.
You are distraught to-day, my bud of the branch, and there is no reason
why you should not be as calm to-day as you were yesterday or any
day. This is only to-day, but to-morrow will come and to-day will be
forgotten.”
“I do not understand in the least----” Deirdre began.
“There is nothing to understand, my beloved. There is not a reason in
the world why you should be troubled. Sit now at your embroidery, and
do not leave it until I give permission.”
Deirdre was indeed excited, but Lavarcham had not the smallest
perception of this: nor was it visible. It was a very intimate
excitement, which could be brooded and enjoyed as well over a piece
of embroidery as in any other way. And Lavarcham watched her, sensing
nothing of that deep agitation and memory and dream.
I was wise, she thought, not to tell the news, for the child seems even
more beautiful to-day than she has ever seemed before. She has slept
well.
While they were thus sitting a servant hurried into the room, with her
eyes bolting from her head, and a gabble on her lips which Lavarcham
only repressed by ferocity, for she surmised at once that the king had
arrived, and she did not even yet wish Deirdre to know of the visit.
She rose and precipitated herself against the servant.
“Is that how you enter a room, ill-bred slave? Was it among the cattle
that you learned manners? Begone at once,” she cried, “and do not
come into a room again until you have asked and received permission
to enter. What is the world coming to?” she continued angrily as she
hustled the servant through the door and down the corridor.
“It’s the son of Ness----” the servant babbled.
“And if it is,” said Lavarcham, “there is the more reason for you to be
attentive and respectful and unseen. Go to your place and stay there
until I send for you.”
She returned then, and, still simulating ill-temper, she dismissed
Deirdre to her own room.
“You have not properly trimmed your finger-nails,” she scolded; “there
is a black spot under one of them. You are not seemly. Go to your room
at once, little blossom, and when you come back come so that your
fosterer need not be ashamed of her charge.”
Saying so, she marched Deirdre to her room and thrust her in. Then she
returned, and, seating herself at the embroidery from which she had
driven her ward, she prepared to receive the king.