THE HOME.
'Within those walls each fluttering guest
Is gently lured to one safe nest;
Without, 'tis moaning and unrest.'
_Keble._
A great delight came to Wilmet and Geraldine the day of the Bishop's
visit, no other than Alda's being able to spend a week with them. Miss
Pearson spared Wilmet that whole afternoon, that she might go up to
meet her at the station, whither she was escorted by a maid going down
to Centry.
There she was, in her pretty black silk, with violet trimmings, looking
thoroughly the grown young lady, but clinging tight to her twin in an
overflow of confused happiness, even while they stood together to get
their first glance of the Bishop, who came down by the same train, and
was met by Mr. Bevan with the carriage.
'I'm glad it is so nice and warm; it is better for Fernan, and Cherry
can go!' said Wilmet, ready for joy about everything.
'Nice and warm! 'Tis much colder than in London,' said Alda, with a
shiver. 'Has Cherry kept well this winter?'
'Quite well. She walks much better. And Marilda?'
'Oh, Marilda is always well. Rude health, her mother calls it. What do
you think she has sent you, Wilmet? A darling little watch! just like
this of mine!'
'O Alda, you should not have let her. It is too much. Fernan wanted to
give Lance a watch, but Felix would not let him.'
'Yes, but he is not like Uncle Thomas, and it makes you like me.'
'That we shall never be quite again,' sighed Wilmet.
'Oh! a little setting off, and trimming up! I've brought down lots of
things. Aunt Mary said I might. What is this youth like, Wilmet--is he
a boy or a young man?'
'I don't know,' said Wilmet; 'he is younger than Felix, if that helps
you.'
'Well, Americans are old of their age. I have met some at Mr. Roper's.
Oh, and do you know, Mrs. Roper told Aunt Mary that these Travises
are quite millionaires, and that this youth's mother was a prodigious
Mexican heiress. Aunt Mary wants to ask him to Kensington Palace
Gardens, when he comes up to town! I'm glad I am in time for the
christening. Doesn't he have godfathers and godmothers?'
'Yes; he would have nobody but Felix and Mr. Audley, and Lady Price
chose to be his godmother; indeed, there was nobody else.'
'You could not well be, certainly,' laughed Alda. 'Oh! and I've brought
a dress down. I thought some of us might be asked to the Rectory in the
evening.'
'My dear Alda, as if such a thing ever happened!'
'Ah! you see I have been so long away as to forget my Lady's manners.'
'Mr. Audley is going, and Fernan was asked, but he is not anything like
well enough. So when Mamma and the little ones go to bed, we are to
come down and spend the evening with him.'
'Fancy, Wilmet, I have quite been preparing Marilda for her
Confirmation. She had hardly been taught anything, and never could have
answered the questions if she had not come to me. She is always asking
me what Papa said about this and that; and it is quite awkward, she
will carry out everything so literally, poor dear girl.'
'She must be very good.'
'Oh! to be sure she is! But just fancy, she keeps a tithe of her
pocket-money to give to the Offertory so scrupulously; she would really
not buy something she wanted because it would have been just a shilling
into her tenth. I'm so glad she is confirmed. I never knew what to
do at church before. I couldn't go home by myself, and now a servant
always waits for us. Oh! how fast the poor hotel is building again! It
will brighten our street a little! Dear me, I did not know how dingy it
was!'
Nothing could look dingy where two such fair bright faces were; but
Alda's became awe-struck and anxious as she went up to her mother's
room. Indeed Mrs. Underwood looked up at her rather confused, and
scarcely knowing the fashionable young lady, and it was only when the
plumed hat was laid aside, and the two heads laid together, their
fair locks mingling, that she knew she had her elder twins again, and
stroked their faces with quiet delight.
There was scarcely more than time to kiss the little ones, and contend
with Stella's shyness, before first Lance hurried in and then Felix,
excused from his work two hours earlier. He could only just run up and
dress before he convoyed Geraldine to church, she having the first turn
of the chair, helped her to her seat near the Font, and then came back
for Fernando, who was under his special charge.
Fernando sat looking very pale, and with the set expression of the
mouth that always made Cherry think of Indians at the stake. His little
new prayer-book was in his hand, and he was grasping it nervously,
but he said nothing, as Felix helped him up and Lance held his crutch
for him. It was his first entrance into a place of worship. They had
intended to have accustomed him a little to the sights and sounds, but
the weather and his ailment had prevented them. He was drawn to the
porch, and there Felix partly lifted him out and up the step, while
Lance took his hat for him, and as they were both wanted for the choir
procession that was to usher the Bishop into church, they had to leave
him in his place under Geraldine's protection.
