“Miss Winstead,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “this is all most unpleasant.”
“What do you mean?” asked the governess.
“Why, this whim of my husband’s. He has been away for over a week, and the child imagines that he is still in London, that he will return at any instant and spoil her, after his usual injudicious fashion.”
“Oh, I don’t quite think that Mr. Ogilvie spoils your little Sibyl,” said Miss Winstead; “he has peculiar ideas, that’s all.”
“We need not discuss that point,” said Mrs. Ogilvie in an irritated tone. “We are back later than I thought, and I have to dine out to-night. I want you, Miss Winstead, to break the tidings to the child that her father has gone to Queensland.”
“I?” said Miss Winstead; “I would reallyrather——”
“I fear your likes or dislikes with regard to the matter cannot be considered. I cannot tell her, because I should not do it properly; and also, a more serious reason, I really have not the time. You can give Sibyl a treat, if you like, afterwards. Take her out for a walk in the Park after tea, she alwayslikes that; and you can take her to a shop and buy her a new toy—any toy she fancies. Here’s a sovereign; you can go as far as that, you ought to get her something quite handsome for that; and you might ask the little Leicesters next door to come to tea to-morrow. There are a hundred ways in which the mind of a child can be diverted.”
“Not the mind of Sibyl with regard to her father,” interrupted Miss Winstead.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t make too much of it. You know how peculiar he is, and how peculiar she is. Just tell her that he has gone away for a couple of months—that he has gone on an expedition which means money, and thatIam pleased about it, that he has done it for my sake and for her sake. Tell her he’ll be back before the summer is over. You can put it any way you like, only do it, Miss Winstead—do it!”
“When?” asked Miss Winstead. She turned very pale, and leant one hand on the table.
“Oh, when you please, only don’t worry me. You had better take her off my hands at once. Just tell her that I am tired and have a headache, and won’t see her until the morning; I really must lie down, and Hortense must bathe my forehead. If I don’t I shall look a perfect wreck to-night, and it is going to be a big dinner; I have been anxious for some timeto go. And afterwards there is a reception at the Chinese Embassy; I am going there also. Please ask Watson, on your way through the hall, to have tea sent to my boudoir. And now you quite understand?”
“But, please, say exactly what I am to tell your little girl.”
“Don’t you know? Say that her father has gone—oh, by the way, there’s a letter for her. I really don’t know that she ought to have it. Her father is sure to have said something terribly injudicious, but perhaps you had better give it to her. You might give it to her when you are telling her, and tell her to read it by-and-by, and not to be silly, but to be sensible. That is my message to her. Now pray go, Miss Winstead. Are you better? Have you had a nice time while we were away?”
“I still suffer very badly with my head,” said Miss Winstead, “but the quiet has done me good. Yes, I will try and do my best. I saw Mr. Ogilvie the day he left; he did not look well, and seemed sorrowful. He asked me to be kind to Sibyl.”
“I sincerely trust you are kind to the child; if I thought you did not treat her with sympathy and understanding I should beobliged——”
“Oh, you need not go on,” said Miss Winstead, coloring, and looking annoyed. “I know my duty.I am not a woman with very large sympathies, or perhaps very wide views, but I try to do my duty; I shall certainly do my utmost for your dear little daughter. There is something very lovable about her, although sometimes I fear I do not quite understand her.”
“No one seems to understand Sibyl, and yet everyone thinks her lovable,” said the mother. “Well, give her my love; tell her I will ride with her in the morning. She has had a present of a pony, quite a ridiculous present; Lord Grayleigh was determined to give it to her. He took an immense fancy to the child, and put the gift in such a way that it would not have been wise to refuse. Don’t forget, when you see Watson, to tell him to bring tea to my boudoir.”
Miss Winstead slowly left the room. She was a very quiet woman, about thirty-five years of age. She had a stolid manner, and, as she said herself, was a little narrow and a little old-fashioned, but she was troubled now. She did not like the task set her. As she went upstairs she muttered a solitary word.
“Coward!” she said, under her breath.
“I wish I was well out of this,” thought the governess. “The child is not an ordinary one, and the love she bears her father is not an ordinary love.”
Miss Winstead’s schoolroom looked its brightest and best. The days were growing quite long now, and flowers were plentiful. A large basket of flowers had been sent from Grayleigh Manor that morning, and Miss Winstead had secured some of the prettiest for her schoolroom. She had decorated the tea-table and the mantelpiece, but with a pain at her heart, for she was all the time wondering if Sibyl knew or did not know. She could not quite understand from Ogilvie’s manner whether she knew or not. He was very reserved about her just at the last, he evidently did not like to talk of her.
Miss Winstead entered the schoolroom. She sat down for a moment near the open window. The day was still in its prime. She looked at the clock. The under-housemaid, who had the charge of the schoolroom tea, now came in with the tray. She laid the cloth and spread the tea-things. There was a plate of little queen-cakes for Sibyl.
“Cook made these for Miss Sibyl,” she said. “Does she know yet, Miss Winstead, that the master has gone?”
“No,” said Miss Winstead; “and I have got to tell her, Anne, and it is a task I anything but like.”
“I wouldn’t be in your shoes for a deal, Miss,” replied Anne, in a sympathetic voice.
Just then a light, childish step was heard in the passage, and Sibyl burst into the room.
“Here I am. Oh, I am so glad tea is ready. What’s the hour, please, Miss Winstead? How are you, Anne; is your toothache better?”
“I have not had any toothache to mention since you left, Miss Sibyl.”
“I am glad to hear that. You used to suffer awful pain, didn’t you? Did you go to Mr. Robbs, the dentist, and did he put your head between his knees and tug and tug to get the tooth out? That’s the way Nurse’s teeth were taken out when she was a little girl. She told me all about it. Did Mr. Robbs pull your tooth out that way, Anne?”
“No, Miss, the tooth is better and in my head, I’m thankful to say.”
“And how is cook? How are her sneezing fits?”
“All the servants are very well, I thank you, Miss.”
“Don’t make any more enquiries now, Sibyl, sit down and begin your tea,” said her governess.
Sibyl made an effort to suppress the words which were bubbling to her lips. Anne had reached the door, when she burst out with—
“I do just want to ask one more question. How is Watson, Anne, and how is his sweetheart? Has she been kinder to him lately?”
