THE DEMON UNVEILED.
“Such a scene as I have had with that meddlesome old uncle of mine!”
said Mrs. Dainty to Mrs. Jeckyl. The two ladies met in the room of the
latter, whither Mrs. Dainty repaired as soon as Mr. Fleetwood, hopeless
of gaining any influence over her, had retired, discomfited, from the
field of controversy.
“On what subject?” inquired the new governess.
“Oh, about you!” said Mrs. Dainty.
“About me? What about me?” The small, gray eyes of Mrs. Jeckyl
lightened.
“I told you that Miss Harper, that abominable girl I sent off to-day,
was a pet of his.”
“Ah, yes; I remember. Well, there’s one thing very certain, madam:
he’ll find no pet or plaything in me!” There was the look of an ogre
in the woman’s skinny face. “I met him on the stairs an hour ago: one
glance told me his character. I read him like a book.”
“How did you read him?” asked Mrs. Dainty.
“He’s an old cot-betty! A thing I despise!” said Mrs. Jeckyl, with
contempt.
“He’s kind-hearted.” Mrs. Dainty uttered a word of apology for Uncle
John. It came from her lips almost unbidden.
“Kind-hearted! Any fool may be kind-hearted,” said Mrs. Jeckyl, “and
yet be very annoying in his folly. I never had much fancy for what are
called kind-hearted people by way of apology for a thousand annoying
vices and defects of character.”
“Uncle John has few defects of character, and no vices.” Mrs. Dainty
could not help this just defence of her excellent relative.
“By your own showing, madam,” said Mrs. Jeckyl, affecting a pleasant
tone, “he is very much inclined to be meddlesome in your affairs: that
I call a vice. If you think the appellation too severe, you can call
the peculiarity by another name. I can’t tolerate such men!”
“I don’t ask your toleration of him. Only avoid, if possible, giving
offence. For my mother’s sake, if not for his own, I must bear with him
and treat him with all considerate kindness.”
“I’ll manage him,” said Mrs. Jeckyl. “So don’t give yourself any
trouble about his interference with my duties or privileges in the
house.”
There was considerable modification in the tone and manner of Mrs.
Jeckyl. She saw that she had shown her rough side a little too plainly,
and that there were reasons why Mrs. Dainty could not ignore Uncle John
altogether.
“You must bear as kindly as possible with his peculiarities. He
means well,” said Mrs. Dainty, as a very feeling sense of her many
obligations to Uncle John, past, present, and to come, grew distinct in
her mind.
“He won’t trouble me any.” Mrs. Jeckyl smiled in a lamb-like way,—or,
rather, tried so to smile. But the effort was one so unusual to her
that she failed in the result; and Mrs. Dainty was in some doubt as to
the meaning of the curious expression that came into the woman’s face.
She had visited the room of Mrs. Jeckyl for the purpose of having a
very free talk about Uncle John, and also for the purpose of settling
with that lady some very decided plans of operation in regard to him.
But the spirit in which Mrs. Jeckyl showed herself disposed to act
rather cooled her ardor, and set her to thinking in a new direction.
The conference closed almost abruptly, and little to the satisfaction
of either party. Mrs. Dainty more than half repented of her hasty
action in taking this strange woman into the house and giving over
her children to a guardianship and an influence that might be for
evil instead of good. When her husband questioned her, she put as bold
a face upon the matter as was possible,—denouncing Miss Harper in
unmeasured terms, and extolling the educated, accomplished English lady
whom she had been so fortunate as to secure in her place.
“It is best, sometimes, to let well-enough alone,” said Mr. Dainty,
on learning from his wife the change she had seen proper to make in a
matter of so much importance. “And I think Miss Harper was at least
well enough.”
This was all he remarked, and Mrs. Dainty saw it best to leave the
matter, so far as he was concerned, just there. His easy indifference
left her generally free to do about as she pleased: so, whenever he
failed of prompt acquiescence in any course she designed to take, she
pursued the easy policy of not disturbing his mind on the subject.
“Oh, she’s hateful! I’ll get a gun and shoot her!” It was little
George who thus freely expressed his indignant appreciation of the new
governess. He was talking to Madeline; and they were near enough to
their mother’s door to be heard distinctly.
“I wish Miss Harper was back again,” said Madeline. Her voice had a
mournful sound in the ears of Mrs. Dainty. “I loved her so.”
“Miss Harper was good, but this old woman is hateful. What made you
sit in her lap and lean your head against her?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t help it,” replied Madeline, still speaking
in a kind of plaintive way. “I wish mother would send her out of the
house. I’m afraid of her.”
“I’m not afraid of her!” spoke out little George, boldly. “And I don’t
mean to say a single lesson.”
“That won’t be right,” said Madeline. “She is our teacher, you know.”
“She isn’t my teacher if I don’t choose; and I don’t choose,” responded
young America. “I’ll say my lessons to Miss Harper; and I won’t say
them to anybody else.”
“Madeline dear!” It was a new voice among the interlocutors, and the
tones send a strange thrill among the nerves of Mrs. Dainty.
All was silent for some moments. The presence of the new-comer seemed
to have thrown a spell over the children.
“Come, dear; I want to show you something beautiful I have in my room.”
Mrs. Dainty sat breathlessly still, listening. There was the sound as
of a child rising slowly from the floor.
“Come, George.” It was the same voice.
“A’n’t a-going to!” was the quick, sturdy reply.
“Yes, George; come. I’ve got some beautiful things up in my room.”
“Don’t go, Madeline!” said George. “She’s got a snake up there, and
it’ll bite you! I saw it as I passed her door!”
“You wicked little wretch!” exclaimed Mrs. Jeckyl, thrown for a moment
off her guard. “How dare you utter such a falsehood?”
“Mother!” It was the voice of Madeline, and its low tones came to Mrs.
Dainty’s ears with such an appealing fear in them that she repressed
only by a strong effort an impulse to rush forth into the passage and
catch the child up in her arms. But she sat still and listened.
“Don’t go, Maddy!” persisted George, nothing daunted. “She _has_ got a
snake there. I saw it.”
A wild cry of fear now broke from the lips of Madeline, that went
thrilling through the house. Mrs. Dainty sprung from her room and
caught the child from Mrs. Jeckyl’s grasp. As she did so, Madeline
shrunk against and clung to her, while her whole frame quivered as you
have felt a bird quiver in your hand.
“What ails you, dear?” Mrs. Dainty laid her face down upon the child’s
face, and spoke very tenderly.
“It’s that wicked little boy of yours,” said Mrs. Jeckyl, “who has
been frightening her with the story of a snake in my room. How dare you
do so, sir?”
“Well, so you have!” persisted little Don’t Care. “I saw it. There it
is now, in your bosom! See! If its head isn’t peeping out alongside of
your neck!”
It was now Mrs. Jeckyl’s turn to start and look frightened. So natural
and earnest was the boy’s tones, that even she was for a moment
deceived, and clutched convulsively at the imaginary snake.
“Too bad!” she exclaimed, recovering herself. “Too bad!”
Others soon joined the little group at the door of Mrs. Dainty’s
chamber; for the cry of Madeline had reached every ear in the dwelling.
Among the first to arrive was Uncle John.
“She did it!” cried George, pointing to Mrs. Jeckyl. “She did it!”
“Did what?” asked Uncle John.
“Frightened Maddy! She’s got a snake in her bosom! Take care!”
“A snake!” Uncle John looked puzzled.
“I saw it in her room; and she’s got it in her bosom now,” persisted
the little fellow, quite delighted in observing the storm he had
raised, and more delighted at the discomfiture of the enemy.
“You wicked little wretch!” exclaimed Mrs. Jeckyl, advancing toward the
boy.
George glided behind Uncle John, and, peering out from his place of
refuge, made a new attack.
“They’re in her eyes now! Don’t let her come near you, sister Aggy!
Take care, papa! _Old snake!_ She’s the mother of snakes! See! They’re
crawling all over her!”
A tiger about to spring upon his victim could not have glared with two
more cruel eyes than those that sought the form of little George.
“Silence!” cried Mr. Dainty, who had joined the excited company.
“Silence!” he repeated, sternly, as George attempted to speak again.
“What does all this mean?”
“It simply means,” said Mrs. Jeckyl, with forced composure, “that this
little boy of yours has frightened his sister with an improbable story
of a snake in my room. He seems to have a fruitful imagination, as he
now multiplies the snake by a score, and covers my body with them.”
Uncle John now observed Madeline, who stood with her face hidden upon
her mother’s bosom, and shrinking very closely to her, turn her head
slowly and look at Mrs. Jeckyl. Her countenance was pale, and her eyes
had a strange—almost terrified—expression. She gave only a single
glance, and then hid her face again, while a low shudder was seen
pervading her body.
“It is plain,” said Uncle John, taking advantage of the singular state
of affairs presented, and addressing the new governess, “that your
efforts to gain influence over these children have been unsuccessful,
and that, judging from the present state of affairs, such efforts in
the future will be hopeless. My advice to you, therefore, is to retire
immediately.”
“I have no knowledge of you, sir, in the case,” replied Mrs. Jeckyl,
growing at once self-possessed, and speaking with dignity. “I am here,
under regular engagement with Mrs. Dainty, to perform a service to her
children, for which I hold myself entirely competent, and to recede
from which under the reaction of simple child’s-play like this I am not
in the least inclined. Am I covered with snakes, sir?”
“Not literally,” replied Uncle John.
“Not literally! What am I to understand, sir, by your words?”
“Simply the meaning they convey to your mind. Nothing more.”
“Are there snakes in my eyes?” The woman was losing her forced
composure.
“Say yes, Uncle John! Say yes!” spoke out little George.
“If you look into a mirror, you can see for yourself,” replied the
old gentleman, who, now that he had come fairly into conflict with the
stranger, determined to adopt any mode of warfare that would drive her
from the house. “I don’t wonder that you frightened Madeline.”
“Uncle John!” Mrs. Dainty now made a feeble effort to speak in favor of
her new governess. “This is insufferable! Am I to have no control in my
own house? Are people to be insulted——”
“Oh, mother! mother! send her away!”
It was Madeline who interrupted Mrs. Dainty, as she lifted her face
with a look of such pleading fear that it checked her utterance. And
the shudder that thrilled the child’s frame was so strong that it sent
the blood coldly to her mother’s heart.
“Madam!” (Mr. Dainty now assumed the controlling power, and spoke to
Mrs. Jeckyl like a man who was in earnest,) “after this scene you
cannot remain here in any comfort to yourself, nor in any acceptance
in our family. I beg you, therefore, to retire from the house, and at
once.”
“Sir——” Mrs. Jeckyl made an effort to reply, but Mr. Dainty would have
no parley with her. “Madeline,” he said, laying his hand upon his wife
and speaking very firmly, “go into your room with Maddy and George; and
you, Agnes, leave us.”
There was no hesitation on the part of any thus addressed, for all,
except George, were more than glad to get out of the presence of Mrs.
Jeckyl. He,—little rebel!—as he went at his father’s bidding, looked
back over his shoulder, and called out,—
“Snakes! Snakes!”
As soon as Mrs. Jeckyl was alone with Mr. Dainty and Uncle John, and
found herself without any chance of holding the place she was in
reality particularly desirous to retain, she gave full course to her
indignant feelings, and for some minutes poured forth a torrent of
mad invective. Not a single word was said in reply; and so, like one
beating the air, she soon exhausted herself. Her departure was like the
lifting of a storm-cloud from the dwelling of Mr. Dainty; but the storm
did not pass without leaving some traces of its evil work. Scarcely had
Mr. Dainty seen this woman beyond the threshold, ere he was startled by
a cry of distress from his wife, and the eager calling of his name. On
reaching the chamber from which her voice came, he saw Madeline lying
upon the bed, pale and deathly in appearance; and when he laid his
hands upon her he found that she was rigid and insensible.