"SO to-morrow your sister returns," remarked Miss Pring. She was nipping the dead roses from around the porch at Home Vale whilst she talked to Joy Wallis, who stood by watching her. "She has had a pleasant visit at T— I've no doubt; but you'll be glad to have her home again. What fast friends she and Lulu Tillotson have become! They looked like sisters on the flower show day both dressed in white. By the way, where did Celia get her grand brooch?"
"What grand brooch do you mean?" Joy inquired. "She has a small gold one like mine, but you can't mean that—"
"No, indeed! The one to which I refer is in the shape of a butterfly, studded with diamonds—imitation diamonds, of course, but very showy they looked, I assure you."
"Lulu must have either given or lent it to her; or, perhaps, she bought it for herself. Uncle Jasper gave her a sovereign before she went away. I know Celia wanted a new brooch very much."
"She has it, then."
"Is it pretty?" Joy asked, naturally feeling interested.
"Why, yes, pretty in its way," Miss Pring replied. "One could not help noticing that it glittered so. All this cheap jewellery one sees is very effective, but I do not care see it worn, somehow. I am old-fashioned in my ideas, and dislike shams."
"That's what mother says. She likes things to be real."
"There is so much pretence nowadays," Miss Pring went on; "people are so fond of show. It's a very great pity. Look at Lulu Tillotson, for instance."
"But you don't dislike her, Miss Pring, do you?"
"No, certainly not. Her father has knowingly done his best to spoil her; has brought her up to please herself, and that is enough to ruin anyone's character, but it hasn't ruined Lulu's, which goes to show how much good there is beneath the veneer of selfishness and vanity in her of which I so strongly disapprove. I often think if her mother had lived, she would have been a very different sort of girl."
"Did you know Mrs. Tillotson?" Joy inquired.
"Yes. She was a very sweet woman, and one of the happiest creatures I ever met; she always seemed to me to be in the sunshine of God's presence—in the warmth of His love. Ah, it was a terrible blow to her husband when she died! God's ways are inscrutable in our eyes." Miss Pring's busy hands were quiet for a few minutes, and a wonderfully gentle expression crossed her plain, dark face as she thought of Lulu's young mother. "I knew the Tillotsons before I came to Home Vale, when I was richer than I am now," she proceeded, "but when loss of fortune came my way, I found them the same. Mr. Tillotson was ever a true friend to me, and I've always taken an interest in Lulu for her mother's sake. Sometimes she reminds me of her mother, when she forgets her fine clothes, and allows herself to be girlish and natural. Poor Lulu! I've tried to laugh her out of her foolish ways; but I fear I've done little good. Oh, look at Wag, my dear! He's digging a hole in the middle of that flower bed."
Joy shouted at the puppy, and then rushed after him as he careered around the garden. Finally she caught him, and having ascertained he had done no real harm, returned to Miss Pring, who was laughing heartily. "I don't think he has done much mischief," Joy said, apologetically, "so please forgive him, and don't say I mayn't bring him here again, for he makes such a to-do if I leave him at home. He's a poor, lonely, little puppy with only me to play with when Eric's away. Eric's so fond of him."
"Where is your brother to-night?" Miss Pring inquired.
"Gone to the cricket field. He and Putty get on capitally with the other boys now. Eric wanted me to go with him this evening, but I thought I'd rather come here, and have a talk with you. I hope I don't come too often?"
"No," laughed Miss Pring; "when you come too often, I will give you a hint to stay away. Ah, here comes Mary, laden with spoil from the hedges!"
Miss Mary Pring, who had been for a stroll, joined them in the porch a minute later. Governess and pupil met with much friendliness. The former, whose hands were laden with ferns, explained where she had been, patted Wag, and then inquired for Celia.
"She is coming home to-morrow," Joy returned, "and mother and I are going to drive in to T— in the evening to fetch her."
"I've been telling Joy about her sister's grand brooch," Miss Pring remarked; "she has never seen it, so evidently it is a new possession of Celia's."
"It is very handsome," Miss Mary said; "indeed, rather too handsome for a young girl to wear. It is in the shape of a butterfly, set with diamonds. Lulu Tillotson is fond of jewellery, but I never saw her with such a beautiful ornament as that diamond brooch of Celia's!"
"Why, surely you don't imagine the stones were real diamonds, Mary?" Miss Pring exclaimed, glancing at her niece in surprise.
"They looked real," Miss Mary answered, dubiously; "if they were not, they were very good imitations. Are you really going, Joy? Then I will walk part way home with you."
This she accordingly did. After she had parted with her governess, Joy strolled along very slowly, her mind occupied by thoughts of Celia's new brooch. She supposed her sister must have purchased it for herself with the sovereign Sir Jasper had given her, and wondered what her mother would say when she saw it, for she knew Mrs. Wallis greatly disliked flashy jewellery for young people, and she had been anything but pleased when Celia had bought a gaudy brooch before; she determined to say nothing about it, however, for it might transpire that Lulu had lent the ornament for the occasion of the flower show. On reaching the Moat House, Joy went round to the stables with Wag, then returned to the front of the house and entered the hall, where she encountered the housekeeper.
"Sir Jasper has been inquiring for you, Miss Joy," Mrs. Mallock informed her; "he's in the library, my dear."
Accordingly, Joy went at once to the library, where, she found Sir Jasper alone. The old man's face wore a moody expression, and the little girl rightly guessed he had been thinking of his dead son.
"Did you want me, Uncle Jasper?" she asked, gently.
"You might play to me," he replied, not over graciously.
"Oh, yes, of course I will!"
Joy took her place at the piano immediately, and commenced to play "The Last Rose of Summer," whilst Sir Jasper leaned back in his easy chair with closed eyes, and listened. From "The Last Rose of Summer" Joy's fingers wandered presently into another tune; she was improvising as she went on, forgetful how the time was passing, as was her way when making music. Suddenly she stopped, awakened from the reverie into which she had fallen, by the sound of a loud snore. Glancing quickly around she saw Sir Jasper had fallen asleep. How old and worn he looked! Joy's heart warmed toward him with tenderest sympathy and affection. She forgot his injustice to her, and remembered only his great sorrow, his loneliness. Fearing he was in the draught, she stepped behind his chair, and essayed to shut the window noiselessly; but, softly though she moved, the sleeper stirred, and, opening his eyes, sat upright in the chair.
"What are you doing?" he demanded sharply. "Joy, is that you?"
