Poor self-reliant Queenie felt her bravery oozing out. Suddenly a pang of self-pity crossed her as she pictured the future. Would it always be work and drudgery for herself and Emmie? must she for ever go through life with this weak burthen round her neck, toiling, toiling, with the child's feeble hand in hers?
"Friends will not be wanting to us; heaven helps those who help themselves," she cried with a clasp of her hands and another involuntary sigh. "I am not afraid—not often, I mean. I prayed for work; and now work has come, and I do not mean to shrink from it. I hope you and your sisters will not be ashamed of knowing me when I am only a village school-mistress. Are you sure you will not mind—for your sisters, I mean? turning on him a little anxiously.
"Do you think such a question deserves an answer?" somewhat reproachfully. "You do not know us yet, Miss Marriott. We shall honor you more in your poverty and independence than if you came amongst us rolling in riches. Rich people are my abhorrence, women especially. Agar's prayer—'Give me neither poverty nor wealth'—always pleased me. I am an odd fellow, and have my hobbies and facts like other men—this is one of them."
"It is a very comfortable one, as far as I am concerned. Then you will promise to help me with your influence with Mr. Logan and Captain Fawcett?"
"I suppose I must, if you will let me have my grumble out first. Recollect, I enter my remonstrance; I do not approve of your scheme in the least."
"You have made me understand that most fully."
"I denounce it as moral suicide."
"I call that exaggeration."
"You are burying yourself alive under a mistaken notion of self-sacrifice; and mark my words, I am no true prophet if you do not live to repent it."
"On the contrary, I intend to be very happy. Cathy is going to help me with my garden, and we mean to read German together."
"I hope you will allow your friends to subscribe for your funeral if the crust should prove not quite so sufficing as you imagine?"
"You need not fear anything so tragic; Emmie and I mean to flourish on our crusts as much as Daniel and the three children did on their pulse and water," returned Queenie gaily, whose spirits had risen now her formidable task was achieved. "I shall speak to them both to-morrow, and get it off my mind," she had said to Cathy the previous night, when they had discussed the grand question in all its bearings, under cover of the summer darkness, and with the scent of Langley's roses steeping the air. "There is no time to be lost; Mr. Logan is writing to Carlisle for a mistress, and I must speak to him at once."
Queenie's buoyancy had returned, but Garth remained silent. He had done his duty, and uttered his protest against this monstrous scheme, which, nevertheless, he was bound to further by all means in his power.
"Quixotic, absurd, girlish to the last degree," he muttered to himself, and yet he felt he respected and liked the girl all the better for her modest independence. Two days ago they had been strangers, and now they had entered on a mutual league of friendship and support. "I have promised to see you through this, so you may leave all business details to me," he said with a little condescension, which, in spite of everything, amused Queenie. "Half-measures are not in my line; if you want help from me you will be sure to get it," finished Garth; and Queenie felt amused and grateful in a breath.
Garth was a little silent after this; the young man felt an odd thrill, half painful and half pleasant, at the recognition of this new responsibility. This young stranger had unconsciously thrown herself upon his protection. In asking his advice she had appealed strongly to his generosity. To be sure, Queenie would not have read matters in this light, indeed, would have rebelled at such a statement; but Garth judged otherwise. Tenderness to all weakness was inherent in his nature; women, children, and animals always trusted themselves involuntarily to him; his shoulders were broad enough to incur a mass of responsibility that would have crushed most people. "It was Garth's chief happiness to help people," his sisters always said. True, he must help them in his own way, and they must submit to his good-natured dictates, flavored a little arbitratively perhaps; but his sympathy and ready help would always be forthcoming. No one ever appealed to Garth Clayton's generosity in vain.
