weeks, told it quietly, and without breakdown, though the dark eyes grew
moist, and tears trembled on the lashes which looked so long and black
against the white cheeks. It was a comfort to tell it all to one who
understood, and was full of sympathy and kindness, and strange though it
might seem, separation, instead of widening the distance between Jack
and herself, had only drawn them more closely together.
The old formalities of intercourse had dropped like a cloak at the first
moment of meeting; they were no longer Miss and Mr, but "Jack" and
"Sylvia"; no longer acquaintances, but dear and intimate friends.
"Miss Munns has been terribly distressed," Jack said, when at last the
sad recital came to an end. "She loved your father more than anyone in
the world, and you come next as his child. Poor old lady! it was quite
pathetic to see her efforts to make your home-coming as cheerful as
possible. Bridgie says she has put up clean curtains all over the
house, and discussed the menu for supper for the last week. It's her
way of showing sympathy, the creature! and you understand better than
myself all that it means. Different people have different ways, haven't
they, Sylvia? _I_ came to Dover!"
"Yes!" assented Sylvia, with a flickering smile. "You came to Dover,
and Aunt Margaret put up clean curtains, and ordered a roast fowl for
supper--I know it will be a roast fowl!--and if you had not warned me in
time, I should probably have said I could not eat anything, and gone to
bed supperless, without even noticing the curtains. I am afraid I have
been horrid to the poor old soul in that sort of way many times in the
last two years. It is good of her to take such trouble, because,
honestly speaking, she won't be any more pleased to have me back as a
permanency than I am to come. We have mutually comforted ourselves with
the reflection that it was `only for a time,' but now it is different.
I want to be good--I have made, oh! such a crowd of good resolutions,
but I don't know how long they will last!"
Jack looked down at his boots, and drew his brows together thoughtfully.
"You--er--it's too early, I suppose, to have made any plans for the
future. You hardly know what you will do?"
"No: my natural home is, of course, with Aunt Margaret as father's
sister, but there are other considerations." Sylvia hesitated a moment,
then added impetuously--it seemed so natural to confide in Jack!--"About
money, I mean. I don't know what I have, or if I have anything at all.
Father always said he was poor, though he seemed to have enough for what
he wanted, and to give me all I asked. Perhaps he made enough to keep
us, but had nothing to leave behind. Mrs Nisbet just referred to the
subject one evening, and I could see from her manner that there was
something I did not know, so I turned the conversation at once. I had
had so much trouble that I felt as if I simply could not bear any more
bad news just then, and would rather remain in ignorance as long as
possible. It was weak, perhaps, but--can't you understand the feeling?"
"Me name's O'Shaughnessy!" said Jack simply. "We never face a
disagreeable fact until it comes so close that we hit ourselves against
it. I'm sorry; but don't worry more than you can help. I've been short
of money all my life, but I don't know anyone who has had a better time.
So long as you have youth and health, what does it matter whether you
are rich or poor? It's all in the way you look at things. For useful
purposes, most people can make their money go farther than mine, but for
sheer fun and enjoyment I'll back my half-crown against another fellow's
sovereign!"
"Ah, but you're Irish! You have the happy temperament which can throw
off troubles and forget all about them for the time being. They sit
right down upon my shoulders--little black imps of care, and anxiety,
and quaking fears, and press so heavily that I can remember nothing
else. Perhaps I could be philosophical too, if I were one of a big,
happy family--but when one is all alone--"
"All alone--when I'm here! How can you be all alone, when there are two
of ye!" cried Jack impulsively.
He had resolved, not once, but a hundred times over, that he would speak
no words but those of friendship; that no temptation, however strong,
should make him break his vow of silence; but some impulses seem
independent of thought. He did not know what he was going to do, he was
conscious of no mental prompting, but one moment he was quietly sitting
in his corner opposite Sylvia, and the next he was seated beside her,
with both arms wrapped tightly round her trembling figure, and she was
shedding tears of mingled sorrow and happiness upon his shoulder.
"I've been in love with you ever since the first evening you came to our
house. Before that! Ever since I saw you sitting up at your window in
your little red jacket. You knew it, didn't you? You found that out
for yourself?"