"Yes, Uncle Jasper," she answered, a trifle nervously, taken aback by the asperity of his tone. "I'm afraid I have disturbed you. I'm so sorry!"
"What were you doing to my safe?" he asked, suspiciously.
"To your safe!" she cried in amazement; "why, I wasn't touching it! What do you mean, Uncle Jasper? I was only shutting the window because I was afraid you would catch cold."
"Oh, it was the window I heard, was it? You weren't meddling with my safe then?"
"No, most certainly not."
Joy flushed painfully, and glanced at the safe in the niche by the fire-place; she noticed the key was in the lock.
"I don't like people to meddle with anything belonging to me," Sir Jasper proceeded; "go and lock the safe, and bring me the key."
Joy obeyed in silence, her heart throbbing with indignation. How could Uncle Jasper imagine for a moment that she would interfere with his belongings!
He gazed at her searchingly as he took the key from her hand, and met the reproachful flash of her eyes.
"Don't look at me like that, child," he said, feeling rather ashamed of his suspicion of her. "There, sit down where I can see you, and let us talk. I am very gratified with the progress you are making with your music, my dear; you bid fair to become a clever pianist. Those little fingers of yours know how to draw music from that old instrument of mine. Your talent shall be cultivated, I promise you that."
Her face glowed with intense pleasure and gratitude now, as she faltered her thanks; but her eyes were more eloquent than her lips, and the old man was satisfied.
"I do think you are a grateful little girl," he said, approvingly, "I like that trait of your character. You will have your sister back to-morrow," he continued, abruptly leading the conversation into another channel; "we have all missed Celia, but you most of all, I expect. By-the-bye, where is Eric to-night?"
"Gone to the cricket field. I have been to see Miss Pring. I thought mother was at home with you, Uncle Jasper?"
"No, she is out, I believe. Mrs. Mallock said she had gone to visit a sick woman living in one of my cottages," Sir Jasper rejoined, indifferently.
"Oh, yes," Joy cried. "No doubt she has gone to see poor Mrs. Long."
"My gamekeeper's wife?"
"Yes, I have been to see her several times myself."
"You!" he exclaimed, in considerable astonishment.
"Yes," Joy nodded. "It happened like this. I was passing the cottage one day when I heard someone crying, and—I suppose it was an odd thing to do—I went up and knocked at the door. No one came, so I called out to know if anything was amiss, and then a voice told me to open the door and come in. So I did go in, Uncle Jasper and there, lying on a sofa in the kitchen, was poor Mrs. Long. She was so lonely, and unhappy, and quite unable to stir. It was she I had heard crying—not because there was anything wrong, only because it had come over her what a useless, poor thing she was. She told me her husband was very good to her, and waited on her hand and foot, but when he was away she couldn't help being miserable sometimes. Poor soul! I sat down and talked to her, and she was so glad of my company, and said—and said—"
"Yes? What did she say?" Sir Jasper inquired, really interested now.
"That I was like a ray of sunshine on a winter's day; and then she asked me my name, and I told her—Joy—and she said she had never heard of anyone called that before, but she thought the name suited me, for I looked so happy. I've been to see her several times since, and mother goes very often. Poor Mrs. Long! It must be dreadful to be paralyzed."
"Since when have you known the woman?" he questioned, curiously.
"Let me see—since about a fortnight after we came here."
"Does Celia visit her too?"
"Oh, no! Celia has never seen her. She says it makes her unhappy to see sick people."
"Ah, the child has a tender heart!" he exclaimed.
"Mrs. Long dearly likes me to read to her," Joy proceeded. She was talking naturally and unreservedly now. "Of course she can read herself, but her eyes are weak, and she can't lift up her hands to hold a book."
"And what do you read to her?" Sir Jasper asked; "novels, eh?"
"No," Joy replied, suddenly losing her ease again, as her thoughts reverted to "Lady Isabella's Treachery." "I generally read the Bible, she likes that best; she loves to hear about Christ's miracles, and especially how He made the lame to walk. She says after I'm gone she thinks of it all, and how she will be made well again when she meets Jesus face to face. Oh, poor thing, I feel so sorry for her! It must be terrible to be so helpless!"
"Her husband is good to her, you say?"
"Oh, yes, very good, Uncle Jasper!'
"Ah, so I should imagine. Long has ways proved himself a trustworthy servant; I knew his wife was an invalid, but he never volunteered any information concerning her."
"Perhaps he thought you would not be interested," Joy suggested.
Sir Jasper, upon reflection, thought that was very likely the case. All his life he had been so wrapped up in his own concerns that he had taken but little notice of those with whom he had been connected, with the exception of his son and Mr. Tillotson.
The former's tragic death had had the effect of softening his heart towards others, with the result that his thoughts had turned to the niece he had known to be in poor circumstances, and he had sent for her and her family with the idea of benefiting them ultimately. The young people were unconsciously widening his sympathies, and giving him interests outside himself. A year ago he would not have bestowed a second thought upon the Crumleigh Cricket Club, nor would he have evinced much sympathy for his gamekeeper's invalid wife.
His eyes rested thoughtfully on Joy's countenance, and he noticed, with real gratification, how she had improved in appearance lately. She looked well and bright, her cheeks, though not pink and white like Celia's, had become round, and wore a healthy hue, whilst her large grey eyes shone with happiness. He encouraged her to talk, and drew from her an account of her life at A—. Often he had tried to make her sister tell him of their old home, but in vain; it had been a distasteful subject to Celia. He found himself listening to an account of Joy's school friends, and to the doings of Jane the maid-of-all work, and hearing of many little economies and privations which Mrs. Wallis had been quite unable to prevent.
"What an interest you seem to take in everyone, Joy!" he exclaimed at length. "Do you really care about all these people you've mentioned?"
"Why, yes, of course I do, Uncle Jasper," Joy replied, looking surprised at his question. "I was very sorry to leave them all, though I wanted to come here. This is such a beautiful place, and we have everything we possibly want, and Miss Mary Pring's so nice, and I'm getting on well with my music; and I've nothing to wish for but one thing—" and the little girl's face suddenly grew overclouded.
"And that one thing?" he questioned, with a smile.
"I wish you did not think me untruthful, Uncle Jasper." Joy's face grew very grave as she spoke. "Indeed, I am not that, though I've heaps of other faults. Do try to believe I tell the truth."
The old man looked at her keenly, and as he met her earnest gaze, he forgot all his reasons for having mistrusted her, and answered:
"Very well, Joy, I will.
