BASIL'S OPINION.
At half-past eleven that day, Ermengarde found Basil waiting for her
in the shrubbery. He was walking up and down, whistling to himself,
and now and then turning round to say a pleasant word to a small white
kitten who sat on his shoulder and purred. Basil was devoted to
animals, and this kitten was a special favorite.
As Ermengarde advanced slowly through the trees to meet her brother,
she saw this little scene, and a very bitter feeling came over her.
"He can be kind to everyone but me," she thought. "Even a stupid
tiresome little cat can win kind glances from him. But I'm not going
to let him see that I care. If he expects perfection in me, the sooner
he is undeceived the better. And as for me, I suppose I can do without
his affection, if he won't give it."
Busy with these thoughts, Ermie's face wore its most stubborn
expression as she approached her brother. The moment Basil saw her,
he whisked the kitten off his shoulder, and came up to her side.
"I have thought it all out, Ermengarde," he said, "and I have made up
my mind what to do."
Ermengarde did not speak. She raised her eyes to Basil's face. There
was entreaty in them, but he would not fully meet her glance.
"There is no use in my going over the thing with you," continued
Basil. "If you could do it, no words of mine could make you see your
conduct in its true light. Besides, I am not the one to preach to you.
I am only a year older, and, as you reminded me last night, I have no
sort of authority over you."
"Forget what I said last night!" pleaded Ermengarde.
"No, that is just the point. I can't forget--I shall never forget. The
old relations between us are over, and as far as I am concerned it is
impossible to restore them."
"Oh, Basil, you kill me when you speak so unkindly."
Ermengarde covered her face; her slight form was shaken by sobs.
"I am sorry," he said; "I cannot imagine why you value my regard, for
we have quite different codes of honor; we look at things from totally
different standpoints. I don't want to hold myself up, but I couldn't
act as you have done, Ermengarde."
"Oh, Basil, if you only would be merciful."
Basil felt a growing sense of irritation.
"Will you stop crying, and listen to me?" he said.
Ermengarde managed, with a great effort, to raise her tear-stained
face.
"You imagine that I have no feeling for you," continued Basil. "You
are mistaken; I have, I used to put you on a pedestal. Of course you
have come down from that, but still I don't forget that you are my
sister, and as far as possible I intend to shield you. The discovery
that I made last night shall not pass my lips. Miss Nelson must
certainly get back the broken miniature of her little sister, but I am
not going to tell her how it came into my possession. That's all--I'll
shield you. You can go now."
Ermengarde would have pleaded still further, but Basil at that moment
heard some one calling him, and ran off, uttering boyish shouts as he
did so.
"He doesn't care a bit," muttered Ermie. She turned and walked back to
the house.
For a time she felt stunned and sore; life scarcely seemed worth
living out of the sunshine of Basil's favor. But after a time less
worthy thoughts took possession of her, and she felt a sense of
relief that the adventure of last night would never be known.
Marjorie came dancing down from the house to meet her sister.
"What _do_ you think, Ermie? I'm to go away to-morrow for a whole
delicious week with father and Basil! We are going to the
Russells'--Basil has just told me. Isn't it perfectly, perfectly
splendid!"
"I wish you wouldn't bother, Maggie. You are so rough," answered
Ermengarde. "I came out here just to have quiet, and to get rid of my
headache, and of course you come shouting to me."
"Oh, I'm ever so sorry--I forgot about your headache," answered
Marjorie. "It's dreadful of me, I know."
She walked on gravely by Ermengarde's side, the joy on her face a
little damped. But presently, being a most irrepressible child, it
bubbled over again.
"I wouldn't be so awfully, awfully glad, only you _have_ been at the
Russells', Ermie. You spent a fortnight with them after Christmas, and
Lily always promised that she'd have me asked next. I can't help being
delighted about it," continued Marjorie, "for I do so love Lily."
"You little minx! And I suppose you imagine that a big girl like
Lilias Russell cares for you! Why, she's fifteen, and ever so tall."
"But she said she was very fond of me," answered Marjorie.