"No--Yes! Sometimes. Only I thought--I was afraid it couldn't be true,
and there was--Mollie!" faltered Sylvia incoherently, hardly knowing
what she was saying, conscious of nothing but an overwhelming sense of
content and well-being, as the strong arm supported her tired back, and
the big, tender finger wiped away her tears.
Jack laughed at the suggestion, but did not indulge in the depreciatory
remarks concerning Miss Burrell which many men would have used under the
circumstances.
"Good old Mollie!" he said. "She's a broth of a girl, but I would as
soon think of marrying Bridgie herself. She was my confidante, bless
her, and cheered me up when I was down on my luck. You might have
noticed how interested she was in you that night at Esmeralda's crush!"
At that Sylvia opened her eyes wide, with a sudden unpleasant
recollection.
"What will Esmeralda think? Oh, Jack, what will she say?"
"Plenty, my dear! You may be sure of that," replied Jack, laughing;
then he, too, gave a little start of surprise, and, straightening
himself, held Sylvia from him at the length of his strong young arms.
"I say--what's this? You little witch, what have you done to me? I had
made a solemn vow not to speak a word of love-making, and it seems to me
I have broken it pretty successfully. Have I been making love to you,
Sylvia--have I?"
It was a very charming little face that laughed back at him, pale no
longer, but flushed to a delicate pink, the dark eyes a-sparkle with
happiness, and a tinge of the old mischievous spirit.
"Yes, you have! Do you want to draw back?"
Jack's answer was wordless but convincing, but the next moment he
sobered, and said in that charming way of his, which was at once so
manly and so boyish, "But I didn't want to bind you, I spoke only for
myself. I am your property, darling, and your slave to command, but I
can't ask you to marry me yet awhile, for I've the children on my hands,
and until they are settled I can't think of myself. I am the head of
the house, and must do what I can for them, poor creatures.
"Pat will be off to the Agricultural College next term, and then back to
Ireland to do agent's work; Miles is doing well in the city, but can't
keep himself for several years to come; and then there are the girls. I
had no right to speak as I did; it wasn't fair to you. I won't bind you
down to a long, uncertain engagement. You must feel yourself free,
perfectly free."
"I don't want to be free! I like to be bound--to you, Jack!" Sylvia
said firmly. "I'm so thankful that you did speak, for it makes just all
the difference in my life. I am young, and can wait quite happily and
contentedly, so long as I know that you care, and can look forward--"
Sylvia stopped short, awed at the prospect of happiness which had
suddenly opened before her, and Jack was silent too, holding her hand in
a close pressure. His face was very tender, but troubled through all
its tenderness, and when he spoke again, it was in very anxious accents.
"But are you contented to leave it a secret, darling, a secret between
you and me? You see, if Bridgie knew we were waiting, she'd know no
peace, feeling that she was in our way, and the young ones would get the
same fancy, and be wanting to turn out before they were ready. They
have no one but me, and I couldn't have them feeling upset in their own
home. That was why I determined to keep silent, and it's bad of me to
have broken my vow, but it's your own fault, darling! I couldn't be
with you again, and keep quiet. Do you care for me enough to wait
perhaps for years before we can even be publicly engaged?"
Sylvia smiled at him bravely, but her heart sank a little, poor girl, as
it was only natural it should do. A girl is by nature much quicker than
a man projecting herself into the future, and in realising all that is
involved.
Jack was conscious only of a general regret that he could not claim his
bride before the world, but Sylvia saw in a flash the impossibility of
frequent meetings, the minute chance of _tete-a-tetes_, the quicksands
in the shape of misunderstandings, which must needs attend so unnatural
a position. On the other hand, she honoured Jack the more for his
loyalty to his home duties, and agreed with the wisdom of his decision.
"Yes, Jack, I do. I'd like to wait. I love Bridgie with all my heart,
and could not bear her to suffer through me. It shall be exactly as you
think best for them in every way."
Jack bent and kissed her, even more tenderly than before.
"My little helpmeet!" he said, and Sylvia found her best reward in the
sound of that word, and the knowledge that she was strengthening him in
the right path. Surely it was the best guarantee for the happiness of
their new relationship, that it was inaugurated in a spirit of self-
sacrifice and care for others.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
REMINISCENCES.