"Oh, Uncle Jasper, how glad I am to hear you say that!" she cried delightedly, and getting up from her chair she moved swiftly to his side, and putting her arms around his neck kissed his withered cheek.
He was deeply touched by this spontaneous act of affection; and as for Joy, she felt at that moment that she had not a worry or a trouble in the world.
JOY rose on the following morning with the exhilarating sensation that something very pleasant had happened. Sir Jasper's disbelief in her integrity had been the one cloud on the horizon of her happiness during the past few weeks; and now that he had laid his suspicion of her aside, she felt that she could easily forgive Celia for having allowed her to remain in a false position so long, and could welcome her home with a light heart. It would have been unnatural if Joy had entertained no resentment against her sister, for she was fully conscious of the selfishness and cowardice of her conduct, but she tried to make allowances for her, and was very grieved because she and Celia had been drifting apart. Formerly she had been inclined to set Celia on a pedestal; but though her idol had fallen, she did not love her sister any the less on that account.
"I will meet her as though nothing had ever come between us," Joy thought. "Poor Celia! I am sure she was grieved when Uncle Jasper treated me so unjustly; but she did not like to speak out and tell the truth. There, I won't think anything more about it! I'll tell her we'll let bygones be bygones and we'll be better friends than ever."
Joy knelt down to pray with a very happy heart; and when she had poured out all her deep thankfulness to God, she joined her mother and brother at the breakfast-table.
"You look as bright as a May morning, Joy," Mrs. Wallis told her. "I suppose that is with the thought of Celia's return?"
"Yes, partly that," Joy responded, smilingly, "and partly something else. Mother! Eric! Do you know, I've made Uncle Jasper believe at last that I really am truthful, that I am not the storyteller he thought!"
"Bravo!" cried Eric, heartily. "So Uncle Jasper's come to his senses, has he?"
"My dear boy—" commenced Mrs. Wallis, remonstratingly; but Eric broke in:
"Oh, mother, you know he was very unjust to poor Joy! I should have liked him from the first but for that. I feel I really do like him now, for he's been wonderfully generous to us all. Has he discovered the real owner of the novel which Wag destroyed, then, Joy?"
Joy shook her head; and her brother suddenly became very thoughtful.
"I told you everything would come right, my dear," Mrs. Wallis said, affectionately; "I knew it was impossible for anyone to live long under the same roof with my Joy and not find out her true character. Celia will be very relieved at the turn matters have taken."
"Yes," agreed Joy, avoiding her mother's eyes, "I think—I am sure she will."
The girl was blissfully happy. She practised the piano nearly all the morning, stimulated by Sir Jasper's assurance that her talent should be cultivated. That meant that he intended to give her a musical education, she knew. Bright dreams of the future occupied her mind. She would work hard, and get on as well as ever she could, and Sir Jasper would see how deeply she appreciated his kindness, and how truly grateful she was.
In the afternoon Lawrence Puttenham appeared at the Moat House, and Joy and Eric accompanied him in a long ramble through the shady lanes where the nuts on the hazel bushes were beginning to harden, and turn brown, for August was nearly out, and autumn's ripening touch was plainly discernible everywhere. Then Lawrence Puttenham took his friend back to the Vicarage to tea with him; and Joy, on her return to the Moat House, sought her mother in the sitting-room in the east wing.
Mrs. Wallis, who was employed on some needlework, glanced up with a smile as Joy entered, and exclaimed, involuntarily:
"How well you look, my dear! Why, you're quite rosy! Not much like the pale little maiden of six months ago."
"And how well you look, mother!" Joy cried, in return, her eyes resting with admiring affection on Mrs. Wallis's countenance. "I declare you appear years younger than when we came here! Yes, indeed it's true! Mrs. Mallock said so to me only a few days ago."
"Did she?" Mrs. Wallis looked pleased. "Ah, it's the rest from care and worry that's making the difference in my appearance," she continued; "our lines have fallen in pleasant places, my dear. I've been talking Uncle Jasper, and he tells me it is his desire we should remain with him altogether; he says we are his nearest relations, and therefore he will undertake to provide for our futures. Oh, Joy, the relief to my mind know that!" Overcome with mingled emotions, Mrs. Wallis burst into tears. Joy was startled, for she had never seen her mother weep since her father had died, even when she had been sore pressed and troubled. She kissed her tenderly, whilst she thought of the full meaning of her words, and that Celia would in all probability have her wish, and return to A— again.
"Then we shan't be poor any more," Joy said at length, very soberly. "Oh, mother, I am glad! But I was very happy at A—, though Celia was not."
"Ah, Celia!" A grieved expression crossed the mother's face for a moment. "She has not found the secret of happiness—poor Celia! She cannot understand that one may have great wealth, and yet be very, very poor."
"I think I know what you mean, mother," Joy replied thoughtfully, "in fact, I'm sure I do." Then she quoted softly: "When thou hast Christ thou art rich, and hast enough."
"True, little daughter. That is what I have endeavoured to teach all three of my children; but I fear I have failed to impress it upon Celia. Now, you and I are going to have an early cup of tea together, for Uncle Jasper is in the library, and does not wish to be disturbed."
It was about half-past five o'clock when Joy came downstairs in readiness for their drive. She was waiting for her mother in the hall when the library door opened, and Sir Jasper's voice—strangely harsh it sounded—bade her come to him, for he wanted her. The old man stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on his stick, and as Joy approached him, she was struck with dismay at the sight of his face, which wore an expression of almost vindictive rage. Trembling, she knew not why, except that his appearance frightened her, she allowed him to pull her into the room, and shut the door behind her.
"Uncle Jasper, what is it? Oh!" she cried, for the grip of his fingers hurt her tender flesh. "Have I done anything to annoy you? Are you angry with me?"
"Am I angry with you?" he questioned, giving her a shake. "You dare ask me that, you deceitful, wicked, little girl! Were it not for the sake of the others, I would send you away this very night, and you should never darken my doors again!"
"But, Uncle Jasper, what have I done?" Joy asked, in utter amazement.
"What have you done?" Sir Jasper suddenly dropped his hold of her and sank into a chair. "Oh, Joy, how could you do it?" he proceeded, his voice softening from anger to reproach. "What tempted you to take t? Give it back at once, and I will hush the affair up—no one shall know but your mother—it would not be right to keep it from her!"
"Indeed, Uncle Jasper, I don't know in the least what you are talking about," Joy said stressfully; "indeed, indeed I don't!"
