THE FIRST LETTER
"I consecrated my life to you from the moment when I first saw you,
and I feel a certain pleasure in sacrificing it to you."--_Letters of
a Portuguese Nun._
In all his well-conducted life Denzil Vanston had never stood at the
bedside of a beautiful young girl. His staid imagination had not
foreshadowed anything like this maiden, with her double halo of
mystery and suffering. His brother Felix, younger, harder, and more
callous, had felt compassion for the child's feminine helplessness,
but no perception of her rare charm.
Denzil, who never thought about women as a rule, perceived it at
once. He perceived also the flickering, wistful look, the varying
color with which she marked his entrance. Misunderstanding it
altogether--for how could he tell that she had been conscious of that
elusive, subtle, indescribable thing which we call family
likeness?--he sat down by the bedside with everything that was honest
and natural about him thoroughly stirred. He took the invalid's hand
and held it in his own, as he said they felt glad to know that she
was making a good recovery. Even as he spoke he was conscious of
some awkwardness. His aunt, he felt, had made a mistake. This was
no charity case, to be visited by anybody who was humane enough to
take the trouble--this was a young gentlewoman, whose privacy should
be respected. He grew scarlet with the feeling that he ought not to
be there.
He asked if she were quite content at Aylfleet; if everything was
being done for her comfort that could be done. Did she want books,
work, games, a kitten?--there were some charming kittens in a basket
at Normansgrave.
On that the grave lips smiled, and revealed a row of small milky
teeth--teeth which Levy had believed to be unique in the profession
for which Rona had been destined. Yes, she would like a kitten. She
liked books, too. Yes, she liked to be read aloud to. They had
often had books read to them in the Convent School. She felt better;
they were very kind. There was only one thing--she wanted to see her
brother, David Smith.
Denzil explained. David had gone to Basingstoke with the barge.
They had told him she could not be moved for some days. Complete
rest was necessary for the complaint from which she suffered. No
doubt she would hear from him soon. Would she tell them how her
accident happened?
She said, quite simply and without embarrassment, that she did not
know how much David would wish her to say. Bursting with curiosity,
Denzil had to curb it and ask no more. His imagination had never
been so piqued. His heart was on fire when he took leave, having
promised to come the following day and bring an interesting book and
read aloud to her.
On the way home he could talk of nothing else but the mysterious
unknown.
His aunt agreed that it was ridiculous to suppose her a member of the
lower classes. There was a mystery somewhere. They would find out
when the young man appeared. In her inmost heart Miss Rawson was
highly amused. Who would have thought of the sober-minded Denzil
being thus suddenly moved out of his ordinary groove? She thought it
would do him no harm, and with twinkling eyes saw him depart next
morning with Shirley in his pocket and hurry down through the
grounds, the short way to Aylfleet.
Meanwhile, Rona had received a letter. It was written in a very
labored hand, more like printing than writing, and dated simply
Basingstoke. Thus it ran:
"Private.--Not to be shown to anybody.
"MY DEAR RONA,--I am tormenting myself with the idea that you might
think I had deserted you. Indeed, that is not so. The lady that
took you away did not ask my leave. And I knew it was the only hope
for you. The people about the wharf at Dunhythe say that Miss Rawson
is kind. So I hope they are being good to you.
"You were too ill for me to explain anything to you.
"I think about you simply all the time. I am ready to do anything
for you that a man can do, if they will just keep you at the hospital
till you are well enough to travel, and I have earned the money to
take you to S....
"I got work in a timber-yard here, directly. Old Doggett spoke for
me. Miss Rawson tipped him well, so he has been very civil ever
since. He said I was well known to him, and they took me on, and the
old bad story of my having been in jail didn't have to come up. I am
working like anything, and Old Doggett says in three weeks' time he
will bring me back to Dunhythe for nothing.
"Of course, these people who are looking after you will ask you
questions. I have been thinking out the best way for you to answer
them. There is all about me in the papers, but not about you. Your
brute of an uncle has thought best to keep it dark. So it looks as
if we had got clear off, but it does not do to be too sure. How much
do they know? Do they guess that we escaped together? Sometimes
they will lie low, to tempt one out into the open. Our not being
together just now is the best thing to draw them off the scent.
"I think our line is to tell as little as possible, because we can't
tell the truth.
"It is no use to pretend we belong to the lowest class, because
nobody could believe it of you. Say that we are orphans, brother and
sister, and that our guardian, who is our uncle, took you from school
and got you a place as nursery governess, but that I found you were
not kindly treated, and were expected to work like a servant, and
they made you clean windows and you turned dizzy and fell and hurt
yourself, and that we settled to bolt together, and we don't intend
to be caught, so we will say no more.