He had not in the least realised the effect of the interior of a
church. St. Oswald's was a very grand old building, with a deep
chancel a good deal raised, seen along a vista of heavy columns and
arched vaults, lighted from the clerestory, and with a magnificent
chancel-arch. The season was Lent, and the colouring of the decorations
was therefore grave, but all the richer, and the light coming strongly
in from the west window immediately over the children's heads, made
the contrast of the bright sunlight and of the soft depths of mystery
more striking, and, to an eye to which everything ecclesiastical was
absolutely new, the effect was almost overwhelming. That solemnity and
sanctity of long centuries, the peaceful hush, the grave beauty and
grandeur, almost made him afraid to breathe, and Cherry sat by his side
with her expressive face composed into the serious but happy look that
accorded with the whole scene.
He durst not move or speak. His was a silent passive nature, except
when under strong stimulus, and Cherry respected his silence a great
deal too much to break upon it by any information. She was half sorry
when the noise of steps showed that the congregation were beginning
to drop in, chiefly of the other young Confirmation candidates. Then
presently Alda came, and whispered to her that Wilmet could not leave
Mamma; and presently after, Lady Price bustled in with her daughter,
looked severely at Alda under the impression that she was Wilmet
very improperly tricked out, and pressed Fernando's hand before
going on to her own place. Then came the low swell of the organ,
another new sensation to one who had only heard opera music; then the
approaching sound of the voices. Geraldine gave him the book open at
the processional psalm, and the white-clad choir passed by, one of the
first pair of choristers being Lance, singing with all his might, and
that merry monkey-face full of a child's beautiful happy reverence. And
again could be recognised Felix, Mr. Audley, Mr. Bevan, all whom the
poor sick stranger had come to love best, all to his present perception
glorified and beautiful. They had told him it would be all faith and no
sight, but he seemed to find himself absolutely within that brighter
better sphere to which they belonged, to see them walking in it in
their white robes, to hear their songs of praise, and to know whence
came that atmosphere that they carried about with them, and that he had
felt when it was a riddle to him.
And so the early parts of the service passed by him, not so much
attended to or understood as filling him with a kind of dreamy
rapturous trance, as the echoes of the new home, to which he, with all
his heavy sense of past stain and present evil propensity, was gaining
admission and adoption. For the first time he was really sensible of
the _happiness_ of his choice, and felt the compensation for what he
gave up.
When the Second Lesson was ended, and the clergy and the choir, in
their surplices, moved down to encircle the Font, it was as if they
came to gather him in among them. Felix came and helped him up. He
could stand now with one support, and this was his young godfather's
right arm, to which he held tightly, but without any nervous
convulsiveness--he was too happy for that now--during the prayers that
entreated for his being safely gathered into the Ark, and the Gospel of
admission into the Kingdom. He had an impulse to loose his clasp and
stand alone at the beginning of the vows, but he could not; he had not
withdrawn his hand before he was forced again to lean his weight upon
the steady arm beside him.
Nothing had been able to persuade Lady Price that she was not to make
all the vows as for an infant, but luckily nobody heard her except her
husband and the other sponsors, for it was a full, clear, steadfast
voice that made reply, 'I renounce them all!' and as the dark deep
eyes gazed far away into the west window, and Felix felt the shudder
through the whole frame, he knew the force of that renunciation; and
how it gave up that one excitement that the lad really cared for. And
when that final and carefully-guarded vow of obedience was uttered,
the pressure on his arm seemed to show that the moral was felt of that
moment's endeavour to stand alone.
The sound of prayer, save in his own chamber, was so entirely new,
that no doubt the force of the petitions was infinitely enhanced, and
the entreaty for the death of the old Adam had a definite application
to those old habits and tastes that at times exerted their force. The
right hand was ready and untrembling when the Rector took it; the
stream of water glittered as it fell on the awe-struck brow and jetty
hair, and the eyes shone out with a deep resolute lustre as 'Ferdinand
Audley' was baptized into the Holy Name, and sworn a faithful soldier
and servant.
He had begged to be baptized by the English version of his name; the
Spanish one had grown up by a sort of accident, and had always been
regretted by his father. He had wished much to take the name of Felix,
but they were so certain that this would not be approved, that they
had persuaded him out of it. He was soon set down again by Geraldine's
side; and she put out her hand and squeezed his hard, looking up into
his face with tearful eyes of welcome.