"How can you stand there and look me the face with such a falsehood on your lips!" he cried passionately. "And yet, how you wheedled me into believing in you last night! Oh, child, it shocks me to find you such a two-faced little girl! Come, I don't want to be harsh on you, but you must confess everything, and give the brooch back."
"Confess everything, and give the brooch back?" Joy echoed, wonderingly. "Oh, I don't understand! I don't indeed!"
"Do not utter any more falsehoods!" said the old man; "you know perfectly well what you have done. Go, and fetch the jewel at once!"
"What jewel?" Joy cried, almost wildly, trying hard to keep back the tears which filled her eyes, and threatened to overflow.
"The diamond brooch you stole from my safe whilst I was asleep last night, when you told me you had been closing the window for fear I should catch cold in the draught—pretending to take care of the poor old uncle, when all the time you had been robbing him! Fie upon you!"
"Uncle Jasper, you may believe me or not," said the little girl solemnly, "but I never went near your safe until you told me to lock it and give you the key. Oh, do believe me! Oh, I think you will break my heart!"
Sir Jasper regarded her searchingly; he wavered for a moment, for the ring of truth he thought he discerned in her voice puzzled him, and her eyes did not flinch beneath his gaze. Rising, he crossed the room to his safe, and examined its contents most carefully. Joy watched him turning over papers and documents; and then saw him scrutinising various jewels and ornaments, which he took from a velvet-lined case.
"I have made no mistake," he said at length, shutting the door of the safe, and locking it securely. His excitement was cooling down now, but he felt positive that his companion had taken the missing jewel. He recalled his conversation with her on the previous night, remembered all she had told him concerning his gamekeeper's wife, and her acquaintances at A—, and marvelled how she could have so talked to him. What a consummate hypocrite the child must be!
"It is useless your denying it," he proceeded decidedly. "I know you have stolen the brooch, but I am going to give you an opportunity of bringing it back to me. You need not get it now, for I hear the carriage coming around to the door, and it is time for you and your mother to start for T—. I do not wish any fuss made on the night of your sister's return, she must not come back to find you in disgrace—but, the first thing the morning I shall expect you to bring the brooch back."
"Do you mean to say you accuse me of stealing a brooch?" Joy said, pressing her hands distractedly to her head, and asking herself if this was all a horrible nightmare, if she was really awake.
"Certainly, I accuse you of stealing the butterfly brooch studded with diamonds. Ah!"
Sir Jasper uttered the ejaculation as Joy suddenly turned deathly white, and clutched the back of a chair for support. She gazed him with wide-open, horror-stricken eyes, as it was borne upon her mind that his description of the lost jewel tallied with that which Miss Pring had given her of the brooch which Celia had worn at the flower show. For a moment everything swam before her eyes, and Sir Jasper thought, with alarm, that she was about to faint; but with a mighty effort she regained her composure, and the colour returned to her cheeks and lips.
"Bring it back to-morrow, Joy," he said, much agitated himself; "bring it back, and no one shall know you took it but your mother. We'll have no fuss to-night. But oh, Joy, what made you take it? What tempted you? You could never wear the brooch. What will poor Margaret say when she knows the truth?"
Joy regarded him in dumb agony. She felt dazed, frightened, incapable of reasoning, only she was conscious of a dreadful fear, a terrible suspicion concerning Celia.
"I hear your mother coming downstairs," Sir Jasper continued, hurriedly; "she will be looking for you if you don't go. Remember, not a word to-night; but, to-morrow, bring it back—bring it back!"
Joy turned from him without a word, and joined her mother in the hall. She followed her into the carriage, and took the seat by her side.
Mrs. Wallis, her eyes enjoying the beautiful scenery on every side, scarcely glanced at her little daughter during the drive, so she did not remark her disturbed countenance, nor did she notice her unusual quietude.
Joy was actually in a ferment of excitement and indecision. What was she to do? One thing was certain, she would have to speak to her sister that night, and question her about the brooch she had worn at the flower show. Was it merely chance that the jewel Celia had worn, and the one Sir Jasper had lost, were of the same pattern? Even now she could not believe that Celia had been the thief who had robbed Sir Jasper. The thought was preposterous—incredible! There must be some mistake.
When T— was reached, and the carriage drew up before the Tillotsons' house, Mrs. Wallis and Joy both got out, and went inside for a few minutes. The former thanked Mr. Tillotson cordially for his kindness to Celia, and delivered a message from Sir Jasper to the effect that he hoped Lulu would visit them at the Moat House before very long, hearing which Lulu smiled, and declared that that would be delightful, but determined in her own mind that nothing should induce her to go until she knew for certain that the butterfly brooch was in the possession of its rightful owner.
Celia thought Joy's manner to her was strangely cool and undemonstrative; but reflected that her sister probably still resented the past, so when she found herself seated opposite to her in the carriage on their way home, she did her utmost with appealing looks, and assurances of the delight she experienced at being with her once more, to overcome her constraint and reserve. Celia was actually hungering for her sister's love, and desired greatly to be on the old friendly footing with her again; but Joy listened to the other's chatter in comparative silence, and would not be drawn into conversation.
At last, Mrs. Wallis noticed that something was amiss with her younger daughter, and was on the point of inquiring what was wrong, when the sound of a shrill whistle fell upon their ears, and a traction engine appeared around the turn of the road. Sir Jasper's spirited horses snorted, flung up their heads, and plunged wildly ere they broke into a gallop. There was a crash as the carriage came into contact with the traction engine, followed by screams and shouts, and the next moment the occupants of the carriage were flung into the roadway, whilst the horses tore on with the wrecked vehicle at their heels.
"OH, sir! Oh, sir! There's been a terrible accident!"
Sir Jasper, who was seated before his writing-table in the library, dropped his pen and looked up at the speaker—Mrs. Mallock—in sudden alarm, for she had burst into the room like a whirlwind, without even knocking at the door, and now stood wringing her hands, her face white as death.
"What has happened?" asked Sir Jasper, curbing his first impulse, which had been to reprimand her sharply for so far forgetting herself as to break in upon him without asking leave. "Is anyone hurt?"
"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Miss Joy! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Miss Celia's all right, and Mrs. Wallis is only shaken and bruised, but poor Miss Joy's fearfully injured; and they've taken her to the Vicarage!"
"Who are they?" questioned Sir Jasper. "Pray try to explain, Mrs. Mallock. Compose yourself, my good woman, and tell me exactly what has happened."