Bridgie was not waiting at the station. "She heard me saying that I
might be here myself, and maybe remembered that two are company," said
Jack, with a laugh.
But when Rutland Road was reached someone stood waiting to open the door
of the cab and welcome the wanderer in the sweetest tones of a sweet
contralto voice. She said only a few words, but with true Irish tact
chose just the ones which were most comforting under the circumstances.
"Welcome back, dear. I've missed you badly. So have we all." Then she
looked at Jack, and smiled as if his presence were the most natural
thing in the world. "You have brought her home safely. That's right,"
she said. It was one of Bridgie's most lovable qualities that she never
asked awkward questions, nor showed undue curiosity about the affairs of
others.
Brother and sister said good-bye at the door, leaving aunt and niece
alone, and, as the door closed behind them, Sylvia felt a spasm of
loneliness and regret. It was hard to part from Jack with that formal
shake of the hand, to feel that days might elapse before they met again,
and, as she looked round the ugly little dining-room, she felt like a
prisoned bird which longs to break loose the bars and fly to its mate.
It seemed impossible to settle down to the old monotonous life, and
yet--and yet--how much, much worse it might have been! How thankful she
ought to be! If one hope had been taken away, another had been granted
in its stead. The path ahead was still bright with promise, and a
sudden pity seized her for the woman whose youth was gone, and who had
lost the last tie to the past. She returned her aunt's kisses with
unusual affection, and roused herself to notice and show appreciation of
the efforts which had been made on her behalf.
The table was laid with the best china, the red satin tea-cosy had been
brought from its hiding-place upstairs and divested of its muslin bag
and holland wrappings; the centre mat presented by Cousin Mary Ferguson
two Christmases ago was displayed for the first time; the serviettes
were folded into rakish imitations of cocked hats.
It was half touching, half gruesome, to find the occasion turned into a
_fete_, but Sylvia was determined to be amiable, and said gratefully--
"How kind of you to have supper ready for me, Aunt Margaret! I could
not eat anything on the boat, but now I believe I am hungry. It all
looks very good. The chickens one gets in France are not the least like
the ones at home."
"They don't know how to feed them, my dear. I am glad you have an
appetite. I always find that when I am in trouble nothing tempts me so
much as a cup of tea and a slice off the breast. Just take off your
hat, and sit down as you are. Everything is ready."
Miss Munns was evidently gratified to receive an acknowledgment of her
efforts, and insisted upon waiting upon her niece and loading her plate
with one good thing after another; but after the meal was over there
followed a painful half-hour, when Sylvia had to submit to a searching
cross-questioning on the events of the past weeks.
Unlike Bridgie, Miss Munns insisted upon detail--had a ghoulish
curiosity to know in exactly what words Mrs Nisbet had broken the sad
news, in exactly what words Sylvia had replied, in exactly what manner
the first black days had been spent. Her spectacles were dimmed with
tears as she listened to what the girl had to tell, and her thin lips
quivered with genuine grief; but she was still acutely interested to
hear of the number of carriages at the funeral, of the meals in the
hotel, and the purchase of Sylvia's mourning garments.
"You must show them to me to-morrow. I expect they are very smart--
coming from France. I always wear black, so there was not much to be
done. I had the black satin taken off my cashmere dress, and folds of
crape put in its place, and some dull trimming, instead of jet, on my
cape. I haven't decided about my bonnet. You must give me your advice.
Of course, I wish to do everything that is proper, but it's been an
expensive year."
"Yes," assented Sylvia absently. She rose from her seat and, walking
across the room, leant her elbow on the mantelpiece. There was
something she wanted to say, and it was easier to say it with averted
face. "Aunt Margaret, I want to ask you a question. Please tell me the
truth. Shall I have any money? Was father able to provide for me? I
know you are not well off, and I could not bear to be a burden to you.
If I have no money of my own, I must try to earn some."