He was silent for a long time after this, revolving all sorts of schemes for the sisters' benefit. Once or twice, as she sat beside him, he glanced at her with kindly scrutiny. "She was not much like a village school-mistress," he thought, as he noted the quiet, refined face, the pretty figure, the brown dress enlivened with the knot of white rose-buds, the hat with the pheasant's plume. "Where has she picked up that air of finish and elegance? it struck me from the first. I suppose some fellows would give anything to be in my place," thought the young philosopher, a little elated, and yet puzzled at his own position. "She is very unlike Dora, quite a contrast; they are neither of them pretty, at least not strictly so. Dora is the more attractive, but Miss Marriott's eyes are wonderful; I never saw any in the least like them, not that I concern myself about such matters," finished the patriarch of eight-and-twenty, pulling his moustache with an amused air.
But for all that he roused himself rather reluctantly as Cathy and Mr. Logan came towards them, dragging a large basket of ferns between them. Cathy looked hot and flushed, and just a trifle perturbed. She left her hold of the basket a little impatiently, and flung herself down by Queenie.
"How provokingly cool you two look. Here have Ted and I been working like galley-slaves, until Mr. Logan chose to come and break in on our work."
"She was overtiring herself, so I took away the trowel," returned Mr. Logan, with an expression of quiet humor. "Moderation in everything, Miss Catherine, even in fern-hunting. St. Paul's rule is the best."
"I like to be my own taskmaster," grumbled Cathy, who seemed to be in one of her impracticable moods. "Queen, for pity's sake come with me for a run across the moor. I have been so long with Miss Faith and Mr. Logan that I shall have a 'break out' directly, as the prison matron calls it, unless I associate for a little with less desperately good people. Moderation even in this is the best rule," continued Cathy aggravatingly, drawing up her graceful figure, and darting a defiant look at Mr. Logan. "After all, St. Paul was right; so come along, Queenie."
"Kitty, whatever has put you into such a bad temper?" asked her friend affectionately, linking her arm in the girl's as they crossed the tramway.
"I don't know; he treats me like a child, and I will not bear it. He puts me in one of my tantrums, and then pities and drives me wild with that gentle way of his. I hate to feel so ashamed of myself, and he knows it."
"But what is it all about?" asked Queenie, a little bewildered at this sudden storm.
"Oh, I don't know, I never do know, that is just the aggravating part. I say something in my usual way, and then he puts me down and argues with me, and proves that he is right and I am wrong; and then when I get cross, and human nature won't bear such an amount of contradiction,—at least mine won't,—he just says I am tired, and takes away my trowel. I know all the time he is laughing at me in his quiet way, and saying to himself, 'that poor foolish child.'"
"But, Cathy, there is no harm in that."
"There is harm when I am no child, when I do not feel like one, when—but I won't talk about it any more. Let us have a race, Queen—one—two—three—away," and Cathy flew down the moor with a swift, bird-like movement, her small head erect, but not before Queenie had caught the gleam of something like a tear on one long eyelash.
Just then a whistle from Garth summoned the scattered party together. The afternoon was far advanced; some evening clouds skirted the edge of the moor; the children were weary. The little engine steamed up slowly towards them, and all hands were busy in packing the hampers and baskets on the truck.
Cathy stood aside a little sulkily while the rest clambered into their places. Queenie, who was watching them, saw that Mr. Logan wanted to assist her, but Cathy would have none of his help; she was therefore a little surprised when he followed her, and seated himself persistently by their side.
"So you have not forgiven an old friend for having the best of an argument," he said at last, after vainly trying to draw her in the conversation. Queenie had flung herself gallantly into the breach, but Cathy remained obstinately silent.
"She is tired, Christopher, my dear," suddenly interrupted Miss Cosie's little chirping voice; "nothing is more wearying than talking when one wants their tea, and I am sure I want mine. Mrs. Fawcett has been saying the same thing just now; there, there, we shall get it presently, I dare say, and Langley always makes such beautiful tea, as I tell her."
"Are you tired, Miss Catherine? then I will not talk to you any more," was the gentle reply, and Mr. Logan quietly turned his attention to Queenie.
