SEEN LAST.
"No!" Hermione said aloud, as this question came strongly into her
mind. "No, I could not do that! And to stoop to what Miss Dalton
proposes! To make it a matter of county gossip, under her leadership!
No, indeed! I would rather be penniless all my life."
Pride and principle had both a share in this decision. She struck
a wax match, lighted one of the small green candles affixed to her
davenport, and wrote a brief note without hesitation.
"WESTFORD HALL."
"DEAR MISS DALTON,—Thanks for your kind letter just
received. I am interested, of course, in what you tell
me about my dear grandfather's intentions, but I must
beg of you on no account to let the matter go farther.
I should be distressed if it were generally known.
The letter to Mr. Ogilvie was of course written
in confidence.—Excuse haste, and believe me,
yours truly,"
"HERMIONE RIVERS."
Hermione read her note through. "Yes, that will do," she murmured.
"They are the sort of people that one has to be very decided with.
And all this in consequence of one call, and one favour accepted!
Should I find myself frightfully in their power, after weeks in the
house? I wonder if, after all, it might be better not—"
She did not finish the sentence even to herself, but went to place
her note with other letters in the hall ready for the post. Then the
carriage drove up, and she waited to welcome her cousin.
Harvey came in listlessly. His altered looks did not strike Hermione,
since she had been to the cottage two or three times since the
accident. Her greeting was kind but pre-occupied, so much pre-occupied
that she even forgot to ask how Julia was. Mrs. Trevor extended three
gloved fingers, with a careless "How do?" and preceded the others
into the drawing-room, exclaiming, "No lights! Well, that is cheerful,
I must say. Only a single farthing dip! You seem to be doing things
economically!"
This was addressed to Hermione, and Hermione answered—
"I have been busy. I do not know why Slade has not brought lights."
Slade, following with an armful of wraps, cast one reproachful look.
"Yes, I remember, I said I would ring," continued Hermione. "But it
does not matter. We will have lights now."
"It may not matter to you. It matters a good deal to me," Mrs. Trevor
responded in aggrieved tones. "After a dismal drive in the dark
to come to a room looking like a tomb! I declare it gives me the cold
shivers all over. Do make a blaze with the fire, Harvey. And not
a sign of tea! I suppose we are not expected to care for
creature-comforts. You had yours, no doubt, an hour ago."
"No; I have waited," was the frigid reply.
Mrs. Trevor showed no gratitude. She shrugged her shoulders, muttered
"Economical!" and eat down with her feet on the fender. "Where is
Mittie?" came next.
"I do not know."
"Banished to the housekeeper's room, no doubt!"
Hermione really was trying to be patient, in consideration of Harvey's
tired look. Somehow, that which went before had drawn her nearer
to her cousin. She felt as if a conspiracy were afoot to rob him
for her benefit, and the better part of her nature was called up.
Whatever old Mr. Dalrymple ought to have done and had not done,
Hermione did not feel that Harvey was to blame for the state of
things. But Mrs. Trevor's manner was exasperating to the proud girl.
"I do not know," she repeated. Mrs. Trevor turned to Slade, who had
brought in the lamp and was drawing the curtains. "Tell Milton to send
Miss Mittie here," she said.
Slade responded with his usual composure, but in three minutes
he returned alone.
"Mrs. Milton has not seen Miss Mittie all the afternoon, ma'am."
"Then where has she been? Who has seen her?"
"Mrs. Milton was under the impression, ma'am, that Miss Mittie was
with Miss Rivers."
"Under the impression! Why couldn't she make sure?" cried Mrs. Trevor
indignantly. "She might have known better than to suppose anything
of the sort. I have no doubt the poor child has been upstairs in one
of those fireless rooms, catching her death of cold. Do, pray, find
her at once, and send her here. I'm too chilly to stir."
Slade quitted the room with evident intent to obey, and she called
after him, "No, you had better bring up the tea, and send somebody
else to look, for we are half famished."
"If I had known when you would really arrive, I could have had the tea
waiting," said Hermione.
"I told you as much as I knew myself. Slade might have had the
tea-things here ready, at all events. But of course that was too much
trouble for anybody to think of. I should have fancied that the
child's existence might have been remembered by somebody."
Tea came in, and Hermione began to pour it out in silence. Slade put
down the silver cake-basket in its right place, then said—
"Miss Mittie is not upstairs, ma'am."
"Not upstairs? But she must be?" exclaimed Mrs. Trevor, aghast. "Where
else can she have gone?"
"Mrs. Milton and the maids have looked into all the rooms, ma'am,
and Miss Mittie is not to be found."