“Sibyl, I refuse to allow you to ask any further questions,” interrupted Miss Winstead. She was so nervous and perplexed at the task before her that she was glad even to be able to find fault with the child. It was really reprehensible of any child to take an interest in Watson’s sweetheart.
Anne, smiling however, and feeling also inclined to cry, left the room. She ran down to the servants’ hall.
“Of all the blessed angel children, Miss Sibyl beats ’em,” she cried. “Not one of us has she forgot; dear lamb, even to my tooth and your sneezing fits, cook; and Watson, most special did she inquire for Mary Porter, the girl you’re a-keeping company with. It’s wonderful what a tender heart she do have.”
“That she have truly,” said the cook, “and I’ll make her some more queen-cakes to-morrow, and ice them for her, that I will. It’s but to look at her to see how loving she is,” continued the good woman. “How she’ll live without the master beats me. The missus ain’t worthy of her.”
This remark was followed by a sort of groan which proceeded from each servant’s mouth. It was evident that Mrs. Ogilvie was not popular in the servants’ hall.
Sibyl meanwhile was enjoying her tea.
“It’s nearly five o’clock,” she said, “father is sure to be in at six, don’t you think so, Miss Winstead?”
“He often doesn’t come home till seven,” answered Miss Winstead in a guilty voice, her hand shaking as she raised the teapot.
“Why, what’s the matter with you, Winnie dear,” said Sibyl—this was her pet name for the governess; “you have got a sort of palsy, you ought to see a doctor. I asked Nurse what palsy was, and she said ‘a shaking,’ and you are all shaking. How funny the teapot looks when your hand is bobbing so. Do, Winnie, let me pour out tea.”
“Not to-night. I was thinking that after tea you and I might go for a little walk.”
“Oh, I couldn’t, really, truly; I must wait in till father comes.”
“It is such a fine evening, thatperhaps——”
“No, no, I don’t want to go.”
“But your mother has given me money; you are to buy anything you please at the toy-shop.”
This was a very great temptation, for Sibyl adored toys.
“How much money?” she asked in a tentative voice.
“Well, a good deal, a whole sovereign.”
“Twenty shillings,” said Sibyl, “I could get a lovely doll’s house for that. But I think sometimesI am getting tired of my dolls. It’s so stupid of ’em not to talk, and never to cry, and not to feel pain or love. But, on the whole, I suppose I should like a new doll’s house, and there was a beauty at the toy-shop for twenty shillings. It was there at Christmas-time. I expect it’s a little dusty now, but I dare say Mr. Holman would let me have it cheap. I amveryfond of Mr. Holman, aren’t you, Winnie? Don’t you love him very, very much? He has such kind, sorrowful eyes. Don’t you like him?”
“I don’t know that I do, Sibyl. Come, finish your tea, my dear.”
“Have you been trying to ’prove yourself very much while I was away?” said Sibyl, looking at her now in a puzzled way.
“Prove myself?”
“I can never say that whole word.Improve is what I mean. Have you been trying?”
“I always try, Sibyl.”
“Then I think Lord Jesus is helping you, for youare’proved, you’re quite sympathisy. I like you when you’re sympathisy. Yes, I have finished my tea, and, if you wish it, I’ll go out just as far as Mr. Holman’s to buy the doll’s house. He is poor, and he’ll be real glad to sell it. He has often told me how little money he makes by the toys, and how they lose their freshness and get dusty, and children toss’em. Some children aresocareless. Yes, I’ll go with you, and then we’ll come straight home. Father will be back certain to-night at six. He’ll know that I’ll be wanting him.”
“Sibyl, I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
There was a tremulous note in Miss Winstead’s voice which arrested the gay, careless chatter. The child looked at her governess. That deep, comprehensive, strange look visited her eyes. Miss Winstead got up hastily and walked to the window, then she returned to her seat.
“What is it?” said Sibyl, still seated at the tea-table, but turning round and watching her governess.
“It is something that will pain you, dear.”
“Oh!” said Sibyl, “go on, please. Out with it! plump it out! as Gus would say. Be quick. I don’t like to be kept in ’spense.”
“I am afraid, Sibyl, that you will not see your father to-night.”
Sibyl jumped up just as if someone had shot her. She stood quite still for a moment, and a shiver went through her little frame; then she went up to Miss Winstead.
“I can bear it,” she said; “go on. Shall I see father to-morrow?”
“Not to-morrow, nor the next day, nor the next.”
“Go on; I am bearing it,” said Sibyl.
She stood absolutely upright, white as a sheet, her eyes queerly dilated, but her lips firm.
“It’s a great shock, but I am bearing it,” she said again. “Whenwill I see him?”
Miss Winstead turned now and looked at her.
“Child,” she said, “don’t look like that.”
“I’m looking no special way; I’m only bearing up. Is father dead?”
“No; no, my dear. No, my poor little darling. Oh, you ought to have been told; but he did not wish it. It was his wish that you should have a happy time in the country. He has gone to Queensland; he will be back in a few months.”
“A few months,” said Sibyl. “He’s not dead?” She sat down listlessly on the window seat. She heaved a great sigh.
“It’s the little shots that hurt most,” she said after a pause. “I wouldn’t have felt it, if you had said he was dead.”
“Come out, Sibyl, you know now he won’t be back by six.”
“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”
She turned and walked very gravely out of the room.
“I’d rather she cried and screamed; I’d rather sherushed at me and tried to hurt me; I’d rather she did anything than take it like that,” thought the governess.
Sibyl went straight into the nursery.
“Nursie,” she said, “my father has gone. He is in Queensland; he did not wish me to be told, but I have been told now. He is coming back in a few months. A few months is like for ever, isn’t it, nursie? I am going out with Miss Winstead for a walk.”
“Oh, my darling,” said nursie, “this has hurt you horribly.”
“Don’t,” said Sibyl, “don’t be sympathisy.” She pushed nurse’s detaining hand away.
“It’s the little shots that tell,” she repeated. “I wouldn’t have felt anything if it had been a big, big bang; if he had been dead, I mean, but I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to let anybody think that I care anything at all. Give me my hat and gloves and jacket, please, nurse.”
She went to Miss Winstead, put her hand in hers, and the two went downstairs. When they got into the street Sibyl looked full at her, and asked her one question.
