THE FEAST IN THE GARRET.
"We fell to work and feasted like the gods,
Like laborers, or like eager workhouse folk
At Yule-tide dinner; or, to say the whole
At once, like tired, hungry, healthy youth."
_Jean Ingelow._
Queenie, absorbed in the themes she was correcting, was not aware of
Cathy's absence from the room.
As she toiled on, correcting faulty grammar and replacing obnoxious
terms, she was consumed with terrible anxiety. Emmie's thin white
face came between her and the page. "What can I do to save her from
this life?" was her one inward ejaculation.
She rose quite exhausted with the mental strain when her work was
finished. The great stone hall with its one lamp looked dreary
enough as she traversed it; all manner of weird shadows lurked in the
corners of the landing-place. A rising wind moaned in the ivy
outside, and shook the bare branches of the trees till they creaked
under it; the moon slid wildly through the black clouds. Queenie
thought of Emmie with a little shiver of apprehension, and hurried on.
"Here I am. Are you tired of waiting for me?" she exclaimed, in a
tone of enforced cheerfulness, almost before she opened the door; and
then she started back, and a little cry of surprise and pleasure
broke from her lips at the changed aspect of the garret.
The scene was certainly unique.
The rickety table, covered with an old red shawl of Queenie's, was
drawn close to the bed; two candles, one green and the other yellow,
burnt cheerily in two broken medicine bottles; a few late-blooming
roses in a soap-dish gave an air of elegance to the whole. A bottle
of ginger wine, and various delicacies in the shape of meat pies,
tarts, and large sticky Bath buns, were tastefully arranged at
intervals, flanked by a pocket corkscrew, a pen-knife, tumbler, and
small tin plate.
Emmie, propped up with pillows and huddled up in a warm plaid
belonging to Cathy, regarded this magnificent feast with bright-eyed
astonishment; she clapped her hands at the sight of her sister.
"Oh, Queenie, I am so glad you have come. Everything is ready now,
only Cathy has gone down to fetch something; she has been planning
this delightful surprise all day. Is it not kind of her?"
"Listeners never hear any good of themselves, so I had better make my
appearance," interposed a laughing voice, at which Queenie turned
hastily round.
"Oh, Cathy, Cathy, whatever should we do without you!" she cried,
looking gratefully at her friend.
Cathy's eyes grew a little moist, and then she broke into a low
musical laugh delicious to hear.
"Have I not done it well?" rocking herself with merriment. "Not a
creature suspects anything. I shall go down presently and pretend to
eat supper. Are not those candles lovely, Queenie? they make this
dismal old room quite cheerful. There, wrap yourself up in my
sealskin, while I help Emmie."
"Isn't it lovely!" sighed Emmie, in a tone of such heartfelt
happiness, that Cathy hugged her on the spot. The cakes, the meat
pie, the ginger wine seemed enchanted food to her; the roses, the
colored candles, were perfectly radiant in her eyes. "It is just
like a fairy story. You are our good fairy, Cathy," she cried; "I am
sure I love you next best in the world to Queenie."
"How I wish Garth could see us!" laughed Cathy. She had enveloped
herself in an old grey plaid, and had put one of the roses in her
hair, and with her dark hair and eyes looked not unlike a gipsy.
"Langley would be dreadfully shocked, but Garth would laugh first and
lecture afterwards."
"You are always talking about Garth; I wish I could see him," sighed
Emmie. "You never make us see him, Cathy."
Cathy pondered a moment. "It is not easy to describe people with
whom you live; one is afraid of being too much prejudiced in their
favor. I don't think I am wrong in calling Garth handsome, because
every one says so."
"Every one is sure to be right," put in Queenie, quietly. She did
not like to betray her interest, but she had always longed to be able
to picture Garth. "He is tall," she hazarded, rather timidly.
"Yes, tall and fine-looking. He is eight-and-twenty, you know: he
has a nice thoughtful face, rather pale; and his mouth is very firm,
and shuts tightly, only the moustache hides it; and his eyes are
blue-grey, just the colour I like for a man, and they look kind and
gentle; and then he looks so good, as though he could never do
anything wrong or mean.
"He must be a nice man," exclaimed Emmie, enthusiastically. "Then he
is not like you, Cathy?"
"No," she returned, regretfully; "Langley and I are alike, only
Langley is older and worn-looking; she is two years older than Garth,
just thirty in fact, quite an old maid," continued the girl of
eighteen, in a tone of profound pity.
"I don't think people of thirty ought to be considered quite
middle-aged," remonstrated Queenie, who had long ago achieved her
twentieth year.