"It was one of those nasty traction engines, Sir Jasper. And the horses took fright, and ran away. They dashed the carriage against the engine, and Mrs. Wallis and the children were flung out. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! But the horses were not hurt, Sir Jasper. Gay was pitched out, too; but a couple of farm labourers stopped and caught the horses before they had run away very far. Gay was not hurt either."
Gay was the coachman, a steady, reliable man, perfectly trustworthy in every respect, so Sir Jasper was certain the accident was owing to no carelessness on his part.
"It happened close to the Vicarage," Mrs. Mallock proceeded, "and as Miss Joy's so much hurt they—I mean the Vicar and Mrs. Wallis, Sir Jasper—thought it the wisest plan to take her there. Gay's just led the horses home; the poor man's most terribly frightened, and he wants to know if you would like to see him. He says it was all the fault of the traction engine."
"No, I don't wish to see him at present; I will hear what he has to say another time. Where are Mrs. Wallis and Miss Celia? Are they at the Vicarage, too?"
"I suppose so, sir; but Gay did not say. Shall I ask him? Oh!" she cried, as the sound of footsteps was heard in the hall, "who's that, I wonder?"
Sir Jasper rose, and followed the housekeeper as far as the doorway, where he encountered Celia and her brother. The little girl was weeping most bitterly, whilst Eric was vainly trying to console her; his own face was quite colourless, and his eyes were full of tears.
"Oh, Uncle Jasper! Oh, Uncle Jasper!" sobbed Celia, "have they told you what has happened, and about poor Joy? Oh, I am sure she is dreadfully, dreadfully hurt!"
"Bring your sister into the library, Eric," commanded Sir Jasper. "There, put her in that easy chair. She is upset and frightened, poor child, and no wonder. Celia, my dear little girl, don't cry so. A word of sense with you, Eric. Is Joy really much hurt?"
"I fear so, Uncle Jasper," was the response in a low, sad tone. "She is unconscious, so we thought it better to take her into the Vicarage. Putty went off on Mr. Cole's bicycle to T— at once for a doctor, and mother desired me to bring Celia home, for she did nothing but cry, and was only in the way."
"Your mother is not hurt much, Mrs. Mallock says? No. Thank God for that! Keep up your heart, Celia. Joy may only be stunned. Did you see the accident, Eric?"
"No, though it happened in the road outside the cricket field. We heard the traction engine whistle as it turned the corner, and then followed shouts and screams, and the sound of horses running away. Of course we stopped our game of cricket immediately, and went to see what was amiss. Oh, I shall never forget the sight! By the time we reached the scene of the accident, mother and Celia had picked themselves up, and Gay was running after the horses, but Joy—" here the boy's voice faltered— "was lying quite unconscious. Mr. Cole carried her into the Vicarage, and that's all I know, for Celia had to be seen to, and I half dragged her home."
"I could hardly walk," sobbed Celia, "my legs shook so!"
"Poor little girl," said Sir Jasper, laying his hand tenderly on her shoulder, his voice full of sympathy, "try not to cry any more; be a brave child. Tears never did any good yet. Here, Mrs. Mallock, I give her into your charge. Take her upstairs, and do, like a good soul, endeavour to be more cheerful yourself!"
Mrs. Mallock accordingly took Celia by the hand, and led her away. The housekeeper was crying, and when she tried to whisper that perhaps Joy was not so much injured as they all feared, she actually broke down and sobbed. She drew Celia hastily out of the room, and closed the door.
"I think I should like to go back to the Vicarage now, if you have no objection," Eric said, the moment he was alone with Sir Jasper. "I must find out what the doctor says about Joy, I expect he is there by this time." The boy was showing wonderful self-control considering that he was apprehensive that his favourite sister was seriously hurt. "She looked so deathly pale," he continued with an involuntary shudder, "and when the Vicar lifted her up in his arms her head fell back as though she was really dead."
"No doubt she was in a dead faint," Sir Jasper responded, trying to speak reassuringly, though he was shocked at the boy's words; "but I should like you to return at once, and ascertain exactly what the doctor thinks of her condition. And, Eric, should she really be much hurt—too hurt to be moved, for instance—remember that no expense is to be spared in obtaining everything she wants. But it may be that you will find her better. If people are faint, or stunned, they always look very ill."
Eric thanked his uncle and left him. On his way to the Vicarage he met a waggon bearing the shattered carriage and Celia's box to the Moat House; he hurried past it with a shudder, and arrived at his destination in a state of breathlessness. Lawrence Puttenham met him at the front door, and led him silently into the dining-room, looking very grave and sad.
"Well?" Eric questioned, anxiously.
"I went for the nearest doctor—Dr. Forbes —and fortunately found him at home," Putty explained; "he cycled back with me immediately, and he's upstairs now."
"Then you don't know what he thinks of Joy."
"Yes. He came down and told Mr. Cole, and went upstairs again. He said he feared she was seriously hurt, and that if she recovered she would be ill a long time, and would want careful nursing."
"But he does not think that she will not recover, does he?"
"He—he did not say that. Oh, Wallis, don't look so cut up! Perhaps she may get well after all."
Eric groaned, and sinking into a chair covered his face with his trembling hands. Presently he looked up, and inquired:
"How is she hurt?"
"Her head—she has concussion of the brain, and there are other injuries besides—internal injuries."
"Then, Putty, she will die! I feel certain of it!" Eric cried, in an agony of grief.
"No, no! You cannot tell that. I hope and pray God will spare her life. Mr. Cole has sent one of the servants to Home Vale to ask Miss Pring, or her niece, to come and help your mother with the nursing to-night—I expect it will be Miss Mary, for I've heard in the village that she's a capital nurse. Don't give way, Wallis. You must bear up, for your mother's sake."
"Where is Mr. Cole?" Eric asked, after a brief silence.
"Gone to T— to fetch ice. He went himself so that there should be no delay in getting it."
A very short while later Miss Mary Pring arrived, looking pale and startled, but perfectly composed. After hearing what the boys had to say, she went quickly upstairs, and a few minutes later the doctor came down, and went into the dining-room.
"You are my poor little patient's brother, are you not?" he said, glancing pityingly at Eric. "Ah, I thought so!"
"Please tell me exactly how she is," Eric implored. "I have to return to the Moat House presently, and what am I to say to Uncle Jasper?"
"Say your sister is seriously ill, but I cannot tell to-night how it will be with her. I am going back to T— now, but shall return in a couple of hours to visit the patient again. Afterwards I will call at the Moat House, and see Sir Jasper myself."
"Oh, thank you!" Eric replied. "You do not think the case hopeless?"
