NORA'S NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
"He must have lost his way," said Janetta, bending over him. "Poor
little fellow!"
"He's a pretty little boy," said Nora, carelessly. "His nurse or his
mother or somebody will be near, I dare say--perhaps gone up to the
house. Shall I look about?"
"Wait a minute--he is awake--he will tell us who he is."
The child, roused by the sound of voices, turned a little, stretched
himself, then opened his great dark eyes, and fixed them full on
Janetta's face. What he saw there must have reassured him, for a dreamy
smile came to his lips, and he stretched out his little hands to her.
"You darling!" cried Janetta. "Where did you come from, dear? What is
your name?"
The boy raised himself and looked about him. He looked about five years
old, and was a remarkably fine and handsome child. It was in perfectly
clear and distinct English--almost free from any trace of baby
dialect--that he replied--
"Mammy brought me. She said I should find my father here. I don't want
my father," he remarked, decidedly.
"Who is your father? What is your name?" Nora asked.
"My name is Julian Wyvis Brand," said the little fellow, sturdily; "and
I want to know where my father lives, if you please, 'cause it'll soon
be my bed-time, and I'm getting very hungry."
Janetta and her sister exchanged glances.
"Is your father's name Wyvis Brand, too?" asked Janetta.
"Yes, same as mine," said the boy, nodding. He stood erect now, and she
noticed that his clothes, originally of fashionable cut and costly
material, were torn and stained and shabby. He had a little bundle
beside him, tied up in a gaudy shawl; and the broken toy-horse seemed to
have fallen out of it.
"But where is your mother?"
"Mammy's gone away. She told me to go and find my father at the big red
house there. I did go once; but they thought I was a beggar, and they
sent me away. I don't know what to do, I don't. I wish mammy would
come."
"Will she come soon?"
"She said no. Never, never, never. She's gone over the sea again," said
the boy, with the abstracted, meditative look which children sometimes
assume when they are concocting a romance, and which Janetta was quick
to remark. "I think she's gone right off to America or London. But she
said that I was to tell my father that she would never come back."
"What are we to do?" said Nora, in an under tone.
"We must take him to Brand Hall," Janetta answered, "and ask to see
either Mrs. Brand or Mr. Wyvis Brand."
"Won't it be rather dreadful?"
Janetta turned hastily on her sister. "Yes," she said, with decision,
"it is very awkward, indeed, and it may be much better that you should
not be mixed up in the matter at all. You must stay here while I go up
to the house."
"But, Janetta, wouldn't you rather have some one with you?"
"I think it will be easier alone," Janetta answered. "You see, I have
seen Mrs. Brand and her son already, and I feel as if I knew what they
would be like. Wait for me here: I daresay I shall not be ten minutes.
Come, dear, will you go with me to see if we can find your father?"
"Yes," said the boy, promptly putting his hand in hers.
"Are these your things in the bundle?"
"Yes; mammy put them there. There's my Sunday suit, and my book of
'Jack, the Giantkiller,' you know. And my wooden horse; but it's broke.
Will you carry the horse for me?--and I'll carry the bundle."
"Isn't it too heavy for you?"
"Not a bit," and the little fellow grasped it by both bands, and swung
it about triumphantly.
"Come along, then," said Janetta, with a smile. "Wait for me here, Nora,
dear: I shall then find you easily when I come back."
She marched off, the boy stumping after her with his burden. Nora
noticed that after a few minutes' walk her sister gently relieved him of
the load and carried it herself.
"Just like Janetta," she soliloquized, as the two figures disappeared
behind a clump of tall trees; "she was afraid of spoiling the moral if
she did not let him _try_ at least to carry the bundle. She always is
afraid of spoiling the moral: I never knew such a conscientious person
in my life. I am sure, as mamma says, she sets an excellent example."
And then Nora balanced herself on the loose wire of the fence, which
made an excellent swing, and poising herself upon it she took off her
hat, and resigned herself to waiting for Janetta's return. Naturally,
perhaps, her meditations turned upon Janetta's character.
"I wish I were like her," she said to herself. "Wherever she is she
seems to find work to do, and makes herself necessary and useful. Now, I
am of no use to anybody. I don't think I was ever meant to be of use. I
was meant to be ornamental!" She struck the wire with the point of her
little shoe, and looked at it regretfully. "I have no talent, mamma
says. I can look nice, I believe, and that is all. If I were Margaret
Adair I am sure I should be very much admired! But being only Nora
Colwyn, the doctor's daughter, I must mend socks and make puddings, and
eat cold mutton and wear old frocks to the end of the chapter! What a
mercy I am taller than Janetta! My old dresses are cut down for her, but
she can't leave me _her_ cast-off ones. That little wretch, Georgie,
will soon be as tall as I am, I believe. Thank goodness, she will never
be as pretty." And Miss Nora, who was really excessively vain, drew out
of her pocket a small looking-glass, and began studying her features as
therein reflected: first her eyes, when she pulled out her eyelashes and
stroked her eyebrows; then her nose, which she pinched a little to make
longer; then her mouth, of which she bit the lips in order to increase
the color and judge of the effect. Then she took some geranium petals
from the flowers in her belt and rubbed them on her cheeks: the red
stain became her mightily, she thought, and was almost as good as rouge.
