"When do you leave us, Philip?" inquired Mrs Rowland, putting her arm
within her brother's, and marching him up the gravel-walk.
"Do you wish me to go?" replied he, laughing. "Is this what you were so
anxious to say?"
"Why, we understood, six weeks since, that you meant to leave Deerbrook
in a fortnight: that is all."
"So I did: but my mother is kind enough to be pleased that I am staying
longer; and since I am equally pleased myself, it is all very well. I
rather think, too, that the children consider Uncle Philip a good boy,
who deserves a holiday."
"My mother! Oh, she always supposes everything right that you do; and
that is the reason why Mr Rowland and I--"
"The reason why Rowland and I agree so well," interrupted the brother.
"Yes, that is one reason, among many. Rowland's wish is to see the old
lady happy; and she is naturally happiest when she has both her children
with her; and for every merry hour of hers, your good husband looks the
more kindly upon me."
"Of course; all that is a matter of course; though you are not aware,
perhaps, of the fatigue it is to my mother to have any one with her too
long a time. She will not tell _you_; but you have no idea how low she
is for some time after you go away, if you have stayed more than a few
days, from exhaustion--from pure exhaustion. Ah! you do not perceive
it, because the excitement keeps her up while you are here; and she
naturally makes an effort, you know. But if you were to see her as we
do after you are gone;--you cannot think how it sets the Greys talking
about her low spirits."
"Poor soul! I wish I could be always with her. I will try whether I
cannot; for some time to come, at least. But, sister, how does it
happen that neither you nor Rowland ever told me this before?"
"Oh, we would not distress you unnecessarily. We knew it was an
unavoidable evil. You cannot always be here, and you must--"
"Yes, I must sometimes come: that is an unavoidable evil; and always
will be, sister, while I have a good old mother living here."
"My dear Philip, how you do misunderstand one! I never heard anything
so odd."
"Why odd? Have you not been giving me to understand, all this time,
that you do not wish to have me here,--that you want me to go away? If
not this, I do not know what you have been talking about."
"What an idea! My only brother! What can you be thinking of? Why upon
earth should I wish you anywhere else?"
"That you may manage my mother and her affairs all your own way, I
imagine."
Mrs Rowland had nothing to oppose to this plain speech but
exclamations. When she had exhausted all she could muster, she avowed
that the only consideration which could reconcile her to the sacrifice
of her dear brother's society was anxiety for his happiness.
"Then, supposing I am happiest here, we are all satisfied." And Uncle
Philip would have made a diversion from the path to give George his
favourite swing, quite up to the second branch of the great pear-tree.
"Pray let George swing himself for once, brother. Hold your tongue,
George! You are a very troublesome boy, and your uncle and I are busy.
It is about your own affairs, brother, that I want to open my mind to
you. As for your always remaining here, as you kindly hinted just
now--"
"I did not mean to hint," said Philip; "I thought I had spoken quite
plainly."
"Well, well. We all know how to appreciate the kindness of your
intentions, I am sure: but your happiness must not be sacrificed to the
good of any of us here. We can take care of one another: but, as it is
impossible that you should find a companion for life here, and as it is
time you were thinking of settling, we must not be selfish, and detain
you among us when you should be creating an interest elsewhere. Mr
Rowland and I are extremely anxious to see you happily married, brother;
and indeed we feel it is time you were thinking about it."
"I am glad of that, sister. I am somewhat of the same opinion myself."
"I rejoice to hear it," replied the lady, in a rather uneasy tone. "We
have been delighted to hear of these frequent visits of yours to the
Buchanans'. There is a strong attraction there, I fancy, Philip."
"Joe Buchanan is the attraction to me there. If you mean Caroline, she
has been engaged these three years to her brother's friend, Annesley."
"You do not say so! But you did not know it?"
"I have known it these two years, under the seal of secrecy. Ah!
sister, I have had many an hour's amusement at your schemes on my behalf
about Caroline Buchanan."
"I have been quite out, I see. When do you go to the Bruces', to make
the visit you were disappointed of at Christmas?"
"When they return from the Continent, where they are gone for three
years. Miss Mary is out of reach for three years, sister."
"Out of reach! You speak as if Paris,--or Rome, if you will,--was in
Australia. And even in Australia one can hardly speak of people being
out of reach."
"If one wishes to overtake them," said Mr Enderby: "whereas, I can wait
very well for the Bruces till they come home again. Now, no more,
sister! I cannot stand and hear the young ladies of my acquaintance
catalogued as a speculation for my advantage. I could not look them in
the face again after having permitted it."
"There is somebody in the schoolroom, I declare!" cried the lady, as if
astonished. And she stood looking from afar at the summer-house, in
which three heads were distinctly visible.
"Were you not aware of that before? Did you suppose I was asleep there,
or writing poetry all alone, or what? The Miss Ibbotsons are there, and
Miss Young."
"You remind me," said the lady, "of something that I declared to Mr
Rowland that I would speak to you about. My dear brother, you should
have some compassion on the young ladies you fall in with."
"I thought your great anxiety just now was that the young ladies should
have compassion upon me."
"One, Philip; the right one. But you really have no mercy. You are too
modest to be aware of the mischief you may be doing. But let me entreat
you not to turn the head of a girl whom you cannot possibly think
seriously of."
"Whom do you mean?"
"You may be making even more mischief than flattering the poor girl with
vain hopes. If you once let it get into the heads of the Greys that any
one belonging to us could think of marrying into their connection, you
do not know the trouble you will impose upon Mr Rowland and me."
"Does Rowland say so?"
"Does he say so? one would think--Dear me! brother, there is nothing one
might not think from your manner. You terrify me."
"Have you a pocket-mirror about you?" asked Philip. "I should like to
see what this terrible manner of mine is like."
