A CHANGE OF PLANS.
"IF you please, Sir Jasper, Miss Tillotson's here, and is asking
to see you," said Mrs. Mallock, in a nervous, apologetic tone.
It was twelve o'clock on the morning subsequent to the fire, and
Sir Jasper, seated in his favourite easy chair in the library,
had composed himself sufficiently to glance at the news in the
morning's paper. He had been naturally much upset by the excitement
of the night; and want of rest had made him irritable. For several
hours he had not known whether his home would be entirely burnt down
or not, and he had spent a time of much anxiety, for every stone
in the walls of the Moat House was dear to him.
In his anger he had spoken very harshly to Celia, and had desired
Miss Pring to take her away out of his sight. He lifted his eyes
from the newspaper now with a frown as Mrs. Mallock addressed him
from the doorway, and exclaimed, testily: "Miss Tillotson? What does
she want?"
"I don't know, Sir Jasper. I told her you were resting, and did not
wish to be disturbed; but she declared she must see you, and—good
gracious, here she is!"
The housekeeper withdrew precipitately as Lulu entered the room,
evidently in a high state of excitement.
"I must speak to you, indeed I must!" the girl cried, both look
and tone full of distress. "What I want to say is important!"
Sir Jasper rose, laid aside his paper, shook hands with his
unexpected visitor, and gravely offered her a chair. He saw her boots
were covered with dust, and that her appearance altogether was
decidedly dishevelled.
"I walked," Lulu explained, as she noticed his scrutiny; "it was so
hot and dusty, but I felt I must come when I heard what had happened.
Father is very angry with me, but he doesn't know where I am. I came
of my own accord. Now, please tell me, is it really true that Celia
set the house on fire?"
Sir Jasper reseated himself in his easy chair, as he answered:
"Well, yes, she did—not purposely, of course."
"Did she sit up reading a novel?" Lulu inquired.
"Yes," was the brief reply.
"Then, what father said was right. I am as much to blame as she is.
It is all owing to me that Celia ever got into the habit of reading
those light novels at all. I induced her to read them in the first
place. It was I who lent her 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' you know,
and—"
"I thought you told me you lent 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' to Joy!"
Sir Jasper interrupted, sternly.
"No—to Celia."
"You certainly gave me to understand it was Joy to whom you had lent
the book," Sir Jasper persisted.
Lulu stared at him in puzzled silence for a few minutes; then she
shook her head.
"No, you have made a mistake, Sir Jasper," she said, decidedly. "Now
I come to think of it, I don't know that I mentioned Celia by name.
You said that I had lent the book to 'that silly little niece
of yours,' and of course I thought you meant Celia."
"Nevertheless it was Joy who was in my mind," the old man almost
groaned.
"Joy would not have read 'Lady Isabella's Treachery.' She thought it
very wrong of me to lend it to Celia; she did not like her reading
it a bit—she was quite unhappy about it—and I know now she was right.
I've been very unhappy about it, too, since; and this morning when I
heard how the fire had broken out I told father how Celia and I used
to sit up reading when she was staying with me, and he was so angry,
and said I was greatly to blame. And that's why I've come here
to tell you that I was 'at the root of the mischief,' as father said,
and that I'm a very wicked, deceitful girl." Here Lulu drew a
lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped away two scalding
tears which were running down her dusty cheeks. "If I had never lent
Celia 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' she would never have liked novels
of that sort, and she wouldn't have sat up reading, and the east wing
wouldn't have been burnt down," she concluded, dolefully.
Sir Jasper made no response. He had covered his eyes with a
shaking hand; but after a brief silence he looked at Lulu again,
and saw that her tear-stained, freckled face wore the stamp of truth.
So Celia had kept deliberate silence, and allowed him to misjudge
her sister and treat her most unfairly, he reflected wrathfully.
She had wilfully deceived him.
"What is the real object of your visit, child?" he asked, presently.
"I came to ask you not to be too hard on poor Celia, and—"
"Poor Celia, indeed!" he interposed, bitterly. "What consideration
has she shown for her sister? She allowed me to treat Joy as—as I
am ashamed to remember I treated her, now! She knew the mistake I had
made! Tell me," he cried, a sudden suspicion crossing his mind— "you
appear to be in her confidence—tell me, was it Celia and not Joy
who meddled with the butterfly brooch—"
"The butterfly brooch!" Lulu echoed, growing crimson, and beginning
to stutter. "I— I thought, that is, I—she told me she had put
it back!"
"Put it back!" he almost screamed in his excitement. "Yes, she did!
But—"
He paused as the door opened, and Mrs. Wallis, followed by Celia
herself, entered the room. Lulu, frightened at the admission she had
made, burst into a flood of tears and covered her face with her
hands, utterly overcome with alarm at the situation in which she had
placed herself. Sir Jasper struggled for composure, and with his
stern glance upon Celia, pointed to the weeping girl.
