"That is not home where, day by day,
I wear the busy hours away."
In a short time, Marian had settled into her place at Oak Worthy, lost
some part of her shyness towards the inhabitants, and arrived at the
terms which seemed likely to continue between her and her cousins.
There was much that was very excellent about Caroline Lyddell; she had
warm feeling, an amiable and obliging disposition, and great sweetness
of temper; and when first Marian arrived she intended to do all in her
power to make her at home, and be like a sister to her. But she did not
understand reserve; and before Marian had got over her first shyness
and awkwardness, Caroline felt herself repulsed, and ceased to make
demonstrations of affection which met with no better response. Marian
made none on her side; and so the two cousins remained very obliging and
courteous to each other, but nothing more.
Clara had begun by making herself Marian's inseparable companion in
rather a teasing manner, caressing her continually, and always wanting
to do whatever she was doing; but as novelty was the great charm
in Clara's eyes, and as she met with no very warm return to her
endearments, all this soon wore off; and though she always came to
Marian whenever she had any bit of news to tell,--though she often
confided to her little complaints of the boys or Miss Morley,--this was
no great compliment, for she would have done the same to anything that
had ears. Her talk was no longer, as it had been at first, exclusively
for Marian; and this wag rather a relief, for it was not at all like the
talk Marian was used to with Agnes or with Edmund.
Young and unformed as Marian was, it would be hard to believe how much,
without knowing it, she missed the intercourse with superior minds, to
which she had been accustomed. It was just as her eye was dissatisfied
with the round green chalk hills, instead of the rocks and streams of
her own dear home; or as she felt weary of the straight, formal walks
she now took, instead of her dear old rambles,
"Over bank and over brae,
Where the copsewood is the greenest,
Where the fountain glistens sheenest,
Where the lady-fern grows strongest,
Where the morning dew lies longest."
Edmund's high spirits, Agnes' playful glee,--how delightful they were!
and though Marian often laughed now, it was not as she had laughed at
home. Then, too, she grew shy of making remarks, or asking questions,
when Clara had nothing to say but "How odd!" or Miss Morley would give
some matter-of-fact answer, generally either quite beside the point, or
else what Marian know before. Caroline understood what she meant, and
would take up the subject, but not always in a satisfactory manner; for
she and Marian always seemed to have quite opposite ways of viewing
every thing. Each felt that the other had more serious thoughts and
principles than most of those around them, but yet their likings and
dislikings were very different in the matter of books. "Anna Ross" was
almost the only one of Caroline's favourites that Marian cordially
liked; and this, as Caroline suspected, might he owing to a certain
analogy between Anna's situation and her own, by no means flattering to
the Lyddell family. It was wonderful how many were the disparities
of tastes, views, and opinions between them; but the root of these
differences seemed undiscoverable, since Marian would not or could not
argue, replied to all objections with a dry, short, "I don't know," and
adhered unalterably to her own way of thinking.
Miss Morley settled the matter by pronouncing that Sir Edmund and Lady
Arundel must have been very narrow-minded people; and this judgment was
so admired by Caroline and Clara, that it was sure to be brought forward
as conclusive, whenever Marian was the subject of conversation. At last
Lionel broke in one day, "Stuff! Marian is a good, sensible, downright
girl, and it is my belief that all that you mean by narrow-mindedness is
that she cares for what is right, and nothing else."
"How much you know about it, Lionel!" said Clara, laughing; but Caroline
answered in earnest, "There is reason in what you say, Lionel--Marian
does care for what is right; but the question is, whether her views of
it are not narrow?"
"The narrower the better, say I," said Lionel, as he plaited his
whip-lash.
"Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, that leadeth unto life,"
came into Caroline's head, and she stood thoughtful. Clara exclaimed,
"Well done, Lionel! I wonder what he'll say next to defend his dear
Marian."
"I know what I mean well enough," said Lionel. "I suppose you call it
being broad-minded to trace your drawings through against the window,
when mamma goes on telling you not. Better have her narrow mind, say I."
"Then why don't you," said Clara, "instead of going down to the stables
for ever with that man of Elliot's that mamma said you were never to
speak to?"
Lionel whisked his whip-lash before Clara's eyes, so as to make her
wink. "I did not say I was good myself;" said he; "I said Marian was."
And he ran out of the room.