"No, certainly not." The doctor laid his hand very kindly on the boy's shoulder, and felt how he trembled. "Be a brave lad," he said; "go back to the Moat House, for you can no good here, and try not to despond."
"Cannot I see Joy?"
"No. She must be kept perfectly undisturbed."
"But I will not disturb her."
"You will not see her with my consent," the doctor said, decisively; "her mother and Miss Mary Pring will remain with her to-night, and the Vicar and my friend here" —indicating Lawrence Puttenham— "will be at hand, so you may depend if there is the slightest change in your sister's condition you will be informed at once. But I anticipate no immediate change."
The doctor took his departure, and Eric, seeing no course open but to act on his advice, returned to the Moat House. Sir Jasper listened to his report in silence; but the boy saw the old man was much agitated, and his heart warmed towards him on that account.
A silence hung over the Moat House that night. The servants moved about with noiseless footsteps, and spoke in hushed tones, their thoughts full of the bright little girl who had endeared herself to them all. In the sitting-room in the east wing Celia lay huddled up on the sofa, a heap of misery, no longer weeping, though an occasional sob shook her slender form, whilst Eric sat with his elbows resting on the table, and one hand covering his eyes.
"What is the time?" Celia inquired at length.
"Ten o'clock," her brother replied, after consulting his watch; "don't you think you'd better go to bed?"
"Oh, no! I couldn't! Not before Dr. Forbes has been here! You think he'll be sure to come?" she asked, with feverish anxiety.
"Yes, he said he would, and if anything happened to prevent his keeping his word, I'm sure the Vicar would come himself, or send Putty."
"Concussion of the brain is very dangerous, isn't it, Eric?"
"Yes, very." A slight pause, then the boy continued: "I think Uncle Jasper is very grieved about Joy. I expect he's glad, though, that he's been so much nicer to her lately. They're quite good friends now, you know!"
"Are they? I'm so pleased to hear that," Celia responded, heartily, her tear-stained countenance brightening.
Eric regarded his sister approvingly, and getting up from his chair he went over to the sofa and sat down by her side, addressing her more kindly and sympathetically than he had done at all.
"This is a sad end to your visit, poor Celia!" he said; "but you must try to be brave, and," he added in a low tone, "we can pray for Joy, you know."
"You can!" she cried; "but oh, Eric, I can't pray! I can't, indeed!" she reiterated, stressfully.
"Why not?" he asked, considerably surprised.
"Because I'm too wicked. Oh, you don't know what a naughty, selfish wretch I've been!"
"Well, don't call yourself names," he said, more and more astonished, for Celia in this frame of mind was a new study for him. "I daresay you've been all you say," he remarked, after a few minutes' reflection, "but that's no reason why you shouldn't pray for poor Joy."
"I don't believe God would listen to my prayers."
"Oh, you know better than that!"
"I wish I'd never gone to stay with the Tillotsons!" Celia cried, passionately.
"Why? You had a good time, hadn't you? And you and Lulu Tillotson are such great chums."
"Humph! I don't know about that," Celia said, a trifle dubiously. "Lulu is very fond of dictating to people," she continued, in an explanatory tone, "and she's very selfish."
Eric could not help smiling on hearing this; but before he had time to reply the door opened, and Mrs. Mallock entered. She had brought a message from her master to the effect that Dr. Forbes had been to see him, and that he had reported Joy to be lying in exactly the same condition.
"Sir Jasper desires you will both go to bed now," she said, looking commiseratingly at the young people on the sofa; "he will send to the Vicarage to inquire for Miss Joy the first thing in the morning."
"I shall get up early and go myself," Eric declared, decidedly. "I don't believe I shall sleep a wink."
"Nor I," Celia sighed; "but I suppose it's no good our sitting up any longer."
The sister and brother said good-night to each other, and repaired to their respective rooms.
Celia found her box awaiting her, and examined it to see if it had been injured. It had not; but she was unsatisfied until she had unstrapped and opened it, and found the butterfly brooch was perfectly safe.
"I hope I shall soon be able to put it back in its proper place," she thought, as she examined the jewel. "How could I have been so foolish as to take it? It has brought me nothing but trouble."
She placed it at the bottom of her box again, and prepared for bed. When she knelt down to say her prayers, her frame shook with sobs as she thought of Joy, and tried to commend her to God's care; but no words came to her lips, and her attempt to pray ended in a fit of weeping. She crept into bed then, and lay awake thinking of her sister. Remorse was in her heart that she had allowed her to bear Sir Jasper's displeasure, when she alone had been the culprit. How generous it had been of Joy to hold her peace when she might so easily have cleared herself from the suspicion of untruthfulness! Oh, if God would only spare Joy's life, Celia felt she would do anything, bear anything, to atone for what she had allowed her to suffer in the past! At that moment she acknowledged herself vain, and false, and selfish, and a great abhorrence of her own character filled her soul. Yet, though her faults were plain to herself, no thought of going to Sir Jasper with confession upon her lips entered her mind; it never occurred to her that that course would have shown her truly repentant. At length, worn out mentally and physically, exhaustion overcame her, and she fell asleep. Meanwhile, Eric had likewise retired to rest; but, before lying his head upon the pillow, he had poured out all the trouble of his sorrowful heart to his Father in Heaven, and had committed his well-beloved sister to the infinite mercy and love of Almighty God.
ERIC was up betimes the morning following the carriage accident; and seven o'clock found him at the Vicarage hearing the latest news of the invalid, which was anything but reassuring, for Joy was no better, and had shown no signs of returning consciousness.
The boy saw his mother for a few minutes, and her self-control gave way as she flung her arms around his neck, and wept scalding tears of weariness and grief.
"Oh, Eric," she cried, "I fear I am adding to your distress, but she is very, very ill, and we can do nothing for her!"
"But God can, mother," he reminded her tenderly, his voice almost choked with emotion.
"Ah, yes!" she replied. "He is mindful of His own, and our Joy belongs to Him, we know. We can only pray for her, Eric, and leave her in God's hands."
Eric returned dejectedly to the Moat House; and informed the anxious household there that Joy was no better. Celia received the news in silence; but her pale, troubled face, with its dark-rimmed blue eyes, appealed to her brother's sympathy far more than had her noisy weeping of the night before. Indeed, the little girl looked heart-broken, but her tears had apparently all been shed.
Much to the young people's surprise, Sir Jasper sent them a message to join him at breakfast in the dining-room. They found him seated at the table when they entered the room, waiting for them. He looked very grave and anxious, but unusually alert.
