Changes
Mildred's signal success at the Students' Concert was a subject of much
congratulation to St. Cyprian's. Never before had a pupil at the College
made so public an appearance and obtained such an ovation. The newspaper
critics highly praised her playing, and several of the most prominent
musical people in the city, who had been present on the occasion,
congratulated Professor Hoffmann on the result of his teaching. Among
these was Mr. Steiniger, a German gentleman of great influence in
Kirkton, who was president both of the Freiburg Concerts and of the
College of Music, and whose opinion therefore was of considerable value.
To her schoolfellows Mildred's laurels amply compensated for the low
majority with which they had won the Alliance Eisteddfod. Many girls
from the other schools had been at the concert, and it was a great
satisfaction to feel that they had heard St. Cyprian's musical champion
in such favourable circumstances.
Mildred herself was experiencing that strong reaction which often
follows great effort. Now that her ordeal was over, she felt how severe
had been the strain of those weeks of unaccustomed hard work. She
flagged visibly, and her pale cheeks and listless manner drew comment at
home.
"No, I'm not ill really, Tantie," she replied to her aunt's enquiries.
"It's only that I'm tired of everything just at present. I think I want
a change."
And a change was coming to her--something so utterly unexpected and
unthought-of that if anyone could have told her of it beforehand she
would scarcely have believed it to be possible. It began with a
letter--an innocent, inoffensive-looking letter. She had brought it
herself to Dr. Graham, and had noticed the crest on the envelope, and
then thought no more about it than she had done of the many others which
were received daily at the house, and which did not concern her in the
least. That her uncle and aunt seemed to have many earnest conversations
together, which they broke off abruptly when she entered the room; that
they were even more affectionate to her than usual, and looked at her
sometimes with a kind of wistfulness in their eyes, did not strike her
particularly at the time, though she remembered it well afterwards; and
it was not until Mrs. Graham broached the subject one afternoon that she
had any idea of the strange new plans which were being discussed for her
future.
"There's something I wish to speak to you about, Mildred. It's a
question your uncle and I have been weighing very anxiously. I believe
we've looked at it from every side, and I trust and hope that we've come
to a right decision. I have told you before that your mother's father,
Sir John Lorraine, disowned her at her marriage. He never saw her
again; and although we wrote to tell him of her death and of your birth,
he took no notice, and made no enquiries about you afterwards. There was
no mention of you in his will, all his property being left to his son
Sir Darcy, who is the present owner of The Towers, as you know. Your
uncle and I adopted you from the very first, and we have never had any
communication with your mother's relations, who for nearly sixteen years
have given no sign that they wished to remember you. You can imagine,
then, our astonishment at receiving a letter from Sir Darcy Lorraine. It
contained what seemed to us a very startling offer, which at first we
thought it impossible to accept, until, after talking the matter over,
we think it ought at least to be considered. But before you can
understand me, I must read you the letter. It is dated from The Towers,
Castleford, and addressed to your uncle:
"DEAR SIR,
"There has recently been brought to my notice a sense of my
responsibility in regard to the upbringing of my late sister's
child, Mildred Lancaster. I find on enquiry that so far you have
undertaken her full guardianship, and have provided for her
entirely. As it seems only right that she should both know her
other relations and give them the opportunity of performing their
fair part in her education and maintenance, I now offer her a home
at The Towers, where she could share my daughter's studies, and
afterwards take that position in society which she would occupy as
my niece. Should you feel disposed to agree to this proposal I
should be ready to make arrangements to receive her without further
delay.
"I much regret that unfortunate family misunderstandings should
have caused this apparent neglect of one to whom I feel I owe a
duty, and I would endeavour to atone for past omissions by
affording her every advantage which is within my power.
"Trusting that our negotiations in this matter may prove of a
satisfactory character.
"I remain, dear sir,
"Faithfully yours,
"DARCY LORRAINE."
"He surely doesn't mean I should leave you and Uncle Colin and go and
live with him?" gasped Mildred incredulously.
"That's exactly what he proposes."
"But it's quite impossible!"
"Is it? Well, we'll talk about that later on. You don't want to leave
us?"