The waggonettes were waiting for them at the entrance of the Warstdale works, and a short drive deposited them at the dark porch of Church-Stile House.
Mr. Logan was standing apart for a moment under the sycamore trees, when Cathy suddenly walked up to him. The girl's cheek was crimson, her eyes were still a little defiant. "Miss Cosie was wrong, I was not tired. I let you believe what was not true. I was only vexed and put out with myself, as I often am," wrinkling her smooth brow and speaking quickly.
"I am always sure to hear the truth at last from you, Miss Catherine," he replied, with a kind look and smile, as he held out his hand to her; and then Cathy sprang away into the house.
"That them may'st pray for them thy foes are given;That thou may'st look to God I bring thee pain.I bring thee cares that thou may'st look to heaven;I bring thee fretful friends that thou may'st trainThy soul to patience. What thou deemest gainWhen closest wreathing chains around thy soulI rend from thine own bleeding heart in twain,That He who bought may have thy spirit whole,Spurs that may give thee pain, but urge thee to the goal."Keble.
The evening festivities had been closed as usual by the family concert, during which Garth had distinguished himself with more than ordinary brilliancy.
Queenie had been a little thoughtful and absent, but she had no idea that her pre-occupation had been observed until she bade Garth good night, and he followed her into the little hall, and lighted her candle.
"What is the use of worrying yourself over a lot of unnecessary details?" he said, looking down at her with an elder-brotherly air. "Things can't be settled in a minute. Leave everything to me; I will see you through your difficulties. The best thing will be to put it all out of your head for a little while, until I give you leave to think of it."
"I will try; but it will not be very easy, when so much depends upon it," she returned, submissively.
They were standing alone together in the little square hall; a lamp burned dimly in a recess; the candle flared between them in the summer draught; a grey moth brushed round them. Outside was the shadow of the dark sycamores. A little runlet of water trickled audibly in the silence. Garth's broad shoulders seemed to block up the tiny hall; he towered above Queenie's slim, girlish figure, looking down upon her with condescending dignity, but with the gleam of real kindness in his eyes. As he held out his hand his firm, warm pressure seemed reassuring.
"That is all the more reason to leave it to me. We business men are used to deal with difficulties. Nothing hurts me; I am strong enough to bear any amount of responsibility." And Queenie went up-stairs comforted.
Garth's assurance was not unnecessary. For some days nothing further passed between them on the subject of her project. Garth never alluded to it; and but for those few words Queenie might have felt uneasy. As it was she had some difficulty in keeping her restlessness down. It cost her an effort at times to appear unrestrained, and to join in the ordinary topics of conversation.
"I try to do as he tells me, and put it out of my mind; but it is so hard when so much depends upon it," she would say to Cathy when they retired for the night. "I hope it is not wrong; but I have set my heart on carrying out this scheme. I get fonder of this place every day, and so does Emmie. I never was so happy in my life!" finished Queenie, with a little sob of excitement.
"You dear old Queen! as though we ever meant to part with you! Have you really only been here a week? How I enjoy having you; and Langley says the same. Never mind Garth's silence, his few words mean more than a whole hour of talk from any other man. If he says he will do a thing you may safely trust him."
"Yes; I know; but all the same, Mr. Logan may not think me suitable for such a post," persisted Queenie, disconsolately, "and then I shall be obliged to go back to Carlisle, and to part with Emmie. Oh, Cathy! it does seem so hard, when we should be content with so little;" and though Cathy helped her friend, and was very kind and sympathizing, there was no denying that the cause for suspense was a grave one.
Queenie had only stated the truth when she had owned she had never been happier in her life. For the first time she had tasted the real comfort of a happy, well-regulated home. Queenie's own youth had never known freedom from the carking fret of a narrow income and incessant burden of debt. The remembrance of the petty meanness, the shiftlessness, the continuous fight with untoward circumstance, made retrospect bitter to her. She had grown up strong and sturdy, like some blooming Alpine plant which had taken root in a handful of earth on the edge of a crevasse; the sunshine might be all about her, but it had not gilded her one point of rock.