"Good morning!" he said, nodding to them in turn. "Celia, my dear, be good enough to pour out the coffee—no sugar for me, thank you. I'm sorry you have not brought home better news of Joy, Eric. I could not sleep for thinking of the child, so I thought I might as well get up to breakfast."
"I don't suppose anyone slept much last night," Celia replied, sighing. "I know I did not."
"Ah!" the old man exclaimed, glancing sympathetically at the little girl's wan countenance. "I am going to the Vicarage after breakfast," he announced, presently. "I have ordered Gay to bring around the pony carriage and drive me. I shall not be satisfied until I have seen Margaret, for if Joy is no better she must have further advice, and no time must be wasted. Meanwhile, you two had better keep each other company at home."
As soon as breakfast was over, Gay brought round the pony carriage to the front door, and Sir Jasper took his departure.
"Well, I am surprised!" Eric cried, as he watched the conveyance disappear from sight. "I thought he never went outside the grounds."
"He never has since his son died, until now," Celia replied, and Mrs. Mallock, who was standing by, bore evidence to the truth of this statement by exclaiming: "No, indeed! Well, I never! Wonders will never cease!" Celia and Eric spent the first part of the morning together; they talked only of Joy, and longed for Sir Jasper's return. At length Eric fetched Wag for a run in the rock garden, and Celia went up to her own room. The idea had crossed her mind that now, if possible, was the time for putting back the butterfly brooch in its rightful place.
The girl quickly possessed herself of the jewel, and stole downstairs to the library, closing the door carefully behind her. She knew it was very unlikely she would be disturbed there, for Sir Jasper never allowed servants to interfere with anything in the room, and consequently Mrs. Mallock herself did the necessary cleaning. Celia glanced quickly around, and noticed everything was in apple-pie order; she then crossed to the safe and tried to open it, but found it locked. She had expected that, so she was not daunted, but turned her attention to the writing-table to see if Sir Jasper had left his bunch of keys there. Swiftly and cautiously she opened drawer after drawer, and turned over the contents of each; for some time she could not find the keys, and a feeling of keen disappointment mingled with despair was creeping into her heart, when in moving some loose papers she heard something jingle beneath. The next minute the keys were in her hand, and she was standing in front of the safe once more, trying to find the key which fitted the lock. Her fingers trembled and made her clumsy, so that it was a long time before she met with success; but after she had discovered the right key, it was but the work of a very few minutes to unlock the safe, replace the butterfly brooch in the jewel case, and re-lock the safe again.
Celia's heart throbbed exultingly as she put the bunch of keys back under the papers where she had found it. Immediately afterwards she hurried from the room, crossed the hall, and went out into the garden, where she joined her brother.
It was nearly dinner time when Sir Jasper returned. He brought no fresh news; but he had seen Dr. Forbes, and a physician from Plymouth had been sent for. All that could be done for the patient was being done.
The old man was evidently terribly upset about Joy's illness. He ate very little dinner, and afterwards retired to the library, where he spent the afternoon alone, thinking of the little girl who lay at the Vicarage, sick unto death. In imagination he could see her seated at the old piano, and could hear the strains of "The Last Rose of Summer "; then pictured her earnest face, full of tender sympathy, as it had been when she had talked to him of his gamekeeper's invalid wife, and asked himself if it was possible she could be a hypocrite and a thief, as he had thought her last night.
"No, no!" he exclaimed. "And yet I must believe the evidence of my own senses," he reflected; "I heard her at the safe, though pretended she had only been shutting window. Yes, my first impression must have been correct."
He rose, took the keys from under the papers in the drawer of his writing-table, where he remembered having left them, locked the safe, and lifted the lid of the jewel case. The next moment he uttered a cry of intense surprise, scarcely believing he saw aright, for the first ornament his eyes rested upon was the butterfly brooch.
"Am I out of my mind?" he thought. "I am sure it was not there last night. Yet it must have been. But how could I possibly have overlooked it? Oh, to think that I should have accused that poor child wrongly! Oh, Joy, poor little Joy!"
His distress of mind was very great, for he always tried to act justly. Whilst he was still gazing at the jewel, there was a knock at the door, and Eric's voice informed him that Miss Pring was in the drawing-room with Celia. Hastily locking the safe, he put the bunch of keys in his pocket, and opened the door to find Eric waiting for him outside.
The boy's face was flushed with excitement, for Miss Pring had come from the Vicarage, and had brought slightly better news. The Plymouth physician had seen Joy, and though he pronounced her seriously ill, and admitted there was great cause for anxiety, he did not consider the case a hopeless one.
"Thank God he does not," said Sir Jasper, fervently, when Eric had given him this intelligence. "Oh, my dear lad, if God spares Joy's precious life my gratitude to Him will know no bounds!"
Eric was so touched at the sight of the old man's emotion that he could hardly answer him. He had not thought his uncle loved Joy so well.
Miss Pring was prevailed upon to remain to tea, and her cheerful society did her companions a world of good. During the evening there were several callers to inquire for Joy, the result of the carriage accident having by this time become widely known, and amongst others were Mr. Tillotson and his daughter.
Lulu, looking immeasurably shocked and grieved, was very gentle and sympathetic in her manner to Celia; she had never appeared to better advantage, being perfectly natural, and utterly unconcerned as to the impression she was making upon the others present.
"Lulu, I've put back the brooch all right," Celia found an opportunity of whispering to her friend by-and-bye.
"Oh, have you?" Lulu returned, with relief in her tones, "I'm so glad to hear that. Oh, Celia, how little everything seems to matter when anyone is so dangerously ill as Joy is!"
"I don't think I understand you," Celia replied, looking puzzled.
"Oh, don't you? I mean money, and enjoyment, and fine clothes, and all those sort of things don't count for anything when one comes to die. It's goodness that tells then. Oh, I don't mean to say that I think Joy is going to die—I hope and believe she will recover!—but it's certain she is dreadfully, dreadfully ill, and if God should take her we know she loves Him! There's comfort in knowing that."
"Oh, don't talk like that," implored Celia. "I can't bear it! Oh, I wish I could see Joy only for a few minutes, but Uncle Jasper won't let me go to the Vicarage, and Eric says if I went they would not allow me inside her room. Oh, Lulu, I've not always been as kind to her as I ought to have been, and it half kills me to remember that now!"
Lulu soothed her friend as best she could, though she failed to understand the cause of her remorse, and she succeeded in making her more cheerful.