"Now, pray, no joking, Philip. I declare my nerves will not bear it.
But I tell you what, Philip: if you let your old admiration of beauty
carry you away, and make you forget yourself so far as to dream of
marrying into that connection, you will repent it as long as you live.
I shall never forgive you; and you will kill our poor dear mother."
"I will ask her whether she thinks so," said Philip, "and I give you my
word of honour that I will not kill my mother."
"Girls seem to think that beauty is everything," continued the angry
lady, "and so do their connections for them. I declare Mrs Grey sits
winking at my mother when Miss Ibbotson has a colour, as if nobody ever
saw a good complexion before. I declare it makes me sick. Now, Philip,
you have been fairly warned; and if you fall into the trap, you will not
deserve any consideration from me."
"I have let you lay down the law to me, sister, in your own way, because
I know your way. Say what you please to me of myself and my affairs,
and a joke is the worst that will come of it. But I tell you gravely,
that I will not hear of traps--I will not hear imputations like those
you have just spoken against these young ladies or their connections,
without rebuke. You can know nothing of the Miss Ibbotsons which can
justify this conversation."
"I shall soon believe you are in love," cried the lady, in high
resentment.
"Only take care what grounds you go upon before you speak and act,
sister. In my turn, I give you fair warning how you take any measures
against them, even in your own inmost mind, without being quite sure
what you are about."
"You do not say now that you do not mean to have that girl?" cried Mrs
Rowland, fixing her fiery eyes upon her brother's face.
"Why should I? You have not set about obtaining my confidence in any
way which could succeed. If I am in love, it would not be easy to own
it upon such unwarrantable pressure. If I am not in love--"
"Ah! If you are not--"
"In that case I am disinclined to make my not caring for them the
condition, on which those young ladies may receive your civilities.
These civilities are due to them, whatever I may feel or intend; and my
respect for them is such that I shall keep my mind to myself."
"At least," said the lady, somewhat humbled, "do not be so much with
them. For my sake, do not go into the schoolroom again."
"I am sorry I cannot oblige you," said he, smiling, "but I must go at
this moment:--not to sit down,--not to speak five words, however,--but
only to get my hat. I have to go into the village, on an errand for the
children. Can I do anything for you in the village?"
"She thinks only of Hester, it is plain," thought he. "If I am to have
any more lectures and advice, I hope they will proceed on the same
supposition: it will make my part easier, and save my being driven to
assert my own will, and so plunging poor Priscilla into hysterics. I
can bear her interference, as long as Margaret's name is not on her
lips. The moment she casts an evil eye on her, I shall speak to
Rowland; which I had much rather avoid. It would be delicious, too, to
be _her_ protector, without her knowing it,--to watch over her as she
walks in her bright innocence,--to shield her--but from whom? From my
own sister? No! no! better keep her out of suspicion: better let it
pass that it is really Hester. Hester has plenty of friends to stand by
her. The Greys are so proud of her beauty, they have no eyes or ears
but for her. People who meddle with concerns they have no business
with, are strangely blind,--they make odd mistakes, from running away
with notions of their own, prepared beforehand. Here is everybody
determined that we shall all fall in love with Hester. Priscilla has
jumped to her conclusion at once,--perhaps in emulation of Mrs Grey.
Mrs Grey has clearly given Hester to Hope, in her own mind. I rather
think Hope would be obliged to her if she would not show so plainly what
is in her thoughts. I fear so,--I may be jealous,--but I am afraid Hope
and I are too much of the same mind about these girls. I will stand up
for Mrs Grey, as long as I live, if she proves right here. She shall
wink and nod for evermore, and I will justify her, if Hope turns out to
be in love with Hester. I will be the first to congratulate him, if he
succeeds with her: and really he would be a happy fellow. She is a
lovely creature; and how she will love whenever she does love! She
would be a devoted wife. Why cannot he see the matter so, and leave my
Margaret to me? Now, how will she look up as I go in?"
His vision of Margaret's looks remained a vision. No one was in the
schoolroom but Miss Young, writing a letter.
"They are not here!" said Mr Enderby.
"No; they are gone with Mrs Grey into the village, I believe."
"Oh, well, I only came for my hat. You are in the children's secret, of
course, Miss Young?"
"About their feast. Yes, I believe I know all about it."
"I am going to ask some important questions for them at the
confectioner's. You will not object to my bringing them a few good
things?"
"I? Oh, no."
"I would not act in so serious a matter without asking you. Can I be of
any use to you in the village? Or perhaps you may want some pens mended
before I go?"
"No, I thank you."
"Then I will not interrupt your letter any longer. Good morning."
It was a wonder that the letter was written at all. When Maria had done
leaning back in her chair, and had taken up her pen again, she was
disturbed by painful sounds from Mrs Rowland's garden. The lady's own
Matilda, and precious George, and darling Anna, were now pronounced to
be naughty, wilful, mischievous, and, finally, to be combined together
to break their mamma's heart. It was clear that they were receiving the
discharge of the wrath which was caused by somebody else. Now a wail,
now a scream of passion, went to Maria's heart. She hastened on with
her letter, in the hope that Mrs Rowland would presently go into the
house, when the little sufferers might be invited into the schoolroom,
to hear a story, or have their ruffled tempers calmed by some other such
simple means.
"What a life of discipline this is!" thought Maria. "We all have it,
sooner or later. These poor children are beginning early. If one can
but help them through it! There she goes in, and shuts the door behind
her! Now I may call them hither, and tell them something or another
about Una and her lion."
At the well-known sound of Miss Young's lame step, the little ones all
came about her. One ashamed face was hid on her shoulder; another was
relieved of its salt tears; and the boy's pout was first relaxed, and
then forgotten.