When the last sounds of the voluntary had died away, and the
congregation had gone, she ventured again to look up at him and say, 'I
am so glad!'
'Why did you never tell me it was like this?' he said. 'I should never
have hung back one moment. Now nothing can touch me, since I belong to
_this_.'
'Nothing can _really_,' said Geraldine softly. 'Above all, when it is
sealed to us to-morrow.'
Then there came a movement from the vestry, and the Rector and Mr.
Audley were seen following the Bishop, who came down to where the two
lame children still sat together, and putting his hand upon Ferdinand's
head with the hair still wet, gave him his blessing before he spoke
further. It was only a word or two of congratulation, but such as to go
very deep; and then, seeing that the boy looked not excited, but worn
and wearied, he added, 'You are going home to rest. I shall see you
to-morrow after the confirmation;' and then he shook hands with him and
with Geraldine, asking if she were the little girl of whom he had been
told.
'She is very young,' said Mr. Bevan, strongly impressed with the
littleness of the figure; 'but she has been a Communicant for more than
a year, and she is--a very good child.'
'I can believe so,' said the Bishop, smiling to her. 'I have heard of
your father, my dear, and of your brother.'
Cherry coloured rosy red, but was much too shy to speak; and the Rector
and Bishop went away, leaving only Mr. Audley.
'Are you very much tired, Fernan?'
'I don't know,' he half smiled.
'I think he is; he is too happy to know it,' said Geraldine. 'Please
let him go home first.'
So Mr. Audley helped him out to the chair, where Felix, Alda, and Lance
were waiting; and he said, 'Thank you,' and held out his hand, while
Lance eagerly shook it, saying, 'Now it is right at last; and here's
Alda--isn't she a stunner?'
'I thought it was Wilmet,' said Fernan; and Alda went into church to
keep Cherry company, thinking how curiously blind the male sex were not
to distinguish between her dress and poor dear Wilmet's.
Mr. Audley was more than satisfied, he was surprised and comforted. He
had prepared to meet either disappointment or excitement in his charge;
he found neither--only a perfect placid content, as of one who had
found his home and was at rest. The boy was too much tired, after his
many bad nights and the day's exertion, to say or think much; all he
did say was, 'I shall mind nothing now that I know what it is to be one
of you.'
Mr. Audley tried to remember that there must be a reaction, but he
could not bring himself to fear or to warn, or do anything but enjoy
the happiest day of his three years' ministry.
He had to go to the Rectory dinner-party, and leave his neophyte to
the tendance of the Underwoods. Felix sat with his friend in a great
calm silence, while the rest were taken up by the counter-attraction
upstairs, where Alda was unpacking an unrivalled store of presents from
herself and Marilda, useful and ornamental, such as seemed a perfect
_embarras de richesses_ to the homely, scantily-endowed children. That
little gold watch was the prize and wonder of all. It was the first
in the family, except that Felix wore his father's, and Alda knew
how an elder girl was scorned at school if she had none; but Wilmet,
though very happy with hers, smiled, and would not agree to having
met with disrespect for want of it. Then there were drawing-books
for Cherry, and a knife of endless blades for Lance, and toys for
the little ones; and dresses--a suit for Wilmet like Alda's plainest
Sunday one, and Alda's last year's silk for Geraldine, and some
charming little cashmere pelisses--Aunt Mary's special present to the
two babies--things that would lengthen Wilmet's purse for many a day
to come; and a writing-case for Felix; and all the absent remembered,
too. Uncle Thomas had given Alda a five-pound note to buy presents,
and Marilda had sent every one something besides, mostly of such a
matter-of-fact useful type that Alda stood and laughed at them. And
Mrs. Underwood was pleased with the exhibition, and smiled and admired,
only her attention was tired out at last, and she was taken early to
her own room.
The elder ones went down to sit round the fire in Mr. Audley's room,
where Ferdinand insisted on leaving his sofa to Geraldine, and betaking
himself to the easy-chair, where he leant back, content and happy to
watch the others through his eye-lashes. Alda was a little on her
company manners at the first, but all the others were at perfect
ease, as they sat in the dim light. Felix on the floor by Cherry, who
delighted in a chance of playing fondling tricks with his hair and
fingers; the twins in Mr. Audley's big chair, where they could lean
against each other; and Lance cross-legged on the hearth-rug roasting
chestnuts, of which a fellow chorister had given him a pocketful, and
feeding every one in turn.