“Was it mother said you was to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Then mother did tell me a——” Sibyl left offabruptly, her poor little face quivered. The suffering in her eyes was so keen that Miss Winstead did not dare to meet them. They went for a walk in the park, and Sibyl talked in her most proper style, but she did not say any of the nice, queer, interesting things she was, as a rule, noted for. Instead, she told Miss Winstead dry, uninteresting little facts, with regard to her visit to the country.
“I hear you have got a pony,” said Miss Winstead.
“I don’t want to talk about my pony, please,” interrupted Sibyl. “Let me tell you just what were the most perfect views near the place we were in.”
“But why may we not talk about your pony?”
“I don’t want to ride my pony now.”
Miss Winstead was alarmed about the child.
“You have walked quite far enough to-night,” she said, “you look very white.”
“I’m not a scrap tired, I never felt better in my life. Do let us go to the toy-shop.”
“A good idea,” said the governess, much cheered to find Sibyl, in her opinion, human after all. “We will certainly go there and will choose a beautiful toy.”
“Well, this is the turning, come along,” said Sibyl.
“But why should we go to Holman’s, there is a splendid toy-shop in this street.”
“I’d much rather go to Mr. Holman’s.”
Miss Winstead did not expostulate any further. Presently they reached the shabby little shop. Mr. Holman, the owner of the shop, was a special friend of the child’s. He had once or twice, charmed by her sympathetic way, confided some of his griefs to her. He found it, he told her, extremely difficult to make the toy-shop pay; and Sibyl, in consequence, considered it her bounden duty to spend every half-penny she could spare at this special shop. She entered now, went straight up to the counter and held out her hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Holman,” she said; “I hope I find you quite well.”
“Thank you, Missy; I am in the enjoyment of good health,” replied the shopman, flushing with pleasure and grasping the little hand.
“I am glad of that,” answered Sibyl. “I have come, Mr. Holman, to buy a big thing, it will do your shop a lot of good. I am going to spend twenty shillings in your shop. What would you like me to buy?”
“You thought a doll’s house,” interrupted Miss Winstead, who stood behind the child.
“Oh, it don’t matter about that,” said Sibyl, lookinggravely back at her; “I mean it don’t matter now. Mr. Holman, what’s the most dusty of your toys, what’s the most scratched, what’s the toy that none of the other children would like?”
“I have a whole heap of ’em,” said Holman, shaking his head sadly.
“That he have, poor dear,” here interrupted Mrs. Holman. “How do you do, Missy, we are both glad to see you back again; we have had a dull season, very dull, and the children, they didn’t buy half the toys they ought to at Christmas time. It’s because our shop is in a back street.”
“Oh, but it’s a very nice street,” said Sibyl; “it’s retired, isn’t it? Well, I’ll buy twenty shillings’ worth of the most dusty of the toys, and please send them home to-morrow. Please, Miss Winstead, put the money down.”
Miss Winstead laid a sovereign on the counter.
“Good-by, Mr. Holman; good-by, Mrs. Holman,” said Sibyl. She shook hands solemnly with the old pair, and then went out of the shop.
“What ails her?” said Holman. “She looks as if something had died inside her. I don’t like her looks a bit.”
Mrs. Ogilvie enjoyed herself very much that evening. Her friends were glad to see her back. They were full of just the pleasant sympathy whichshe liked best to receive. She must be lonely without her husband. When would he return? When she said in a few months’ time, they congratulated her, and asked her how she had enjoyed herself at Grayleigh Manor. In short, there was that sort of fuss made about her which most appealed to her fancy. She forgot all about Sibyl. She looked at other women of her acquaintance, and thought that when her husband came home she would wear just as dazzling gems and just as beautiful dresses, and she, too, might talk about her country place, and invite her friends down to this rural retreat at Whitsuntide, and make up a nice house-party in the autumn, and again in the winter. Oh, yes, the world with its fascinations was stealing more and more into her heart, and she had no room for the best of all. She forgot her lonely child during these hours.
Mrs. Ogilvie returned from a fashionable reception between twelve and one in the morning. Hortense was up and tired. She could scarcely conceal her yawns as she unstitched the diamonds which she had sewn on her mistress’s dress earlier in the evening, and put away the different jewels. At last, however, her duties were over, and she went away to her room.
Mrs. Ogilvie got into bed, and closing her eyes,prepared to doze off into delicious slumber. She was pleasantly tired, and no more. As she sank into repose, the house in the country and the guests who would fill it mingled with her dreams. Suddenly she heard a clear voice in her ears. It awoke her with a sort of shock. She raised herself on her elbow, and saw her little daughter standing in her white nightdress by the bedside.
“Mother,” said Sibyl.
“What are you doing there, Sibyl? Go back to bed directly.”
“Please, mother, I can’t sleep. I have got a sort of up-and-down and round-and-round feeling. I don’t know what it is, but it’s worse when I put my head on my pillow. I ’spect I’m lonesome, mother. Mother, I really, truly, am going to be sensible, and I know all about father; but may I get into your bed just at the other side. I will lie as still as a mouse; may I, mother?”
“Oh dear, how you tremble,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “how more than annoying this is! You certainly are not a sensible child at the present moment. If you felt so strange and nervous, why didn’t you ask Nurse or Miss Winstead to sleep in the room with you?”
“But, mother, that wouldn’t have done me any good.”
“What do you mean?”
“They wouldn’t be you. I’ll be quite happy if I can get into bed alongside of you, mother.”
“Of course you may, child, but please don’t disturb me. I am very tired, and want to sleep.”
Sibyl ran round to the other side of the bed, slipped in, and lay as quiet as a mouse.
Mrs. Ogilvie curled up comfortably, arranged her pillows, and closed her eyes. She was very sleepy, but what was the matter with her? She could not lose herself in unconsciousness. Was the perfectly still little figure by her side exercising some queer power over her, drawing something not often stirred within her heart to the surface? She turned at last and looked at the child. Sibyl was lying on her back with her eyes wide open.
“Why don’t you shut your eyes and go to sleep?” asked her mother.
“I can’t, on account of the round-and-roundness feeling,” replied Sibyl.
“What a funny little thing you are. Here, give me your hand.”
Mrs. Ogilvie stretched out her own warm hand and took one of Sibyl’s. Sibyl’s little hand was cold.