Here there was plenty without profusion, comfort without pretension; a happy family circle, rich in individuality, characteristic, strong in will, with a fount of pure native humor evidently engrained in the blood; and yet there were fewer jars and less dissensions than ordinarily occur in domestic life.
Ted was evidently the malcontent of the household; but even his grumbling, incessant as it was, had no root of bitterness in it. He was only a lazy, sweet-tempered fellow, who had not yet fitted himself to his niche in life, and who was young enough to quarrel with the monotony of his existence. "Look here! I can't stand this much longer; I shall have to cut it, after all, and take to office work in Carlisle," he would say, when he had secured the two girls as listeners, and had extended himself after his usual fashion on the long, narrow couch, with his arms under his head, and his light hair standing on end. "Do you think a fellow of any spirit can endure life in a hole like this?"
"Oh, Ted, do be quiet; we are so tired of this sort of talk," remonstrated his sister.
"I am not talking to you; I am talking to Miss Marriott. She is a girl of sense, and knows what a fellow means when he says he is hipped, and all that. Do you think a place like Hepshaw is meant for anything but a refuge for old maids?"
"Oh, Teddie, you rude boy!"
"Don't interfere, Catherine; I am speaking to your betters."
"Your brother seems perfectly content with his surroundings; I should advise you to follow his example," returned Queenie demurely, trying hard not to laugh, and not unmindful of the boyish kicks that were being administered to the end of the sofa.
"Garth! Oh, he is different; he is a confirmed old bachelor, a sort of philosopher on a small scale. I don't believe Garth would trouble himself if he never saw a fresh face from one year's end to another. A man with a hobby is always to be envied," sighed the poor victim of circumstance.
"Get a hobby, then," snapped Cathy.
"Oh, it is all very easy to talk."
"I know it is, or you would not lie railing there, like the melancholy Jacques, against fate. 'I met a fool,' quoth he, 'a motley fool.'"
"'Call me not fool till heaven has sent me fortune,'" growled Ted, with the spirit of reviving fun in his eyes.
"There, he is better now; when he begins to quote we may safely leave him, Queenie. I want you to come with me and call on the Cardinal Virtues; it is such a wet afternoon that they will be in strong force. Never mind Ted's grumbling, he cannot expect you to stay at home and talk to him; besides, he has 'David Copperfield' to amuse him."
"I'll pay you out for this," returned her brother, viciously. "Just as Miss Marriott and I had found out we were kindred spirits, and all that sort of thing.
'Oh, woman! in your hour of easeA wretched bore, or else a tease;When pain and sickness wring the browA downright duffer then art thou.'
Wasn't the old Caledonian one when he praised up the weaker portion of the community in that ridiculous fashion?" but as Cathy did not condescend to reply, the passage of arms stopped.
The sisterhood were all gathered in the pleasant parlor at the Evergreens. A bright-eyed, faded little woman lay on the couch in the bay window knitting some bright-coloured strips for an antimacassar. She looked up and nodded pleasantly as the friends entered.
"You always come to us on a wet afternoon, Catherine, when visitors are most welcome. Faith was reading to us; I dare say she will be glad of a rest by this time. We are in the fourth volume of D'Aubigné's 'Reformation.' Put a marker in the place, Faith, and then we shall lose no time when we open the book again. Do you know D'Aubigné, Miss Marriott? it is most improving reading for young people."
"Could this active-looking, talkative little woman be the hopeless invalid of whom she had heard so much?" Queenie asked herself, with some bewilderment, as she sat down in the comfortable chair that Miss Faith brought to her. Though it was summer a little fire burned in the grate; the window had been closed to exclude the dampness. Miss Faith's cheeks looked unusually pale; her eyes were full of a soft weariness.