Geraldine gave a sigh to the wish that poor dear Edgar were there.
'He is very happy!' said Alda.
'Oh yes, but I wish he had not missed being here to-morrow. I wonder
when he will come home.'
'I cannot guess; Aunt Mary wants to go down the Rhine next summer (only
she is not quite sure it is not the Rhone), and if so, I suppose he
would join us there.'
'It is a whole year since we have set eyes on him,' said Felix.
'But I believe he writes more to Cherry than anybody, does not he?'
'Oh yes, and sends me lovely photographs to copy. Such a beauty of
himself! Have you seen it?'
'I should think I had! They have set it up in a little gold frame on
the drawing-room table, and everybody stands and says how handsome it
is; and Aunt Mary explains all about him till I am tired of hearing it.'
'And Clem?'
'Oh, Clem came to luncheon yesterday. He is very much grown, and looks
uncommonly demure, and as much disposed to set everybody to rights as
ever.'
But Alda did not enter much more into particulars; she led away the
conversation to the sights she had seen in their summer tour; and as
she had a good deal of descriptive power, she made her narratives so
interesting that time slipped quickly past, and the young company was
as much surprised as Mr. Audley was when he came home and found them
all there, not yet gone to bed. They were greatly ashamed, and afraid
they had done Ferdinand harm, and all were secretly very anxious about
the night; but, though the wakeful habit and night feverishness were
not at once to be broken through, yet the last impression was the
strongest, and the long-drawn aisle, the 'dim religious light,' and
the white procession, were now the recurring images, all joyful, all
restful, truly as if the bird had escaped out of the snare of the
fowler. Real sleep came sooner than usual, and Fernan rose quite equal
to the fatigue of the coming day, the Confirmation day, when again
Geraldine had to sit beside him--this newly admitted to the universal
brotherhood, instead of being beside that dear Edgar of her own, for
whom her whole heart craved, as she thought how their preparation had
begun together beside her father's chair.
Their place was now as near the choir as possible, and they were
brought in as before, very early, so that Fernan gazed with the same
eager, unsated eyes into the chancel and at the altar, admitted as he
was farther into his true home.
The church was filled with candidates from the villages round as
well as from the town, and the Litany preceded the rite which was to
seal the young champions ere the strife. The Bishop came down to the
two lame children, and laid his hands on the two bent heads, ere he
gave his final brief address, exhorting the young people to guard
preciously, and preserve by many a faithful Eucharist, that mark which
had sealed them to the Day of Redemption, through all this world's long
hot trial and conflict.
There was holiday at both schools, and Felix had been spared to take
his place in the choir, but Mr. Froggatt could not do without him
afterwards, as the presence of so many of the country clergy in the
town was sure to fill the reading-room and shop; and he was obliged
to hurry off as soon as he came out of church. Now, the Bishop had
the evening before asked Lady Price 'whether that son of poor Mr.
Underwood's' were present among the numerous smart folk who thronged
her drawing-room, to which my lady had replied, 'No; he was a nice,
gentlemanly youth certainly, but, considering all things, and how sadly
he had lowered himself, she thought it better not. In fact, some might
not be so well pleased to meet him.'
The Bishop took the opportunity of trying to learn from the next person
he fell in with, namely, Mr. Ryder, how Felix had lowered himself;
and received an answer that showed a good deal of the schoolmaster's
disappointment, but certainly did not show any sense of Felix's
degradation. And what he said was afterwards amplified by Mr. Audley,
whom the Bishop took apart, and questioned with much interest upon
both Ferdinand Travis and the Underwood family, of whom he had only
heard, when, immediately after his appointment, his vote for the orphan
school had been solicited for the two boys, and he had been asked to
subscribe to the Comment on the Philippians. Mr. Audley felt that he
had a sympathizing listener, and was not slow to tell the whole story
of the family--what the father had been, what Felix now was, and how
his influence and that of little Lancelot had told upon their young
inmate. The Bishop listened with emotion, and said, 'I must see that
boy! Is the mother in a state in which she would like a call from me?'
but there an interruption had come; and when the country clergy came in
the morning, Mr. Audley had thought it fittest not to swell the numbers
unnecessarily, and had kept himself out of the way, and tried to keep
his fellow-curate.
So he had seen no more of the Bishop, until, some little time after he
and Fernan had lunched, and were, it must be confessed, making up for
their unrestful nights by having both dropped asleep, one on his chair,
the other on the sofa, there came a ring to the door, and Lance, who
had a strong turn for opening it, found himself face to face with the
same tall grey-haired gentleman at whom he had gazed in the rochet and
lawn-sleeves. He stood gazing up open-mouthed.