“May I come quite close to you, mother?” asked Sibyl.
“Yes, darling.”
The next instant she was lying in her mother’s arms. Her mother clasped her close to her breast and kissed her many times.
“Oh, now that’s better,” said the child with a sob. It was the first attempt at a sob which had come from her lips. She nestled cosily within her mother’s clasp.
“I am much better,” she said; “I didn’t understand, but I understand now. I got his letter.”
“Must we talk about it to-night, Sibyl?” asked her mother.
“Not much; there’s not much to say, is there? He said I was to be good and to obey you. I was to be good all the time. It’s very hard, but I ’spect I’ll do it; I ’spect Lord Jesus will help me. Mother, why has father gone to Queensland? It’s such a long, long way off.”
“For a most excellent reason,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “You really are showing a great deal of sense, Sibyl. I never knew you more sensible about anything. I was afraid you would cry and make scenes and be naughty, and make yourself quite ill; that would have been a most silly, affected sort of thing to do. Your father has gone away just on a visit—we will call it that. He will be back before the summer is over, and when he comes back he will bringus——”
“What?” asked the child. “What has he gone for?”
“My dear child, he has gone on most important business. He will bring us back a great deal ofmoney, Sibyl. You are too young yet to understand about money.”
“No, I am not,” said Sibyl. “I know that when people have not much money they are sorrowful. Poor Mr. Holman is.”
“Who in the world is Mr. Holman?”
“He sells the toys in the back street near our house. I am very much obliged to you, mother, for that sovereign. Mr. Holman is going to send me some dusty toys to-morrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t ’splain, Mr. Holman understands. But, mother, I thought we had plenty of money.”
“Plenty of money,” echoed Mrs. Ogilvie; “that shows what a very silly little child you are. We have nothing like enough. When your father comes back we’ll be rich.”
“Rich?” said Sibyl, “rich?” She did not say another word for a long time. Her mother really thought she had dropped asleep. In about half an hour, however, Sibyl spoke.
“Is it nice, being rich?” she asked.
“Of course it is.”
“But what does it do?”
“Do? It does everything. It gives you all your pretty frocks.”
“But I am more comfy in my common frocks.”
“Well, it gives you your nice food.”
“I don’t care nothing about food.”
“It gives you your comfortable home, your pony,and——”
“Lord Grayleigh gave me my pony.”
“Child, I cannot explain. It makes all the difference between comfort and discomfort, between sorrow and happiness.”
“Do you think so?” said Sibyl. “And father has gone away to give me a nice house, and pretty clothes, and all the other things between being comfy and discomfy; and you want to be rich very much, do you, mother?”
“Very much indeed; I like the good things of life.”
“I’ll try and understand,” said Sibyl. She turned wearily on her pillow, and the next instant sleep had visited the perplexed little brain.
“Nursie,” said Sibyl, two months after the events related in the last chapter, “mother says that when my ownest father comes back again we’ll be very rich.”
“Um,” replied nurse, with a grunt, “do she?”
“Why do you speak in that sort of voice, nursie? It’s very nice to be rich. I have been having long talks with mother, and she has ’splained things. It means a great deal to be rich. I am so glad that my father is coming back a very, very rich man. I didn’t understand at first. I thought to be rich just meant to have lots of money, and big, big houses, and heaps of bags of sweeties, and toys and ponies, and, oh, the kind of things that don’t matter a bit. But now I know what to be rich really is.”
“Yes, dear,” said nurse. She was seated in the old nursery close to the window. She was mending some of Sibyl’s stockings. A little pile of neatly mended pairs lay on the table, and there was a frock which also wanted a darn reclining on the back of the old woman’s chair. Sibyl broke off and watched her nurse’s movements with close interest.
“Why do you wear spectacles?” she asked suddenly.
“Because, my love, my sight is failing. I ain’t as young as I was.”
“What does ‘not as young as you was’ mean?”
“What I say, my dear.”
“I notice,” said Sibyl, thoughtfully, “that all very, very old people say they’re not as young as they was, and so you wear spectacles ’cos you’re not as young as you was, and ’cos you can’t see as well as you did.”
“That’s about it, Missy, and when I have to darn the stockings of a naughty little Miss, and to mend holes in her dress, I have to put on my glasses.”
“Then I’m glad we’re going to be rich; it will be quite easy to ’splain why I am glad,” continued Sibyl, thoughtfully. “When our gold comes, nursie, you’ll never have to do no more darning, and you need never wear your glasses ’cept just to read lovely books. Oh, we’ll do such a lot when we are rich. There’s poor Mr. Holman: I was talking to him only yesterday. Do you know, nursie, his shop isn’t paying, not a bit, and he was, oh, so sad about it, and Mrs. Holman began to cry. She told me there’s a new big toy-shop in Palace Road, a great big lovelyswampysort of shop. I mean by that, that it takes all the customers. They go in thereand they spend their money, and there’s none left for poor Mr. Holman. It’s just ’cos he lives in Greek Street, and Greek Street is what is called a back street. Isn’t it perfectly shameful, nursie? Mr. Holman said if they could afford to have a shop in Palace Road he would get all the little boys and girls back again. But they won’t come into his nice, quietbackstreet. I like back streets, don’t you, nursie? It’s horrid of the boys and girls not to go to Mr. Holman’s.”
“It’s the way of the world, dear,” answered nurse; “the world always goes with the prosperous people. Them that are struggling the world leaves behind. It’s a cruel way, but it’s the way the world has got.”
“Then I hate the world,” said Sibyl. “My beautiful Lord Jesus wouldn’t allow it if He was on earth now, would He, nursie?”
“Oh, my love, there’d be a lot of thingsHe’dhave to change if He came back; but don’t ask me any more questions now, Missy. You go out with your governess. You don’t get half enough of the air, to my way of thinking; you’re looking peaky, and not what the master would like to see.”
“But I am perfectly well,” answered Sibyl, “I never felt better in all my borned days. You know, nursie, I have got a lot to do now. Father gave me’rections in that letter that nobody else is to see, and one of them was that I was to keep well, so I’ll go for a walk if you think it will be good for me; only I just wish to say that when father comes back dear Mr. Holman shall have his shop in Palace Road, and a lot of fresh toys put in it, and then he’ll be quite happy and smiling, and his shop will swamp up all the children, and all the pennies and all the half-pennies and sixpennies, and poor, dear, darling Mrs. Holman won’t have to wipe away her tears any more.”