Clara laughed at Lionel's admiration of Marian, which had begun to be
a joke in the schoolroom; but Caroline, as she practised her music,
thought a good deal over the conversation. "Is a narrow mind really a
fear of doing wrong?" was a question she asked herself several
times; and then she thought of all the things she had heard called
narrow-minded and scrupulous in Marian or others, but she soon found
herself lost in a mist, and wished she could talk it over with her
former governess, Miss Cameron. As to what Lionel had said about the
drawing, she was conscious she was very wrong; her mamma had called it
an idle practice to trace the outline through against the glass, and
had forbidden it; but a difficulty had soon brought her back to the
window-pane, exclaiming, "Just for this one thing, I am sure mamma would
not object."
"If Miss Cameron had been here, it would not have happened," said
Caroline to herself with a sigh, and for a few days she kept away from
the window; but another difficulty occurred, again she yielded to the
temptation, and whoa she heard her mother's step in the passage, hurried
back to her desk with guilty precipitation. A few days after, Clara was
actually caught in the fact by Mrs. Lyddell, and then Miss Morley began
making an excuse, evidently quite as much out of kindness to herself as
to her pupil. Marian looked up in surprise, with a wondering, inquiring
expression in her eyes. They were cast down the instant the governess
turned towards her; but Miss Morley always felt abashed, by meeting that
look of astonishment, which awoke in her a sensation of self-reproach
such as she had seldom known before.
Miss Morley was a little afraid of Marian's eyes, though not of her in
any other respect; nor did she like her much better than Caroline did,
though she gave her much less trouble than any of her other pupils,
except Caroline. Those questions and observations puzzled her, and she
thought the poor child had been reading books beyond her years--it was
such a great disadvantage to be an only daughter. Besides, she really
believed Marian Arundel had no affection for any one,--no warmth of
feeling; she would ten times prefer a less diligent and more troublesome
pupil, in whom she could take some interest, and who showed some
affection, to one so steady and correct in behaviour, without the frank
openness of heart which was so delightful. To make up, however, for this
general want of liking for poor Marian, on the other hand, every one was
fond of Gerald. His behaviour in the schoolroom was so very nice and
good, and out of doors his climbing, running, and riding were no less
admired by his contemporaries. Now and then, indeed, a dispute arose
between him and the other two boys, when Gerald criticised, and declared
that "Edmund and everybody" thought as he did; or when he would try to
outdo the sporting exploits reported of Elliot, by Edmund's shooting at
Fern Torr. One day there was a very serious quarrel, Gerald having
taken up the cause of an unfortunate frog, which Lionel and Johnny were
proposing to hunt, by rolling their marbles at it.
Gerald declared they should not, that frogs were harmless, innocent
creatures, and that Edmund and everybody liked them. This only made
Lionel and Johnny more determined; partly from the absurdity of Gerald's
appeal, and partly for the sake of mischief; and Gerald was overpowered,
unable to save his protégé, and obliged to witness its cruel death. He
burst into tears, and then, came the accusation of crying for a frog.
Poor little boy, he burst away from his tormentors, and never stopped
till, he was safe in his sister's room pouring out his grief to her
and Saunders (for it was her dressing-time), and comforted by their
sympathising horror and pity.
Saunders said it gave her a turn, and Marian's feelings were much of the
same nature. She could not have thought it of Lionel. He was, indeed,
reckless and unruly; by reputation _the_ naughty one of the set; but
Marian had often thought that much of Johnny's misbehaviour was unjustly
charged on him, and there was an honesty about him, together with a
cordiality towards herself, which made her like him. And that he should
have been wantonly cruel!
She comforted Gerald as well as she could, and they went back to the
schoolroom together. Lionel, as he often did, brought her a knot in a
piece of string to be untied; she felt almost ready to shrink from him,
as capable of such a deed, and gave it back to him after untying it,
without a word. Lionel stood leaning against the shutter looking at her
for some minutes, while she fetched her books, and sat down to learn her
lessons. Tea came in; and while there was something of a bustle, and all
the others were talking, and engaged in different ways, Lionel crossed
over to her and said in a low voice, "So Gerald has made you angry with
me?"
"No; but Lionel, I could not have thought you would have done such a
thing."
"'Twas only a frog," said Lionel; "besides, I only did it to tease
Gerald."
