BLESSED AND HAPPY.
Ermengarde was sitting in her own room, and Marjorie was standing by
her side. It was the day after Ermie's unexpected return home. She had
spent a couple of hours with Susy, and Miss Nelson had given her a
grave but kind welcome. Now the first day was over, the first night
had gone by, and Ermengarde was sitting, resting her cheek upon her
hand, by the open window of her pretty bedroom.
Marjorie was lolling against the window-ledge; her anxious eyes were
fixed on Ermengarde, who was looking away from her, and whose pretty
face wore a particularly sullen expression.
"Well, Ermie, what will you do?" asked Marjorie, in a gentle voice.
"Oh, I don't know--don't worry me."
"But you must make up your mind. Miss Nelson is waiting."
"Let her wait; what do I care?"
"Ermie, what's the good of talking like that? Miss Nelson is our
governess, and mother used to be fond of her. You know it was mother
asked her to come and take care of us when she knew that God was going
to take her away. So, Ermie, there's no use in being disrespectful to
her, for, even if it wasn't very wrong, father wouldn't allow it for a
minute. Ermie, do you know that father has come back?"
"_No!_ What can he have come back for?" Ermengarde raised her brows in
some alarm. "I can't make out why he should have shortened his visit
to Glendower," she added anxiously.
"I can't tell you, Ermie. He's talking to Basil now; they are walking
up and down in the shrubbery."
"Oh, well, Basil--Basil is all right."
Marjorie felt a flood of indignant color filling her face.
"Basil won't tell," she said, in her sturdy voice. "That's quite true.
Basil has promised, and he'd _never_ break his word. But Miss Nelson
is different, and she--she has determined to find out the truth."
Ermengarde sprang from her chair.
"What do you mean, Maggie?"
"I'm awfully sorry, Ermie, but I really mean what I say. Miss Nelson
says she is determined to find out everything. She has sent for you
to speak to you. You had much better come to her. Oh, now, I knew
you'd be too late! That's her knock at the door."
The rather determined knock was immediately followed by the lady in
question. Miss Nelson was a very gentle woman, but her eyes now quite
blazed with anger.
"Ermengarde, it is quite a quarter of an hour since I sent for you."
Ermie lowered her eyes--she did not speak. Miss Nelson seated herself.
"Why did you not come to me, Ermengarde, when I sent Maggie for you?"
"I--I didn't want to."
Miss Nelson was silent for a minute.
"I anticipated your saying something of this kind," she remarked
presently. "So, as it is necessary we should meet, I took the trouble
to come to you. Ermengarde, look at me."
With a great effort Ermie raised her eyes.
"What did Susy Collins say to you, yesterday?"
"I--I don't want to tell you."
"I desire you to tell me."
"I--I can't."
"You mean you won't."
"I can't tell you, Miss Nelson."
Ermengarde clasped and unclasped her hands. Her expression was
piteous.
Miss Nelson was again silent for a few minutes.
"Ermengarde," she said then, "this is not the time for me to say I am
sorry for you. I have a duty to perform, and there are moments when
duties must come first of all. Susan Collins's excitement, her almost
unnatural desire to see you, have got to be accounted for. There is a
cloud over Basil that must be explained away. There is a mystery about
a little old miniature of mine: it was stolen by some one, and broken
by some one. The story of that miniature somebody must tell. At the
risk of your father's displeasure I took Maggie to visit Susy Collins
the other night. You were away on a visit with your father, and I
allowed Maggie to fetch you home. There is undoubtedly an adequate
reason for this, but I must know it, for I have to explain matters to
Mr. Wilton; therefore, Ermengarde, if you will not tell me fully and
frankly and at once all that occurred between you and Susy yesterday,
I will go myself and see the Collinses, and will learn the whole story
from Susy's own lips."
"Oh, you will not," said Ermengarde, "You never could be so cruel!"
All her self-possession had deserted her. Her face was white, her
voice trembled.