"Not some people perhaps, but Langley looks dreadfully old; one can't
tell how it was that she was considered so handsome. Her features
are good, but she looks so thin and worn, and she is paler than I am,
and her hair is turning grey. Langley is very nice, and good to us
all, but I sometimes think that she leads too dull a life; Garth
often says so. I know he will be glad that I am to go home next
quarter."
"Oh, Cathy, however shall we be able to endure this place without
you?" interposed her friend.
Emmie had waxed drowsy with comfort, and was dozing placidly, and the
two girls had curled themselves up for warmth on the bed. Cathy had
disappeared for a short time, and had come back with the announcement
that the Ogre and Griffin were still out, and the other governesses
at supper.
"My having a bedroom to myself makes it easier to evade rules,"
explained Cathy. "I have put the bolster and some clothes in the
bed, and drawn the counterpane well over them, and Mademoiselle will
just peep in and think I am asleep. Oh, what fun it is! How many
suppers have we had in this old garret?"
"We shall soon have seen the last of them," returned Queenie,
sorrowfully. "I can't bear to think of your going away."
"Poor old Queen!" responded her friend, affectionately. "It is very
sad, leaving you and Emmie behind in this mouse-trap of a place.
When I go home I mean to talk to Garth and Langley about you.
Langley is so good, she is sure to invite you and Emmie for the
summer holidays."
"Oh, Cathy, do you think so? do you really think so?" and Queenie
almost gasped with surprise and joy. To take Emmie into the country
again, to see the little pinched face grow round and blooming in the
fine moorland air, to watch her gathering wild-flowers, or scrambling
through woods, could it ever come true? For the first moment Queenie
forgot everything but her little sister; the next her cheek flushed
crimson--she would see Cathy's home and Garth.
"Do you really, really think it will come true?"
"True! of course it will. Garth and Langley never refused me
anything, and when I tell them about you and Emmie they will be wild
to know you. What walks we will have! I must show you Hepshaw
Abbey, and I must bribe Garth to drive us to Karlsmere; it is such a
lovely lake. And then we can go and see the King of Karldale."
"See whom?" inquired Queenie, in some perplexity.
"Oh, a friend of ours, who is called by that name; he is a gentleman
farmer, and lives near the head of the lake. His real name is Harry
Chester, but he is always called the King of Karldale. I am very
fond of Harry."
"Indeed," with a slight stress.
"He is such a dear good fellow. I wish I could like his wife half as
well."
"Oh, he is married," with a shade of disappointment in her voice.
"Married! very much so, poor fellow, and I don't think he quite likes
it. She does not exactly henpeck him, but she is a fine lady, and
worries him into doing things he does not like, such as taking her to
Paris, and giving her expensive dresses. I am afraid she spends a
great deal too much money, and that troubles Harry."
"He should keep her in order then."
"I think he tries; but Gertrude has a will of her own. She frets if
he refuse to humour her, and as she is very delicate, and the doctors
look very gravely at her sometimes, he is afraid not to give her her
way. He sometimes talks to Langley, and she always takes Gertrude's
part; why I don't know, for no one else likes her."
"How nice to know people, and to get interested in their lives,"
sighed the poor recluse. "You have made me quite long to know all
the people in your neighbourhood, especially Mr. Logan and his
sister."
"Dear Miss Cosie, how she will pet you; and you will be great friends
with Mr. Logan. Do you know," in a puzzled voice, "I don't seem to
get on with Mr. Logan as well as I did; he gave me lectures last
holidays, and I became a little shy of him."
"And yet you are not one to mind any amount of scolding."
"Of course not, when I don't care about the people who give the
scolding; but that is just it. Mr. Logan looks at one so
benevolently, and yet his eyes seem to read you through and through;
and then he goes on in that mild voice of his, till Miss Catherine,
as he calls her, either makes a fool of herself or runs out of the
room."
"But he has no right to lecture you," indignantly.
"Ah, has he not!" sighed Cathy, and the dark, brilliant eyes looked
very serious for a moment. "He says we girls at the present day have
such a low standard of right that we never rise above medium
goodness, and are too easily satisfied with ourselves. He is always
saying we have no great saints now-a-days, and that there can be no
St. Augustines without Monicas."
"It is very true."
"Oh, he is such a good man, he makes one feel ashamed of one's self.
When he talks one forgets his patched coat and plain face and bald
head. I used to laugh when he pushed his spectacles up in that droll
way, but somehow nothing seems odd about him now."
"And he is not married?"
"No, he is an old bachelor, and Miss Cosie keeps his house. I don't
think he has ever been in love; Miss Cosie said so one day; he has
never been able to find a woman with a sufficiently high standard, I
suppose. Even Langley would not suit him, though I believe he thinks
very highly of her; they have such long, serious talks. Queenie, do
you recollect remarking one day that I never used slang now?"
"To be sure I do."
"Well, he cured me."
"Oh, I can comprehend the purport of the lectures now."
"Yes, he gravely remonstrated with me one day. 'Miss Catherine,' he
once said, 'does it never strike you to inquire if the high-born
ladies of old time ever talked slang?'"
"Well, I hope you answered him properly."
"No, I was very saucy; I told him I had no doubt they were often
'awfully jolly,' and were fast and slow and spoony no end like other
people, and some of the men dreadful duffers and cads."
"Cathy, how could you?"
"My dear, it was the last outburst. Before an hour was over I was
fairly crushed, and took a private vow never to utter anything but
the purest English ever afterwards. It was very hard at first, and I
had to inflict dreadful pinches on myself, and put endless pennies in
the poor's box, before I could remember; but I am cured since."
"Yes, and it is such an improvement; I feel very much obliged to Mr.
Logan."
"I took my revenge though," returned Cathy, looking a little guilty;
"I went away without bidding him good-bye."
"That was hardly kind."
"So he said. I was very remorseful, and wrote him a penitent little
note a week afterwards. The letter I got in return made me feel very
small."
"I dare say he forgave you."
"Dear old Saint Christopher, I know he did; but he was terribly hurt;
Langley told me so. I often think we are 'old men of the mountain'
to ourselves. How one longs sometimes to throw off one's self and
one's faults!"
"You have less than any one I know," returned Queenie, who had a warm
admiration for the daring and generous-hearted girl.
"You are wrong," returned Cathy, humbly; "Mr. Logan knows me best. I
do want to be true, as true as I know how to be. I think I hate
conventional shams as much as he does; it is this want of truth in
the world that appals one."
"And the lack of kindness," put in Queenie, who had seen the darker
side of human nature.
"No, indeed there is plenty of kindness in the world. You have grown
misanthropic with hard usage; you will change your mind when you come
among us."
"Yes, you must make allowances for me," she said, somewhat sadly; "I
have been too much in contact with coarse, selfish minds to judge
leniently. Cathy, how can women be so censorious to their own sex?
how can they oppress and grieve a little child in the way Miss
Titheridge and Fraulein oppress Emmie?"
"It is too bad; but I think Miss Titheridge is obtuse; she does not
understand Emmie."
"Do you not think she is changed?" whispered Queenie, with a glance
at the sleeping child. "She has grown thinner and paler, and her
eyes are so hollow. Caleb noticed it last week."
"She is growing, and needs care," was the compassionate answer, as
Cathy rose and folded the shawl closer round the sleeper.
"Care! that is just what she does not get. Oh, Cathy, I think poor
mamma would have broken her heart if she had known what was in store
for us; she was so fond of Emmie."
"Hush, dear," for Queenie had covered her face with her hands, and
was weeping bitterly now. "We will not talk any more; you are weary
and over-tasked. You are very brave, my Queen, and seldom break
down, but you are too tired to cry to-night."
"Yes, it is wrong of me, but yet it has done me good," she whispered,
after a short interval.
They were still sitting together, hand in hand. The green candle had
burnt out, but the pink one still burnt cheerily; one or two of the
roses had withered; the fragments of the feast still reposed on the
old red shawl; the moonbeams stole through the uncurtained window,
and played fitfully on the uneven floor; a little pale face slept
peacefully under the old wrapper.
By and bye, when Cathy had left her, Queenie lay down, and drew the
warm, sleeping child to her arms. The moon had come out from behind
the clouds now; the stream of pale, silvery light flooded the room; a
perfect halo shone round Emmie's fair hair. Queenie shivered, and
gave a faint sob as she saw it.
"She is paler and thinner," she said to herself. "Cathy noticed it,
and so did Caleb. They are killing her by inches, and yet they will
not see; they are straining her mind and body, and neither will bear
it. Oh, mamma, mamma, she would be better off with you; but I cannot
spare her, I cannot spare Emmie!"
"Are you awake, Queenie? Oh, I have had such a beautiful dream. I
was in a strange place, and mamma came to me, looking so kind, just
like her old self, only grander; I think she had a crown on her head;
and she took me in her arms and kissed me, just as she used to do,
and told me to be good and patient, and to do as you told me, and
that she loved us both."
Sleep on, little comforter, in the arms that hold you so lovingly.
The strain is lessened, the weary oppression gone. The child's
dream, so lovingly told, has brought healing to the weary sister.
The unseen guardian watched over them both, the message of love had
come to her too, and in this fond belief Queenie fell asleep.