"I should be telling you the truth, my dear, if I said that I knew less
about it than you do yourself. Your father was very close about
business matters--very close indeed. He was supposed to have a good
business a few years ago, and was always very handsome in his ways, but
he has grumbled a good deal of late, and I don't know how things will be
now he is gone. He had a lawsuit with an old partner in Ceylon, which
hung on a long time. I don't know if it is settled yet; and, if not, we
shall have to let it drop. You can always have a home with me; but
there will be nothing to spare for lawyers' expenses. Give me a bird in
the hand, as I said to your father the last time he was home.
"If the worst comes to the worst, you can give some music lessons in the
neighbourhood. Mrs Burton was telling me on Monday that her little boy
has quite a taste--picks out all the barrel-organ tunes on the piano
with one finger. You might get him as a beginning."
"Yes," assented Sylvia faintly; and to herself she cried, "Oh, Jack
dear--how good of you to love me! How good of you to give me something
to live for! How dreadful, dreadful, dreadful I should be feeling now
if you had not met me, and made the whole world different!"
Miss Munns was watching her anxiously, fearing a burst of tears, and was
greatly relieved when she turned round and showed a composed and even
smiling face. "I'll find some work if it is necessary, auntie; and I'll
try to help you too. You have been very good to me, and I'm afraid I
have been rather horrid sometimes. I thought of it when I was away, and
determined to make a fresh start if you would forgive me this time. We
are the only two left, and we ought to love each other."
"I am sure I am very much attached to you, my dear. I was saying so to
Miss O'Shaughnessy only to-day. I don't deny that your manner is rather
sharp at times, but there's nothing like trouble for taming the spirits.
I shouldn't wonder if we got along much more happily after this. Miss
Bridgie brought a little parcel for you--I mustn't forget that. It is
on that little table. She told me to give it to you at once."
"What can it be, I wonder?--something I left over there by mistake, I
suppose," Sylvia said listlessly, as she unfolded the paper; but her
expression altered the next moment as she beheld a flat leather case,
inside which reposed a miniature painting of the same face which used to
smile upon her from her own chimney-piece.
Surprise held her speechless, while a quick rush of tears testified more
eloquently than words to the faithfulness of the portrait. The painting
was exquisitely fine and soft, the setting the perfection of good taste
in its handsome severity. It seemed at the moment just the greatest
treasure which the world could offer. Who could have sent it?
Sylvia reluctantly handed the case for Miss Munns's curious scrutiny,
the while she opened the note which had fallen from the paper.
Bridgie's handwriting confronted her; but she had hardly time to marvel
how so costly a gift could come from such an impecunious donor, before
surprise number two confronted her in the opening words.
"Esmeralda told me to give you this miniature from myself, but I want
you to know that it is entirely her idea and present from the beginning.
As soon as she heard your sad news, she asked me to borrow the best
photograph of your father, to be copied by the same artist who painted
the Major for her. She has been to see how he was getting on almost
every day, till the poor man was thankful to finish it, just to be rid
of her, and here it is to welcome you, dear, and, we hope, to be a
comfort to you, all your life."
"Esmeralda!" echoed Sylvia blankly. It seemed for a moment as if
Bridgie must be romancing, for the staid English mind refused to believe
that one who had at one time appeared actively antagonistic, and at the
best had shown nothing warmer than a lofty tolerance, should suddenly
become the most thoughtful and generous of friends. Yet there it was,
specified in black and white. Esmeralda had originated the kindly plan;
she had engaged no second-rate artist, but one to whom her own work had
been entrusted, and had given freely of what was even more value to her
than money, her time, in order that the gift should arrive at the right
moment.
Sylvia flushed with a gratification which was twofold in its nature, for
here at last seemed an opening of drawing near in heart to that
beautiful, baffling personality, who was Jack's sister, and might some
day--oh, wonderful thought!--be her own also. It would be a triumph,
indeed, if in these days of waiting she could overcome the last
lingering prejudice, and feel that there would be no dissentient note
when at last the great secret was revealed.
Aunt and niece hung together over the case with its precious contents,
the one exhausting herself in expressions of gratitude and appreciation,
the other equally delighted, but quite unable to resist looking the gift
horse in the mouth, and speculating in awed tones concerning the
enormous cost of ivory miniatures. That jarred, but on the whole the
evening passed more pleasantly than Sylvia could have believed possible,
the unexpected excitement breaking the thread of that painful cross-
examination, and carrying the old lady's thoughts back to the far-off
days when she and her brother had been sworn friends and playmates.