"I do not see that that makes it any better," said Marian, gravely.
"Why, Gerald was so ridiculous, to say Edmund and everybody liked frogs;
but I didn't--I only mean that, if he had not made a fuss, I would never
have hurt the frog, and I did not mean to kill it as it was; so never
mind, Marian. I'll tell you what, Marian," added he, sinking his voice,
"I'd rather Caroline and Clara, and poor unfortunate into the bargain,
scolded me till they were black in the face, than that you looked at me
as you did just now."
"Did I?" said Marian, rather alarmed. "I am sure I did not know I looked
anyhow."
"Didn't you, though? It is just the way you look at poor unfortunate
when she sports her humbug."
"Hush, Lionel! this will never do. You know you ought not to talk in
that way," said Marian, rising to put an end to the conversation.
"But we have made it up?" said Lionel, holding her dress.
"Yes, yes," said Marian hastily, and with full forgiveness in look
and tone. As she took her place at the tea-table, she wondered within
herself what was the matter with her eyes to cause such remarks, and
still more why she could not help liking Lionel so much the best of her
cousins, in spite of all the naughtiness of word and deed, which shocked
her so much.
The nest day she was walking in the garden with Clara, when Gerald came
running up, with an entreaty that she would come and have a game at
cricket with him and Lionel. Clara exclaimed, laughed, and stared in
amazement.
"She plays famously," said Gerald; "she, and Agnes, and I, beat all the
other Wortleys one day last summer. Come, Marian, don't say no; we have
not had a game for a very long time."
"Who is playing?" asked Marian.
"Only Lionel and me; Johnny is out with Mrs. Lyddell Come, we want you
very much indeed; there's a good girl."
To Clara's astonishment and Lionel's admiration, Marian complied; and
though, of course, no great cricketer, her skill was sufficient to
make her a prodigy in their eyes. But the game was brought to a sudden
conclusion by Miss Morley, who, seeing them from the window, came out
very much shocked, and gave the girls a lecture on decorum, which Marian
felt almost as an insult.
When they went in, Gerald told Saunders the whole adventure; and she,
who at Fern Torr had been inclined to the same opinion as Miss Morley,
and had often sighed and declared it to be unlike young ladies when
Marian and Agnes had played, now agreed with him that it was very hard
on Miss Marian not to have a little exercise, lamented that she should
always be cooped up in the schoolroom, and declared that there could be
no harm in playing with such a little boy as Master Lionel.
The most unpleasant result was, that Miss Morley and the cousins took an
impression that Agnes Wortley must be a vulgar romp, and were inclined
to think her an unsuitable friend for Marian. Their curiosity was
excited by the frequent letters between the two friends. Marian always
read those which she received with the utmost eagerness, hardly ever
telling any part of their contents, but keeping them to be enjoyed with
Gerald in her own room; and half her leisure moments were employed in
filling fat, black-edged envelopes, which were sent off at least as
often as once a week.
"I wonder what she says about us!" said Clara, one day.
"I don't think it would suit you," said Caroline; "I should not think
she painted us _couleur de rose_."
"Except Lionel," said Clara, "if their admiration is mutual. But, by the
by, Miss Morley, why do you not desire to see her letters? You always
look at mine."
"She is not quite in the same situation," said Miss Morley.
"But could not you?" continued Clara. "It would be very entertaining
only to look for once."
"And I think it would be only proper," said Caroline. "Who knows what
she may say of us to these dear friends of hers?"
The subject was not allowed to drop; the girls' curiosity led them to
find numerous reasons why their cousin's correspondence should not pass
without examination, and Miss Morley found she must either endure their
importunity, or yield to it. She was driven to choose the part of the
oppressor; and one day, when Clara had been tormenting her more than
usual, she addressed Marian, who was folding up a letter. "I think,"
said she, speaking in a timid, deprecating tone--"I think, Marian, if
you please, it might be as well, perhaps, if I were sometimes to look
over your letters; it has always been the custom here."
Then; was no encouragement to proceed in the look of blank amazement
with which Marian replied, "Edmund Arundel and Mr. Lyddell both approve
of my writing to Agnes Wortley."
"Ah!" interposed Clara; "but did they mean that your letters should
never be looked over?"
"I heard nothing about it," said Marian.
"Miss Cameron always looked over mine," said Caroline.
