"Yes, and about a thousand times a day besides," answered Maggie."But, Bessie, could you help Lena in her trouble?"
"No," said Bessie, her face shadowed again, "and I do not see how any one can help her, so long as she will not tell any grown-up person. Not one of us children could help her."
Bessie was depressed and very thoughtful that evening, and so silent as to attract the attention of her family; but to all inquiries she returned only a faint smile without words, while to her mother she confessed that she had "a weight on her mind," but that this was caused by another person's secret which she could not tell.
Accustomed to invite and receive the unlimited confidence of her children, Mrs. Bradford still treated them as if they were reasonable beings, and on the rare occasions, such as the present, when they withheld it, she was satisfied to believe that they had good and sufficient reasons for so doing.
If there was one of the two sisters who lay awake after the proper time in the pretty room which Maggie and Bessie Bradford called their own—a thing not of frequent occurrence, it was usually Maggie, when she was revolving in her mind some grand idea, either as the subject of a composition, or some of the schemes for business or pleasure which her fertile brain was always devising. But on this night it was Bessie who could not sleep for worry and anxiety over Lena's perplexities. As a usual thing she was off to the land of Nod the moment her head was on the pillow; but to-night she lay tossing and uneasy until she thought the night must be almost gone. Then suddenly, as a bright thought came to her—an idea which she thought almost worthy of Maggie herself—she heard her mother in her own room.
"Mamma," she called, "is it almost time to rise?"
"Why, no, my darling," said Mrs. Bradford, coming in, "it is only half-past ten o'clock. What woke you?"
"Oh, I have not been asleep at all, mamma," answered her little daughter. "I thought I had been awake all the night."
"Oh, no," said Mrs. Bradford; "but it is certainly time that you were asleep. Have you been troubling yourself, dear, over that secret?"
"I suppose that I have, mamma," answered Bessie; "but I have had a very nice thought which I believe will help that secret, and I will try not to be troubled about it any more."
And five minutes later, when her mother looked in again to see if she were quiet, she found her sleeping.
"Papa," said Bessie, walking into the library the next morning, all ready for school, and not seeing for the moment that any one was with her father, "papa, are you going early to your office?"
Mr. Bradford was fond of a long walk on a pleasant morning, and would occasionally start from home with his little girls on their way to school, leave them at Miss Ashton's, and then proceed on his way down town. They always considered this a treat, and he knew now that Bessie hoped for his company in lieu of that of Jane, the nursery-maid.
"I think that I shall do so that I may have the pleasure of escorting two little damsels to school," he answered.
"Then perhaps I shall be fifth wheel to a coach that only needs three," said a deep, jolly voice from the other side of the room; and Bessie, turning, saw the tall form of her Uncle Ruthven standing before one of the book-cases, in which he was searching for a book he had come to borrow.
Her face brightened with a look which told that this "fifth wheel" could never bede trop; and she sprung toward him with a welcoming kiss and good morning.
Uncle Ruthven was mamma's dear and only brother, and a great favorite with his young nieces and nephews, who thought this much travelled, "much adventured uncle," as Bessie had once called him, a wonderful hero, and the most entertaining of mortals. So Maggie was as well pleased as Bessie when she heard by whom they were to be escorted to school, papa and Uncle Ruthven forming as desirable a pair of cavaliers as could well be imagined by any two little maidens.
But Uncle Ruthven was somewhat amused to see how Bessie contrived that he should walk with Maggie, while she took Mr. Bradford's hand and tried to keep him a little behind. Observing this, and rightly conjecturing that she had something to say to her father, Mr. Stanton obligingly drew Maggie on a little faster till they were sufficiently in advance of the others to permit Bessie to make her confidences.
"Papa," said the little girl, as soon as she thought that her sister and uncle were out of hearing, "papa, you know that you told me I might begin to take music lessons after Easter?"
"I remember my promise quite well, dear, and you shall certainly do so," answered her father. "You have been a dear, patient child about those lessons, and you may depend now upon your reward."
Bessie had for a long time been anxious to take lessons upon the piano; but her father and mother had thought it best to defer it, as she was not very strong, and they had considered that her daily lessons at school were sufficient for her without the extra labor which music lessons and practising would involve. This decision had been a disappointment to her, but she had borne it well, never fretting and teasing about it, only looking forward eagerly to the time when she might begin; and her parents now thought her old enough for this.
"Well, I want to ask you something, papa," she said, coloring a little, but throwing back her head to look up into his face with her clear, fearless eyes. "How much would it cost for me to take music lessons?"
"Forty dollars a quarter is Miss Ashton's price, I think," answered Mr. Bradford, wondering what this earnest little woman was thinking of now.
"And two quarters would be eighty dollars—and twenty more would be a hundred," slowly and thoughtfully said Bessie, who was not remarkably quick at figures. "That would take two quarters and a half a quarter to make up a hundred dollars, would it not, papa?"
"Yes," answered her father.
"Then," said Bessie, eagerly, "if I wait for my music lessons for two quarters and a half longer, will you let me have the hundred dollars they would cost, papa? I would rather have it; oh, much rather, papa."
"My child," said her father, "what can you possibly want of a hundred dollars? Have you some new charity at heart?"
"No, papa," answered the child with growing earnestness; "it is not acharity, but it is for a secret—not my secret, papa,—you know I would tell you if it was—but another person's secret. And that person is so very deserving, anybody ought to be very glad to do a kindness for that person, and she cannot tell anybody about it—only she told me, and mamma knows I have a secret—and I do want so very much to help her, and I think I would say I would never take music lessons all my life to do it."
And more she poured forth in like incoherent style, pleading too, with eyes and voice and close pressure of her father's hand.
Mr. Bradford was a lawyer of large practice and not a little note, accustomed to deal with knotty problems, and to solve without difficulty much more intricate sums than the putting of this two and two together, and he could guess pretty well in whose behalf Bessie was pleading now. He had heard during the past week of Lena Neville's unaccountable depression and nervousness, and of her refusal to disclose its cause; knew that his little daughters had spent the previous afternoon with her, and that Bessie had returned from Colonel Rush's house with "a weight on her mind," as she always phrased it when she was troubled or anxious, and that even to her mother and Maggie she had not confided the source of that "weight."
To Mr. Bradford, accustomed to the open natures and sweet, affectionate ways of his own daughters, Lena Neville was by no means an attractive child; but so far as he could judge, she was upright and perfectly straightforward, and with no little strength of will and purpose; and petted as she was by her indulgent aunt and uncle, he could not believe that she had brought herself into any difficulty which she could not confess, on her own account.
No; there must be something behind this; there must be some other person whom she was shielding, and whom she and Bessie were striving to rescue from the consequences of his or her own folly and wrong-doing, and Mr. Bradford believed that he had not far to look for this person. He had, even in the short period of the Christmas holidays, when Percy had been much with his own boys, marked the weakness of his character and the ease with which he was swayed for either good or evil, according to the temptations or influences presented to him; and he now felt assured that he had fallen into some trouble and had appealed to his sister for pecuniary aid; and that this must be very serious, Mr. Bradford rightly judged, since Lena dared not apply to the uncle who was so ready to do everything to make her happy and contented in his house.
And what to do now, Mr. Bradford did not know. It might not be best that Percy—if it were indeed he for whom these two little girls were acting—should be shielded from the consequences of his wrong-doing; and in his own want of knowledge of the circumstances he could not, of course, judge how this might be; but his pity and sympathy were strongly moved for Lena; and she was, indeed, unselfish, little heroine that she was, deserving of any kindness or relief that could be extended to her. But to act thus in the dark was repugnant to him; and his judgment and his feelings were strongly at variance as he listened to Bessie's pleadings that she might be allowed to make this sacrifice.
"I must think this over for a little, my darling," he said; but when he saw the disappointment in her face and the gathering tears in her eyes, he felt that he could not altogether resist her, and he added, "I think we shall find some way out of this difficulty; but are you sure that this person has no grown friend to whom she could apply?"
"She thinks not, papa," answered Bessie,"Ithink she could and ought to, but she thinks not; and I feel quite sure you would let me do this if you knew all the reasons."
"Mamma and I will talk the matter over, dear," said Mr. Bradford; "and you are a dear, generous little girl, to be willing to do this; for I know how much your heart has been set upon your music lessons."
"But my heart is more set upon this, papa; oh, quite, quite more set," said Bessie, quaintly.
"We must hurry on now a little," said Mr. Bradford, giving an encouraging pressure to the small hand within his own, "and you must try not to worry yourself over this matter."
"What is in that little woman's mind? May I know?" asked Mr. Stanton, when he and his brother-in-law had left their two young charges at Miss Ashton's door and had turned their faces business-ward. "Or is it of a private nature?" he added.
"Well, I suppose I may tell you what she asked; for if I yield every one will know it, as she has talked so much of her music lessons," said Mr. Bradford; "and I will tell you my suspicions. I fear that I am perhaps too much inclined to yield to her plea, while I am not satisfied that it is wise to do so. But I am not sure that you will be a very unprejudiced adviser," he added, knowing well that Uncle Ruthven was generally of the opinion that it was well to yield to the wishes of his favorite nieces, Maggie and Bessie.
Then he told of Bessie's proposal, and of whither his own suspicions tended.
"The dear little soul!" said Mr. Stanton, "and these music lessons have been the desire of her heart for the last two years."
"Yes for a longer time than that," said Mr. Bradford; "she is making a real sacrifice in offering to give them up. Of course, there is no necessity for her to do that; she shall have her music lessons. But the question with me is whether it is well to work blindly in this way, even for the purpose of relieving these two innocent children."
"I ask nothing better for my girls than that they may grow up like yours," said Mr. Stanton, extending his hand to his brother-in-law. But he offered no advice, expressed no opinion.
Many a time during his busy day did his little daughter's pleading face rise before Mr. Bradford, and he found himself unable to resist it, and resolved that he would cast scruples to the winds and tell Bessie she should have the sum she had asked for. But although he would not tell her this yet, she should not lose her much desired lessons; she should begin them at the promised time, and they should be his Easter gift to her.
Mr. Stanton found a little private business of his own—quite unexpected when he left home—to attend to after he parted from his brother-in-law at the door of his office, a little business which was attended with the following results.
Mr. Bradford reached home that afternoon, and entering the door with his latch-key was just closing it behind him when Bessie came flying down the stairs and precipitated herself upon him like a small whirlwind, followed by Maggie in a state of equal excitement and making like demonstrations.
"Spare me, ladies," he said, when he could speak; "with your kind permission I should wish to take farewell of the remainder of my family before I am altogether suffocated. Might I ask the cause of this more than usually effusive greeting?"
The answer to this was continued embraces and caresses from both his captors, a series of the little ecstatic squeals Maggie was wont to give when she was especially delighted with anything, and from Bessie the exclamation of:
"Oh, you dear, darling papa! You needn't try to be anonymous, for we know you did it! There was nobody else, for nobody else knew. We know it was you; we know it!"
"If I might be allowed to take off my overcoat and to sit down," gasped Mr. Bradford.
Then he was released, and proceeded to take off his overcoat, while the two little girls seized upon one another and went dancing about the hall to the music of Maggie's continued squeals.
"Have I made a mistake as to my own house and found my way into a private insane asylum?" said Mr. Bradford, pretending to soliloquize. "It must be so, else why this wild excitement? These must be two of the wildest and most excitable of the inmates. I must escape."
[Illustration: "HAVE I FOUND MY WAY INTO A PRIVATE INSANE ASYLUM?"]
And he made a feint of trying to do so, running into his library and sinking into an easy chair where he was speedily held captive again by two pair of arms piled one above the other about his neck, while all manner of endearing epithets were lavished upon him.
"Thank you very much," he said at last, "for all these compliments, but really I am ignorant why I am particularly deserving of them at the present moment."
"Oh, you needn't pretend you don't know now, you sweet, lovely darling," said Maggie, with a fresh squeeze and a kiss, planted directly upon his right eye. "You have lifted the most dreadful weight off of Bessie's mind. I don't know what it was, but I know that she had one, and now it is all gone."
"And you did it in such a delightful way, too, papa," said Bessie; "sending it in that lovely box of bonbons."
"Sending what—the weight?" said Mr. Bradford.
"Now, papa!" expostulated both at once. "You know what we mean, and you needn't pretend that you don't," said Bessie. "No, you took away the weight, and you're just too good for anything."
"If you would throw a little light, perhaps I could understand," answered her father; "but really, as it is, I cannot take credit to myself for having lifted any one's burdens to-day, at least, not knowingly."
"Oh, papa," said Bessie again, "you know you sent me what I asked you for this morning in a box of Huyler's, all beautifully done up, and—oh! I know you, papa—my name written on the parcel by some one else, so I wouldn't know. But just as if I wouldn't know; itcould notbe any one but you, because no one else knew that I wanted it."
"Upon my word, this is very embarrassing," said Mr. Bradford. "I should be very glad to be able to say that I had been so generous and given so much pleasure; but I must disclaim the deed. Upon my honor, as a gentleman, I know nothing of your box of bonbons or its contents."
To tell the truth, he was really somewhat embarrassed, for he could give a very good guess as to the donor of the gift, who, since he had chosen to be "anonymous," must not be betrayed, and these very interested inquirers were likely to put some searching questions which it might be difficult to evade. To avoid these—truth compels me to state—Mr. Bradford took an ignominious flight, for, saying that he must hasten upstairs to dress for dinner, he put aside the detaining arms which would have kept him till conjecture was satisfied, and once more assuring his little girls that he had absolutely nothing to do with the box of bonbons and its valuable contents, and congratulating Bessie that her heart's desire was attained, he hurried away to his own room. Here he found Mrs. Bradford, who had thought, as did the little girls, that he had been the one to relieve Bessie's mind by this means.
Discreet Bessie, and equally discreet Maggie, had neither one betrayed the little circumstance of the gift to the former to the general household, mamma alone sharing the secret, and even she did not know for what purpose it was destined.
The two girls had been with their mother in Mrs. Bradford's morning-room after they returned from school, when Patrick came to the door and delivered "a parcel for Miss Bessie."
The nature of this parcel disclosed itself even before it was opened. There is a peculiar distinctive air about such parcels which stamps them at once as mines of delight, and Maggie had little hesitation in pronouncing it to be "a monstrous box of Huyler's! Must be three pounds at least!"
Uncle Ruthven—that which proved a mystery to Maggie and Bessie need prove no mystery to us—was a generous giver, and when he did a kind action it was carried out munificently; and the wrappings being taken off and the cover of the box removed, a most tempting sight was disclosed.
"There is a note to tell you who it is from," said Maggie, seeing an envelope lying on the top of the bonbons.
But Maggie was mistaken, for the envelope contained no writing, nothing to give, by words, a clue to the giver; but the candies were forgotten when Bessie drew therefrom a new crisp one hundred dollar bill. For a moment both she and Maggie stood speechless with surprise; then the color surged all over Bessie's face, and clasping her hands together she said, softly, but not so softly but that mamma and Maggie did not catch the words:
"Papa, oh, papa! I know what that is for." Then turning to her mother, she said: "It is my secret, mamma; that is, that other person's secret."
But mamma and Maggie, although in the dark and much puzzled about all this mystery, rejoiced with her in the relief which was evidently afforded by this gift, the removal of the "weight;" and Maggie was quite as ecstatic over papa's goodness as was Bessie herself.
And nowhere was papa disclaiming all knowledge of the gift, at least disclaiming all responsibility therefor. The mystery thickened for all concerned. Who could have known, thought Bessie, how very much she wished for this sum of money?
But how to convey this money to Lena was now the question withBessie.
In her innocent simplicity she believed that she had not disclosed the identity of the person whose secret she was bearing, that this was still unsuspected by her parents and Maggie, to whom she had confided that the secret existed. Mystery and management and all concealment were hateful to her; and as has been seen, she was no adept at them, and she now felt herself much nonplussed. If she asked to go to Lena, or to send the money to her, suspicion would be at once aroused, and loyalty to Lena forbade this.
Moreover, judging not only by herself, but also by what she knew of Lena, she feared that the pride and independence of the latter would rebel, even in such a strait, against receiving pecuniary aid from one who, until a few short months ago, had been a stranger to her, and she would spare her if possible.
Then suddenly an idea occurred to her which removed, at least, the latter difficulty. Why not make use of the very way in which this well timed gift had come to her and send it to Lena anonymously? No thought of keeping it or converting it to her own use had for one instant entered Bessie's mind; to her it seemed Heaven-sent, and as if destined for the very purpose for which she had been longing for it. To the bonbons she felt that she could lay claim for herself and her brothers and sisters, but for her own part she could not really enjoy them until the more valuable portion of the contents of the box was on its way to its destination.
After some thought and planning about the method of accomplishing this, she carried an envelope to Jane, the nursery maid, believing rightly that Lena would not recognize her handwriting, made her put Lena's address upon it, and then privately enclosed therein the precious hundred dollar note; and the next morning on the way to school with her own hand she posted it in the letter-box on the nearest corner. Lena was not to know whence or from whom it came. She never thought of any risk in sending it in this unprotected manner; but happily it fell into honest hands throughout the course of its journeyings and safely reached those for which it was intended.
The relief that it was to Bessie to have this accomplished can scarcely be told.
"Oh!" she said to herself, "I'll never, never, never again let any one tell me a secret which I may not tell to mamma and Maggie, especially mamma."
The concealment and the management to obtain her object without revealing it had been more of a cross to her than can well be imagined, unaccustomed as she was to anything of the kind.
Hannah had asked for "a morning out;" a request which greatly amazed her temporary mistress, Mrs. Rush, inasmuch as the old woman had no friends or acquaintances in the city, and was possessed of a wholesome dread of the snares and pitfalls with which she believed it abounded, and even when out with her charge would never go without an escort beyond the park on which Colonel Rush's house fronted and whence she could keep it in view.
But permission, of course, was granted, and Hannah, after ascertaining that a banker's office was the proper place to exchange her precious gold, sallied forth with it, having finally resolved to sacrifice it for Percy's relief without further delay, as Easter was drawing near and the time of reprieve was coming to a close.
It would take too long to tell of the trials and tribulations she encountered on her way to her destination. She consulted every single policeman she met, and then had so little confidence in their directions and advice that she still felt herself hopelessly bewildered and at sea in the business streets of the great city; while whenever she was obliged to cross among the trucks, express-wagons and other vehicles, she felt as if there would be an immediate necessity for the epitaph. As may be supposed, she afforded no little sport to the guardians of the peace, but they were, on the whole, kind and considerate to her and often passed her on from one to another.
But at length, unshielded for the time by any such friendly protection, she stood at the corner of the greatest and most thronged thoroughfare and one almost equally crowded which intersected it, and vainly strove to cross. The policeman on duty there was for the moment engaged with a lost child and had no eyes for her.
She made several frantic dives forward; but the confusion of wheels, horses' heads and shouting drivers speedily drove her back to the sidewalk after each fresh essay; and she was beginning to be in despair when she felt herself spasmodically seized by the arm, and a terrified voice said in her ear—no, not in her ear, for Hannah's ear was far above the diminutive person who had clutched her, and whom she turned to face,—
"Don't! don't! You'll be run over—yes, over—over indeed! Wait for the policeman—yes, policeman—'liceman, indeed!"
Hannah's eyes fell upon a very small old lady, attired in a quaint, old-fashioned costume, with little corkscrew curls surrounding her face, and carrying a good-sized leather satchel, while her every movement and word betrayed a timid, nervous, excitable temperament.
"Don't, don't!" she reiterated, "you'll be crushed—yes, crushed, indeed, crushed; that horse's head touched you, head—indeed—yes, head. What a place this city is—city, indeed, yes, city. Why did I come back to it, back, yes, back?"
There are some who may recognize this old lady, but to Hannah she was an utter stranger, and she gazed upon her in surprise. She was generally very offish and reserved with strangers, but now a common misery made her have a fellow-feeling for the little oddity, and she responded graciously.
Seizing the hand of the woman, whom she could almost have put into her pocket, she drew it through her arm, and said:
"Ye may well say it; what a place hindeed! But hover I must go some ow, so come on, ma'am. If so be we're sent to heternity, we'll go together, an' I'll see you safe through it."
But, apparently, the prospect of going to eternity at such short notice and under such doubtful protection was not pleasing to Miss Trevor, and she shrank back from the thronging dangers before her.
But now came the policeman and escorted the two women, both large and small, through the terrors which had beset them, landing them safely on the other side of the street.
Hannah's eye had recognized the lady even beneath Miss Trevor's shabby black dress and strange manner, and she now turned to her with a respectful:
"Which way are you bound, ma'am? If so be your way's mine, we might 'old on together. There seems to be pretty much men around 'ere, an' I never did take much stock in men. Leastway honly in one or two," with an appreciative remembrance of Colonel Rush and her young master, Russell Neville.
"I'm going to the banker's—yes—banker's—banker's—yes, going," answered Miss Trevor, still flustered and nervous, and forgetting, in the distractions of the crowd, her usually besetting terror that every one who addressed her or looked at her in the street was actuated by purposes of robbery, and speaking as if there were but one banker in the great city.
But Hannah was wiser.
"There be a lot of 'em I 'ear," she said, "an' I don't know which is the best of 'em. What do you say, ma'am? Who be you goin' to, by your leave?"
"To Mr. Powers," answered Miss Trevor. "Powers, yes, Powers. A good man and a kind—yes, man, indeed, man."
"Is he the kind of a one—a banker, I mean," said Hannah, "that would give you a note for gold—golden guineas?"
Miss Trevor looked at her suspiciously for one moment. Was this a trap? Was this friendly person, who was seemingly as much at sea as she was herself in this wilderness of business streets and crowd of business men, some swindler in petticoats, some decoy who would lead her where she might be robbed of all she had about her that was valuable, of the really precious contents of that shabby, worn satchel? The bare idea of such a thing was enough to lend wings of terror to Miss Trevor's feet; and she was about to dart away from Hannah's side when the hand of the latter in its turn arrested her, giving, if possible, new force to the fears of the old lady.
"What did I come for?" she ejaculated, "yes, come. I wish I was back in Sylvandale—yes, Sylvandale, indeed, 'dale."
"Sylvandale!"
The name had a familiar—since the events of the last few days, an unpleasantly familiar sound to Hannah, and she gave a little start.
"Sylvandale," she repeated; "do you know Sylvandale?"
But again her inquiry only provoked increased alarm in the breast of Miss Trevor. She had heard of swindlers pretending to know of places and people belonging to those whom they would victimize; and had not Hannah's hold upon her been firm she would have wrenched herself free and fled.
Hannah repeated her question in a rather different form and with an addition.
"Do you come from Sylvandale? And you maybe know Dr. Leacraft's school? An' you maybe 'ave seen my boy, Master Percy Neville, my boy that I nursed?"
Now it so happened that Miss Trevor had seen and marked Percy Neville, and moreover that she had a very exalted opinion of the young scapegrace. For she did live in Sylvandale, with a nephew who had some years since persuaded her to give up teaching in the city in Miss Ashton's and other schools, and to come to him and let him care for her in her old age. The home she had gladly accepted; but she possessed a spirit of independence, and insisted on giving such lessons as she could procure. She had been fairly successful in this, and had laid by quite a little sum, which she intended to leave to this kind nephew. But while this money was in her own keeping, it was a burden and a care to her, for she lived in constant dread of robbers and of losing her little savings; therefore she had come to the city to place it in safe keeping. Belle Powers had been her favorite pupil while she taught at Miss Ashton's, the child having a remarkable talent for drawing and making the most of the instruction she received. Belle thought so much of her queer little teacher that she had interested her doting father in the old lady, and he had performed two or three small acts of kindness for her which her grateful heart had never forgotten. Consequently she credited Mr. Powers and Belle with every known virtue, and believed that she could not possibly place her savings in any safer place than the hands of that gentleman; and perhaps she was not far wrong.
But on her way to the city and to Mr. Powers' office she had been warily on her guard for snares and pitfalls tending swindlerwise, until she had fallen into the hands of Hannah. But her unworthy suspicions of that good person were speedily put to flight by the mention of Percy Neville's name.
Coming up the village street of Sylvandale one day, she had been chased by a flock of geese, and as she was hurrying along as fast as her age and infirmities permitted—anything in the shape of dignity she had cast to the winds before such foes—she encountered some of Dr. Leacraft's scholars returning from an afternoon ramble. Most of them had laughed at the predicament of the terrified old lady, who certainly presented a ridiculous sight; but Percy, pitying her plight, and with a strongly chivalrous streak in his nature, had made a furious onslaught on the geese, and presently turned the pursuers into the pursued. Then he had picked up the ubiquitous satchel which Miss Trevor had dropped in her flight, attempted to straighten her bonnet which was all awry—she thought none the less of him because his awkward efforts left it rather worse than before—and escorted her quite beyond the reach of the hissing, long-necked enemy, who seemed inclined to renew the attack were his protection removed and the coast clear.
From this time Percy Neville was a hero and a young knightsans peur et sans reprochewith Miss Trevor. She had inquired his name, and maintained that it just suited him, and her wits had been constantly at work all winter to devise such small gifts and treats for him as she was able to procure. Many a basket of nuts and apples, many a loaf of gingerbread, or other nice home-made dainty, had found its way into Percy's hands, and had met with ready acceptance and been heartily enjoyed by the schoolboy appetites of himself and his companions. Percy always exchanged a cheery nod and smile with her when he met her, or a pleasant word or two if he encountered her in the village store or elsewhere.
And now she heard his name in terms of proprietorship and tenderness from this woman who claimed to be his nurse; and she was at once arrested in her attempt to shake her off.
"Master Percy Neville—Neville, indeed, Percy!" she exclaimed; "yes, yes—oh, yes—the dear boy! Those other geese were after me—yes, geese, indeed, chasing me down the sidewalk—yes, sidewalk, geese they were—geese—and he came, the dear boy—came and shoo-ed them away—shoo-ed them, yes, shoo-ed, indeed, shoo-ed."
And now she was quite ready to answer any and every question which Hannah might put to her, and, so far as she was able, to put her in the way of that which she was seeking. She confided her own purpose to the old nurse, and Hannah was fain to tell her hers, at least so much as that she was anxious to convert her gold into a bank-note which she might send to Percy without exciting his suspicions as to whence it came. Of course she gave no hint of his wrong-doing, saying only that she wished him to have the money and that he should not know the donor.
But, jostled and pushed about by the passers-by hurrying on during the most busy time of the day, they could not talk at their ease there on the sidewalk; and presently Hannah proposed retiring within the shelter of the broad hallway of an imposing building, where the two old innocents sat themselves down on a flight of stone stairs and exchanged confidences. They exchanged more; for before the close of the conference Hannah's gold, or the greater part of it, was in Miss Trevor's satchel and a hundred-dollar note in Hannah's hands.
Hannah's arithmetic was much at fault, notwithstanding the information she had gained from Colonel Rush on the subject of her finances; and her unheard-of confidence in this utter stranger of an hour since was further strengthened when Miss Trevor, with her superior knowledge, made it clear to her that she was about to give her too much gold in exchange for the bank-note.
Moreover, the odd little drawing-teacher, whom Hannah afterwards, when some qualms as to her own prudence assailed her, characterized as "hevery hinch a lady if she was that queer you'd think she'd just hescaped the lunatic hasylum," removed another stumbling-block from the path of the latter. She offered, if Hannah desired it, to carry the money for Percy back to Sylvandale, and to see that it was safely given into his hands; thus delivering the faithful old nurse from her dilemma as to the means of conveying it to him. Having once lost some money through the mail, she had also lost all faith in that, and knowing nothing of the ways now afforded for sending it in safety, she had been in some perplexity over this. And, will it be believed? she committed it to Miss Trevor's keeping without other guarantee than her word that Percy should receive it without knowing whence it came. Hannah would readily have let the boy know that she had sent it, for she was not disposed to hide her light under a bushel; but she dared not, lest she should betray the dishonorable part she had played in reading his letter to Lena and so discovering the disgraceful secret. She was further satisfied, however, as to Miss Trevor's good faith, after she had, at her request, accompanied her to Mr. Powers' office. The name of Powers had not conveyed any especial meaning to Hannah, although she did know that one of Lena's classmates was named Belle Powers, and she had seen the little girl once or twice; but when she entered the gentleman's office and remembered that she had seen him at the Christmas party at Mr. Bradford's and afterwards at Colonel Rush's, she at once set the seal of her approval upon him as being "the friend of such gentry;" and when Mr. Powers received Miss Trevor with great respect and attention, and promised with many expressions of good will to carry out her wishes, she plumed herself upon her sagacity in so intuitively discovering the quality of the little old lady's "hinches." It is true that these were few in quantity, but Hannah believed that they were of the right material; nor was she far wrong.
But to make assurance doubly sure she stepped up to Mr. Powers at a moment when Miss Trevor, intent upon securing the lock of her satchel, had turned her back, and whispered to him:
"She's all right, isn't she, sir?"
"Oh, yes, yes; only a little odd, but quite herself; as sane as you are," answered the gentleman, supposing that Miss Trevor's manner had led Hannah to infer that she was insane.
"If she wasn't hall right I'd lose my buryin' and my moniment for nothing," said Hannah, almost in the same breath; and Mr. Powers stared at her, believing that she herself must be a candidate for the lunatic asylum. Hitherto he had not paid much attention to her, merely glancing at her as she came in, and supposing her to be Miss Trevor's attendant; but at this extraordinary speech he scrutinized her narrowly, wondering if she were quite in her right mind and if it were safe to let Miss Trevor go about under her guidance.
Having transacted her business, Miss Trevor asked Mr. Powers concerning Belle and some of her young friends whom she also taught. And then, to Hannah's dismay, she asked him if he could tell her anything of Mrs. Rush and her sister, Mrs. Stanton, names very familiar to Hannah, and which she was not pleased to hear at the present juncture. She would never have taken Miss Trevor into partial confidence, would never have entrusted her with the mission to Percy, had she known that the old lady was acquainted with members of the very family in whose service she was, with the uncle and aunt of the boy whom she was secretly striving to save from disgrace.
What should she do now? And here was Mr. Powers actually advising the old lady to go up and see Mrs. Rush and her late pupils if she had time to do so. Poor Hannah! she may almost be forgiven for the dishonorable way in which she had contrived to possess herself of Lena's letter, for the sake of her loyalty to and self-sacrifice for her nurslings. Her chief thought now was less for her money than for the risk of the discovery of Percy's secret by his relatives. She must be very careful to keep out of the way of any one coming to Colonel Rush's house, at least, for a day or two. She was in a very bad humor now, this old Hannah, and as dissatisfied with the turn matters had taken as but a short time since she had been well pleased. She quite resented Miss Trevor's acquaintance with Mrs. Rush and other friends of the Neville family, and her looks toward that lady were now so glum and ill-natured that Mr. Powers could not fail to notice them, and was more than ever beset by doubts as to her perfect sanity. They were a queer couple, he thought, to go wandering together through the distracting business streets.
When Hannah was worried she was cross, as has been seen; and now, being thus assailed with doubts as to the wisdom of the course she had pursued, she proved herself no agreeable companion, and laid aside the respectful tone and manner with which she had hitherto treated Miss Trevor, till the old lady began to feel uneasy in her turn, and her manner and speech became more queer, jerky, and confused than ever.
At last, when they reached the corner of the street, she grabbed the arm of a policeman and in her broken, incoherent way, begged to be put into a street car; and as one happened to be passing at the moment, the request was complied with and Miss Trevor borne away before Hannah had fairly realized that she had left her.
Poor Hannah! If she had been uneasy before, it may be imagined what a state of mind she was in now. She stood watching the retreating conveyance in a bewildered sort of way till it was almost lost to sight among the crowd of vehicles; and then, with some vague notion of pursuing Miss Trevor and demanding back her money, hailed another car and entered it.
But after she was seated, sober second thought came to her aid, and all the reasons she had before formed for trusting Miss Trevor, returned to her, till she once more rested satisfied that the means for Percy's rescue from the toils he had woven for himself were in safe hands.
"Who do you think is going to win that prize of Mr. Ashton's?" asked Fred Bradford of his sisters that day at the dinner table. "It is coming near Easter, you know, and you must have some idea by this time."
"Why, Maggie, of course," answered Bessie, positively, for the question was not one which admitted of dispute to Bessie's mind. She gave no time for her sister to answer, and Maggie did not reply.
"You seem to be very sure of your position, little woman," said her father.
"Well, papa," said Bessie, still confidently, "Lena has not been able to try for it, you know, since she was burned; and Graciewill nottry. She says she don't want it, and she acts very queerly and seems to have no interest about it at all."
"Perhaps she's ashamed of the way she behaved that day she had the row with Lena," said Fred, who had heard the account of Gracie's ill-behavior, not from Maggie and Bessie, but from some of "the other fellows" whose sisters were members of the "Cheeryble Sisters."
Bessie shook her sunny head.
"No, I don't think so," she answered. "At least she has never said so, and if she felt sorry enough to keep her from trying for the prize, I should think she would tell Lena so."
"Youwould, but not she," said Fred. "Catch Gracie Howard eating humble pie. But you don't seem to have much idea of gaining it yourself."
"I!" said Bessie, opening wide her eyes in undisguised astonishment, "why, no; I am not even trying for it."
"Well, it is too late now, as it is so near Easter," said Harry; "but since the prize is for general improvement and not for any one particular composition, I do not see why you should not have tried and generally improved as well as the others."
"Well, I did try to do the best I could and to improve myself," answered Bessie; "but I did not think about gaining the prize. I know I couldn't."
"Catch Bess not doing her level best for conscience' sake, prizes, or no prizes," said Fred. "Oh, I say, Bess, you are going to begin your music lessons at Easter, are you not?"
The color flushed all over Bessie's face and neck as she answered, after a moment's hesitation, "No, I am not, Fred; and no questions asked."
"'No questions asked,'" repeated Fred, laughing, "but that is rather hard on our curiosity, when you have been so wild for music lessons for the last year or more. What have you been doing that they are forfeited, for I know papa promised them to you after Easter?"
"I told you no questions asked," repeated Bessie, in a slightly irritated tone, and looking very much disturbed.
"Hallo!" said the astonished Fred, taking these for the signs of guilt. "Hallo! our pattern Bess has never been doing anything wrong, has she? And so very wrong that—ouch! Hal, what was that for? I'll thank you not to be kicking me that way under the table!"
For Harry had given him a by no means gentle reminder of that nature; and now his father, too, came to the rescue.
"Let your sister alone, Fred," he said. "I can tell you that she has done nothing wrong. She and I have a little understanding on this matter; but she has forgotten that there is no necessity for doing without the music lessons, and she is, I assure you, to have them. But, as Bessie says, 'no questions asked.' We will drop the subject."
Bessie's soft eyes opened wide, as she gazed at her father in pleased surprise. Although the money which had been devoted by her to Lena's relief had not come through him, it actually had not occurred to her until this moment that she would not be called upon to give up the music lessons. She had made the sacrifice freely for Lena's sake, and had had no thought of evading its fulfilment, even after circumstances had turned out so differently from anything that she had expected.
She flashed a grateful, appreciative glance at her father from out of the depths of those loving eyes, but said nothing; and, as Mr. Bradford had decreed, the subject was changed. The father and his little daughter understood one another.
Mr. Bradford did not, however, tell Bessie that he had never intended that she should be obliged to carry out her sacrifice; she had offered it unselfishly, and in good faith, and he would let her have the satisfaction of feeling that she had been willing to do this for her little friend.
Bessie was not sure whether or no she was in haste to see Lena and hear from her of the providential gift she had received. She was so little accustomed to conceal her feelings, to evasion, or to affectation of an ignorance which did not exist, that she did not know how she was to maintain an appearance of innocence when Lena should tell her that which she would doubtless believe to be surprising news; and more and more confirmed became her resolution "never, never, never to have another secret" which she could not share with her mother and Maggie.
But when she did see Lena—which was not until the latter had sent for her to come to her—all difficulty on that score was removed, for the news which her friend had to communicate to her was really so extraordinary and unlocked for that she did not need to affect surprise, or to feel embarrassed over her own share in the events Lena had to relate. And the possibility of Bessie being the donor of that sum of money never occurred to Lena. Perhaps she would have been glad to know it, for Lena was a proud child, with a very independent spirit, and in spite of the immense relief it was to her to be able to free Percy from the difficulties in which he had involved himself, there had been an uncomfortable feeling back of that from the sense of obligation to some unknown person. Who could have sent her that money? Who could have been aware of her extreme need of it?
There is small occasion to say that it had scarcely come into her hands when it was sent again on its travels; this time to Percy.
The hilarious acknowledgment which immediately came back to her was a relief in more ways than one, although she was half provoked at theinsouciant, devil-may-care-now spirit which it evinced.
Percy wrote:
"You're the dearest of little sisters, the brickiest of bricks! But there is no need for me to rob you of your hundred dollars. You say somebody sent it to you anonymously; well, the same somebody, I suppose, has done the same good office for me, sent me a hundred dollars. You say you don't know who it could be; why, it was Russell, of course. You know he's just as generous as generous can be, and since he came into his own money he can't rid himself of it fast enough, but must always be finding out ways of spending it for other people. And I don't see anything so strange in this way of doing it. He knew the powers that be would make an awful row if they knew we had all that money to spend at our own sweet wills, so he took this way of sending it to us, so that we could keep our own counsel; and if they do find out we have it, we can say we don't know where it came from. It is a blessed thing they will never know that I had mine, at any rate, or ask where it went. You may be sure it did not stay in my hands long, but went into those of Seabrooke in five minutes. How I did want to keep it too. But there, Seabrooke is paid, and I'm free and no one the wiser; at least, no one that I'm afraid of, so no harm is done. But to think I've had to lose that money for such a thing as that. I suppose it was a shabby trick to play, and I tell you I think I never heard anything quite so scurvy as Flagg putting that stuff into Seabrooke's carafe to make him sleep, and I'm sure Seabrooke feels more put out about that than he does about the letter, because that was malice prepense, and the other was—well—an accident; at least, we did not know the mischief we were doing, and we have made it all right. But he can't get over the drugging, and I'm glad I had no hand in it, for I do not know what the doctor will say to it. He is not back yet; but his son is better, and he will be here when we come after the Easter holidays. I'm rather sick of Flagg anyway; he has mean ways, and our dear old Russell wouldn't tolerate him for a moment, so I'll shake him off all I can when I come back to school. I'll keep your hundred dollars till I come home, and hand it to you then. You're a trump, Lena, and I never would have taken it if I could have helped it. But I would have had to do it if this other hundred had not come. And, do you know, there is one thing that puzzles me. It came by post from New York in a hair-pin box, and done up in about a thousand papers-at least there were six—so I suppose Russell sent to some one in the city to do it for him; but the whole thing was awfully womanish. The address was in the most correct, copy-book-y handwriting, every point turned just so, every loop according to rule. But it came just in the nick of time, and saved me and your money. Bless your heart, how are the feet?
"Your own all the same everlastingly obliged brother,
Thankful as Lena had been to receive this letter, so annoyed was she by Percy's indifferent, careless way of looking upon his own misdeeds that she did not show it to Bessie; she was ashamed to do so, knowing, as she did, Bessie's conscientiousness and strict sense of honor and honesty. "All right now." Was this indeed all the impression made upon Percy by his late peril, all the shame and regret he could feel? Child though she was, and several years younger than her erring brother, the ways of right and wrong were so much clearer to her than they were to him, she had so much more steadfastness of character and purpose.
"Now," she said, when she had told Bessie all, "now if I could only find out who sent me that money and return it when Percy sends it back to me. But you see, Bessie, I am not so sure that it was Russell. It is not at all like the way he does things; he is never mysterious or anonymous; and he is not at all afraid of papa or mamma, and can do what he likes with his own money. He is very, very generous, and always takes such nice ways of being kind to people and giving them pleasure; and I do not think that this would be at all a nice way of sending presents to Percy and me. Do you, Bessie?"
"No," answered Bessie, doubtfully, remembering her own way of conveying to Lena the means of rescuing Percy,—"no—I—do not like anonymousity very much; but I suppose there are times when one has to do it."
"Um-m-m; no, I do not think so," said Lena, all unconscious ofBessie's secret, and looking at her with surprise; for she knewBessie's ideas about underhand dealings to be as uncompromising asher own.
But Bessie stuck to her point; she had known of a case where "to be anonymous" was the best and only course to take, so it had seemed to her, and she was not to be convinced that there were not times when it was justifiable.
However, she was not anxious to dwell upon the subject, and soon changed it. She knew that Lena's unknown friend was not her brother Russell, and she was herself mystified about the other sum sent to Percy; but, fearful of betraying her own part, she began to talk of something else.
"Do you remember, Lena," she said, "that next Sunday is Easter Sunday, and that Saturday is the day for Miss Ashton to name the one who deserves Mr. Ashton's prize?"
"Yes," answered Lena, rather despondently, "but that cannot make much difference to me, except that I shall be so glad if you or Maggie win it."
"Oh, Maggie will, certainly," said Bessie, secure in her belief that no one could compete with her sister, now that Lena was supposed to be out of the question and Gracie Howard had decidedly withdrawn from the contest. "Maggie is sure to have it, and you know that she is anxious for it so she can give it to Gladys Seabrooke, as you would have done."
"I was thinking," said Lena, with a little hesitation, very different from her usual straightforward, somewhat blunt way of speaking, "I was thinking that you and Maggie praise me too much for wishing to earn the prize for Gladys Seabrooke. I would like to be the one to win it for her; but I think—I know—it is more for my own sake than for hers. You know I told you I wished so much that papa and mamma would think me so much improved by Miss Ashton's teaching that they would wish me to stay with her; and they would think it a sign of that if I did win the prize."
"Yes, I know," answered Bessie; "but I thought your father had promised that you should stay with Uncle Horace and Aunt May, and go to Miss Ashton's while you were in our country."
"Yes," said Lena, "but I want to stay here till I am quite grown up and educated. I want papa and mamma to think that I am doing better here, improving more than I have ever done before—as I am—so that they will leave me till I am grown up and quite old. Uncle Horace and Aunt May would keep me; Uncle Horace said he would like to have me for his girl always."
Not even her opinion of Mrs. Neville as a mother, not even her appreciation of the happiness of a home with her beloved Colonel and Mrs. Rush could quite reconcile Bessie to the fact that Lena was not only willing but anxious to leave her own home and family and to remain in a country where she would be separated from them for years to come; but nevertheless she felt a great sympathy for her and a strong desire that this wish should be fulfilled. Still she could not but have a little feeling of gladness that, according to her belief, there was no one who could now compete with her own Maggie for the prize; and she rather evaded the subject and took up that of school-news until Maggie, who had come with Jane, the nursery-maid, to take Bessie home, ran in.
She brought with her the papers read at the last meeting of the "Cheeryble Sisters' Club," such papers being, at Lena's special request, always turned over to her for perusal.
"Whose are these?" asked the young convalescent, when Maggie delivered them to her.
"One is Bessie's, and it is poetry. Did you know that Bessie had begun to write poetry?" said Maggie.
"Two poetesses in one family!" said Lena. "No, I did not hear thatBessie wrote poetry too."
"And this is so sweet," said Maggie; "such a pretty idea. And this paper is Lily's. Lily has given up the resolution that she would never let her compositions be read in the club, and this is the second one she has given us. It is good, too," she added. "And this is another one from Frankie. He seems to think himself quite a 'Cheeryble Sister,'" she added, laughing.
"Can you not read them to me before you go?" asked Lena, and Maggie assented.
"I'll read the best first," with a smile full of appreciative pride at Bessie, "for fear Jane comes and asks me to hurry because she has a million things to do."
And accordingly she unfolded one of the papers she had laid upon Lena's table when she came in; but before she had time even to commence it, Jane put her head in at the door with the usual formula.
"Miss Maggie and Miss Bessie, will you please come. I have a million things to do, and ought to be at home."
"In a few moments," answered Maggie; but Jane added to her persuasions by saying:
"And it's snowing, too; a snow kind of soft-like that'll be turning into rain before long, and Miss Bessie'll get wet."
This moved Maggie, as the politic Jane knew that it would do, for it was not expedient for Bessie to be out in the damp or wet; and when she glanced out of the window and saw that the maid's words were true, she lingered no longer, but laid the papers down again and told Lena they must go; and Jane, congratulating herself that she had gained her point so easily, was bearing away her young charge when an interruption occurred.
The children were in Mrs. Rush's sitting-room, and just at this moment she came in, accompanied by a little old lady, who will, doubtless be immediately recognized by those who have met her before.
"Maggie and Bessie, you are not just going, are you?" said Mrs. Rush. "Here is an old friend who would like to see you, at least for a few moments."
"I think we must go, Aunt May," said Maggie, "for it is snowing, and mamma would not like Bessie to be out." Then, turning to the little old lady, "How do you do, Miss Trevor? It is a long time since we have seen you."
"Time, indeed; time, yes, time," said Miss Trevor, shaking hands warmly with both Maggie and Bessie. "And you've grown, yes, grown, actually grown—why, grown!" she added, in a tone which would indicate that it was a matter of surprise two girls of the ages of Maggie and Bessie should grow. Then she put her head on one side and critically scanned her quondam pupils, giving them little nods of approval as she did so.
Maggie and Bessie were used to Miss Trevor's odd ways and manner of speaking; but to Lena they were a novelty, as she had never seen her before, although she had heard of her from her aunt and from her schoolmates, who often made merry over the recollection of her peculiarities when she had been their teacher in writing and drawing.
Presently she turned to Lena and surveyed her as if she were a kind of natural curiosity; yet there was nothing rude or obtrusive in the gaze.
"My niece, Lena Neville, Miss Trevor," said Mrs. Rush. "Lena, dear, this is Miss Trevor, of whom you have often heard me speak."
"So this is the little heroine," murmured Miss Trevor, "heroine, yes, heroine, indeed. Fire, oh yes, indeed, fire; such courage, such presence of mind, yes, mind, indeed, mind."
Lena was annoyed. She did not like allusions to the fire, to her own bravery and her rescue of her little sister, even from those who were near and dear to her; and from strangers they were unendurable to her. She shrank back in her chair and half turned her face from Miss Trevor, while the dark look which Mrs. Rush knew so well, but which she seldom wore now, came over it.
She hastened to effect a diversion.
"Miss Maggie, if you please, it's snowing fast," said Jane, "and I've a mil—"
"The young ladies cannot walk home in this wet snow," interposed Mrs. Rush. "The carriage has gone for the colonel; when it returns it shall take them home. And, Miss Trevor, it shall take you also. You can go to the nursery if you choose, Jane."
So Jane, forgetting the "million things" in the prospect of a comfortable gossip with old Margaret, departed to the nursery till the carriage should return and her young ladies be ready to go.
Miss Trevor, who was at her ease with Mrs. Rush and her former pupils of Miss Ashton's class if she was with any one, asked many questions about the studies of the latter and of the progress they were making in the two branches in which she had been their instructress, and gave some information respecting herself; Lena listening and looking on in wonder at her peculiarities of speech and manner, but taking no part in the conversation.
But at last Miss Trevor turned to her again.
"Neville, you said, my dear Mrs. Rush,—your niece—yes, Neville, indeed, Neville. Such a favorite with me—me, indeed, yes, favorite. I know a boy, yes, boy—indeed, youth—such a fine youth—such a hero—ro, indeed, ro—does not fear geese—hissing creatures, my dears—yes, creatures, indeed creatures, my dears, yes, creatures, indeed. Neville he is, yes, Neville—chevaliersans peur et sans reproche, 'proche, indeed,'proche."
Now, as may be supposed, Lena was far from regarding her brother Percy as a "chevaliersans peur et sans reproche." She had little reason, in view of late occurrences, to do so, and she never connected him with the heroic youth on whose praises this odd little old lady was dwelling. She felt no interest in her, only a sort of impatient surprise, and wished that her aunt would take her away.
Miss Trevor dwelt farther upon the episode of the geese and Percy's coming to the rescue; and while Lena maintained a sober face, seeing nothing especially funny in the story, Maggie and Bessie, and even Mrs. Rush, had some difficulty in restraining themselves from laughing outright at the tragic tale she contrived to make out of it, and the thought of the droll spectacle the old lady must have presented as she flew down the street, pursued by the hissing, long-necked foe.
But presently Lena's attention was aroused.
"But are flocks of geese allowed to wander loose in the streets of Utica, Miss Trevor?" asked Mrs. Rush. "I thought it was too much of a place for that."
"Oh, no, my dear not Utica, no indeed, not Utica—did you not know?We moved, yes, moved, a year ago, yes, 'go, to Sylvandale, yes,Sylvandale—yes, 'dale," said Miss Trevor.
"Sylvandale! Neville!" said Mrs. Rush. "Lena has a brother at school at Sylvandale. Percy Neville! Can it be that our Percy is your young cavalier, Miss Trevor?"
"Percy Neville," repeated Miss Trevor, "yes, indeed, that is his name, name, yes, name. Is it possible he is your brother?" turning to Lena with a face now radiant with pleasure at this discovery. "Ah! such a boy, boy, indeed, boy!"
Lena was interested now, and, perhaps a trifle uneasy, lest by any possibility some knowledge of Percy's escapades should have come to Miss Trevor and might by her be incautiously betrayed to Colonel and Mrs. Rush. She turned rather an anxious eye upon the old lady, wishing that she would not pursue the theme of Percy and his valorous deeds, but not seeing very well how she could change the subject. Words did not come easily to Lena.
And her fears were not without foundation, although Miss Trevor knew nothing of Percy's troubles. Further and more startling revelations were to come.
For just at the moment, to this assembled group, entered Hannah, bearing in her hands a tray, on which was a cup of beef-tea for Lena. She was close to her little lady before she perceived the stranger, whom she would have shunned as she would a pestilence. The recognition was mutual, and to Hannah most unpleasant, and in the start it gave her she nearly dropped the tray and its contents.
"Merciful Lord!" she ejaculated, taken completely off her guard; but the exclamation was far more of a prayer than an irreverent mention of her Maker's name.
For was not her beloved nursling in danger? Her Master Percy, for whom she had sacrificed so much, was he not in danger of betrayal and disgrace in case this old lady should touch upon the subject of the money confided to her care to be conveyed to him?
She was not gifted with presence of mind, and she stood perfectly still, staring in undisguised perturbation at Miss Trevor.
Perceiving this, Miss Trevor believed that it was caused not only by surprise at seeing her there when she had told Hannah that she expected to return at once to Sylvandale, but also by the fear that the money had not reached its destination in good time, and she hastened to relieve her, thus bringing on the disclosures which Hannah was dreading.
"Good morning," she said, kindly. "Your money has gone, yes gone, my good woman, gone. I stayed in the city, yes, stayed, but the money has gone. He has it, the dear boy, yes, boy, he has it."
It was not her money but her boy that Hannah was fearing for now, and for whom she stood dismayed at the sight of Miss Trevor. Moreover, although she knew her place, and generally treated her superiors with all due respect, if there was one thing more than another which exasperated her, it was to have any one call her "my good woman;" and, hastily setting her tray upon the table, she looked daggers at Miss Trevor, as she answered, snappishly:
"I wasn't askin' ye nothin', ma'am."
Then she turned and fled, desirous to avoid all questions, although it was not Hannah's way to flee before danger, either real or apprehended.
[Illustration: "I WASN'T ASKIN' YE NOTHIN', MA'AM."]