"I must go, Ermie. Wretched child, why don't you save yourself by
telling me all you know at once?"
"I cannot, I cannot!"
Ermengarde turned her head away. Miss Nelson rose to leave the room.
"I am going to my room," she said; "I will wait there for half an
hour. If at the end of half an hour you do not come to me, I must go
to see the Collinses."
Ermengarde covered her face with her hands. Miss Nelson left the room.
"Ermie," said Marjorie in her gentlest voice.
"I wish you'd leave me," said Ermengarde. "There would never have been
all this mischief but for you; I do wish you'd go away!"
"If you only would be brave enough to tell the truth," whispered
Marjorie.
"Do, do go away! Leave me to myself."
With great reluctance the little girl left the room. As she sidled
along the wall, she looked back several times. A word, a glance would
have brought her back. But the proud, still little figure by the
window did not move a muscle. The angry eyes looked steadily outward;
the lips were firmly closed. Marjorie banged the door after her; she
did not mean to, but the open window had caused a draught, and
Ermengarde with a long shiver realized that she was alone.
"Now, that's a comfort," she murmured; "now I can think. Have I time
to rush up to Susy, and tell her that she is not to let out a single
word? Half an hour--Miss Nelson gives me half an hour. I could reach
the Collinses' cottage in about ten minutes, if I flew over the grass;
five minutes with Susy, and then ten minutes back again. I can do
it--I will!"
She seized her hat, rushed to the door, ran along the corridor, and
down the stairs. In a moment she was out. Her fleet young steps
carried her lightly as a fawn over the grass, and down the path which
led to Susy's cottage. How fast her heart beat! Surely she would be in
time!
A short cut to the Collinses' cottage lay through a small paddock
which cut off an angle of the park. Ermie remembered this, and made
for it now. There was a stile to climb, but this was no obstacle to
the country-bred girl. She reached the paddock, vaulted lightly over
the stile, and was about to rush along the beaten path when she was
suddenly brought face to face with the two people whom in all the
world she wished least to see just then--her father and Basil. They,
too, were walking in the paddock, and met Ermengarde close to the
stile.
Ermie had never seen her father's face wear a sterner, or more
displeased expression, but it was not his glance which frightened her
most just then; it was a certain proud, resigned, yet strong look
which flashed at her for an instant out of Basil's beautiful eyes.
This, joined to an expression of suffering round his lips, gave
Ermengarde for the first time a glimpse of the abyss of deceit and
wrong-doing into which she was plunging.
A great longing for Basil's love and approbation rushed over her. The
desire for this was stronger in that first brief moment than her fear
of meeting her father. She stood perfectly still, her hands dropped to
her sides; she had not a word to say.
"You can go home," said Mr. Wilton, turning to his son; "I have
expressed my opinion; I don't mean to repeat it--there is nothing
further to say."
Basil did not make any reply to this speech, nor did he again look at
Ermengarde. He went to the stile, vaulted over it, and disappeared.
"And now, Ermie, where are you going to?" said her father.
"Home," she answered confusedly. "I am going home."
"My dear, I never knew that this way through the paddock led home.
Come, Ermengarde, I am tired of prevarication. What does all this
mean?"
"Don't ask me, father. I mean I'll tell you presently. I want to see
Miss Nelson."
"Is Miss Nelson at the other side of this paddock? Ermengarde, I
insist upon it, I will be answered."
"Give me half an hour, father, a quarter of an hour--ten minutes--just
to see Miss Nelson, and--and--Basil."
"Then you are in league with Basil, too! A nice state I find my family
in! I give a distinct and simple order to you, which you disobey.
Basil, whom I always supposed to be the soul of honor, has behaved
with wanton cruelty toward a lady who was your mother's friend, whom I
respect, and who has been placed more or less in authority over you
all. Not a word, Ermengarde. Basil has as good as confessed his guilt,
and I can only say that my old opinion of him can never be restored.