"Charity is so fond of D'Aubigné; I think he tires me a little. It is very good reading, of course; but in this summer weather, and with the drip, drip of the rain on the leaves—"
"There were giants in those days," broke in Miss Hope, vigorously. "Luther was a grand man, and so was Zwingle." Miss Hope spoke in a loud but not unpleasing voice. She was a stout, fresh-colored woman, not without a certain degree of comeliness. In her young days she had been too high-coloured for beauty, but now the grey hair toned and softened her down.
Miss Prudence was less pleasing: she was tall and angular, wore spectacles, and had that slight appendage on the upper lip which is not a strictly feminine adjunct. Her voice was thin in quality and somewhat harsh. Queenie felt that Ted'ssoubriquetof "the dragon" was not badly bestowed. It was she who held the purse-strings of the little household, and who guarded the proprieties. Miss Hope, in spite of her strong leaning to the Plymouth Brothers, and her somewhat injudicious tyrannies in the matter of temperance and total abstinence, was far less rigid than her strong-minded sister.
No wonder Miss Faith drooped in such an atmosphere! and then Miss Charity's voice! Queenie, who was sensitive on such matters, found fault with the ceaseless flow of words that proceeded from the bay-window. "She is egotistical, selfish; she works that poor sister of hers to death, I know she does," thought the girl to herself, with a certain youthful antagonism against oppression. "Miss Faith is a saint; but I wonder how she can bear it."
Queenie was a little hard in her judgment, as young people often are in their estimate of things and people. There was selfishness, and possibly oppression, in the continual sisterly sacrifice demanded as a right; in the unpitying claims made on the health and time so ungrudgingly bestowed upon her.
In life, real life, we see these sort of sacrifices perpetually exacted before our eyes somehow. Human flesh and blood revolts against the sight. The strong, sometimes the young, compelled to put away their own life, and spend some of their best years chained to the couch of helplessness; condemned to share the burthen of an invalid existence; exposed to petty tyrannies and tempers, and bearing them out of pity for the suffering that provokes them.
Sometimes, indeed, it may be a labor of love, a life within a life, of many-folded sweetnesses blossoming out of the pain, as in the case of an afflicted parent or husband. Nay, one often see admirable lives of sisterly or brotherly devotion. Yet are there sadder cases, when duty and not love is the main-spring of action; when the self-sacrifice is bitter though voluntary; when the watcher would willingly change places with the watched, that the bounding pulse of health might be subdued; that the keen suffering of repression and yearning, and God only knows what bitter measure of woman's pain, might be dulled and quieted by mere bodily weakness.
To be free, only to be free, and live their own lives—that is what some women vainly crave; and then a stone is given them for bread. Instead of work comes waiting—the hardest and most trying form of work; instead of freedom a mesh of finely-woven duties, light as gossamer threads, yet binding the conscience like cart-ropes.
Queenie sat and mused with inward rebellion while Charity talked about her books, and showed her manuscript volumes of finely-copied extracts. "I always write out passages that please me; it is such a resource to read them afterwards. I want Faith to do the same, but she likes mending and watering her flowers. I prefer thoughts to flowers, Miss Marriott."
"Every one has a right to their taste. I think I share Miss Faith's," returned the girl, a little ungraciously. She felt no pity for the bright-eyed, faded little woman, who made so much of her life, and hid away her sufferings bravely, much as the silk, patched coverlet hid the useless shrunken limbs.
She would not even allow to Cathy that she could have ever been pretty, as they walked home together through the summer rain.
"Her face does not attract me in the least, there is nothing in it; and then her cheek-bones are so high, and her curls are so thin and limp. Now, if she only braided them nicely under a little close cap—and then her tongue; oh, Cathy! I think she would drive me distracted in a week."
But Cathy stood up stoutly for Miss Charity.
"I must say that I think you a little prejudiced," she returned, with honest indignation, and that natural love of opposition that incites young people to do battle for the accused. She did not love Miss Charity in the least; but, nevertheless, her sense of justice prompted her to take up her defence. "She is nice-looking now, every one says so; and when she was young she was more than pretty, positively beautiful, before she met with her accident."