'I think I have seen you in the choir, and heard you too,' said the
Bishop, kindly taking Lance's paw, which might have been cleaner had he
known what awaited it. 'Mr. Audley lives here, I think.'
Lance was for once without a word to say for himself, though his
mouth remained open. All he did was unceremoniously to throw wide Mr.
Audley's door, and bolt upstairs, leaving his Lordship to usher himself
in, while Mr. Audley started up, and Ferdinand would have done the
same, had he been able, before he was forbidden.
There was a kindly talk upon his health and plans, how he was to
remain at Bexley till after Easter and his first Communion, and then
Mr. Audley would take him up to London to be inspected by a first-rate
surgeon before going down to the tutor's. The tutor proved to be an
old school-fellow and great friend of the Bishop; and what Fernan
heard of him from both the friend and pupil would have much diminished
his dread, even if he had not been in full force of the feeling that
whatever served to bind him more closely to the new world of blessing
within the Church must be good and comfortable.
This visit over, the Bishop asked whether Mrs. Underwood would like
to be visited, and Mr. Audley went up to ascertain. She was a woman
who never was happy or at rest in an untidy room, or in disordered
garments, and all was in as fair order as it could be with the old
furniture, that all Wilmet's mending could not preserve from the verge
of rags. Her widow's cap and soft shawl were as neat as possible, and
so were the little ones in their brown-holland, Theodore sitting at her
feet, and Stella on Wilmet's lap, where she was being kept out of the
way of the more advanced amusement of a feast of wooden tea-things,
carried on in a corner between Angela and Bernard, under Lance's
somewhat embarrassing patronage.
Alda sprang up, stared about in consternation at the utter unlikeness
to the drawing-room in Kensington Palace Gardens, and exclaimed, 'Oh!
if Sibby had only come to take the children out! Take them away, Lance.'
'Sibby will come presently, or I will take them to her,' whispered
Wilmet. 'I should like them just to have his blessing.'
'So many,' sighed Alda; but meantime Mr. Audley had seen that all was
right at the first _coup d'oeil_, had bent over Mrs. Underwood, told
her that the Bishop wished to call upon her, and asked her leave to
bring him up; and she smiled, looked pleased, and said, 'He is very
kind. That is for your Papa, my dears. You must talk to him, you know.'
The Bishop came up almost immediately, and the perfect tranquillity and
absence of flutter fully showed poor Mrs. Underwood's old high-bred
instinct. She was really gratified when he sat down by her, after
greeting the three girls, and held out his hands to make friends with
the lesser ones, whom their sisters led up, Angela submissive and
pretty behaved, Bernard trying to hide his face, and Stella in Wilmet's
arms staring to the widest extent of eyes. The sisters had their
wish--the fatherless babes received the pastoral blessing; and the
Bishop said a few kind words of real sympathy that made Mrs. Underwood
look up at him affectionately and say, 'Indeed I have much to be
thankful for. My children are very good to me.'
'I am sure they are,' said the Bishop. 'I cannot tell you how much I
respect your eldest son.'
The colour rose in the pale face. 'He is a very dear boy,' she said.
'I should like to see him before I go. Is he at home?'
'Lance shall run and call him,' said Alda; but the Bishop had asked
where he was, and Wilmet had, not unblushingly, for she was red with
pleasure, but shamelessly, answered that he was at Mr. Froggatt's,
offering to send Lance in search of him.
'I had rather he would show me the way,' said the Bishop. 'Will you, my
boy?'
The way to Mr. Froggatt's was not very long, but it was long enough to
overcome Lance's never very large amount of bashfulness; and he had
made reply that he went to the Grammar School, and was in the second
form, that he liked singing in the choir better than--no, not than
_anything_--anything except--except what? Oh a jolly good snow-balling,
or a game at hockey. Did he like the school? Pretty well, on the whole;
but he did not suppose he should stay there long, his brother at the
Clergy Orphan said there was such a lot of cads, and that he was always
grubbing his nose among them; but now, 'do you really think now that
cads are always such bad fellows?'
His Lordship was too much diverted to be easily able to speak, but he
observed that it depended on what was meant by a cad.
'That's just it!' exclaimed Lance. 'I'm sure some that he calls cads
are as good fellows as any going.'
'And what does your eldest brother say?'