Thus engaged, she did not hear steps on the pathway by which she and
Janetta had come. A man, young and slim, with a stoop and a slight halt
in his walk, with bright, curling hair, worn rather longer than
Englishmen usually wear it, with thin but expressive features, and very
brilliant blue eyes--this was the personage who now appeared upon the
scene. He stopped short rather suddenly when he became aware of the
presence of a young lady upon the fence--perhaps it was to him a
somewhat startling one: then, when he noted how she was engaged, a smile
broke gradually over his countenance. He once made a movement to
advance, then restrained himself and waited; but some involuntary rustle
of the branches above him or twigs under his feet revealed him. Nora
gave a little involuntary cry, dropped her looking-glass, and colored
crimson with vexation at finding that some one was watching her.
"What ought I to do, I wonder?" Such was the thought that flashed
through the young man's mind. He was remarkably quick in receiving
impressions and in drawing conclusions. "She is not a French girl, thank
goodness, fresh from a convent, and afraid to open her lips! Neither is
she the conventional young English lady, or she would not sit on a fence
and look at herself in a pocket looking-glass. At least, I suppose she
would not: how should I know what English girls would do? At any rate,
here goes for addressing her."
All these ideas passed through his mind in the course of the second or
two which elapsed while he courteously raised his hat, and advanced to
pick up the fallen hand-glass. But Nora was too quick for him. She had
slipped off the fence and secured her mirror before he could reach it;
and then, with a look of quite unnecessary scorn and anger, she almost
turned her back upon him, and stood looking at the one angle of the
house which she could see.
The young man brushed his moustache to conceal a smile, and ventured on
the remark that he had been waiting to make.
"I beg your pardon; I trust that I did not startle you."
"Not at all," said Nora, with dignity. But she did not turn round.
"If you are looking for the gate into the grounds," he resumed, with
great considerateness of manner, "you will find it about twenty yards
further to your left. Can I have the pleasure of showing you the way?"
"No, thank you," said Miss Nora, very ungraciously. "I am waiting for my
sister." She felt that some explanation was necessary to account for the
fact that she did not immediately walk away.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said the young man once more, but this time in
a rather disappointed tone. Then, brightening--"But if your sister has
gone up to our house why won't you come in too?"
"_Your_ house?" said Nora, unceremoniously, and facing him with an air
of fearless incredulity, which amused him immensely. "But _you_ are not
Mr. Brand?"
"My name is Brand," said the young fellow, smiling the sunniest smile in
the world, and again raising his hat, with what Nora now noticed to be a
rather foreign kind of grace: "and if you know it, I feel that it is
honored already."
Nora knitted her brows. "I don't know what you mean," she said,
impatiently, "but you are not Mr. Brand of the Hall, are you?"
"I live at the Hall, certainly, and my name is Brand--Cuthbert Brand, at
your service."
"Oh, I see. Not Wyvis Brand?" said Nora impulsively. "Not the father of
the dear little boy that we found here just now?"
Cuthbert Brand's fair face colored. He looked excessively surprised.
"The father--a little boy? I am afraid," he said, with some
embarrassment of manner, "that I do not exactly know what you mean----"
"It is just this," said Nora, losing her contemptuous manner and coming
closer to the speaker; "when my sister and I were walking this way we
saw a little boy lying here fast asleep. He woke up and told us that his
name was Julian Wyvis Brand, and that his mother had left him here, and
told him to find his father, who lived at that red house."
"Good heavens! And the woman--what became of her?"
"The boy said she had gone away and would not come back."
"I trust she may not," muttered Cuthbert angrily to himself. A red
flush colored his brow as he went on. "My brother's wife," he said
formally, "is not--at present--on very friendly terms with him; we did
not know that she intended to bring the child home in this manner: we
thought that she desired to keep it--where is the boy, by the way?"
"My sister has taken him up to the Hall. She said that she would see Mr.
Brand."
Cuthbert raised his eyebrows. "See my brother?" he repeated as if
involuntarily. "My brother!"
