CHAPTER XVII
If Lavarcham had ever permitted herself excitement she would have been excited the next day. But there is a curious means by which we may postpone the spending of our emotions. There are many people who can only do a particular thing on condition that they do it in two directions. They can repress themselves only when they are engaged in repressing some one else; for the thing we are doing outwardly and to others is always the thing that we are doing inwardly and to ourselves. If we treat others benevolently we are assuredly being kind to ourselves: if we mete out torment we will receive that measure and will writhe in it. A tyrant is ultimately one who is striving for self-mastery by the wrong method. But in order to be good you must do good,or to be anything you must do that thing concretely, for life is movement and all else is movement too. Lavarcham by unconscious processes discovered that Deirdre needed the utmost disciplinary and repressive measures that could be applied to a human being.
“The child is running wild,” she complained to the air that circulated about Deirdre’s head.
“But I have not done a thing,” cried Deirdre.
“There are a thousand things you should have done,” Lavarcham replied.
“What are they?” Deirdre demanded.
But Lavarcham did not know.
She certainly felt within herself the necessity for doing a thousand things. She felt so busy that there must really be a thousand things to be done. But she knew also that nothing remained for her to do, and, consequently, that Deirdre was to blame.
The real thing she had to do was to master her own excitement, and she perceived at a glance that Deirdre was in a very excited condition indeed.
“You must sit quietly, my treasure,” shecounselled. “You must not move from one place to another, taking things up and putting them down. You will become fidgety yourself and will give every one about you the fidgets also.”
“But——” Deirdre expostulated.
“And you must not give back-answers. When you are told to do a thing you must do it cheerfully and patiently——”
“But——” cried Deirdre.
“For,” Lavarcham continued, “lacking this self-control and gentleness of movement no girl can become a lady.”
“But,” Deirdre exploded, “I have not done a thing.”
“You know, my one treasure, that everything I say is for your good, and when I counsel you it is because I consider you need just that counsel. You are distraught to-day, my bud of the branch, and there is no reason why you should not be as calm to-day as you were yesterday or any day. This is only to-day, but to-morrow will come and to-day will be forgotten.”
“I do not understand in the least——” Deirdre began.
“There is nothing to understand, mybeloved. There is not a reason in the world why you should be troubled. Sit now at your embroidery, and do not leave it until I give permission.”
Deirdre was indeed excited, but Lavarcham had not the smallest perception of this: nor was it visible. It was a very intimate excitement, which could be brooded and enjoyed as well over a piece of embroidery as in any other way. And Lavarcham watched her, sensing nothing of that deep agitation and memory and dream.
I was wise, she thought, not to tell the news, for the child seems even more beautiful to-day than she has ever seemed before. She has slept well.
While they were thus sitting a servant hurried into the room, with her eyes bolting from her head, and a gabble on her lips which Lavarcham only repressed by ferocity, for she surmised at once that the king had arrived, and she did not even yet wish Deirdre to know of the visit.
She rose and precipitated herself against the servant.
“Is that how you enter a room, ill-bred slave? Was it among the cattle that youlearned manners? Begone at once,” she cried, “and do not come into a room again until you have asked and received permission to enter. What is the world coming to?” she continued angrily as she hustled the servant through the door and down the corridor.
“It’s the son of Ness——” the servant babbled.
“And if it is,” said Lavarcham, “there is the more reason for you to be attentive and respectful and unseen. Go to your place and stay there until I send for you.”
She returned then, and, still simulating ill-temper, she dismissed Deirdre to her own room.
“You have not properly trimmed your finger-nails,” she scolded; “there is a black spot under one of them. You are not seemly. Go to your room at once, little blossom, and when you come back come so that your fosterer need not be ashamed of her charge.”
Saying so, she marched Deirdre to her room and thrust her in. Then she returned, and, seating herself at the embroidery from which she had driven her ward, she prepared to receive the king.