"Was it an accident that caused her illness?"
"Yes; she was a strong healthy girl, just like us, fresh-colored and blooming; and her hair used to be so pretty,—it was just that paler tinge of gold that one sees with fair complexions, and now the color seems all worked out of it. She used to be called the pretty Miss Palmer; and then she was the only one of the four sisters who were ever engaged."
"Oh, Cathy, I thought you told me that there was no one for them to marry!"
"I forgot Miss Charity's affair; she was engaged to a young farmer in Wythiedale. I fancy he was a rough-and-ready sort of person; but I believe she was fond of him, poor thing, and then her accident happened."
"What sort of accident?"
"Oh, she fell down the granary steps when she was spending the day at his father's. It was a dreadful affair; partial paralysis set in, and there was a complication, and a great deal of suffering; and then the doctor said it was hopeless, and she was obliged to give him up."
"Oh, poor Miss Charity!" ejaculated Queenie, with tears in her eyes. She could have gone back and asked her pardon on the spot for all the hard things she had thought. "I never dreamt of trouble like this; I can hardly bear to hear of it. What became of the poor fellow?"
"That is the worst part of all," replied Cathy, rather reluctantly; "his end was very miserable. He broke his neck when he was out hunting. His horse fell, in trying to jump a five-barred gate, and rolled over on him. Some people said he was not quite sober when it happened. Whether he grew reckless from the loss of her, or whether, as it is strongly suspected, he was addicted to intemperance from the first, I cannot possibly tell; but I rather think that she must have been deceived in him. Of course no one was cruel enough to hint at such a thing to her; and so she treasures the memory of her poor George, as she calls him."
"But, Cathy, what a terrible tragedy!"
"Yes; she was very ill for a time; and then Miss Faith gave up her hospital, and came home to nurse her. Of course it sounds very bad, and the poor thing has suffered a good deal one way and another; but how do you know that it was not all for the best?" finished Cathy, solemnly. "Think if that accident had never happened, and she had married him, and then found that he was not worthy. To be tied for life to a man, and then to see him sink lower and lower, to despise one's own husband! Could you imagine any greater torment than that? If it were I, I know I should get to hate him. Nothing should make me live with such a man; I would beg my bread first," cried the girl, with sparkling eyes, and setting her small white teeth together. "To despise one's husband! oh, Queenie, think how dreadful!"
"I don't suppose such a thing could happen to either of us. Poor Miss Charity! perhaps it was a blessing in disguise after all; but to think of caring for D'Aubigné's 'Reformation', and copying out all those rubbishing extracts, after living through such a tragedy as that! it seems so incomprehensible."
"Do you think the sun and the moon ought to have stood still in her little firmament? don't you know hearts are broken every day, and the world goes on just as usual?" returned Cathy, sententiously. She and Queenie seemed to have changed characters that afternoon; it was Cathy who was calm and philosophical. At another time her old-fashioned wisdom would have provoked a smile, but Queenie was too much in earnest.
"I should have thought her story would have been more plainly written in her face. If it had been Miss Faith now— Cathy, you look queer; has Miss Faith ever had a story too?"
"Well, not exactly. I don't know, no one does; but I always fancied there was some attraction beside the sick children in that hospital. Langley's suspicions were aroused when she went over to Carlisle once; but she would not like me to repeat such nonsense."
"But why should I not know? Oh, Cath! there could never be any harm in telling me."
"Well, as it was ten years ago, perhaps not. I don't know what made Langley say such a thing, but she spoke to me once of a dark young surgeon, who came up to them in the ward, and talked to them for a long time. Langley said nothing crossed her mind until she saw him look at Miss Faith, and then, somehow, the thought got into her mind."
"Nothing but a look?"
