He who sits by haunted well
Is subject to the Nixie's spell;
He who walks on lonely beach
To the mermaid's charmed speech;
He who walks round ring of green
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen.--SCOTT
At the station nearest to Castle Blanch stood the tall form of Owen
Sandbrook, telling Honor that he and his sister had brought the boat; the
river was the longer way, but they would prefer it to the road; and so
indeed they did, for Phoebe herself had had enough of the City to
appreciate the cool verdure and calm stillness of the meadow pathway, by
which they descended to the majestic river, smoothly sleeping in glassy
quiet, or stealing along in complacently dimpling ripples.
On the opposite bank, shading off the sun, an oak copse sloped steeply
towards the river, painting upon the surface a still shimmering likeness
of the summit of the wood, every mass of foliage, every blushing spray
receiving a perfect counterpart, and full in the midst of the magic
mirror floated what might have been compared to the roseate queen lily of
the waters on her leaf.
There, in the flat, shallow boat reclined the maiden, leaning over the
gunwale, gazing into the summer wavelets with which one bare
pinkly-tinted hand was toying, and her silken ringlets all but dipping
in, from beneath the round black hat, archly looped up on one side by a
carnation bow, and encircled by a series of the twin jetty curls of the
mallard; while the fresh rose colour of the spreading muslin dress was
enhanced by the black scarf that hung carelessly over it. There was a
moment's pause, as if no one could break the spell; but Owen, striding on
from behind, quickly dissolved the enchantment.
'You monkey, you've cast off. You may float on to Greenwich next!' he
indignantly shouted.
She started, shaking her head saucily. ''Twas so slow there, and so
broiling,' she called back, 'and I knew I should only drift down to meet
you, and could put in when I pleased.'
Therewith she took the sculls and began rowing towards the bank, but
without force sufficient to prevent herself from being borne farther down
than she intended.
'I can't help it,' she exclaimed, fearlessly laughing as she passed them.
Robert was ready to plunge in to stem her progress, lest she should meet
with some perilous eddy, but Owen laid hold on him, saying, 'Don't be
nervous, she's all right; only giving trouble, after the nature of women.
There; are you satisfied?' he called to her, as she came to a stop
against a reed bed, with a tall fence interposed between boat and
passengers. 'A nice ferry-woman you.'
'Come and get me up again,' was all her answer.
'Serve you right if I never picked you up till London-bridge,' he
answered. 'Stand clear, Fulmort,' and with a run and a bound, he vaulted
over the high hedge, and went crackling through the nodding bulrushes and
reed-maces; while Lucy, having accomplished pulling up one of the latter,
was pointing it lancewise at him, singing,
'With a bulrush for his spear, and a thimble for a hat,
Wilt thou fight a traverse with the castle cat.'
'Come, come; 'tis too squashy here for larking,' he said authoritatively,
stepping into the boat, and bringing it up with such absence of effort
that when a few minutes after he had brought it to the landing-place, and
the freight was seated, Robert had no sooner taken the other oar than he
exclaimed at the force of the stream with which Owen had dealt so easily,
and Lucilla so coolly.
'It really was a fearful risk,' he said reproachfully to her.
'Oh!' she said, 'I know my Thames, and my Thames knows me!'
'Now's the time to improve it,' said Owen; 'one or other should preach
about young ladies getting loose, and not knowing where they may be
brought up.'
'But you see I did know; besides, Phoebe's news from Paris will be better
worth hearing,' said Lucilla, tickling her friend's face with the soft
long point of her dark velvety mace.
'My news from Paris?'
'For shame, Phoebe! Your face betrays you.'
'Lucy; how could you know? I had not even told Miss Charlecote!'
'It's true! it's true!' cried Lucilla. 'That's just what I wanted to
know!'
'Lucy, then it was not fair,' said Phoebe, much discomposed. 'I was
desired to tell no one, and you should not have betrayed me into doing
so.'
'Phoebe, you always were a green oasis in a wicked world!'
'And now, let me hear,' said Miss Charlecote. 'I can't flatter you,
Phoebe; I thought you were labouring under a suppressed secret.'
'Only since this morning,' pleaded Phoebe, earnestly; 'and we were
expressly forbidden to mention it; I cannot imagine how Lucy knows.'