"Oh, she _said_ it! And you believed it, of course! Have you no
observation of character? Can't you see, unless you're as blind as a
bat, that Lilias Russell is one of those polite sort of people who
always must say pleasant things just for the sake of making themselves
agreeable? Well, my dear, go and worship her, you have got a chance
now for a week; only for goodness' sake don't worry me any more about
it."
Marjorie ran off in her stolid little way. Ermengarde watched her as
her sturdy figure disappeared from view.
"Ridiculous child!" she said to herself, "and so plain. I can't make
out why people make such a fuss about her. She's always held up to me
as a sort of model. How I detest models, particularly the Maggie kind!
Now I know exactly what will happen. She'll go to Glendower with
father and Basil, and won't she gush just! I know how she'll pet
Lilias Russell, and how she'll paw her. And Lilias is just that weak
sort of girl with all her grace and prettiness, to be taken in by that
sort of thing. Lilias fancies that she has taken quite a liking for
Maggie--as if she could make a friend of her! Why, Maggie's a baby,
and a very conceited, troublesome one too."
It was now time for Ermengarde to go in. She pleaded a headache, and
so escaped doing any more lessons that day, and in the afternoon she
managed to make the hours pass agreeably over the "Heir of Redclyffe,"
which she was reading for the first time, and so did not miss Basil's
attention and companionship as much as she would otherwise have done.
All the rest of the children and Miss Nelson were busy and interested
in preparing Marjorie for her visit to Glendower. Basil had gone out
fishing with his father; Eric had coaxed to be allowed to go with the
under-gamekeeper to see the young pheasants. The house was very still,
and Ermie had the pleasant old schoolroom to herself. She read
eagerly; in spite of herself--perhaps unknown to herself--she was
anxious to drown reflection.
It was late in the evening of that same day that Miss Nelson answered
a knock which came to her sitting-room door, and was surprised to see
Basil pop in his dark head.
"Oh, you're alone; that's right," he said. "May I come in for a
minute?"
His manner was a little nervous and hurried, in perfect contrast to
his usual open, frank sort of way.
"I've brought you this back," he said, going up to Miss Nelson. "I'm
awfully sorry about it, and the worst of it is I can't give any
explanation. It's disgracefully broken and injured, but I thought you
would rather have it back as it is, than never to see it again."
Miss Nelson turned very white while Basil was speaking. An eager,
longing, hopeful look grew and grew in her eyes. She stretched out her
hands; they trembled.
"My miniature!" she exclaimed. "My picture once again. Oh, Basil,
thank God! Oh, I have missed it!"
"Here it is," said Basil. He had wrapped the poor little injured
picture up in some white tissue-paper, and tied the parcel together
with a bit of ribbon. He hoped Miss Nelson would say something before
she opened it.
"Here it is--it isn't a bit the same," he said.
She scarcely heard him. She began feverishly to pull the ribbon away.
"I wouldn't look at it just for a minute," began Basil. He had
scarcely spoken, before there came a knock at the door. A firm voice
said, "May I come in?" and Miss Wilton, who had returned from London
about an hour before, entered the room. She came in just in time to
see Miss Nelson remove the tissue-paper from the broken face of the
miniature. The poor governess uttered a piercing cry, sank down on her
knees by the center table, and covered her thin face with her hands.
"What is it, Basil? What is the matter?" asked Miss Wilton in
astonishment. "I come in to find high heroics going on. What is the
matter?"
Basil did not say a word. Miss Nelson suddenly raised her pale face.
She rose to her feet. "Not high heroics," she said, "but deep grief; I
had a memento of the past--a young and happy past. I treasured it. It
was stolen from me about ten days ago. I don't know by whom. I don't
know why it was stolen. Now it has been returned--like this."
Miss Wilton took the broken ivory in her hand.
"Dear, dear," she said. "How disgracefully this miniature has been
cracked and distorted. A child's face, I see, painted in a weak,
washed-out style, and glass and ivory are both broken, and frame bent.
This miniature must have been subjected to very rough usage. The
miniature is yours, Miss Nelson?"
"Yes. It is a likeness of my--my sister. Give it back to me, please,
Miss Wilton."
"And you say it was stolen from you?"
"Yes. It always hung over that mantelpiece. It was taken away the day
after the boys came home from school."