Then, I take you away on a visit, and Maggie comes to fetch you home,
because, forsooth, the gamekeeper's daughter with whom I have
forbidden you to have any intercourse is feverish, and wants to have a
conversation with you. Nonsense, Ermie! you posed very well at the
Russells' yesterday as a little philanthropist, but that role, my
dear, is not yours. Susan Collins had a far stronger reason for
recalling you from Glendower than the simple desire for your company.
Come, Ermie, this mystery has got to be cleared up. This is _not_ the
road home, nor am I aware that Miss Nelson resides at the other end of
the paddock. But this narrow path leads directly to Collins's cottage.
I presume you are going there. If you have no objection, we will go
together, my dear."
"Yes, father, I have every objection. You need not go to Collins's.
I--I won't keep it in any longer."
"I thought I should bring you to your senses. Now, what have you got
to say?"
"It's on account of Basil."
"Leave Basil's name out, please. I am not going to be cajoled into
restoring him to my favor again."
Ermengarde's face, which had been growing whiter and whiter during
this interview, now became convulsed with a spasm of great agony. She
put up her trembling hands to cover it. This was not a moment for
tears. Her hot eyes were dry.
"Father, you don't know Basil. _He_ has done nothing wrong, nothing.
It's all me. It's all me, father."
And then the miserable story, bit by bit, was revealed to Mr. Wilton;
it was told reluctantly, for even now Ermengarde would have shielded
herself if she could. Without a single word or comment, the narrative
was listened to. Then Mr. Wilton, taking Ermie's hand, walked silently
back to the house with her. Miss Wilton came down the steps of the
front entrance to meet them.
"Good-morning, Ermengarde," she said. "How queer and dragged you look?
Roderick, I want to speak to you."
"I will come to you presently, Elizabeth. I am particularly engaged
just now."
"But you are not going to take that child in through the front
entrance?"
"Will you allow me to pass, please?"
Mr. Wilton's voice was so firm that his sister made no further
comment, but with a shrug of her shoulders turned aside.
"If only Elizabeth were a different woman, I might not have scenes
like this," murmured the poor man.
He went to his study, and there, to his great astonishment, found
Marjorie and Basil both waiting for him.
"We saw you coming up the field" said Marjorie at once. "And I knew
Ermie had told. I knew it by her face, and the way she walked. I told
Basil so, and I said we would come in here, for I guessed you'd bring
Ermie here. Dear Ermie, you are brave now! Dear Ermie!"
Marjorie ran up to her sister.
"It's all going to be quite right now," she said. And she raised her
flushed eager face, and looked at her father.
Mr. Wilton went straight to Basil's side.
"I misunderstood you, my boy; forgive me," he said.
Ermengarde stood erect and stiff. She had not shed a tear, nor made
any response to Marjorie's words. Her whole soul was in her face,
however. She was watching her father's greeting of Basil. She waited
for its effect.
The few words uttered by Mr. Wilton were magical. Something seemed to
flash out of Basil's eyes. They looked straight up into his father's,
then dropped to the ground.
"Father," he murmured. His father grasped his hand.
"O Basil," suddenly sobbed Ermie. Her fortitude gave way; she rushed
to her brother and almost groveled at his feet.
"Now, what's to be done?" said Mr. Wilton, turning in a perplexed kind
of way to his younger daughter. "I confess it, I never felt more
confused and put out in all my life. I brought Ermengarde here to
punish her most severely."
"Oh, please, father, don't! Let it be a full, complete, jolly kind of
forgiveness all round. Look at Basil, father."
Mr. Wilton turned his head. Basil was on his knees, and his arms were
round Ermie, her head rested on his shoulder.
"Oh, father, do let us come out and leave them together for a little!"
"Really, Maggie, you don't treat me with a bit of respect," said Mr.
Wilton. But his voice was low, the frown had cleared from his brow,
and he pinched Marjorie's firm round cheek.