"Tell me what you used to do, auntie! It must be so nice to have
someone to play with. Do tell me some of your escapades!" she pleaded
wistfully, and Miss Munns shook her head, and assumed a great air of
disapproval, though it was easy to see that she cherished a secret pride
in the remembrance of her own audacities.
"I am afraid we were very naughty, thankless children. One day, I
remember, Teddy, as we used to call him, had been very rightly punished
for disobedience, and he confided in me that he intended to run away,
and go to sea, as a cabin-boy. We always did everything together in
those days, so of course nothing must suit me but I must go too. We got
up early the next morning, and ran out into the garden, where we were
allowed to play before breakfast, and then slipped out of the side door,
to walk to Portsmouth.
"Portsmouth was eighteen miles away, and I was only six, and before we
had walked two miles, I was crying with fatigue and hunger. Teddy had
brought some bread-and-butter, so we sat under a hedge to eat it, and he
told me we must be very nearly there. Just then up came a tramp, and
stopped to ask why we were crying, and what we were doing out there in
the road at that hour in the morning. `We are going to Portsmouth to be
cabin-boys,' we told him, and I can remember to this day how he laughed.
`If you are going to be cabin-boys, you won't want those clothes,' he
said. `You had better take them off, and give them to me, to change for
proper sailor things.'
"We thought that a splendid idea, so he took Teddy's suit, and my frock
and hat, and left us shivering under the hedge waiting his return. Of
course he never came, and an hour or two later, my father came driving
along to look for us, and we were taken home, and punished as we
deserved. That is to say, Teddy was whipped, and I was only put to bed,
for he insisted that the idea was his, and that he alone was to blame."
"Nice little Teddy!" murmured Sylvia fondly, looking down at the
pictured face, which, despite grey hair and wrinkles, had still the
gallant air of the little boy who shielded his sister from blame.
Having once started, Miss Munns told one story after another of her
childhood's days; of the lessons which brother and sister used to learn
together--a whole page of Mangnall's Questions at a time, and of the
dire and terrible conspiracy, by which they learnt alternate answers,
easily persuading the docile governess to take the right "turns." Thus
Teddy, when asked "What is starch?" could reply with prompt accuracy,
while remaining in dense ignorance of the date when printing was
introduced into England, concerning which his small sister was so well
informed.
Sylvia was told of the books which were read and re-read, until the
pages came loose from their bindings; of the thrilling adventures of one
Masterman Ready, whose stockade, being besieged by savages, it became an
immediate necessity to guard the gate at the head of the nursery stairs,
and to hurl a succession of broken toys at the innocent nurse, as she
forced an entry; of a misguided and stubborn "Rosamond" who expended her
savings on a large purple vase from a chemist's window, and found to her
chagrin that when the water was poured away, it was only a plain glass
bottle; and of a certain "Leila," who sojourned on a desert island in
the utmost comfort and luxury, being possessed of a clever father who
found all that he needed on the trees in the forest.
An hour later, when Sylvia went up to her room, it was impossible to
resist drawing aside the blind to look across the road, and in an
instant, another blind was pulled back, and a tall dark figure stood
clearly outlined against the lighted background.
Sylvia understood that Jack had been watching for her advent, and felt
comforted by his presence, and all that was meant by that waving hand.
She wondered whether she had better write to Esmeralda, or try to see
her in person, but the question was decided by Pixie, who came over
early the next morning to announce Mrs Hilliard's arrival in the
afternoon.
"She wants to see you, and say she's sorry," she explained, and when
Sylvia exhausted herself in expressions of gratitude and delight, "Oh,
Esmeralda would give you her skin if it would fit ye!" she said coolly.
"She's the kindest of us all when she isn't cross. Give her her way,
and you may have all the rest. I've known her raise the roof on us, and
appealing to every relation we owned, to get what she wanted, and then
wrap it up in brown paper that very day, and post it back where it came.
I'm glad ye like it so much. Now if I'd been clever, and bought some
more paints when those people wanted me, maybe I could have done it for
you meself." Her face grew suddenly grave and wistful.