"She can't be out of doors. It is absurd, at this hour. Of course
she can't. When did anybody see her last?"
"Mrs. Milton saw her for a minute after luncheon, ma'am—some little
time after. Mrs. Milton was very busy, and Miss Mittie said she was
going to speak to Miss Rivers."
"Yes; she came to me," Hermione observed calmly. "She asked when you
were expected to arrive."
"Was that all?"
"Not quite. I was busy, and could not attend to her. She said
something, I think, about going out to get some flowers, I did not
exactly hear what."
"Didn't hear, and didn't care! What o'clock was that?"
"I am not sure. It may have been about half-past three."
"Mittie is most probably at the Rectory," said Harvey.
"No, sir; I thought of that. But Mrs. Milton says that Mr. and Miss
Fitzalan are absent for the day. Miss Mittie told Mrs. Milton so;
and also Mrs. Milton knows that Miss Mittie intended to be at home
when Mrs. Trevor should arrive."
"She may be at the Rectory all the same," said Harvey. "Somebody had
better go and inquire. Yes—you will be the best. If not there, you may
hear of her elsewhere. Unless she has gone to sleep in some corner of
the house. That is as likely as anything. Another cup of tea, please."
Hermione complied with the request, trying to conquer a sense of
uneasiness. Why had she not attended to the little one's wants,
instead of so curtly repelling her? That brief scene did not look
beautiful now, seen as a thing of the past. She felt half disposed
to go and search for Mittie herself, only Mrs. Trevor's manner was so
annoying. Pride protested, and she sat still. Mrs. Trevor muttered
something and vanished, and presently Harvey followed her. Hermione
could hear the sound of feet on the stairs, passing up and down,
of doors opened and shut, of Mittie's name loudly called. It did not
seem kind or gracious that she should remain here alone, taking no
share in the search, and Hermione, suddenly ashamed, stood up,
purposing to help.
But it was too late. Mrs. Trevor came in alone, walked to the rug,
and turned upon Hermione a flushed face of disquiet.
"Mittie is not in the house or at the Rectory," she said in a hard
hoarse voice. "Slade can hear nothing of her. Not a soul in the place
has seen or spoken to the child—since you!"
Hermione's heart sank. "It is extraordinary," she said.
"Extraordinary! Is that all you have to say?"
"No—I am sorry—" Hermione began, forcing herself to be composed.
She was going to say, "I am sorry I did not look after her more."
"A nice sort of sorrow! When you can sit here, amusing yourself,
not even taking the trouble to walk upstairs and look for her. Oh, you
needn't go now. She is not there. Nobody knows where she is, the poor
little darling! Unless you do!"
Hermione kept cold silence.
"I'm not sure that you don't. I believe there's something more in it
than any of us know. She spoke to you last. Why should she have gone
away and hidden herself directly after? What did you say to her, pray?
Speak, girl! What have you done to my child?"
Mrs. Trevor stamped one foot angrily. She seemed to be almost beside
herself with grief and wrathful suspicion. Hermione grew pale.
"I have done nothing to Mittie. You are wrong and cruel to accuse me.
She wanted flowers from the conservatory, and I was too busy to see
to it. She said she would go out. Nothing more passed."
"Nothing more than an ordinary snubbing, I suppose. Poor pet!
she wasn't used to snubbings before she came here. It was left to a
saintly being like yourself to teach her what that sort of thing
means."
"You are hard upon me—for what I cannot possibly help," Hermione said
with difficulty.
"You could have helped it! Common attention to the child was all that
was needed. Hard upon you! As if this were the only time! As if it had
not been going on ever since we came to Westford! Oh, you count
yourself an immaculate being, I know, but I can tell you other people
don't hold the same opinion. You may be an angel among the cottagers,
but you're not at all an angel in your own home. Talk of religion!
I'm sick of the word. You just care to please yourself, and that's
all. Your religion is to do what you like! It's selfishness out and
out! You haven't even the bare kindness to look after a poor forlorn
child left in your charge. Oh, you were too busy, of course—about your
own concerns—and my poor Mittie just had to take her chance. All I can
say is, that if ever I want religion, I'll not come to you for it.
I'll go to somebody who acts instead of talking. I don't believe in
such saintliness as yours. It's all a sham and a delusion,—nothing but
show! There! I've told you plainly, for once, what I think. I don't
care whether you like it or not."
Mrs. Trevor hurried away, and Hermione stood as if stunned, white to
the lips, shuddering all over with long shivers as if of bodily pain.
For the arrow had struck home.