Sibyl skipped out of the room, and nurse said several times under her breath—
“Bless her! the darling she is!”
Smartly dressed, as was her mother’s wish, the little girl now ran downstairs. Miss Winstead was not ready. Sibyl waited for her in the hall. She felt elated and pleased, and just at that moment a servant crossed the spacious hall, and opened the hall door. Standing on the steps was Mr. Rochester. Sibyl uttered a great whoop when she saw him, rushed forward, and seized him by the hand.
“Oh, I am glad to see you,” she said. “Have you come to see me, or to see mother?”
“I am very glad to see you,” replied the young man; “but I did call to see your mother.”
“Well, come to the drawing-room, I’ll entertainyou till mother comes. Go upstairs, please, Watson, and tell mother that Mr. Rochester is here. Be sure you say Mr. Rochester—niceMr. Rochester.”
Watson smiled, as he often did when Sibyl addressed him, and nice Mr. Rochester and the little girl disappeared into the drawing-room.
Sibyl shut the door, took his hand, and looked earnestly into his face.
“Well?” she said.
“Why do you say that?” he asked, in some confusion.
“I was only wondering if Lady Helen had done it.”
“Really, Sibyl, you say very queer things,” answered Rochester. He sat down on a chair.
“Oh, you know you are awfully fond of her, and you want her to marry you, and I want her to marry you because I like you. You are very nice, very nice indeed, and you are rich, you know. Mother has been ’splaining to me about rich people. It’s most ’portant that everybody should be rich, isn’t it, Mr. Rochester? It’s the only way to be truly, truly happy, isn’t it?”
“That it is not, Sibyl. Who has been putting such an idea into your head?”
Sibyl looked at him, and was about to say, “Why, mother,” but she checked herself. A cloud tooksome of the brightness out of her eyes. She looked puzzled for a moment, then she laughed.
“When my own father comes back again we’ll all be rich people. I hope when you are very, very rich you’ll make,” she said, “dear Lady Helen happy. I am very glad, now, my father went to Australia. It gave me dreadful pain at the time, but when he comes back we’ll all be rich. What has he gone about; do you know, Mr. Rochester?”
“Something about a gold mine. Your father is a great engineer, and his opinion with regard to the mine will be of the utmost value. If he says it is a good mine, with a lot of gold in it, then the British public will buy shares. They will buy shares as fast as ever they can.”
“What are shares?” asked Sibyl.
“It is difficult to explain. Shares mean a little bit of the gold out of the mine, and these people will buy them in order to become rich.”
“It’s very puzzling,” said Sibyl. “And it depends on father?”
“Yes, because if he says there is not much gold in the mine, then no one will buy shares. Don’t you understand, it all depends on him.”
“It’sverypuzzling,” said Sibyl again. “Are you going to buy shares, Mr. Rochester?”
“I think so,” he answered earnestly. “I shall buyseveral shares, I think, and if I do I shall be rich enough to ask Lady Helen to marry me.”
“And you will be happy?”
“Very happy if she says ‘yes.’ But, Sibyl, this is a great secret between you and me, you must never tell it to anyone else.”
“You may trust me,” said Sibyl, “I never tell things I’m told not to tell. You can’t think what wonderful ’portant things father has told me, and I never, never speak of them again. Then you’ll be glad to be rich?”
“Yes, because I shall be happy if Lady Helen is my wife,” he answered, and just then Mrs. Ogilvie came into the room.
Sibyl and Miss Winstead went out for their daily exercise. Sibyl had already ridden the pony in the morning. It was a nameless pony. Nothing would induce her to give it a title.
“When father comes back he’ll christen my pony,” she said, “but no one else shall. I won’t give it no name till he comes back.”
She enjoyed her rides on the brisk little pony’s back. She was rapidly becoming a good horsewoman. When her mother did not accompany her the redoubtable Watson followed his little mistress, and the exercise did the child good, and helped to bring a faint color to her cheeks.
Now she and Miss Winstead walked slowly down the shady side of the street. Sibyl was pondering over many things.
“It is very hot this morning,” said the governess.
“Oh, that don’t matter,” replied Sibyl. “Miss Winstead, is your head sometimes so full that it seems as if it would burst?”
“No,” answered Miss Winstead, “I cannot say it is.”
“Full of thoughts, you know.”
“No,” replied the governess again. “Don’t turn in your toes, Sibyl, walk straight, turn your toes out a little, so; keep step with me. Little ladies ought to walk properly.”
Sibyl took great pains to follow Miss Winstead’s instructions. She was always taking great pains now. A wonderful lot of her naughtiness and daringness had left her. She was trying to be good. It was extremely irksome, but when she succeeded she felt a great glow of pleasure, for she believed herself near to her father.
“Miss Winstead,” she said suddenly, “I have been thinking of something. It is most terribly ’portant. Would you greatly mind if we went to see the Holmans before we go back?”
“We shan’t have time,” replied Miss Winstead.
“Oh, but I want to go,” said Sibyl, knitting herbrows, “don’t let us go into the stupid Park, do come to the Holmans.”
“I cannot do it, Sibyl, it is impossible. We must be back rather early for lunch to-day, as your mother is going into the country this afternoon.”
“Mother going into the country, what for?”
“I cannot tell you, it is not my affair.”
“That means that you know, but you won’t tell.”
“You can put it in that way if you like. I won’t tell. Now come into the Park, we can sit on one of the chairs under the trees and keep cool.”
Sibyl obeyed unwillingly. She felt, as she said afterwards, as if Miss Winstead had rubbed her the wrong way.
“I am like a pussy-cat when its fur is rubbed quite the wrong side up,” thought the little girl. “I don’t like it, not a bit.”
Presently she slipped her hand through her governess’s arm, and said in a coaxing voice—
“Do come home through Greek Street; I do want just to say one word to Mr. Holman, you can’t think how ’portant it is.”
“I cannot, Sibyl; you must not ask me again.” Here Miss Winstead took out her watch.
“We must hurry home,” she said; “I had not the least idea the time was going so fast.”