"I will ask Mr. Lyddell himself as soon as he comes home," said Marian,
determinedly.
There was a pause, but Caroline and Clara did not look satisfied. Miss
Morley knew they would leave her no peace if she desisted, and she went
on,--"I wish I could sometimes see a proof of willingness to yield."
Marian was out of patience, and putting her letter into the desk, locked
it up; and Caroline laughingly remarked, "Really, there must be some
treason in that letter!" If the observation had been taken as it was
meant, all would have been well; but Marian bit her lip with an air that
convinced the sisters that Caroline had hit the mark; and their glances
stimulated Miss Morley to say, as decidedly as she could, "Marian, your
present conduct convinces me that it is desirable that I should see that
letter."
Marian's dark eyes gave one indignant flash, as she proudly drew up her
head, opened her desk, laid her letter on the table before Miss Morley,
and slowly walked out of the room; but as soon as she had shut the door,
she ran at full speed along the passage to her own room, where, throwing
herself on the bed, she gave way to a fit of violent weeping, and sobs
which shook her whole frame. Proud, passionate feelings at first almost
choked her, and soon these were followed by a flood of the bitter tears
of loneliness and bereavement. "Who would have dared insult her thus,
had her father and mother been living?" and for a minute her agony for
their loss was more intense than it had ever been. Gradually, "the
turbid waters brightening as they ran," became soothing, as she dwelt on
the sweet, holy memory of her parents, and wholesome as she mourned over
her fit of pride and anger. But for what were they accountable, whose
selfish weakness and thoughtless curiosity had caused the orphan's tears
to flow?
Caroline had not seen those flashing eyes without an instant perception
of the injustice of the accusation. Her half-jesting speech had led
the matter much further than she had intended; and alarmed at the
consequences, she ran after her cousin to entreat her pardon; but
Marian, unconscious of all save the tumult within herself, hurried on
too fast to be overtaken, and just as Caroline reached her door, had
shut it fast, and drawn the bolt, and a gentle knock and low call of
"Marian, dear Marian," were lost in the first burst of sobs. Caroline,
baffled and offended, turned away with feelings even more painful than
hers; and too proud to repeat the call, walked up and down, waiting till
the door should be opened, to assure her cousin that nothing should
induce her to touch the letter, and to beg her forgiveness; but as
minutes passed away in silence, she grew tired of waiting, thought
Marian sullen and passionate, and at length, returned to the schoolroom.
As soon as she entered, Clara exclaimed, "O Caroline, only think, how
odd--"
"I don't want to hear anything about it," said Caroline, sitting down to
the piano; "I wish we had never thought of it."
She began, playing with all her might, but gradually she abated her
vehemence, as she caught a few sounds of a conversation between Clara
and Miss Morley. At last she turned round, asking, "What? who is his
godfather?"
"Mr. Arundel, 'Edmund and every body,' you know," answered Clara. "I
never heard anything like it. Only fancy his hearing that boy say his
catechism!"
"What? I don't understand," said Caroline; "Mr. Arundel and Gerald!
Nonsense! He can't be his godfather. Mamma said he was only
four-and-twenty, and Gerald is almost nine."
"Here is Marian's authority for it," said Clara; "and certainly those
Arundels are a curious family."
"Mr. Arundel is the next heir, is he not?" inquired Miss Morley.
"Yes," said Caroline; "I heard mamma telling old Mrs. Graves the whole
story. His father and mother both died when he was very young, and Sir
Edmund brought him up entirely, and every one looked upon him as the
heir till Gerald was born; and a groat disappointment it must have been,
for now he has next to nothing. But they all were just as fond of each
other as before; and it does seem very strange that Sir Edmund should
have made him their guardian, at his age, when there was Lord Marchmont,
who is their cousin, too."
"I dare say," said Clara, as if a most brilliant thought had struck her,
"I dare say there is a family compact, such as one reads of in books,
that he is to marry Marian."
"My dear Clara!" said Miss Morley laughing, "How should such a notion
come into your little head?"
"Now see if it is not so!" said Clara; "I do believe she is in love with
him already, and he is coming to see her."
"Is he?" cried Caroline, "I am very curious to sec him. Mamma says he is
very handsome, and quite a distinguished looking person. When does he
come?"
"You had better read," said Clara; "I can tell you that there are
wonderful things in the letter."