"She is his second cousin, you know: I suppose that gives her courage,"
said Nora smiling at the tone of horror which she fancied must be
simulated for the occasion. But Cuthbert was in earnest--he knew Wyvis
Brand's temper too well to anticipate anything but a rough reception for
any one who seemed inclined to meddle with his private affairs. And if
Nora's sister were like herself! For Nora did not look like a person who
would bear roughness or rudeness from any one.
"Then are you my cousin, too?" he asked, suddenly struck by an idea that
sent a gleam of pleasure to his eye.
"Oh, no," said Nora, demurely. "I'm no relation. It is only Janetta--her
mother was Mr. Brand's father's cousin. But that was not my
mother--Janetta and I are stepsisters."
"Surely that makes a relationship, however," said Cuthbert,
courageously. "If your stepsister is my second cousin, you must be a
sort of step-second-cousin to me. Will you not condescend to acknowledge
the connection?"
"Isn't the condescension all on your side?" said Nora coolly. "It may be
a connection, but it certainly isn't a relationship."
"I am only too glad to hear you call it a connection," said Cuthbert,
with gravity. And then the two laughed--Nora rather against her
will--Cuthbert out of amusement at the situation, and both out of sheer
light-heartedness. And when they had laughed the ice seemed to be
broken, and they felt as if they were old friends.
"I did not know that any of our relations were living in Beaminster," he
resumed, after a moment's pause.
"I suppose you never even heard our name," said Nora, saucily.
"I don't--know----" he began, in some confusion.
"Of course you don't. Your father had a cousin and she married a
doctor--a poor country surgeon, and so of course you forgot all about
her existence. She was not _my_ mother, so I can speak out, you know.
Your father never spoke to her again after she married _my_ father."
"More shame to him! I remember now. Your father is James Colwyn."
Nora nodded. "I think it was a very great shame," she said.
"And so do I," said Cuthbert, heartily.
"It was all the worse," Nora went on, quite forgetting in her eagerness
whom she was talking to, "because Mr. Brand was not himself so very much
thought of, you know--people did not think--oh, I forgot! I beg your
pardon!" she suddenly ejaculated, turning crimson as she remembered that
the man to whom she was speaking was the son of the much-abused Mr.
Brand, who had been considered the black sheep of the county.
"Don't apologize, pray," said Cuthbert, lightly. "I'm quite accustomed
to hearing my relations spoken ill of. What was it that people did not
think?"
"Oh," said Nora, now covered with confusion, "of course I could not tell
you."
"It was so very bad, was it?" said the young man, laughing. "You need
not be afraid. Really and seriously, I have been told that my poor
father was not very popular about here, and I don't much wonder at it,
for although he was a good father to us he was rather short in manner,
and, perhaps, I may add, in temper. Wyvis is like him exactly, I
believe."
"And are you?" asked Nora.
Cuthbert raised his hat and gave it a tremendous flourish.
"Mademoiselle, I have not that honor," he replied.
"I suppose I ought not to have asked," said Nora to herself, but this
time she restrained herself and did not say it aloud. "I wonder where
Janetta is?" she murmured after a moment's silence. "I did not think
that she would be so long."
If Cuthbert thought the remark ungracious, as he might well have done,
he made no sign of discomfiture. "Can I do anything?" he asked. "Shall I
go to the house and find out whether she has seen my brother? But then I
shall have to leave you."
"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Nora, innocently.
"Doesn't it? But I hardly like the idea of leaving you all alone. There
might be tramps about. If you are like all the other young ladies I have
known, you will have an objection to tramps."
"I am sure," said Nora, with confidence, "that I am not at all like the
other young ladies you know; but at the same time I must confess that I
don't like tramps."
"I knew it. And I saw a tramp--I am sure I did--a little while ago in
this very wood. He was ragged and dirty, but picturesque. I sketched
him, but I think he would not be a pleasant companion for you."
"Do you sketch?" said Nora quickly.
"Oh, yes, I sketch a little," he answered in a careless sort of way--for
what was the use of telling this little girl that his pictures had been
hung in the Salon and the Academy, or that he had hopes of one day
rising to fame and fortune in his recently adopted profession? He was
not given to boasting of his own success, and besides, this child--with
her saucy face and guileless eyes--would not understand either his
ambitions or his achievements.
But Nora's one talent was for drawing, and although the instruction she
had received was by no means of the best, she had good taste and a great
desire to improve her skill. So Cuthbert's admission excited her
interest at once.
"Have you been sketching now?" she asked. "Oh, do let me see what you
have done?"
Cuthbert's portfolio was under his arm. He laughed, hesitated, then
dropped on one knee beside her and began to exhibit his sketches. It was
thus--side by side, with heads very close together--that Janetta, much
to her amazement, found them on her return.