They left the Park, and came back in time forlunch. During lunch both Mrs. Ogilvie and her little daughter were very silent. Sibyl was thinking of the Holmans, and how more than important it was that she should see them soon, and Mrs. Ogilvie had another thought in her head, a thought which caused her eyes to dance with pleasure.
“Why isn’t Mr. Rochester here?” said the little girl at last.
“He could not stay,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie. “You and he are great friends, are you not, Sib?”
“He is nice, he is very nice,” said the child; “he and Lady Helen—oh, more than nice. I like ’em very much, don’t you, mother?”
“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Ogilvie got up. “Good-by, Sibyl, I shall be back late this evening.”
“Good-by, mother dear.”
Mrs. Ogilvie left the room. Miss Winstead, having finished her lunch, desired Sibyl to be quick with hers, and then to follow her to the schoolroom. There was no one in the room now but Sibyl and the footman, Watson. Watson began to remove the things. Sibyl played with a biscuit. Suddenly she looked full up at the young man.
“Are you tired after your ride this morning Watson?”
“No, Miss Sibyl, not at all.”
“I wonder if you’re awfully hungry, Watson?”
“Why so, Miss?”
“Because it’s time for the servants’ dinner.”
“Well, Miss, I’m going down to the hall presently, when I shall have my appetite satisfied, thank you all the same for inquiring.”
Watson greatly enjoyed having a private chat with Sibyl.
“You couldn’t, p’waps,” said the little girl, knitting her brows, “you couldn’t, p’waps, come a short way down the street with me afore you begin your dinner?”
“Where do you want to go, Miss?”
“I want to see Mr. Holman; you know Mr. Holman, don’t you, Watson? He is the dear, kind, nice, sorrowful man who keeps the dusty toys.”
“I have heard of him from you, Miss.”
“It’s most ’portant that I should see him and his wife, and if you walked behind me, mother would not be very angry. Would you come, Watson? You might just put on your hat and come at once. I have not taken off my hat and coat. We can do it and be back afore Miss Winstead finds out.”
Watson looked out of the window. He saw Mrs Ogilvie at that moment go down the steps, closing the door behind her. She walked away in the direction of the nearest railway station. She held a daintyparasol over her head. He turned to where the eager little face of Sibyl was watching him.
“If you’re very quick, Miss,” he said, “I’ll do it.”
“You are good,” said Sibyl. “Do you know, Watson, that you’re a very nice man—you have very good impulses, I mean. I heard father once say of a man who dined here that he had good impulses, and I think he had a look of you; and you have very good impulses, too. Now let’s go; do let’s be quick.”
A moment later the footman and the child were in the street. Sibyl walked on in front, and Watson a couple of feet behind her. Holman’s shop was fortunately not far off, and they soon entered it.
“Watson,” said the little girl, “you can stand in the doorway. It’s very private, what I has to say to the Holmans; you must on no account listen.”
“No, Miss, I won’t.”
Sibyl now entered the shop. Mrs. Holman was alone there. She was attending in the shop while her husband was eating his dinner. She looked very sad, and, as Sibyl expressed it afterwards, rusty. There were days when Mrs. Holman did present that appearance—when her cap seemed to want dusting and her collar to want freshness. Her black dress, too, looked a little worn. Sibyl was very, very sorry for her when she saw her in this dress.
“Dear! dear!” she said; “I am glad I came. You look as if you wanted cheering up. Mrs. Holman, I’ve splendid news for you.”
“What is that, my dear little lady? That you have got money to buy another toy? But Mr. Holman said only as late as last night that he wouldn’t send you another worn-out toy not for nobody. ’Tain’t fair, my love. It seems like playing on your generosity, my dear.”
“But I like them,” said the child; “I do really, truly. I paint them up with the paints in my paint-box and make them look as good as new. They are much more interesting than perfect toys, they are truly.”
“Well, dear, your mother would not like it if she know we treated you in what my husband says is a shabby way.”
“Don’t think any more about that now, Mrs. Holman. You both treat me as I love to be treated—as though I were your little friend.”
“Which you are, darling—which you are.”
“Well, Mrs. Holman, I must hurry; I must tell you my good news. Do you remember telling me last week that you had a hundred pounds put away in the Savings Bank, and that you didn’t know what to do with it. You said, ‘Money ought to make money,’ and you didn’t know how yourhundred pounds would make money. It was such a funny speech, and you tried to ’splain it to me, and I tried to understand.”
“It was silly of my husband and me to talk of it before you, Missy. It is true we have got a hundred pounds. It is a nest-egg against a rainy day.”
“Now again you are talking funnily; a nest-egg against a rainy day?”
“Against a time of trouble when we may want to spend the money.”
“Oh, I understand that,” answered the child.
“And I had it well invested, but the money was paid back, and there was nothing for it but to pop it into the Post Office Savings Bank.”
“It’s there still, is it?” said Sibyl, her eyes shining.
“Yes, dear.”
“Well, now, what do you say to buying bits of gold with it?”
“Bits of gold with our hundred pounds?” said Mrs. Holman, staring at Sibyl.
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean; bits of gold. You will be able to if you keep it long enough. If you promise to keep that money safe you may be able to buy great lumps of gold out of my father’s gold mine. My father has gone to Australia to——Oh, I must not tell you, for it really is an awful,awful secret; but, anyhow, when he comes back you’ll be able to make a lot of money out of your money, to buy heaps of bits of gold. Will you promise to keep that hundred pounds till father comes home? That’s what I came about, to ask you to promise, and Watson came with me because Miss Winstead wouldn’t. Will you promise, dear Mrs. Holman?”
“Bless you, darling,” said Mrs. Holman, “so that is why your father has gone away. It do sound exciting.”
“It’s awfully exciting, isn’t it? We shall all be so rich. Mother said so, and mother ought to know. You’ll be rich, and I’ll be rich, and dear, dear nursie will be rich, and even Watson. Watson has got such good impulses. He’ll be rich, too, and he shall marry the girl he is fond of; and there is a friend of mine, he wants to marry another girl, and they shall be rich and they shall marry. Oh, nobody need be sorrowful any more. Everybody will be quite happy when father comes back. You’ll be able to have your shop in Palace Road, and oh, be sure you keep that hundred pounds till then.”
Sibyl did not wait for Mrs. Holman to make any further remark. Mrs. Holman’s eyes looked bright and excited; the child dashed out of the shop.