"Of course not! All the Sir Darcys and Lady Lorraines in the world
wouldn't make up! Tantie! How can you even speak of it?" said Mildred
reproachfully, getting up and flinging her arms round her aunt. Mrs.
Graham held her very close for a moment or two.
"You've been our little daughter for so many years that we could ill
spare you, sweetheart. What we think, however, is that you ought to go
there for the summer holidays at any rate. We wish you to pay them a
seven weeks' visit. Sir Darcy is your relation after all, just as much
as we are, and it's only fair that you should have an opportunity of
getting to know him and your aunt and cousin. Your uncle and I feel that
if, for our own selfish love of your company, we were to refuse to part
with you, you might some day justly reproach us for having kept you from
social advantages which we cannot give you. You are young, Mildred, and
have never known any place but Kirkton, and we think you ought to make a
trial of this other home before you finally choose between the two. It
has always been my dearest wish that you should study music; but if
after visiting Westmorland you find the life there is really more
congenial to you than our plain workaday existence here, we would not
allow the affection you feel for us to interfere in any way with your
prospects. You would be perfectly free to cast your lot with whichever
relations you believe could make you the happier. Do you quite
understand me? It's our very love for you that makes us willing to part
with you."
"I understand, but I don't want to go, all the same. I feel the
Lorraines have forgotten me so long that it's rather late suddenly to
remember my existence. You and Uncle Colin have been caring for me all
this time. Can't you say I won't go?"
"We've already arranged to send you. As it happens, it fits in most
curiously with an offer which arrived by the same post, inviting your
uncle to go out to Canada for the Medical Congress, as representative of
the Kirkton Public Health Association. He has not been well for some
time, and the voyage would do him good, while very fortunately Dr. Holt
would be able to look after both the practice and his appointments
until his return. He is most anxious that I should go with him, and as
the opportunity occurs for you to pay this visit while we are away, I
feel we might leave with a free mind."
"Tantie, I can't take it in! You and Uncle going to Canada!"
"Only for a six weeks' holiday. It is a great honour for your uncle to
be chosen to represent Kirkton at the Congress, and one he can hardly
refuse; while it seems such an excellent arrangement for you to spend
the time of our absence at The Towers that I feel we can't do better
than accept Sir Darcy's offer."
"What will the Professor say? He had decided that I might be allowed
three weeks' rest, and after that I was to go to his house for lessons
twice a week until school began again. He wouldn't hear of my spending
the whole of the holidays just practising by myself. He said I should
get into bad habits, and undo all the progress I had made lately. He was
most determined about it."
"That's the unfortunate part. I'm sorry beyond words for you to miss
your lessons, but, after all, a few weeks is not a very large slice out
of your life. You need a change for your health's sake, and if you
really decide that you wish to study music, you will be able to make up
for lost ground afterwards."
"The time will seem ages to me," declared Mildred. "I shall count every
day till I'm home again."
"You mustn't say that, dear. I want you to promise to try to like Sir
Darcy and Lady Lorraine. I think they are anxious to make up now for
having overlooked you so long, so don't be ungracious, or allow any
unforgiving remembrances about the past to creep in and spoil the good
feeling they seem willing to show to you. Just let bygones be bygones,
and be ready to make friends."
The change which awaited Mildred seemed an earthquake in her hitherto
uneventful life. The more she thought about it the less she liked it.
Although she was nearly sixteen she had never been away from home alone
before, and she shrank from the prospect of spending seven weeks with
those unknown relations. Naturally of a nervous and sensitive
disposition, she was shy with strangers, so what to many girls would
have appeared an attractive invitation, to her meant a species of exile.
"I don't know whether we're wise," said Dr. Graham to his wife. "The
child's fretting already. Can't we take her with us to Canada? Is it
really right, when we've brought her up so carefully, to be willing to
hand her over to those who probably have very different standards from
ours? She's just at an age when she will be led most easily. If she sees
social success and amusement put as the great aims of existence, will
she still hold to what we believe to be the higher ideal in life? I'm a
little afraid for her, I confess. One side of her disposition is so
ready to take the easier path and shirk difficulties that I feel as if
removing our influence were a throwing away of our responsibility."
"I don't think you need have any fears," replied Mrs. Graham. "This will
certainly be a great trial of Mildred's character, but I believe she'll
stand the test, and will come back to us infinitely more our own, if she
has chosen us voluntarily, than if she had never had the chance of a
different life. Surely some of the seed we have sown for fifteen years
must have taken root, and if we only have the patience to stand by and
wait, we shall see the harvest blossoming by and by."
It was decided that Mildred was to start for The Towers directly the
holidays commenced. There were many preparations to be made before her
departure--new clothes to be bought, and a selection made of articles
which she wished to take with her. Among other treasures she did not
forget to pack her diary.
"Dear little book, I wonder what I shall find to write in you?" she
said. "Tantie, don't you wish we could take a tiny peep into the future,
and see beforehand what's going to happen?"
"No, I think it's often better to have it hidden. I hope you will find
the next seven weeks pleasant ones, and whatever choice you make at the
end of them, you must always remember that your uncle and I have acted
for what we believe to be the best."
Mrs. Graham had acquainted Herr Hoffmann with the facts of the case, and
when Mildred went to say good-bye to her teacher, she found that he took
the parting badly.
"It is what you call 'hard luck'," he declared. "I have taught you all
these years, and to no other pupil have I given more attention and
trouble. I tell you even in Berlin Conservatoire no professor could have
laid you a better foundation in bowing. At one time you were idle. You
did not like to work. Then, just when you wake up, and begin to make
real progress, you leave me! And all my labour is for nothing! You say
you will come back, but that I cannot tell. I hear other relations want
to keep you. If you have any true love for your art, any desire to
master your instrument and to give your life to music, you will return.
Practise by yourself, but do not let anybody give you what they call
'lessons on ze violin'. Lessons! I am the only one who can teach you,
out of Germany! All others would spoil what you have already learnt. I
understand you go to a very great and rich house. I wish you well; yet
do not quite forget ze old Professor, and think too of the music, which
is a gift of Almighty God, more to be esteemed and held in honour than
gold or high name."
"I won't forget, I won't indeed!" cried Mildred, her eyes moist at the
Professor's emotion. "You know I love the music. I did like it all the
time, even when I slacked, except the scales and arpeggios. But I'll
practise even those to please you, and I'll work just as hard as you
want at everything--when I come back."
* * * * *
One morning at the beginning of August found Mildred ensconced in a
corner of a ladies' compartment in the northern express, steaming out of
Kirkton station on her journey to Westmorland. Her grief at parting from
her uncle and aunt had been keen, and at present she felt somewhat like
a small boat suddenly cut loose from its moorings, and drifting on a
swift current towards an unknown land. It is a great event in our lives
when we first leave the safe shelter of home, where constant familiarity
has made everything dear to us, and even our faults have been judged by
the tolerant standard of those who love us, to be plunged into a world
where we know we shall be taken at a different estimate, and where, to a
certain extent, that absolute reliance on another's judgment must give
way to a sense of duty and responsibility on our own account. Hitherto
Mrs. Graham had been Mildred's conscience, the one being in the world to
whom she could take each trouble and difficulty, and could lay bare
every part of her soul; and there had existed between the two that
entire confidence which is only possible with those who have known us
from our first years, and who also have that rare gift of absolute
sympathy which makes them able to understand our innermost mind.
We seldom question our earliest friends. They have grown dear to us long
before we are at an age to criticize them, our love afterwards blurs our
sight to what failings they possess, and consciously or unconsciously we
are apt to measure all others by their standard. Mildred felt that her
new relations, however kind they might prove, would never be the same as
those who had stood to her in the place of father and mother. This
separation must necessarily cast her on her own self-reliance; it was
the break between childhood and womanhood, the parting of the ways, when
she must loose the hand that had guided her so carefully, and take her
life into her own keeping. That it would be extremely good for her, Mrs.
Graham had no doubt. Mildred was so childish for her age, so dependent
and lacking in initiative, that it was time indeed she should begin to
think for herself, and gain greater confidence. She needed to be shaken
out of her dreamy ways, and given a wider knowledge of the world. Seven
weeks among entirely fresh surroundings would be a wholesome probation,
and at the end of the holiday she would be in a position to decide
whether the new or the old regime was the more congenial.