"She came to plead for you," he said, sarcastically, "but I should
like to hear what you have to say for yourself."
"Nothing," Celia answered, her scared face drawn with an emotion
which almost amounted to terror, "nothing, except to confess how
wicked I've been. Uncle Jasper, I've been a worse girl than you can
possibly imagine. I let you think it was Joy who had been reading
'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' when it was I who had borrowed the book
from Lulu; and she—Joy—was so generous, she would not betray me
to you. I've been selfish, and deceptive; and—oh, much worse than
that! I've told mother all, and I want to tell you. I—I stole the
butterfly brooch—that is, I did not mean to steal it, only to borrow
it for the time—but it was stealing it really. Lulu knows how I wore
it at the flower show, and at the concert, and how I lost it, and the
misery and despair I was in. Then, when I had it again, I never
rested it I had put it back."
"But how did you manage to put it back?" Sir Jasper inquired,
in bewilderment.
Celia looked around almost wildly, first at her mother, who had
seated herself quietly in the background with a world of pain
depicted on her sad countenance, then at Lulu, who had uncovered
her face and was looking at her friend with wide-open eyes, finally
at Sir Jasper, whose look of contempt pierced her to the soul.
"I found your bunch of keys in one of the drawers of your
writing-table," she admitted, shamefacedly. "I—I will tell the
truth—I searched for the keys, and I easily unlocked the safe.
I don't know how I could have done it! Oh, when I think of all I have
done, and how badly I have treated Joy—"
"And how you have let me treat her!" Sir Jasper put in, severely.
"Yes," said Celia, sadly, "and when I remember the mischief I have
done, I know you can never, never forgive me!"
"I was very fond of you, child," he told her, in a moved voice,
"and my affection for you must have made me blind to your true
character. Joy must be told the whole truth, for I—I accused her
of having stolen the butterfly brooch."
"Oh, surely not!" Mrs. Wallis cried, distressfully, whilst both Lulu
and Celia looked aghast. "Oh, my poor Joy! That is why she does not
wish to see you, Uncle Jasper. I could not understand her attitude
at all. It is plain to me now."
There was a dead silence for a few minutes; then Sir Jasper rose
from his chair and laid his hand on Mrs. Wallis's shoulder.
"My dear," he said, with great tenderness in his tone, "I am more
grieved than I can express, but do not look so sadly distressed.
God forgive me for my treatment of Joy! I would not wilfully have
wounded her for the world. You must tell her how I have been
deceived, and—but I must speak to you alone. Celia, take your friend
into the drawing-room, and wait for your mother there."
Celia obeyed. Both girls felt a sense of relief as soon as they were
out of Sir Jasper's presence, and Lulu explained what had brought her
to the Moat House.
"It was not fair to let you bear all the blame, poor Celia," she
said, pityingly, "and Sir Jasper quite understands now that it was my
fault you ever began to read novels of that kind. I told him all
about it. Oh, who would have thought that my disobedience in setting
father's wishes at defiance would have brought about such a terrible
result as the fire. Oh, father does blame me so much, and no wonder!
Oh, dear, I am sorry I ever lent you 'Lady Isabella's Treachery'!
That was the beginning of it all. And, then, to think that you should
have allowed Joy to have been blamed! That was mean of you, Celia."
"Yes," Celia replied, in a low, shamed voice. "I—I was a coward
and—and I wanted Uncle Jasper to think well of me."
"He'll never make you his heiress now! And I used to fancy—"
"Oh, Lulu, don't talk like that!" Celia cried, with a sudden burst
of grief. "I wish we had never come to the Moat House. I wish
Uncle Jasper had let us stay in our little home at A—. I was happier
there. Yes, I was!—although we were so poor. And I was a better
girl—oh, a much better girl! And Joy and I were good friends!
Oh, Joy, Joy!"
Lulu started in amazement, unable to account for this sudden change
in Celia's sentiments; she remarked with an attempt at consolation:
"You'll be good friends with Joy again; I am sure she will not bear
malice."
"Oh, no! Have you heard—have they told you that she may never be able
to walk as long as she lives?" Celia inquired, tearfully.
"No!" gasped Lulu. "Oh, it can't be true! Oh, it's too terrible!"
"It is true!" Celia sobbed. "Mother told me this morning; and, oh,
it nearly breaks my heart to think it! It's her hip; it's more
injured than the doctors considered at first; and it may be that she
will have to spend the rest of her life lying on her back like Mrs.
Long, the gamekeeper's wife. Oh, isn't it hard lines for her?
She loves running about outdoors, and—oh, poor Joy!"
"Does she know?" Lulu asked, in shocked accents.
"Yes, mother told her yesterday, and she took it very well. At first
she cried dreadfully but afterwards she said she would try to be
brave, and not to mind, because she was sure God knew what was best
for her. You see, the accident wasn't the result of any wrong-doing
on her part, so she has nothing to reproach herself with. But, oh,
Lulu, isn't it simply awful to think she may never walk again?"