“Come, Watson,” she said, “you’ll have a splendidappetite for your dinner, and you have done a very good deed. You have denied yourself, Watson, and made a sorrowful woman happy. What do you think of that?”
About this time Mrs. Ogilvie was subjected to a somewhat severe form of temptation. It had been one of the biggest dreams of her life to possess a country place. She had never been satisfied with the fact that she and her husband must live in town except when they went to lodgings at the seaside, or were on visits to their friends. She wanted to have their own country place to go to just when she pleased, a place where she could invite her friends whenever the whim seized her. In an evil moment, almost immediately after Ogilvie had gone to Australia, she had visited a house agent and told him some of her desires.
“My husband is not prepared to buy a place now,” she said in conclusion, “but he soon will be in a position to do so, and I want you to look round for me and tell me if anything nice happens to come into the market.”
The agent had replied that he would be sure to let his client know if anything suitable came his way. Very soon places, apparently quite to Mrs. Ogilvie’s heart, did come in the agent’s way, and then somehow, in some fashion, other house agents got windof Mrs. Ogilvie’s desire, and now scarcely a post came that did not bring her most tempting prospectuses with regard to country places. There was one in particular which so exactly pleased her that she became quitedistraitand restless except when she was talking of it. She went to see this special place several times. It was on the Thames just above Richmond. The grounds sloped down to the water. The house itself was built in a low, rambling, eccentric fashion. It covered a considerable extent of ground; there were several gardens, and they were all nicely kept and were bright with flowers, and had many overhanging trees. The house itself, too, had every modern comfort. There were many bedrooms and several fine reception rooms, and there were tennis and croquet lawns in the grounds, all smooth as velvet and perfectly level. There were also kitchen-gardens, and some acres of land, as yet undevoted to any special purpose, at the back of the house. It was just the sort of place which a man who was in a nice position in society might be glad to own. Its late owner had given it the somewhat eccentric title of Silverbel, and certainly the place was as bright and charming as its name.
This desirable little property was to be obtained, with its surrounding acres, for the modest sum oftwenty thousand pounds, and Mrs. Ogilvie was so fascinated by the thought of being mistress of Silverbel, on the lovely winding River Thames, that she wrote to her husband on the subject.
“It is the very best place of its kind in the market,” she wrote. “It was sold to its present owner for thirty thousand pounds, but he is obliged to live abroad and is anxious to sell it, and would give it for twenty thousand. I want you, when you receive this, to wire to me to carry on negotiations in your absence. I have already consulted our lawyer, Mr. Acland. He says the house is drained, and the air of the place would be just the kind to suit Sibyl. She would enjoy so much her row on the river, and all our friends would like it. With the money you must now have at your disposal you can surely gratify me with regard to Silverbel.”
Mrs. Ogilvie had, of course, not yet received any answer to her letter, but she visited Silverbel twice a week, and took Sibyl also to see the beautiful place.
“It will be yours when father comes home,” she said to the child.
Sibyl skipped about madly.
“It’s just too ’licious!” she said. “Is this one of the things God gives us because we are rich? Isn’tit kind of Lord Jesus to make us rich? Don’t you love Him very, very much, mother?”
Mrs. Ogilvie always turned aside when Sibyl spoke to her about her love for the Lord Jesus. Not that she considered herself by any means an irreligious woman. She went to church always once, and sometimes twice on Sunday. She subscribed to any number of charities, and as the little girl now spoke her eyes became full of a soft light.
“We can have a bazaar here,” she said, “a bazaar for the Home for Incurables at Watleigh. Lady Severn was talking to me about it last night, and said how terribly it needed funds. Sibyl, when father comes back we will have a great big bazaar here at lovely Silverbel, and a marquee on the lawn, and we will ask all the most charitable people in London to take stalls; some of the big-wigs, you know.”
“Big-wigs?” said Sibyl, “what are they?”
“People, my dear child, who are high up in the social scale.”
“I don’t understand, mother,” answered Sibyl. “Oh, do look at this rose, did you ever see such a perfect beauty? May I pick it, mother? It is just perfect, isn’t it, not quite full out and yet not a bud. I’d like very much to send it to my ownest father.”
“Silly child! Yes, of course you may pick it, but it will be dead long before it reaches him.”
“It’s heart won’t be dead,” said Sibyl. She did not know why she made the latter remark. She often did say things which she but half understood. She carefully picked the rose and fastened it into the front of her white dress. When she returned to town that evening she put the rose in water and looked at it with affectionate interest.
“What a pretty flower! Where did my darling get it?” said nurse.
“At Silverbel, the beautiful, beautiful place that father is going to buy when he is rich. You can’t think how good mother is growing, nursie; she is getting better and better every day.”
“H’m!” said nurse.
“Why do you make those sort of noises when I speak of my mother? I don’t like it,” said the child. “But I must tell you about Silverbel. Mother says it is practicalically ours now. I don’t quite know what she means by practicalically, but I suppose she means that it is almost our place. Anyhow, when my dearest rich father comes back it will be ours, and we are going to make poor Mr. Holman quite rich, and you, darling nursie, quite rich, and—and others quite rich. We are going to have a great big bazaar at Silverbel, and thebig-wigsare comingto it. Isn’t it a funny word! perhaps you don’t know what big-wigs are, but I do.”
Nurse laughed.
“Eat your supper and go to bed, Miss Sibyl. You are staying up a great deal too late, and you are learning things you had better know nothing about.”
Meanwhile Mrs. Ogilvie downstairs was having a consultation with her lawyer.
“I don’t want to lose the place,” she said. “My husband is safe to be satisfied with my decision.”
“If you have really made up your mind to pay twenty thousand pounds for the place, and I cannot say that I think it at all dear,” replied the lawyer, “I have no objection to lending you a couple of thousand pounds to pay a deposit. You need not complete the purchase for at least three months, and I have not the slightest doubt I can further arrange that you may go into possession, say—well, any time you like after the deposit money is paid.”
“Can you really?” said Mrs. Ogilvie, her eyes growing dark and almost passionate in their eagerness.
“At the worst it could be taken off your hands,” he answered; “but doubtless, from what you tell me, Ogilvie will be well able to complete the thing; only remember, pray remember, Mrs. Ogilvie, thatthis is rather a big matter, and if by any chance your husband does not find the Lombard Deeps all that Lord Grayleigh expects”—he paused and looked thoughtful. “I can lend you the money if you wish it,” he said then abruptly.