'Felix! Oh! he does not mind, as long as one does not get into a real
scrape.'
'And then?'
'Oh, then he minds so much that one can't do it, you know.'
'What, does he punish you?'
'N--no--he never licks any of us now--but he is so horridly sorry--and
it bothers him so,' said Lance. 'Here's old Froggatt's,' he concluded,
stopping at the glass door. 'My eyes! what a sight of parsons!' (Lance
had pretty well forgotten whom he was talking to.) 'There, that's
Felix--no, no, not that one serving Mr. Burrowes, that's Redstone;
Felix is out there, getting out the sermon paper for that fat one, and
that's old Froggy himself, bowing away. Shall I go and call Felix? I
suppose he will not mind this time.'
'No, thank you, I will go in myself. Good-bye, my little guide, and
thank you.'
And Lance, when his hand came out of the Bishop's, found something
in it, which proved to be a tiny Prayer-book, and moreover a
half-sovereign. He would have looked up and thanked, but the Bishop and
that 'fat one' were absorbed in conversation on the step; and when he
turned over the leaves of the little blue morocco book, with its inlaid
red cross, he found full in his face, in the first page, the words,
'Lancelot Underwood, March 15th, 1855,' and then followed an initial,
and a name that utterly defeated Lance's powers, so that perceiving the
shop to be far too densely full of parsons for him to have a chance
there, he galloped off at full speed to Cherry, who happily could
interpret the contracted Latin by the name of the See, and was not
_quite_ so much astonished as Lance, though even more gratified.
Meantime, the Bishop had made his way to the bowing Mr. Froggatt, and
asked to speak with him in his private room, where he mentioned his
kindness to young Underwood, and was answered by a gratified disclaimer
of having done anything that was not of great advantage to himself.
The good man seemed divided between desire to do justice to Felix and
not to stand in his light, and alarm lest he should have to lose an
assistant whom he had always known to be above his mark, and who was
growing more valuable every month; and he was greatly relieved and
delighted when the Bishop only rejoiced at his character of Felix, and
complimented the Pursuivant by being glad that a paper of such good
principles should be likely to have such a youth on its staff; it had
been well for the lad to meet with so good a friend. Mr. Froggatt could
not be denied an eulogium on the father, for whose sake he had first
noticed the son; and when the Bishop had expressed his sorrow at never
having known so bright a light as all described the late Curate to have
been, he courteously regretted the interruption on a busy day, but he
begged just to see the young man. He had little time himself, 'but if
he could be spared to walk up to the station--'
Mr. Froggatt bustled out with great alacrity, and taking the charge of
the customer on himself, announced, for the benefit of all who might be
within earshot: 'Mr. Underwood, his Lordship wishes to speak with you.
He wishes you to walk up to the station with him. You had better go out
by the private door.'
Felix was red up to the ears. His eight years' seniority to Lance were
eight times eight more shyness and embarrassment, but he could only
obey; and at his first greeting his hand was taken--'hoped to have seen
you sooner,' the Bishop said; 'but you had always escaped me in the
vestry.'
'I had to go to help my sister, my Lord,' said Felix.
'And your friend,' said the Bishop. 'That is a good work that has been
done in your house.'
Felix coloured more, not knowing what to say.
'I wish to see you,' continued the Bishop, 'partly to tell you how much
I honour you for the step you have taken. I wish there were more who
would understand the true uprightness and dutifulness of thinking no
shame of any honest employment. I am afraid you do sometimes meet with
what may be trying,' he added, no doubt remembering Lady Price's tone.
'I do not care now, not much. I did at first,' said Felix.
'No one whose approval is worth having can consider yours really a loss
of position. You are in a profession every one respects, and you seem
to have great means of influence likely to be open to you.'
'So my father said, when he consented,' said Felix.
'I shall always regret having just missed knowing your father. Some
passages in that book of his struck me greatly. But what I wished to
say was to ask whether there is any way in which I can be useful to you
in the education of any of the younger ones, or--'
'Thank you, my Lord,' said Felix. 'I think you kindly voted for my
brothers last year for the Clergy Orphan school. Only one got in, and
if you would vote again for little Lancelot--'
'My droll little companion, who Mr. Audley tells me did so much for
that poor young American.'
'Indeed he did,' said Felix. 'I doubt if any of us would have got at
him but for Lance, who did not mean anything but good-nature all the
time.'
'He is just the boy I want for our Cathedral school.' And then he
went on to explain that a great reformation was going on. There was
a foundation-school attached to the Cathedral, with exhibitions at
the University, to which the Cathedral choristers had the first
claim. There had been, of course, a period of decay, but an excellent
Precentor had been just appointed, who would act as head master; and
the singing-boys would be kept on free of expense after their voices
became unavailable, provided that by such time they had passed a
certain examination. Such a voice as Lance's was sure to recommend
him; and besides, the Bishop said with a smile, he wanted to raise the
character of the school, and he thought there was the stuff _here_ that
would do so.
Felix could only be thankful and rejoiced; but it was a pang to think
of Lance being as entirely separated from home as was Clement; with
no regular holidays, and always most needed at his post at the great
festivals. There was something in his tone that made the Bishop say,
'You do not like to part with him?'
'No, my Lord; but I am glad it should be so. My father was not happy
about--things here, and charged me to get my brothers away when I
could.'
'And as to holidays, you are near at hand, and most of the choir are
of our own town. I think he may generally be spared for a good term at
each holiday time. The organist is very considerate in giving leave of
absence, even if he should turn out to have a dangerously good voice
for solos. I will let you know when to send him up for examination,
which he will pass easily. Good-bye. You must write to me if there is
anything for me to do for you. One month more, and your father would
have been one of my clergy, remember.'
Felix went back, flushed with gratification, and yet, to a certain
degree, with confusion, and not exactly liking the prospect of being
interrogated as to what the Bishop had said to him: indeed, he never
told the whole of it to any one but Cherry. Somehow, though Wilmet was
his counsellor and mainstay, Geraldine was the sharer of all those
confidences that came spontaneously out of the full but reserved heart.
Besides, Wilmet was at present in such a trance of enjoyment of her
twin sister, that she seemed scarcely able to enter into anything else.
She went through her duties as usual, but with an effort to shake off
her absorption in the thought of having Alda at home; and every moment
she was not in sight of her darling seemed a cruel diminution of her
one poor fortnight. Indeed it was _tête-à-têtes_ that her exclusive
tenderness craved above all; and she was often disappointed that Alda
should be willing to go and visit Fernan Travis when they might have
had a quarter of an hour together alone. How much more selfish she must
have grown than Alda in this last half year!
Alda's talk was indeed full of interest, and gave a much better notion
of her way of life than her letters did. She seemed to have been
fully adopted as a daughter of the house, and to enjoy all the same
privileges as Marilda; indeed, she had a good deal more credit with
all varieties of teachers, since she learnt rapidly and eagerly; and
Marilda, while encouraging her successes, without a shade of jealousy,
made no attempt to conquer her own clumsiness and tardiness. Even 'Aunt
Mary,' as Alda called Mrs. Thomas Underwood, often had recourse to Alda
for sympathy in her endeavours to be tasteful, and continually held her
up as an example to Marilda.
'And poor dear good woman,' said Alda, 'she has such a respect for
Underwood breeding and our education, that I believe I could persuade
her into anything by telling her it was what she calls "_comifo_."
Even when she was going to get the boudoir done with apple-green
picked out with mauve, enough to set one's teeth on edge, and Marilda
would do nothing but laugh, she let me persuade her into a lovely pale
sea-green.'
'Is not sea-green too delicate for her?' asked Cherry.
'Why, it was very wicked of Edgar, to be sure, but he said that it
was to suit the nymph reining in the porpoises. He made a sketch, and
Marilda was delighted with it; she really is the most good-natured
creature in the world.'
'She must be!' ejaculated Wilmet; 'but surely she ought not to like
laughing at her mother.'
'Oh, everybody laughs at Aunt Mary, and she hardly ever finds it out,
and when she does, she does not mind! Even old Mrs. Kedge, her mother,
does nothing but laugh at her for trying to be fine. Old Granny is not
a bit by way of being a lady, you know; she lives in a little house in
the city with one maid, and I believe she rubs her own tables. I am
sure she goes about in omnibuses, though she has lots of money; and
Marilda is so fond of her, and so like her, only not so clever and
shrewd.'
'But why does she live in such a small way?'
'Because she never was used to anything else, and does not like it. She
hates grand servants, and never will come to Kensington Palace Gardens;
but she really is good-natured. She told Clement to drop in on her
whenever he likes, and bring any of his friends; and she always gives
them a superb piece of plum-cake, and once she took them to the Tower,
and once to the Zoological Gardens, for she thinks that she cannot do
enough to make up to them for being bred up to be little monks, with
cords and sandals, and everything popish.'
'You don't let her think so?'
'Well, really when she has got a thing into her head nothing will
uproot it; and, after all, they do carry things very far there, and
Clement goes on so that I don't wonder.'
'Goes on how?'
'Why, just fancy, the other day when Uncle Thomas fetched him in his
brougham because I was coming home, there he sat at luncheon and would
not eat a scrap of meat.'
'Ah! it was a Wednesday in Lent,' said Cherry.
'Only a Wednesday, you know; and _there_, with four or five strange
people, too. One of them asked if he was a Catholic, and of course
Clement looked very wise, and greatly pleased, and said, "Yes, he
was;" and that brought down Aunt Mary with her heavy artillery. "Bless
me, Clement, you don't say so. Is Mr. Fulmort really gone over?"
"Yes," said Clem. (I know he did it on purpose.) "He is gone over to
preach at St. Peter's." And then one of the gentlemen asked if Clem
meant Mr. Fulmort of St. Matthew's, Whittingtonia, and when he said
"Yes, he lived in the clergy house," he began regularly to play him
off, asking the most absurd questions about fasts and feasts and
vigils and decorations, and Clem answered them all in his prim little
self-sufficient way, just as if he thought he was on the high-road to
be St. Clement the Martyr, till I was ready to run away.'
'Couldn't you have given him a hint?' asked Wilmet.
'My dear, have you lived twelve years with Clem without knowing that
hints are lost on him?'
'Dear Clem, he is a very good steady-hearted little fellow,' said
Cherry. 'It was very nice of him.'
'Well, I only hope he'll never come to luncheon again in Lent. There
are times and seasons for everything, and certainly not for display!
And to make it worse, Marilda is the most literal-minded girl. Fasting
was quite a new mind to her, for she never realises what she does
not see; and she got Clem into a corner, where I heard him going on,
nothing loth, about days of abstinence, out of Mr. Fulmort's last
catechizing, I should think; and ended by asking what Cousin Edward
did, so that I fully expected that I should find her eating nothing,
and that I should be called to account.'
'And what did you tell her then?'
'Oh, you know I could say quite truly that he did not.'
'I don't think that was quite fair,' said Wilmet gravely. 'You know it
was only because he really could not.'
'You don't know how glad I was to have an answer that would hinder the
horrid commotion we should have had if Marilda had taken to fasting.
And, after all, you _know_, Papa would have said minding her mother was
her first duty.'
'Why did not you tell her that?'
'I have, dozens of times; but you know there are mothers and mothers,
and nobody can always mind Aunt Mary, good soul! Marilda has just made
herself, with her own good rough plain sense. I wish she was a man,
she would be a capital merchant like her father; but it is hard to be
a great heiress, with nothing she really likes to do. She is always
longing to come down to Centry, and tramp about the lanes among the
cottages.'
'Oh! I wish they would!'
'I don't think Aunt Mary will ever let them, she hates the country; and
though she likes to have a place for the name of the thing, she does
not want to live there, especially where there are so many of us; and
then, Felix's situation!'
'For shame, Alda!'
'Well, I did not say anything myself. It is only Aunt Mary--it is very
foolish of people, but, you see, they _will_. As to Marilda, I believe
she would like to stand behind the counter with him this minute.'
'Marilda is the oddest and best girl I ever heard of!'
'You may say that. And so ignorant she was! She had a great
velvet-and-gold Church Service, and hardly guessed there was any Bible
or Prayer-Book besides. I am sure Felix cannot have had more work to
teach that youth than I have had with Marilda. Such a jumble as she had
picked up! She really had only little baby prayers to say, till she saw
my book.'
'What a blessing you must be to her!' said Wilmet, fondly looking at
her sister.
'Well, I do hope so. You must know she was regularly struck with dear
Papa. I am sure he is the first saint in her calendar, and everything
is--"What did Cousin Edward say?" And when once she has made up her
mind that a thing is right, she will blunder on through fire and water,
but she will do it.'
'Then,' said Cherry, 'she ought to try and learn, and not to be awkward
because of obedience.'
Alda burst out laughing. 'People can only do what they can. Marilda
trying to be graceful would be worse than Marilda floundering her own
way. But she really is the best and kindest girl living, and she gets
on much better for having me to keep her out of scrapes.'
Wilmet went to bed that night thankful to have Alda's head on the
pillow beside her, and most thankful for the tokens that she watched
among her brothers and sisters, which showed how much her father's
influence was extending beyond his short life.