Curiosity again asserted its power, and Caroline yielded. The letter had
been opened, and it would not signify if one more person looked at it.
She took it, and read eagerly and stealthily, starting at every sound.
"My dear Agnes--I hope you and Jemmy are getting
on well in your solitude without the schoolboys. Tell
Charles, when you write, that a gentleman staying here
caught a trout last week that weighed three pounds, but I
believe that those which are caught in these rivers taste of
mud, and are not nearly so good as our own. I was very
much afraid that Gerald would go to school this summer,
but now Mrs. Lyddell has heard that it was settled that he
should not go till he was ten, and it is arranged for him to
stay till next year, when I hope he will be happier than
Charles was at first. You asked after his drawing, so I
have put in the last scrap I met with, and in case you
should not be able to find out what it is meant for, I must
inform you that it is the dog springing on the young Buecleuch.
The other day he sent Edmund a letter in hieroglyphics,
with pictures instead of nouns, and Edmund answered
it in the same way with funny little clever drawings
throughout. His regiment is going abroad nest spring, he
thinks, to the Cape, but he has promised to come and see us
first, and thinks of going home to see about his things.
Thank Mrs. Wortley for being so kind as to scold me for
not dating my letters. I shall not be likely to forget the
date of this on September 30th, for Mr. Lyddell has just
paid me my first quarter's allowance, and I am frightened
to think how large it is; ten pounds a quarter only for my
dress, and I am to have more when I am seventeen. So
matters can go on more as they used in the parish. Will
you be so kind as to pay this quarter's schooling for Amy
Lapthorn and Honor Weeks and Mary Daw, and find out
what clothes they want, and if Susan Grey has not a new
bonnet, give her one, and a flannel petticoat for old Betty,
and if any body else wants anything else let me know, and
pay up for all the children that dear mamma used to put into
the penny club, and send me word what it comes to, and I
will send the money when Edmund comes to pay his visit.
I suppose the apples are gathered by this time; you cannot
think how I miss the golden and red piles under the trees,
and the droning of the old cyder press. And do those beautiful
Red Admiral butterflies come in the crowds they did
last year to the heaps of apples in our orchard? Do you remember
how we counted five that all came and sat on your
pink frock while we were watching them?
"Will Mr. Wortley be kind enough to tell me of some
book of questions on the Catechism, more advanced than the
one he gave me? I suppose we ought to go on with the Catechism,
till we are confirmed, and so Gerald and I always go
through a section every Sunday, taking the book by turns,
and he knows our old one perfectly. He is so good and
steady about it that I quite wonder, considering that there
is no authority to keep him up to it, but he is very anxious
to stand a good examination when his godfather comes, and
Edmund is sure to ask hard questions. And Gerald has
never missed since we have been here, getting up in time to
come and read the Psalms with me before breakfast, and
really I think that is exceedingly good of him; but I have
come to the end of my paper, so good-bye.
"Your affectionate
"MARIAN C. ARUNDEL."
Caroline's cheeks glowed as she read, both with shame at her own
proceedings, and with respect for her narrow-minded cousin; but she had
no opportunity for making remarks, for just as she had finished the
letter, and folded it up again, the boys were heard coming in. The first
thing Gerald said was, "So Marian has not sent her letter; I will run
down with it, or it will be too late."
"It is not sealed," said Clara.
"Clara looks as if she had been peeping," said Johnny.
"I should like to see any one peep into Marian's letters," said Gerald,
taking it up, and carrying it away with him.
Lionel stood with his eyes fixed on Clara. "I do believe it is true
then!" said he, laying hold of Clara's arm; "I have a great mind to say
I'll never speak to you again, Clara. Peeping into people's letters.
Why, you ought to be hooted through the town!"
The boys looked nearly ready to put the hooting into effect, but Clara
answered angrily, "Peeping! I have been doing no such thing! Don't be so
rude, Lionel."
"That is humbug," said Lionel; "you have been looking impudently, if you
have not been peeping slyly."
"Lionel, you are a very naughty boy indeed!" said Clara, almost crying;
"I have done just as Miss Morley and Caroline have been doing; Miss
Morley always looks over----"
"Let who will do it," said Lionel, "it is an impudent, ungentlemanlike
thing, that you all ought to be ashamed of. I declare papa shall hear of
it."
"Lionel, do you know what you are saying?" said Caroline.
"This is sadly naughty!" feebly murmured Miss Morley.
"Lionel, mamma will be very angry," said Clara.
"I don't care," said Lionel loudly and vehemently; "I know that you all
ought to be ashamed of yourselves, every one of you. Why, if you
were boys you would never hold up your heads again; but girls can do
anything, and that is the reason they have no shame."
"Hush! Lionel, dear Lionel!" said Caroline, coming to him persuasively,
but he shook her off:
"I want none of your _dears_," said he; "ask Marian's pardon, not mine."
He turned his back, and took up a book. The girls dared say no more to
him; Miss Morley very nearly cried as she thought how impossible it was
for women to manage great boys. She ought to complain of his rudeness,
but the explanation of what gave rise to it was impossible, and so, poor
woman, she thought herself too good-natured.
Gerald, in the meantime, had gone to his sister's room, where he called
hastily on finding the door fastened. She opened it, and he eagerly
asked what was the matter.
"Never mind," said Marian; "thank you for remembering my letter. Will
you fetch the sealing wax out of----"
"Well, but what is the matter?"
"Nothing that signifies; never mind."
"But I do mind, I can't bear for you to cry. You know I can't, so don't
begin again," added he, as his affectionate tones made her lip quiver,
and her eyes fill with tears.
"But, Gerald, pray get the wax, or----. But no, no," added she
hurriedly, "do not, I will not touch it, till----"
"Till when?" asked Gerald; "I wish you would tell me how they have
been vexing you. I am sure they hare, for they all looked guilty. Poor
Marian!" He put his arm round her neck, and drew her cheek to his. Who
could withstand such a brother? Marian whispered. "Only--but don't make
a fuss--only Miss Morley made me show her my letter."
He started from her, and broke forth into a torrent of indignation; and
it was not quickly that she succeeded in getting him to listen to her
entreaties that he would not tell any one.
"What do you mean to do?" said he. "O I will write such a letter to
Edmund, in hopes she will ask to see it. But she won't venture on mine.
Shall I tell Edmund?"
"No, no, Gerald, you do nothing; pray don't say anything. I will speak
to Mr. Lyddell, for it was he who gave me leave."
"And I hope he will give poor unfortunate a good rowing. Won't it be
fun?"
"Now, Gerald, pray don't say such things, or I shall be sorry I told
you. I dare say she thought it was right."
"Stuff and nonsense! Right indeed! I hope Mr. Lyddell will give it to
her well!"
"If I may not write without having my letters read, I am sure I shall
never be able to write at all!"
"And when shall you speak? Luckily there is no company to-night, and I
hope I shall be there to hear."
"No, you will not; I shall wait till you are gone to bed, for I am sure
Lionel and Johnny ought to know nothing about it. I believe I had better
not have told you; but, Gerald, you are all I have, and I can't help
telling you everything."
"Of course, Marian, so you ought, for let them laugh at me as they will,
I always tell you everything. And won't it be nice when I am grown up,
and we can get away from them all, and live at home together, and I go
out shooting every day, and you and Ranger stand at the top of the steps
to watch me? For Ranger will be too old to go out shooting by that
time."
In the midst of this picture of rural felicity, Saunders came to tell
Marian that it was time to dress.
When she returned to the schoolroom, Caroline would have given anything
not to have read the letter; she was too sure that there was nothing
wrong in it, and she could not show the trust in her cousin which would
have enabled her to speak freely, and say she was very sorry for her
speech and meant nothing by it; nor did she wish to revive the subject
before Lionel, whose indignation would be still more unpleasant in
Marian's own presence. She therefore said nothing, and on the other hand
Marian felt awkward and constrained; Lionel was secretly ashamed of his
own improper behaviour to Miss Morley, and well knowing that he should
never dare to perform his threat of telling his father, put on a surly
kind of demeanour, quite as uncivil to Marian as to anyone else; and but
that Clara never minded anything, and that Johnny knew and cared little
about the matter, their tea that evening would have been wonderfully
unsociable. Gerald had not much to say, but the bent of his thoughts was
evident enough when his ever-busy pencil produced the sketch of a cat
pricking her paw by patting a hedgehog rolled up in a ball.
Neither Miss Morley nor her pupils ever expected to hear more of the
letter, for they knew perfectly well that what Lionel had said was but a
threat, for the appeal direct to Mr. or Mrs. Lyddell was a thing never
thought of at Oakworthy. Marian had, however, made up her mind; her
anxiety overpowered her shyness; she knew that Mr. Lyddell was the
proper person, and perhaps the fact was that she was less afraid of him
than of his wife. So, though she resisted all the glances cast at her
by Gerald, whenever he thought he saw a good opportunity for her, and
waited till all the three little boys had gone to bed, she by no means
gave up her purpose. It was time for her too, to wish good night; and
while her heart beat fast, she said, "Mr. Lyddell, you gave me leave to
write to Agnes Wortley. Was it on condition of my letters being looked
over?"
"Who meddles with your letters?" said Mr. Lyddell, much surprised.
Caroline, having helped to get her governess into the scrape, thought
it but fair to say what she could for her, and answered, "Miss Morley
thought that you and mamma would wish it."
"By no means," said Mr. Lyddell, turning to Marian, "I have the
highest opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Wortley, the very highest; I wish your
correspondence to be perfectly free."
"Thank you," said Marian. "Good night!" and away she went, to tell
Gerald how it had passed; and he, who had been lying awake in
expectation, was much disappointed to hear no more than this.
As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Lyddell exclaimed, "What could have given
Miss Morley reason to think that her letters were to be inspected?
Really, Miss Morley must have some courage! I should be sorry to be the
person to make the request."
"Ah! Marian was very angry indeed," said Clara; "quite in a passion."
"Very proper," said Mr. Lyddell. "A spirited thing. She is a girl of
sense."
Mrs. Lyddell let the matter drop with the girls, but going to the
schoolroom, she inquired into it more fully, and found that by poor
unfortunate faithful Morley's own account, she had allowed herself to
be made the tool of the curiosity of Caroline and Clara. She spoke
severely, and Miss Morley had displeasure to endure, which was
considerably more disagreeable than all Clara's importunities could have
been.
However, the next morning it appeared as if the whole affair was
forgotten by all parties; Marian win just as usual, and so were her
cousins; but, in secret, Caroline felt guilty, and held her in higher
estimation since she had seen the contents of the letter, which, as
she could perceive, Marian might well be doubly unwilling to show; she
wished that Marian would but be as open to her as she was to Agnes, but
this unfortunate business seemed like another great bar to their ever
being really intimate, and she did not know how to surmount it.
These reflections were shortly after driven out of Caroline's head by
a severe fit of toothache, which for three days made her unfit for
anything but to sit by the fire reading idle books. Mrs. Lyddell
proposed to take her to Salisbury to consult a dentist, and Lionel was
supposed likewise to require inspection. Then, turning to Marian, Mrs.
Lyddell said, "This is not the pleasantest kind of expedition, but
perhaps you may like to see Salisbury, and I think your bonnet wants
renewing."
"Thank you," said Marian, pleased with the Invitation. "I shall be very
glad to go; I believe my teeth ought to be looked at. The dentist at
Exeter said last winter that they were crowded and ought to be watched."
"Very well," said Mrs. Lyddell, "we will see what Mr. Polkinghorn says."
"Polkinghorn," said Marian, as Mrs. Lyddell left the room; "that is a
Devonshire name."
"You are very welcome to him, I am sure," said Caroline; "I wish the
trade was abolished."
"What cowards girls are!" said Lionel.
"Let us see how boys behave before we say anything against girls," was
Marian's answer.
"Shan't you scream?" said Lionel.
"Of course she will not," said Caroline, "unless with joy at meeting a
Devonshire man."
Marian laughed, and Lionel began an exhilarating story about an
unfortunate who was strapped to the dentist's chair, dragged nine times
round the room, and finally had his jaw broken.
Marian enjoyed her drive to Salisbury, though it added to her contempt
for Wiltshire scenery, by showing her more and more of desolate down.
She watched the tall Cathedral spire from far in the distance, peering
up among the hills like a picture more than a reality, and she admired
the green meadows and quiet vale where the town stands. Poor Caroline
was taken up with dreadful anticipations of Mr. Pokingtooth, as Lionel
called him, and when arrived at his clamber of torture, hung back, so as
to allow Marian to be the first victim. The result of the examination
was, that it would be better; though not absolutely necessary, that a
certain double tooth should be extracted, and Mr. Polkinghorn, left the
room in search of an instrument.
"So you think it ought to go?" sighed Marian.
"I should say so," said Mrs. Lyddell, "but you may decide for yourself."
Marian covered her face with her hands, and considered. The dentist
returned; she laid back her head and opened her mouth, and the tooth
was drawn. Caroline and Lionel escaped more easily, and they left the
dentist's. Mrs. Lyddell said something in commendation of Marian's
courage, and asked if she would like to see the Cathedral, an offer
which she gladly accepted, expecting to go to the service, as the bells
now began to ring; but she was disappointed, for Mrs. Lyddell said, "Ah!
I had forgotten the hour. We must do our commissions first, and be at
the Cathedral before the doors are shut." Marian did not venture to
express her wishes, but she thought of the days when attending the
Cathedral service had been the crowning pleasure of a drive to Exeter,
and in dwelling on the recollection, she spent the attention which Mrs.
Lyddell expected her to bestow on her new bonnet.
Their business did not occupy them very long, and they entered the
Cathedral before the anthem was over; but Marian felt that it was not
fitting to loiter about the nave while worship was going on within the
choir; and the uncomfortable feeling occupied her so much, that she
could hardly look at the fair clustered columns and graceful arches, and
seemed scarcely to know or care for the gallant William Longsword, when
led to the side of his mail-clad, cross-legged effigy. The deep notes of
the organ, which delighted Caroline, gave her a sense of shame; and even
when the service was over, and they entered the choir, these thoughts
had not so passed away as to enable her to give full admiration to the
exquisite leafy capitals and taper arcades of the Lady Chapel. Perhaps,
too, there was a little perverseness in her inability to think that this
Cathedral surpassed that of Exeter.
She thanked Mrs. Lyddell rather stiffly, as she thought to herself, "I
did not reckon upon this!" and they set out on their homeward drive.
Caroline looked thoughtful, and did not say much, Lionel fell asleep,
and Mrs. Lyddell, after a few not very successful attempts at talking to
Marian, took out her bills, and began to look over them and to reckon.
Marian sat looking out of the window, lost in a vision of the hills,
woods, and streams of Fern Torr, which lasted till they had reached
home.
Such an expedition was so uncommon an event in the lives of the
inhabitants of the schoolroom, that those who stayed at home were as
excited about it as those who went, and a full and particular account
was expected of all they had seen and all they had done. Caroline and
Lionel both seemed to think Marian a perfect miracle of courage in
voluntarily consenting to lose a tooth.
"And I am sure," said Caroline as they sat at tea, "I cannot now
understand what made you have it done."
"To oblige a countryman," said Marian laughing.
"Well, but what was your real reason?" persisted Caroline.
"Mrs. Lyddell thought it best, and so did the dentist," said Marian.
"O," said Caroline, "he only said so because it was his trade."
"Then how could Mrs. Lyddell depend on him?" said Marian, gravely.
"Dentists never are to be depended on," said Caroline; "they only try to
fill their own pockets like other people."
"You forget," said Lionel, "Devonshire men are not like other people."
"O yes, I beg their pardon," said Caroline, while every one laughed
except Gerald; who thought the praise only their due.
"But why did you have it done?" said Clara, returning to the charge; "I
am sure I never would."
"Yes, but Marian is not you," said Lionel.
"You would have disobeyed no one," said Caroline.
"I do not know," said Marian, thinking of one whom she would have
disobeyed by showing weakness.
"Then did you think it wrong not to have that tooth drawn?" said
Caroline.
"I do not know."
"Did you think it right to have it done?"
"I do not know, unless that I did not like it."
"Do you mean to say that not liking a thing makes it right?" exclaimed
Clara.
"Very often," said Marian.
"Miss Morley, now is not that Popish?" cried Clara.
"Perhaps your cousin can explain herself," said Miss Morley.
"Yes, do," said Caroline, "you must tell us what you mean."
"I don't know," was Marian's first answer; but while uttering the reply,
the real reason arranged itself in words; and finding she must speak
clearly, she said, "Self-denial is always best, and in a doubtful case,
the most disagreeable is always the safest."
Miss Morley said that Marian was right in many instances, but that this
was not a universal rule, and so the conversation ended.