Miss Wilton stood quite still for a moment; she was a very downright,
practical sort of person. "Extraordinary as my question must seem,
Basil," she said, turning suddenly to her nephew, "I am forced to ask
it, as you appear to be mixed up in the affair. Did you take the
miniature?"
"I? Certainly not," said Basil, coloring high.
"But you know something about it?"
"Yes; I know something about it."
"Who took it away?"
"I am not at liberty to tell you, Aunt Elizabeth."
Miss Nelson gazed anxiously into Basil's face. She had put the broken
bits of ivory on the table. Now she tenderly laid the soft
tissue-paper over them.
"You have brought me back the miniature, Basil," she said.
"I have," said Basil bluntly, "and that's about all. I don't know how
it was broken, and what else I know I am not going to tell. I'm
awfully sorry about the whole thing, but I thought you would rather
have the miniature back as it is, than not get it at all, Miss
Nelson."
"That is true," said Miss Nelson.
Basil was turning to leave the room, but Miss Wilton suddenly stepped
before him to the door, and shut it.
"You shan't leave, sir, until you tell everything!" she said. "_I_
know what mischievous creatures boys are. You took that miniature away
out of wanton mischief; you fiddled with it, and broke it, and now you
are afraid to confess. But I'll have no funking the truth. Tell what
you have done, this minute, you bad boy!"
"I found the miniature, and I've returned it to Miss Nelson," replied
Basil, in a quiet, still voice, which kept under all the anger which
made his dark eyes glow.
"Yes, and you stole it in the first instance, and then broke it. Out
with the truth; no half-measures with me," retorted Miss Wilton.
Basil laughed harshly.
"You're mistaken, Aunt Elizabeth; I neither stole the miniature nor
broke it."
"I am sure Basil is speaking the truth," said Miss Nelson.
"And I am sure of the reverse," retorted Miss Wilton. "There is guilt
in his face, in his manner. Naughty, defiant boy, you shall tell me
what you know!"
"I am not naughty or defiant, Aunt Elizabeth, and I don't wish to be
rude to you or anyone. I have told all I can about the miniature. May
I go now please, Miss Nelson?"
"Highty-tighty!" exclaimed Miss Wilton; "this is insubordination with
a vengeance. I shall call my brother here. Basil, I insist upon your
remaining where you are until your father arrives."
Miss Wilton immediately left the room. Basil went and stood by the
window. The blinds were up, and there was moonlight outside. He could
see the path across which Ermengarde had hurried the night before.
Miss Nelson came suddenly up, and touched the boy's arm.
"Basil," she said, "I wish to tell you that I fully believe in you."
"Oh, thank you very much," he answered, glancing at her for an
instant, and then gazing once more out of the window.
"But," continued the governess, "I wish you would trust me with the
whole truth."
He shook his head. At this moment Mr. Wilton and his sister came in
together.
"These are the circumstances, Roderick," began Miss Wilton at once.
"Pray, Miss Nelson, allow me to speak. Here is the miniature, broken
in two, disgracefully injured. Here, look at it--a deceased relative,
I believe, of Miss Nelson's--stolen out of her room ten days ago.
Basil, returns it this evening broken, says he does not know how it
was broken and declines to tell how it got into his possession."
Mr. Wilton took the pieces of ivory into his hand, looked at the poor
little distorted face, put the pieces back on the table, and turned to
his son.
"Is your Aunt Elizabeth's version of this affair correct, Basil?" he
inquired.
"Yes, father," replied Basil. "It is perfectly correct. I found the
broken miniature, and I have just returned it."
"How did you find it?"
"I can't say, sir."
"You mean you won't say?"
"Very well, father; I won't say."
Mr. Wilton colored. Miss Wilton gave a triumphant "Humph!" and a
muttered "I told you so." Miss Nelson nervously clasped and unclasped
her thin hands.
"Basil," said his father after a pause, "you are a very good lad, and
I have every trust in you. You have a reason for boldly defying your
father's wishes. But when I, who am your father, and know a great deal
better than you do what is right and wrong in this matter, desire you
once again to tell me all you know, you will, of course, instantly
obey me."
"I am deeply and truly sorry, father, but I can't obey you."
"T'ch! no more of this! go to my study this moment, and wait there
till I come to you."