Celia was so concerned on her sister's account that her own affairs
were quite a secondary consideration to her now. Lulu was quick
to notice this, and her really kind heart swelled with sympathy and
affection as, throwing her arms impulsively around Celia's neck,
she kissed her tear-stained face.
"Perhaps it won't be so bad as you fear," she whispered consolingly.
"Doctors are very clever nowadays, and make wonderful cures—I've
heard father say so—and—and God can do what no one else can,
can't He? We'll pray for Joy. We can do that, Celia.
"I can't pray properly," Celia sighed. "I used to, but since I've
been at the Moat House my mind has been so full of—of things that I
couldn't speak to God about."
"Oh, I know what you mean!" Lulu cried, with ready understanding.
"You mean things that don't matter, such things as money, and fine
clothes."
"Yes," Celia acknowledged.
There was a short silence, then Lulu spoke, somewhat shyly:
"Don't you think we should be happier if tried to think more of the
things that do matter?" she asked. "Father said this morning that he
had spoilt me by mistaken kindness, but I mean to show him he hasn't—
quite! I'm going to turn over a new leaf, and try to please him
for the future. I won't ever deceive him again—at least, I'll try not
to, and I mean to ask God to help me to be a better girl—more
unselfish, and not so set on my own way. I've never been very happy
yet, have you?"
"No," Celia admitted, after a few moments' reflection.
"Because you've been selfish, like me, and have wanted the best
of everything for yourself. Joy is happier than either of us,
even now."
Celia knew that Lulu with her shrewdness of observation had
discovered the truth. She realized that Joy's happiness had
foundation in a faith as simple as it was perfect. She trusted Jesus,
and was content. No one understood better than Celia how great a blow
it was to her sister to know that there was a strong possibility
that she might be crippled for life. Vanished were the little girl's
plans for the future. Her ambition to become a great pianist must be
set aside. Yet, even now, when life was holding a cup of sorrow and
disappointment to her lips, her name did not appear in the light of
a mockery to her. She was "Joy" still.
"Where is your brother?" Lulu asked presently.
"Gone to see Lawrence Puttenham off at the T— railway station,
I expect; but I have not seen him since daybreak. I have been at
Home Vale with Miss Pring, she has been very kind to me. I wish
I might go back to her again instead of remaining here." Celia's wish
was to be granted her, for when Mrs. Wallis came into the
drawing-room a short while later, it was to inform the two girls
that Sir Jasper had ordered the pony carriage to drive Lulu home
to T—, and she added that Celia was to accompany her as far as
Home Vale, where she was to stay for the present.
"Miss Pring very kindly said she would be pleased to have you as her
visitor," Mrs. Wallis told her elder daughter. "I find all our
belongings have been destroyed, and, under the circumstances, it will
not be convenient for Uncle Jasper to have us here any longer.
On Monday, if all's well, and if Dr. Forbes considers Joy is
sufficiently strong to bear the journey, we shall all return to A—."
"Oh, mother," cried Celia, "this is my doing!"
"Yes, Celia, it is," Mrs. Wallis admitted, gravely. Her face was very
pale, and she had been weeping, but she was perfectly posed.
"Oh, how sorry I am!" cried Lulu. "I fear I shall never, never see
any of you again! How sad it is! Mrs. Wallis, mayn't I come and see
Joy before you go?"
"Assuredly you may, my dear. Has Celia told you—"
"Yes, yes! Oh, I am so grieved! perhaps something may be done to cure
her poor hip. Oh, I hear the wheels of the pony carriage! Do you
think I ought to say good-bye to Sir Jasper before I leave?"
Mrs. Wallis shook her head and explained that her uncle was far from
well, having been terribly agitated by all that had taken place
during the last twenty-four hours. She accompanied the two girls
to the front door, and saw them driven off, then returned to the
drawing-room, where she stood looking out of the window until someone
came behind her and slipped his arm around her waist.
"Eric," she cried gladly, and laid her head on her son's shoulder.
He explained where he had been, and then she told him of all Celia's
misdeeds, and Lulu Tillotson's visit. He listened in silence,
too angry and indignant to trust himself to speak, but when she broke
to him the sad news about Joy, he cried out in grief and dismay.
"Mother, it is too cruel! God will not permit it!"
"Hush, my boy! It will be as He sees fit. If Joy can say, 'Thy will
be done,' surely we ought to be able to say it too! We must try to
make things easier for her to bear, not harder. I shall go back
to her presently, but you must stay with Uncle Jasper till Monday.
Then we will all return to A— together."
"This is Celia's doing, I suppose. Is Uncle Jasper in a great rage,
mother?"
"No, he is not in a rage at all, now. He is as grieved as I am
that matters have taken the turn they have; but he agrees with me
that, under the circumstances, it is better we should go home."