"I suppose I must humor you, little woman," he said, "for after all
you are the only member of my family who never gets into scrapes."
"Oh, father, I'm so happy!" They were out side the study door now, and
Marjorie, still clinging to her father's hand, was skipping up and
down. "Everything will be as right as possible now, and no one, no one
in all the world can help Ermie as Basil can."
"I believe you are right there, Maggie," said Mr. Wilton. "My poor
lad, he certainly has done a noble, Quixotic sort of thing. I can't
forgive myself for being so harsh with him."
"Oh, father, Basil quite understood. He didn't wish to be cleared, you
know."
"Yes, yes, I see daylight at last."
"Father, what do you mean by Basil being Quixotic?"
"I'll tell you another time, puss. And so _you_ knew of this all the
time?"
"Only since the night before last. I wanted Ermie to tell you herself.
Basil wouldn't tell, and he wouldn't let me. Now it's all right. Oh,
how happy I am! Now it's all right."
"And you really mean me to let Ermengarde off her punishment, Mag?"
"Well, father?"
Marjorie put her head a little on one side, and adopted her most
sagacious and goody-goody manner.
"Wouldn't it be well to see if Ermie hasn't learnt something by this
lesson, you know? I expect Ermie has suffered a lot."
"Not she--not she."
"Oh, but, father, I think she has. Couldn't you wait until the next
time to punish Ermie, father?"
"Well, you're a dear child," said Mr. Wilton, "and perhaps, for your
sake----"
"Oh, no, father, for Basil's sake."
"Well then, for Basil's sake."
Marjorie kissed her father about a dozen times.
"You'll let Ermie just learn by her experience to be better another
time, and that will be her only punishment," said Marjorie, in her
wisest manner.
"Well, Maggie, I suppose I must yield to you. And now, as this is to
be, and I am not to assume the role of the severe father--between
ourselves, Maggie, I hate roles--do let us drop the subject. I feel
inclined for a game with the young ones. What do you say?"
"I say that the sun has come out, and I am as happy as the day is
long," replied Marjorie. "Give me another kiss, please, father. Lucy,
is that you? Father is coming to have a romp with us all. Just one
minute, please, father. I must go and tell Miss Nelson the good news."
"What a blessed, happy, dear little thing Maggie is!" thought Mr.
Wilton as, holding Lucy's hand, he walked slowly to the nursery
playground. "She's more like her mother than any of them. Yes, this
may be a lesson to Ermengarde. Poor child, I hope so."
* * * * *
It was late that evening when Ermengarde and Basil, standing side by
side under their mother's picture, solemnly kissed each other.
"Basil, you will never love me in the old way again."
"I love you better than anyone else in all the world, Ermie. Look up
into mother's eyes; they are smiling at you."
"I know what they are saying," answered Ermengarde. She clasped her
hands; there was a stronger, better look than Basil had ever noticed
before on her pretty face. "Mother's eyes are saying, 'You have been
very selfish, Ermie, and very----' What is it, Basil?"
"Yes," interrupted Basil. "I think selfishness was at the root of all
this trouble. I never knew any one so _unselfish_ as Maggie."
"And mother's eyes say," continued Ermengarde, "'Take
courage--and--and----'"
"I think mother is telling you to try to copy our dear little Maggie,"
said Basil.
THE END.
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Bitter Sweet
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Samantha at Saratoga
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Elsie Venner
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The Sketch Book
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Tales from Shakespeare
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My Own Fairy Book
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Evangeline
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Gold Elsie
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Lucile
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The Little Lame Prince
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Stepping Heavenward
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Ivanhoe (with notes)
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Black Beauty
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In His Steps
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Treasure Island
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Uncle Tom's Cabin
THOMPSON, D. P.
Green Mountain Boys
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The Simple Life
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East Lynne
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Swiss Family Robinson
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Children of Wilton Chase, by Mrs. L. T. Meade