"My dear, there is a great deal to be read in looks," returned Cathy, demurely. "It was just the beginning, I dare say, of a possible romance. When Miss Charity's trouble happened, and poor Miss Faith came home to nurse her, every one said it was grief at her sister's state that made her so grave and unlike herself; but Langley always believes that that dark young surgeon had something to do with it, and so do I. I dare say this was one of the 'might-have-beens' that have spoiled many women's lives."
"But Miss Faith is not so old,—only five-and-thirty,—and she is still so sweet-looking."
"My dear, we are speaking of mere looks, and ten years ago; most likely he has married and has half-a-dozen children by this time; and remember, they have never even met since. Perhaps he has grown stout and bald, those dark young men do get stout sometimes. I am a little cynical, but I cannot believe in such faithfulness as that. Men are such fickle creatures, my dear, 'out of sight is out of mind' with most of them."
"Pray where did you learn those abominable sentiments?" asked her brother curtly, as he came up behind the girls, starting them into a muttered exclamation of dismay. How much had he overheard? how was it that his footsteps had gained upon them unperceived? Quick blushes burnt in the girls' faces. Garth shook off the raindrops and laughed mischievously; he was master of the situation, his love of teasing was paramount.
"Girls are all alike. Fancy men talking to each other about their love affairs, and choosing a public thoroughfare for the tender confidence."
"Garth, you are a monster, and I hate you," burst out Cathy, stamping her little foot at him.
"Mr. Clayton is utterly mistaken," observed Queenie hotly; "we were only discussing other people's affairs. We are not often in such a gossiping mood, but Cathy was communicative, and I suppose I got interested."
"Is it also your opinion that men are such fickle creatures? I thought that was Cathy's observation. She has known so many men, and has such a wide acquaintance with life. I should have thought Miss Titheridge and the dragon-guarded portals of Granite Lodge would have excluded the stronger and ruder sex, but perhaps I am mistaken."
"Garth, when you are in this mood I detest you."
"I cannot have you infecting Miss Marriott's mind with such heterodox notions; fickleness is all on the other side, take my word for it. I am sorry that I only overheard the last words, as Cathy's communications would doubtless have proved both novel and instructive; a schoolgirl's opinion on such points must be delicious. Cathy, my dear, if you can spare Miss Marriott one moment I have a word or two to say to her. Step into my den there, please, while I hang up my wet coat. I will be with you in a moment."
Queenie obeyed him wonderingly. She had been in Garth's den before, Cathy had taken her, but she looked round it with fresh interest.
There were the book-shelves he had made and stained himself, loaded with his favorite authors—Dickens, Thackeray, and Macaulay, "fine fellows all of them," he would say; and his writing-table with all its old bachelor's appurtenances,—the pipe-rack and red earthen tobacco-jar; and the worn easy-chair, the shabbiest and the most comfortable in the house. Opposite was the picture of his mother, a large faded oil-painting of a woman, not young, but with a sweet gentle face and Garth's blue-grey eyes.
Queenie looked at it for some time, and then she went to the window. A little bird was singing through the rain, the drops splashed endlessly from the white-rose bush under the window; the steep lawn planted sparsely with trees ran down to the lane. Langley's jessamine and clove-pink steeped the wet air with fragrance; a half-drowned bee clung to a spray of woodbine. "Most people would call this dull; and how they would hate that little gate leading to the churchyard, and the thought of that granite monument shining in the moonlight, but to me it is the dearest place," thought Queenie, leaning against the window-frame in sweet abstraction.
"Are you there, Miss Marriott? I am so sorry to have kept you waiting," observed Garth apologetically, coming to her side in his quick way. "Langley detained me with some questions of domestic detail that could not be postponed."
"It does not matter, I was in no hurry. Look at that bee, Mr. Clayton; I was just going out to rescue him; he is shipwrecked, and wants to save his cargo of honey."
"You shall go to him by-and-bye. I only want to say a word to you. I have talked to Mr. Logan, and everything is arranged. In a month from this time you are to enter on your new duties as mistress of the Hepshaw girls' school."
END OF VOL. I.
BUNGAY: CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.