'By telegraph!'
Phoebe's face assumed an expression of immeasurable wonder.
'I almost hope to find you at cross purposes, after all,' said Honora.
'No such good luck,' laughed Lucilla. 'Cinderella's seniors never could
go off two at a time. Ah! there's the name. I beg your pardon, Phoebe.'
'But, Lucy, what can you mean? Who can have telegraphed about Augusta?'
'Ah! you knew not the important interests involved, nor Augusta how much
depended on her keeping the worthy admiral in play. It was the nearest
thing--had she only consented at the end of the evening instead of the
beginning, poor Lord William would have had the five guineas that he
wants so much more than Mr. Calthorp!'
'Lucy!'
'It was a bet that Sir Nicholas would take six calendar months to supply
the place of Lady Bannerman. It was the very last day. If Augusta had
only waited till twelve!'
'You don't mean that he has been married before. I thought he was such
an excellent man!' said Phoebe, in a voice that set others besides
Lucilla off into irresistible mirth.
'Once, twice, thrice!' cried Lucilla. 'Catch her, Honor, before she
sinks into the river in disgust with this treacherous world.'
'Do you know him, Lucy?' earnestly said Phoebe.
'Yes, and two of the wives; we used to visit them because he was an old
captain of Uncle Kit's.'
'I would not believe in number three, Phoebe, if I were you,' said Owen,
consolingly; 'she wants confirmation.'
'Two are as bad as three,' sighed Phoebe; 'and Augusta did not even call
him a widower.'
'Cupid bandaged! It was a case of love at first sight. Met at the
_Trois Freres Provencaux_, heard each other's critical remarks, sought an
introduction, compared notes; he discovered her foresight with regard to
pale ale; each felt that here was a kindred soul!'
'That could not have been telegraphed!' said Phoebe, recovering spirit
and incredulity.
'No; the telegram was simply "Bannerman, Fulmort. 8.30 p.m., July 10th."
The other particulars followed by letter this morning.'
'How old is he?' asked Phoebe, with resignation.
'Any age above sixty. What, Phoebe, taking it to heart? I was prepared
with congratulations. It is only second best, to be sure; but don't you
see your own emancipation?'
'I believe that had never occurred to Phoebe,' said Owen.
'I beg your pardon, Lucy,' said Phoebe, thinking that she had appeared
out of temper; 'only it had sounded so nice in Augusta's letter, and she
was so kind, and somehow it jars that there should have been that sort of
talk.'
Cilly was checked. In her utter want of thought it had not occurred to
her that Augusta Fulmort could be other than a laughing-stock, or that
any bright anticipations could have been spent by any reasonable person
on her marriage. Perhaps the companionship of Rashe, and the satirical
outspoken tone of her associates, had somewhat blunted her perception of
what might be offensive to the sensitive delicacy of a young sister; but
she instantly perceived her mistake, and the carnation deepened in her
cheek, at having distressed Phoebe, and . . . Not that she had deigned
any notice of Robert after the first cold shake of the hand, and he sat
rowing with vigorous strokes, and a countenance of set gravity, more as
if he were a boatman than one of the party; Lucilla could not even meet
his eye when she peeped under her eyelashes to recover defiance by the
sight of his displeasure.
It was a relief to all when Honora exclaimed, 'Wrapworth! how pretty it
looks.'
It was, indeed, pretty, seen through the archway of the handsome stone
bridge. The church tower and picturesque village were set off by the
frame that closed them in; and though they lost somewhat of the
enchantment when the boat shot from under the arch, they were still a
fair and goodly English scene.
Lucilla steered towards the steps leading to a smooth shaven lawn, shaded
by a weeping willow, well known to Honor.
'Here we land you and your bag, Robert,' said Owen, as he put in.
'Cilly, have a little sense, do.'
But Lucilla, to the alarm of all, was already on her feet, skipped like a
chamois to the steps, and flew dancing up the sward. Ere Owen and Robert
had helped the other two ladies to land in a more rational manner, she
was shaking her mischievous head at a window, and thrusting in her
sceptral reed-mace.
'Neighbour, oh, neighbour, I'm come to torment you! Yes, here we are in
full force, ladies and all, and you must come out and behave pretty.
Never mind your slippers; you ought to be proud of the only thing I ever
worked. Come out, I say; here's your guest, and you must be civil to
him.'
'I am very glad to see Mr. Fulmort,' said Mr. Prendergast, his only
answer in words to all this, though while it was going on, as if she were
pulling him by wires, as she imperiously waved her bulrush, he had stuck
his pen into the inkstand, run his fingers in desperation through his
hair, risen from his seat, gazed about in vain for his boots, and felt as
fruitlessly on the back of the door for a coat to replace the loose
alpaca article that hung on his shoulders.
'There. You've gone through all the motions,' said Cilly; 'that'll do;
now, come out and receive them.'
Accordingly, he issued from the door, shy and slouching; rusty where he
wore cloth, shiny where he wore alpaca, wild as to his hair, gay as to
his feet, but, withal, the scholarly gentleman complete, and not a day
older or younger, apparently, than when Honor had last seen him, nine
years since, in bondage then to the child playing at coquetry, as now to
the coquette playing at childhood. It was curious, Honor thought, to see
how, though so much more uncouth and negligent than Robert, the
indefinable signs of good blood made themselves visible, while they were
wanting in one as truly the Christian gentleman in spirit and in
education.
Mr. Prendergast bowed to Miss Charlecote, and shook hands with his guest,
welcoming him kindly; but the two shy men grew more bashful by contact,
and Honor found herself, Owen, and Lucilla sustaining the chief of the
conversation, the curate apparently looking to the young lady to protect
him and do the honours, as she did by making him pull down a cluster of
his roses for her companions, and conducting them to eat his
strawberries, which she treated as her own, flitting, butterfly like,
over the beds, selecting the largest and ruddiest specimens, while her
slave plodded diligently to fill cabbage leaves, and present them to the
party in due gradation.
Owen stood by amused, and silencing the scruples of his companions.
'He is in Elysium,' he said; 'he had rather be plagued by Cilly than
receive a mitre! Don't hinder him, Honey; it is his pride to treat us as
if we were at home and he our guest.'
'Wrapworth has not been seen without Edna Murrell,' said Lucilla,
flinging the stem of her last strawberry at her brother, 'and Miss
Charlecote is a woman of schools. What, aren't we to go, Mr.
Prendergast?'
'I beg your pardon. I did not know.'
'Well; what is it?'
'I do sometimes wish Miss Murrell were not such an attraction.'
'You did not think that of yourself.'
'Well, I don't know; Miss Murrell is a very nice young woman,' he
hesitated, as Cilly seemed about to thrust him through with her reed;
'but couldn't you, Cilla, now, give her a hint that it would be better if
she would associate more with Mrs. Jenkyns, and--'
'Couldn't Mr. Prendergast; I've more regard for doing as I would be done
by. When you see Edna, Honor--'
'They are very respectable women,' said the curate, standing his ground;
'and it would be much better for her than letting it be said she gives
herself airs.'
'That's all because we have had her up to the castle to sing.'
'Well, so it is, I believe. They do say, too--I don't know whether it is
so--that the work has not been so well attended to, nor the children so
orderly.'
'Spite, spite, Mr. Prendergast; I had a better opinion of you than to
think you could be taken in by the tongues of Wrapworth.'
'Well, certainly I did hear a great noise the other day.'
'I see how it is! This is a systematic attempt to destroy the impression
I wished to produce.'
He tried to argue that he thought very well of Miss Murrell, but she
would not hear; and she went on with her pretty, saucy abuse, in her
gayest tones, as she tripped along the churchyard path, now, doubtless,
too familiar to renew the associations that might have tamed her spirits.
Perhaps the shock her vivacity gave to the feeling of her friends was
hardly reasonable, but it was not the less real; though, even in passing,
Honora could not but note the improved condition of the two graves, now
carefully tended, and with a lovely white rose budding between them.
A few more steps, and from the open window of the schoolhouse there was
heard a buzz and hum, not outrageous, but which might have caused the
item of discipline not to figure well in an inspector's report; but Mr.
Prendergast and Lucilla appeared habituated to the like, for they
proceeded without apology.
It was a handsome gable-ended building, Elizabethan enough to testify to
the taste that had designed it, and with a deep porch, where Honor had
advanced, under Lucilla's guidance, so as to have a moment's view of the
whole scene before their arrival had disturbed it.
The children's backs were towards the door, as they sat on their forms at
work. Close to the oriel window, the only person facing the door, with a
table in front of her, there sat, in a slightly reclining attitude, a
figure such as all reports of the new race of schoolmistresses had hardly
led Honor to imagine to be the _bona fide_ mistress. Yet the dress was
perfectly quiet, merely lilac cotton, with no ornament save the small bow
of the same colour at the throat, and the hair was simply folded round
the head, but it was magnificent raven hair; the head and neck were
grandly made; the form finely proportioned, on a large scale; the face
really beautiful, in a pale, dark, Italian style; the complexion of the
clearest olive, but as she became aware of the presence of the visitors
it became overspread with a lovely hue of red; while the eyelids revealed
a superb pair of eyes, liquid depths of rich brown, soft and languid, and
befitting the calm dignity with which she rose, curtseyed, and signed to
her scholars to do the same; the deepening colour alone betraying any
sense of being taken by surprise.
Lucilla danced up to her, chattering with her usual familiar, airy grace.
'Well, Edna, how are you getting on? Have I brought a tremendous host to
invade you? I wanted Miss Charlecote to see you, for she is a perfect
connoisseur in schools.'
Edna's blush grew more carnation, and the fingers shook so visibly with
which she held the work, that Honora was provoked with Lucy for
embarrassing the poor young thing by treating her as an exhibition,
especially as the two young gentlemen were present, Robert with his back
against the door-post in a state of resignation, Owen drawing Phoebe's
attention to the little ones whom he was puzzling with incomprehensible
remarks and questions. Hoping to end the scene, Honor made a few
commonplace inquiries as to the numbers and the habits of the school; but
the mistress, though preserving her dignity of attitude, seemed hardly
able to speak, and the curate replied for her.
'I see,' said Lucilla, 'your eye keeps roaming to the mischief my naughty
brother is doing among the fry down there.'
'Oh, no! ma'am. I beg your pardon--'
'Never mind, I'll remove the whole concern in a moment, only we must have
some singing first.'
'Don't, Lucy!' whispered Honor, looking up from an inspection of some not
first-rate needlework; 'it is distressing her, and displays are contrary
to all rules of discipline.'
'Oh! but you must,' cried Cilly. 'You have not seen Wrapworth without.
Come, Edna, my bonnie-bell,' and she held out her hand in that
semi-imperious, semi-caressing manner which very few had ever withstood.
'One song,' echoed Owen, turning towards the elder girls. 'I know you'll
oblige me; eh, Fanny Blake?'
To the scholars the request was evidently not distasteful; the more
tuneful were gathering together, and the mistress took her station among
them, all as if the exhibition were no novelty. Lucilla, laying her hand
on the victim's arm, said, 'Come, don't be nervous, or what will you do
to-morrow? Come.'
'"Goddess of the Silver Bow,"' suggested Owen. 'Wasn't it that which
your mother disapproved, Fanny, because it was worshipping idols to sing
about great Diana of the Ephesians?'
'Yes, sir,' said rather a conceited voice from the prettiest of the elder
girls; 'and you told us it was about Phoebe Bright, and gave her the blue
and silver ribbon.'
'And please, sir,' said another less prepossessing damsel, 'Mrs. Jenkyns
took it away, and I said I'd tell you.'
Owen shrugged up his shoulders with a comical look, saying, as he threw
her a shilling, 'Never mind; there's a silver circle instead of a
bow--that will do as well. Here's a rival goddess for you, Phoebe; two
moons in a system.'
The girls were in a universal titter, the mistress with her eyes cast
down, blushing more than ever. Lucilla muttered an amused but indignant,
'For shame, Owen!' and herself gave the key-note. The performance was
not above the average of National School melody, but no sooner was it
over, than Owen named, in an under-tone, another song, which was
instantly commenced, and in which there joined a voice that had been
still during the first, but which soon completely took the lead. And
such a voice, coming as easily as the notes of the nightingale from the
nobly-formed throat, and seeming to fill the room with its sweet power!
Lucilla's triumph was complete; Honor's scruples were silenced by the
admiring enjoyment, and Phoebe was in a state of rapture. The nervous
reluctance had given way to the artistic delight in her own power, and
she readily sang all that was asked for, latterly such pieces as needed
little or no support from the children--the 'Three Fishers' Wives' coming
last, and thrilling every one with the wondrous pathos and sadness of the
tones that seemed to come from her very heart.
It seemed as if they would never have come away, had not Mr. Prendergast
had pity on the restless movements of some of the younglings, who, taking
no part in the display, had leisure to perceive that the clock had struck
their hour of release, and at the close of 'The Fishers' Wives,' he
signed to Lucilla to look at the hour.
'Poor little things!' said she, turning round to the gaping and
discontented collection, 'have we used you so ill? Never mind.' Again
using her bulrush to tickle the faces that looked most injured, and waken
them into smiles--'Here's the prison house open,' and she sprang out.
'Now--come with a whoop and come with a call--I'll give my club to
anybody that can catch me before I get down to the vicarage garden.'
Light as the wind, she went bounding flying across the churchyard like a
butterfly, ever and anon pausing to look round, nod, and shake her
sceptre, as the urchins tumbled confusedly after, far behind, till
closing the gate, she turned, poised the reed javelin-wise in the air,
and launched it among them.
'It is vain to try to collect them again,' sighed Mr. Prendergast; 'we
must shut up. Good night, Miss Murrell;' and therewith he turned back to
his garden, where the freakish sprite, feigning flight, took refuge in
the boat, cowering down, and playfully hiding her face in deprecation of
rebuke, but all she received was a meekly melancholy, 'O Cilla! prayers.'
'One day's less loathing of compulsory devotion,' was her answer in saucy
defiance. 'I owed it to them for the weariness of listening for ten
minutes to the "Three Fishers' Wives," which they appreciated as little
as their pastor did!'
'I know nothing about songs, but when one wants them--poor things--to
look to something better than sleep.'
'Oh, hush! Here are Miss Charlecote and Mr. Fulmort on your side, and I
can't be crushed with united morality in revenge for the tears Edna
caused you all to shed. There, help Miss Charlecote in; where can Owen
be dawdling? You can't pull, Phoebe, or we would put off without him.
Ah, there!' as he came bounding down, 'you intolerable loiterer, I was
just going to leave you behind.'
'The train starting without the engine,' he said, getting into his place;
'yes, take an oar if you like, little gnat, and fancy yourself helping.'
The gay warfare, accompanied by a few perilous tricks on Lucilla's part,
lasted through the further voyage. Honora guessed at a purpose of
staving off graver remonstrance, but Phoebe looked on in astonishment.
Seventeen is often a more serious time of life than two-and twenty, and
the damsel could not comprehend the possibility of thoughtlessness when
there was anything to think about. The ass's bridge was nothing compared
with Lucy! Moreover the habits of persiflage of a lively family often
are confusing to one not used to the tone of jest and repartee, and
Phoebe had as little power as will to take part in what was passing
between the brother and sister; she sat like the spectator of a farce in
a foreign tongue, till the boat had arrived at the broad open extent of
park gently sweeping down towards the river, the masses of trees kept on
either side so as to leave the space open where the castle towered in
pretentious grandeur, with a flag slowly swaying in the summer wind on
the top of the tallest turret.
The trees made cool reaches of shade, varied by intervals of hot
sunshine, and much longer did the way appear, creeping onward in the
heat, than it had looked when the eye only took in the simple expanse of
turf, from river to castle. Phoebe looked to her arrival there, and to
bedroom conferences, as the moment of recovering a reasonable Lucy, but
as they neared the house, there was a shout from the wire fence enclosing
the shrubbery on the eastern side, and Horatia was seen standing at the
gate calling them to come into the cloisters and have some sustenance.
Passing the screen of shrubs, a scene lay before them almost fit for the
gardens of Seville. Three sides of an extensive square were enclosed by
the semi-gothic buildings, floridly decorated with stone carving; one
consisted of the main edifice, the lower windows tented with striped
projecting blinds; a second of the wing containing the reception rooms,
fronted by the imitative cloister, which was continued and faced with
glass on the third side--each supporting column covered with climbing
plants, the passion-flower, the tropaeolum, the trumpet honeysuckle, or
even the pomegranate, opening their gay blooms on every side. The
close-shaven turf was broken by small patches of gorgeously-tinted
flower-beds, diversified by vases filled with trailing plants, and lines
of orange trees and fuchsias, with here and there a deep-belled datura,
all converging towards the central marble fountain, where the water
played high, and tinkled coolly in sparkling jets. Between it and the
house, there were placed in the shade some brightly-tinted cushions and
draperies, lounging chairs, and a low table, bearing an oriental-looking
service of tiny cups, of all kinds of bright and fantastic hues, no two
alike. Near it reclined on her cushions a figure in perfect keeping with
the scene, her jetty hair contrasting with her gold and coral net, her
scarlet gold-embroidered slipper peeping out from her pale buff-coloured
dress, deeply edged with rich purple, and partly concealed by a mantle of
the unapproachable pink which suggests Persia, all as gorgeous in apparel
as the blue and yellow macaw on his pole, and the green and scarlet
lories in their cage. Owen made a motion of smoking with Honor's
parasol, whispering, 'Fair Fatima! what more is wanting?'
'There! I've got Lolly out!' cried Horatia, advancing with her vehement
cordiality, and grasping their hands with all her might; 'I would have
come and pulled you up the river, Miss Charlecote, but for imperative
claims. Here's some tea for you; I know you must be parched.'
And while Mrs. Charteris, scarcely rising, held out her ring encrusted
fingers, and murmured a greeting, Ratia settled them all, pushed a chair
behind Miss Charlecote, almost threw Phoebe on a cushion, handed tea,
scolded Owen, and rattled away to Lucilla with an impetus that kept
Phoebe in increased wonder. It was all about the arrangements for the
morrow, full of the utmost good-nature and desire to secure every one's
pleasure, but all discussed in a broad out-spoken way, with a liberal use
of slang phrases, and of unprefaced surnames, a freedom of manner and
jovial carelessness of voice that specially marked Rashe Charteris at
home.
Phoebe had a good deal of opportunity for these observations, for as soon
as her stream of information was exhausted, Rashe jumped up and insisted
on conducting the guests round the hothouses and pleasure-grounds. She
knew Miss Charlecote was a famous hand at such things. Lucilla remained
on the grass, softly teasing Lolly about the exertions of the morrow, and
Owen applying himself to the care of Honor, Rashe took possession of
Phoebe with all the tyrannous good-nature that had in baby days rendered
her hateful to Lucilla. She showed off the parrots and gold fish as to a
child, she teased the sensitive plant, and explained curiosities down to
the level of the youthful intellect; and Phoebe, scientific enough to
know if she went wrong in botany or locality, began a word or two of
modest suggestion, only to be patronizingly enlightened, and stopped
short, in the fear of pedantry. Phoebe had yet to learn the ignorance of
the world.
At last, with a huge torrent of explanations and excuses, Ratia consigned
the two guests to share the same bedroom and dressing-room. The number
of gentlemen visitors had necessitated close packing, and Cilly, she
said, had come to sleep in her room. Another hope had failed! But at
the moment when the door was shut, Phoebe could only sink into a chair,
untie her bonnet, and fan herself. Such oppressive good-nature was more
fatiguing than a ten miles' walk, or than the toughest lesson in
political economy.
'If nature have her own ladies,' was Honora's comment on her young
friend's exhaustion, 'she likewise has her own dairy-maids!'
'Miss Charteris is a lady,' said Phoebe, her sense of the intended
kindness of her hostess calling her to speak in vindication.
'Yes,' said Honor, hesitating; 'it is station that emboldens her. If she
had been a dairy-maid, she would have been a bouncing rude girl; if a
farmer's daughter, she would be hearty and useful; if one of the boasters
of gentility, she would think it worth while to restrain herself; as she
is, her acknowledged birth and breeding enable her to follow her
inclinations without fear of opinion.'
'I thought refinement was one great characteristic of a lady,' said
Phoebe.
'So it is, but affectation and false shame are the contrary. Refinement
was rather overworked, and there has been a reaction of late; simplicity
and unconstraint have been the fashion, but unfortunately some
dispositions are not made to be unconstrained.'
'Lucy is just as unrestrained as her cousin,' said Phoebe, 'but she never
seems like her. She offends one's judgment sometimes, but never one's
taste--at least hardly ever;' and Phoebe blushed as she thought of what
had passed about her sister that day.
'Poor Lucy! it is one misfortune of pretty people, that they can seldom
do what is taken amiss. She is small and feminine too, and essentially
refined, whatever she can do. But I was very sorry for you to-day,
Phoebe. Tell me all about your sister, my dear.'
'They knew more than I did, if all that is true,' said Phoebe. 'Augusta
wrote--oh! so kindly--and seemed so glad, that it made me very happy.
And papa gave his consent readily to Robert's doing as he pleased, and
almost said something about his taking me to the wedding at Paris. If
Lucy should--should accept Robin, I wonder if she would go too, and be
bridesmaid!'
So they comforted themselves with a few pretty auguries, dressed, and
went down to dinner, where Phoebe had made sure that, as before, Lucy
would sit next Robin, and be subdued. Alas, no! Ladies were far too
scarce articles for even the last but one to be the prize of a mere B.A.
To know who were Phoebe's own neighbours would have been distraction to
Juliana, but they were lost on one in whom the art of conversation was
yet undeveloped, and who was chiefly intent on reading her brother's
face, and catching what Lucy was saying. She had nearly given up
listening in despair, when she heard, 'Pistols? oh, of course. Rashe has
gone to the expense of a revolver, but I extracted grandpapa's from the
family armoury--such little darlings. I'm strongly tempted to send a
challenge, just to keep them in use--that's because you despise me--I'm a
crack shot--we practised every day last winter--women shoot much better
than men, because they don't make their hands unsteady--what can be
better than the guidance of Ratia, the feminine of Ratio, reason, isn't
it?'
It is not quite certain that this horrible Latinity did not shock Miss
Fennimore's discreet pupil more than all the rest, as a wilful insult to
Miss Charlecote's education!
She herself was not to escape 'the guidance of Ratia,' after dinner. Her
silence had been an additional proof to the good-natured Rashe that she
was a child to be protected and entertained, so she paraded her through
the rooms, coaxed her to play when no one was listening, showed her
illustrated books and new-fashioned puzzles, and domineered over her so
closely, that she had not a moment in which to speak a word to her
brother, whom she saw disconsolately watching the hedge of gentlemen
round Lucy. Was it wrong to feel so ungrateful to a person exclusively
devoted to her entertainment for that entire evening?
Phoebe had never known a room-mate nor the solace of a bed-time gossip,
and by the time Miss Charlecote began to think of opening the door
between their rooms, and discussing the disgusts of the day, the sounds
of moving about had ceased. Honor looked in, and could not help
advancing to the bedside to enjoy the sight of the rosy face in the sound
healthful sleep, the lips unclosed, and the silken brown hair wound
plainly across the round brow, the childish outline and expression of the
features even sweeter in sleep than awake. It rested Honora's wearied
anxious spirit to watch the perfect repose of that innocent young face,
and she stood still for some minutes, breathing an ejaculation that the
child might ever be as guileless and peaceful as now, and then sighing at
the thought of other young sleepers, beside whose couches even fonder
prayers had been uttered, only, as it seemed, to be blown aside.
She was turning away, when Phoebe suddenly awoke, and was for a moment
startled, half rising, asking if anything were the matter.
'No, my dear; only I did not think you would have been in bed so quickly.
I came to wish you good night, and found you asleep.' And with the
strong tender impulse of a gentle wounded spirit, Honor hung over the
maiden, recomposing the clothes, and fondling her, with a murmured
blessing.
'Dear Miss Charlecote,' whispered Phoebe, 'how nice it is! I have so
often wondered what it would be like, if any one came in to pet us at
night, as they do in books; and oh! it is so nice! Say _that_ again,
please.'
_That_ was the blessing which would have made Lucilla in angry reserve
hide her head in the clothes!