“The money to enable me to pay a deposit?” she said.
“Yes; two thousand pounds; I believe the owners will take that on condition that the purchase is completed, say, in October.”
“My husband will be back by then. I have a great mind to agree,” she said. She almost trembled in her eagerness. After a moment’s pause she spoke.
“I will accept your offer, Mr. Acland. I don’t know where to go in August and September, and Silverbel will be the very place. Mr. Ogilvie will thank you most heartily for your generous trust in us both when he comes back.”
“I have plenty of funds to meet this loan,” thought the lawyer. “I am safe so far.” Aloud he said, “Then I will go and see the owners to-morrow.”
“This clinches the matter,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “I will begin ordering the furniture immediately.”
The lawyer and the lady had a little further conversation, and then Mrs. Ogilvie dressed and wentout to dine, and told many of her friends of her golden dreams.
“A place in the country, a place like Silverbel, has always been the longing of my life,” she said, and she looked pathetic and almost ethereal, as she spoke, and as though nothing pleased her more than a ramble through country lanes with buttercups and daisies within reach.
On the following Sunday, Rochester happened to lunch with Mrs. Ogilvie and her little daughter. Mrs. Ogilvie talked during the entire meal of the beautiful place which was soon to be hers.
“You shall come with Sibyl and me to see it to-morrow,” she said. “I will ask Lady Helen to come, too. I will send her a note by messenger. We might meet at Victoria Station at eleven o’clock, and go to Silverbel and have lunch at the little inn on the river.”
Rochester agreed somewhat eagerly. His eyes brightened. He looked at Sibyl, who gave him a meaning, affectionate, sympathetic glance. She would enjoy very much seeing the lovers wandering through beautiful Silverbel side by side.
“It’s the most darling, lovely place,” she said; “nobody knows how beautiful it is. I do hope it will soon be ours.”
“When our ship comes in, it will be ours,” saidMrs. Ogilvie, and she laughed merrily and looked full of happiness.
When the servants left the room, however, Rochester bent forward and said something to Mrs. Ogilvie which did not please that good lady quite so much.
“Have you heard the rumors with regard to the Lombard Deeps Gold Mine?” he asked.
“What rumors?” Mrs. Ogilvie looked anxious. “I know nothing whatever about business,” she said, testily, “I leave all that absolutely to my husband. I know that he considers the mine an excellent one, but his full report cannot yet have reached England.”
“Of course it has not. Ogilvie’s report in full cannot come to hand for another six weeks. I allude now to a paragraph in one of the great financial papers, in which the mine is somewhat depreciated, the gold being said to be much less to the ton than was originally supposed, and the strata somewhat shallow, and terminating abruptly. Doubtless there is no truth in it.”
“Not a word, not a word,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but I make a point of being absolutely ignorant with regard to gold mines. I consider it positively wrong of a woman to mix herself up in such masculine matters. All the sweet femininity of charactermust depart if such knowledge is carried to any extent.”
“Lady Helen knows about all these sort of things, and yet I think she is quite feminine,” said Rochester; and then he colored faintly and looked at Sibyl, whose eyes danced with fun.
Mrs. Ogilvie slowly rose from the table.
“You will find cigars in that box,” she said. “No, Sibyl, you are not to stay with Mr. Rochester; come to the drawing-room with me.”
“Oh, do let her stay,” earnestly pleaded the young man, “she has often sat with me while I smoked before.”
“Well, as you please, but don’t spoil her,” said the mother. She left the room, and Sibyl curled herself up luxuriously in a deep armchair near Mr. Rochester.
“I have a lot of things to ask you,” she said; “I am not going to be like my ownest mother, I am going to be like Lady Helen. I want to understand about the gold mine. I want to understand why, if you give your money to a certain thing, you get back little bits of gold. Can you make the gold into sovereigns, is that what happens?”
“It is extremely difficult for me to explain,” said Rochester, “but I think the matter lies in a nutshell. If your father gives a good report of the mine therewill be a great deal of money subscribed, as it is called, by different people.”
“What’s subscribed?”
“Well, given. You know what it means when people ask your mother to subscribe to a charity?”
“Oh, yes, I know quite well; and Mr. and Mrs. Holman, they may subscribe, may they?”
“Yes, whoever they may be. I don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Holman, but of course they may intend to subscribe, and other people will do the same, and if we give, say, a hundred pounds we shall get back perhaps one hundred and fifty, perhaps two hundred.”
“Oh, that’s very nice,” said Sibyl; “I seem to understand, and yet I don’t understand.”
“You understand enough, my dear little girl, quite enough. Don’t puzzle your poor little brain. Your mother is right, these are matters for men.”
“And you are quite certain that my father will say that the beautiful mine is full of gold?” said Sibyl.
“He will say it if the gold is there.”
“And if it is not?”
“Then he will tell the truth.”
“Of course,” said Sibyl, proudly. “My father couldn’t tell a lie if he was even to try. It would be impossible, wouldn’t it, Mr. Rochester?”
“I should say quite impossible,” replied Rochester firmly.
“You are awfully nice, you know,” she said; “you are nice enough even for Lady Helen. I do hope father will find the mine full up to the brim with gold. Such a lot of people will be happy then.”
“So they will,” replied Rochester.
“And darlingest mother can have the beautiful place. Hasn’t the new place got a lovely name—Silverbel?”
“It sounds very pretty, Sibyl.”
“And you will come to-morrow and see it, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you will bring Lady Helen?”
“Your mother will bring Lady Helen.”
“It’s all the same,” replied Sibyl. “Oh, I am so glad.”
She talked a little longer, and then went upstairs.
Miss Winstead often spent Sunday with her friends. She was not in the schoolroom now as Sibyl entered. Sibyl thought this was a golden opportunity to write to her father. She sat down and prepared to write a letter. This was always a somewhat laborious task. Her thoughts flowed freely enough, but her hand could not wield the pen quite quick enough for the eager thoughts, nor washer spelling perfect, nor her written thoughts quite so much to the point as her spoken ones. Nevertheless, it was full time for her father to hear from her, and she had a great deal to say. She took a sheet of paper, dipped her pen in the ink, and began: