“What! still among the mountains? Mrs. Cheerlove must be quite bored!”
“Oh no!” they boldly reply, “she is such a good sympathizer!”
Then he, his sister, and Arbell, go down to their two hours’ dinner,
which I privately think it a privilege to escape. Mrs. Pevensey and I
have ice, fruit, cakes, and coffee. And then I see her no more, for Mr.
Pevensey spends the rest of the evening with her; and I say good-night,
and retreat to my own room, though not always to bed, if I have an
interesting book.
Though Mrs. Pevensey is not well enough to receive visitors (except such
a quiet one as myself), it has been very interesting to witness the
benefactions to the poor, the Christmas-tree loaded with presents for the
children and servants, the school-children’s treat, the servants’ feast,
&c., which ushered in Christmas in this hospitable house. In connection
with these, something very mysterious was to take place on Christmas
Eve, in the largest drawing-room, which was known only to Mr. Pevensey,
Arbell, and a few assistants. Great expectations were raised, and most
absurd guesses made, as to what could be going on,—much peeping, prying,
and tittering outside the carefully-locked door, and many conjectures
hazarded on the occupations of those who passed in and out. A good deal
of hammering added excitement to the scene; and Mrs. Pevensey said, with
some anxiety, she hoped they were not hurting the new white and gold
paper; a tinkling bell was also heard.
At length, the longed-for hour arrived; the school-children had had their
prizes and buns, the servants’ friends had had tea and plum-cake, the
Christmas-tree had displayed its glories, when, at the eventful hour
of eight, the public were admitted, and Mrs. Pevensey was carried into
the drawing-room. All were surprised, and rather disappointed, to find
it so dark; and when Arbell had marshalled every one to their places,
it became darkness itself, for every light was extinguished. A laugh, a
whispered remark, alone broke the silence, though all the household were
present, and the general feeling was of awe.
At length, on the ringing of _a small bell_, the solemn, distant sounds
of an organ were heard (a very good barrel-organ in the nursery, that
played hymn-tunes), and a curtain, slowly rising, revealed the hospice
of St. Bernard!—or, at any rate, so good a transparency of it as to give
a very vivid impression of the place itself. There was the old monastic
pile, shut in among craggy, snow-clad rocks—the adjacent church, the
_morgue_—the gloomy little lake—the tiny patches of garden, in which
the monks grow a few cabbages and lettuces. To add to the illusion, a
twinkling light was seen in one of the distant windows; a dog’s short,
sharp bark was heard afar off, and the tones of the organ conveyed the
impression of a midnight mass.
It was very impressively, capitally got up; and at small amount, as we
afterwards learnt, of trouble and cost. Ingenuity had been the prime
artificer; and Mr. Pevensey was much pleased at the cleverness with which
Arbell had seconded him. Altogether, the entertainment was well thought
of, and gave unmingled satisfaction.
* * * * *
——I have come to the last page of my little note-book. Oh that the last
page of my life’s story may end as happily!