"Don't give the name of the uncle, nor the school, nor the place
where you were when you had your accident.
"I inclose paper and a stamped addressed envelope for you to write to
me. I am working for you only. When they took you away I felt like
throwing myself into the canal, but I did no such thing, because I
have you to take care of. Keep up hope, get well as fast as you can,
and I will find out a way to keep you safe. Mind you let me know if
these people will let you stay three weeks, because if not I must
arrange to come for you sooner. But another week would be best, as I
must get some decent clothes, and my wages aren't much.
"I do fervently trust you are better.
"Your affect. brother,
"DAVID SMITH.
"P.S.--_On no account_ ask to see the papers, nor say anything of my
being in them. You had better tear up this letter."
This document was, upon the whole, most reassuring to Rona.
The situation was of such an unprecedented sort that it was consoling
to find that the memory of her flight was not a dream--that the young
man who had saved her had an actual existence, that he had not
forgotten her--that he was still prepared to stand by her.
The sole thing which puzzled her was a wonder why her new friend
should not wish them to tell the truth.
On this difficulty she bent her mind. They had done nothing of which
they need be ashamed. The kind lady who visited her, and the
benevolent Squire, would never think of handing back a young girl
into the power of such a man as Rankin Leigh. Then why not confess
their whole adventure?
Ah, of course, because of the sad secret in David Smith's past!
Naturally he did not like to be known as having been in jail. And
if, as he said, the account of his disappearance was in the papers,
to describe the circumstances fully would be to reveal his disgrace.
This seemed to explain the difficulty, and with all her warm,
unsophisticated heart, the young girl vowed that no word of hers
should ever betray the man who had done so much for her.
She lay making plans for the future, telling herself how hard she
would work, what she would do and be, for gratitude to the hand which
had snatched her out of the abyss. The knowledge that he was in the
world, working for her, coming to fetch her, eager to take charge of
her, just made all the difference. Her sleep was sounder and more
sweet that night than since her coming to the hospital. She looked
quite radiant next day when Denzil arrived, bearing, according to
promise, a story-book and a kitten in a basket.
It pleased him to see how the exquisite face lit up, and the lips
parted and the glorious eyes dilated at sight of the bundle of
chinchilla-colored fur. Sister Agnes, summoned to admire, provided a
rose-colored ribbon for the kitten's neck, and Rona, though not yet
allowed to sit upright, yet managed to adjust the bow, with hands
which were a delight to watch, so graceful, so adept were they.
Joyously she said that her brother had written, that he had found
work, and that he was going to fetch her in three weeks' time, or if
she could not be kept so long, a fortnight. Denzil had no doubt
about her being kept three weeks. He told Sister Agnes that so it
was to be. She was to be quite well by then. She must write to her
brother to-day and say there would be no difficulty at all.
Then he sat down to read, Rona busy with some knitting for which she
had begged, as she had been brought up never to have idle fingers.
But the kitten had a mind to a share in the proceedings, and the
reading was punctuated with childish squeals of delight from Rona,
and struggles between her and her new pet for the possession of the
ball of wool.
Before leaving, Denzil made another attempt to find out more
respecting the mystery surrounding the girl. But she told him simply
that her brother wished her not to say in what part of London she had
been employed, as they had run away together and did not wish to be
tracked.
"I expect he will tell you more when he comes," she said. "We have
nothing to be ashamed of; but we are hiding, for all that."
Denzil could not but feel deep disapproval of the situation. He
urged Rona to write and relieve the anxiety of those she had left.
He told her he feared her brother was not a good adviser for her, and
hinted that this was a post for which he himself was eminently
qualified, and which he would be glad to accept.
Rona was grateful, but stood firm. Much as he desired to know more,
he felt the fine quality of faith and loyalty in so young a girl. He
did wish that he could feel quite certain that there was nothing
discreditable in the mystery that surrounded her. People are not
usually in hiding without a reason, he reflected. He was beginning
to realize that this girl was having a curious, powerful,
unprecedented effect upon him. It would be terrible should it turn
out that she was really the sister of a youth who led a canal horse
along the towpath. Like most persons of mediocre ability, he was
much influenced by the dread of ridicule. He feared to make himself
ridiculous concerning the unknown maiden. His judgment approved her;
but he lacked confidence in his own judgment.
He walked back to Normansgrave, his mind occupied not as to the
tragic circumstances of his brother's disappearance, but about the
flight of a young servant girl from a harsh mistress with her
brother, a bargee!