"Lulu Tillotson is improving," Miss Pring observed, when the lawyer and his daughter had gone.
"All, no doubt Celia's society has benefited her," Sir Jasper rejoined; and Celia, overhearing this remark, hung her head, and blushed with shame, for she was beginning to understand that in many ways Lulu was her superior.
Weary, anxious days followed, during which Joy hovered on the borderland between life and death; but there came a morning when Eric hurried back to the Moat House from the Vicarage with the bright light of hope in his eyes, and the news that the invalid had regained consciousness, and had recognised her mother; and though she had not spoken, there could be no doubt but that she was better.
Dr. Forbes corroborated this opinion; but insisted that no one should see his patient except her mother and Miss Mary Pring, who had helped in the nursing all along, until he gave permission. The internal injuries had not proved as serious as had at first been feared, but the girl's right hip bone had been hurt, and gave the doctor much anxiety still.
Great was the delight at the Moat House when it was known for certain that Joy had taken a good turn. Eric went off for a ramble in the woods with Lawrence Puttenham and Wag with an easier mind than he had possessed for many a day; and Celia threw aside her depression, and allowed herself to smile once more. Sir Jasper took the news more quietly than anyone, though he was none the less rejoiced; but mingled with the sense of relief he experienced was the feeling of remorse that weighed down his spirits on account of his having accused Joy wrongfully.
He was still extremely puzzled concerning the butterfly brooch, for he could hardly bring himself to believe that he had overlooked it on the occasion when he had failed to find it. Why, he had searched for it again and again in vain; and yet he had finally found it lying directly inside the jewel case! The more he thought of the matter the more bewildered he became; but one thing was certain, he had brought a cruel charge against Joy, and he could not forgive himself for having done so, or for the harsh words which he had uttered in his anger.
Every day, much to the astonishment of his household, Sir Jasper was driven by Gay to the Vicarage to inquire for the invalid; and, on one occasion, cheered by a good report of the progress Joy was making, he stopped at Home Vale on his return journey and made a call on Miss Pring.
The members of the Crumleigh Cricket Club, unable to play in the field near the Vicarage, for fear of disturbing the sick child, now met in a field nearer the Moat House, and great was their astonishment when Sir Jasper one evening hobbled through the gateway leaning on his stick, accompanied by Celia. Certainly he did not stay very long; but the news that he had been there was spread through the village of Crumleigh that night, and discussed with much wonderment.
It was the second week in September now, and Celia and Eric were looking forward eagerly to their first interview with Joy; and at last a day came when she was well enough to see them for a few minutes.
"Only for a few minutes, mind," Mrs. Wallis told them, before admitting them into the sick room; "you must say or do nothing to excite her, remember."
They promised; but it needed all the self-control they could summon to their aid to enable them to keep their word, as their eyes fell upon their sister. She looked still terribly ill, "all eyes, like a young bird," as Eric said afterwards; but when she smiled she appeared more like her old self, for it was Joy's own happy smile that lit up the wan face. Eric kissed her in silence, his heart full to overflowing; then Celia's turn came, and as she bent over her sister, Joy whispered:
"We'll be better friends than ever, won't we?"
And Celia answered: "Oh, yes, yes!"
"I think I am going to get well," said Joy, bluntly. "Dr. Forbes thinks so too. I've been great trouble to everyone, but I'm so glad it as I who was hurt, and not mother or you."
"Oh, Joy, Uncle Jasper told me to give you his love."
"His love! To me?"
"Yes; and he's coming to see you soon."
"Oh, no, no! I don't want to see him! I'd rather not!"
There was a flush of excitement rising to the invalid's face, noting which Mrs. Wallis promptly hurried Celia and Eric from the room.
"I wonder why she doesn't want to see Uncle Jasper," remarked Eric, thoughtfully, as walked home by Celia's side; "you know they had become friends again, and he's been cut up about her. How distressed she looked when you spoke of him!"
"Sick people get queer fancies, I've heard," said Celia; "oh, how glad I am we have seen her! She is really better, though she does look so ill. Oh, how thankful I am to God for sparing her life! What should we have done without Joy?"
"Don't think of it, Celia. I shall not mind going back to school now when the time comes, for mother says Joy will soon be well enough to be moved to the Moat House. Then you'll be able to help in the nursing. By the way, we won't tell Uncle Jasper that Joy doesn't want to see him."
"Of course not. He would be dreadfully hurt."
"You are his favourite, Celia," Eric said, candidly, "but I think he's fond of Joy, too, though he doesn't understand her; and yet she always seems to me so much easier to understand than you."
"Joy's better than I am," Celia admitted, with a new humility in her tone which struck her brother with surprise; "she never pretends to be what she is not."
"And do you?" he inquired, curiously.
But Celia declined to answer, and he did not ask her again. They finished their walk in silence after that.
"I AM sorry the holidays are so nearly at an end," Lawrence Puttenham remarked one evening, as he strolled back to the Moat House with Eric. He was to return to London on the following day to spend a week at home with his own people before school re-opened. "I've had a really splendid time," he continued, "and I think we've licked the Crumleigh Cricket Club into shape, eh, Wallis?"
"Yes," Eric agreed, with a laugh, "and we've got on with the village boys very well on the whole, haven't we? I am sure Sam Dart, who certainly looked unfavourably on us both at first, was quite sorry to say good-bye to you to-night."
"Yes, I believe he was. I wonder if we two are at all likely to meet here another year. The Vicar said something yesterday about asking me to visit him again next summer. Do you think you'll be at the Moat House then?"
"I really can't say. We were asked for a year, and sometimes Uncle Jasper speaks as though we were settled here, but I don't know about that. Mother was saying to-day, Putty, how kind and attentive you've been to her all the time Joy's been ill at the Vicarage."
"Oh, nonsense! I did what I could in the way of running errands for her and so on, and took care to keep quiet in the house; but that's been all. I'm glad Joy is so much better, and well enough to be moved."
"Yes, she's to be brought home on Monday, so she and I will have a few days together before I go back to school. It's a bother about her hip—that it keeps her from walking, I mean."
"I suppose it will get well in time?" Lawrence Puttenham inquired.
"Oh, I suppose so," Eric replied, a faint shade of anxiety crossing his face. "You don't think there's any doubt about it, do you?"
"I never heard anyone say so," was the somewhat evasive answer.
Putty was accompanying his friend to the Moat House in order to say good-bye to Sir Jasper, whom, on their arrival, they found on the terrace with Celia. She had been reading the newspaper aloud, but the light had failed; the short September evening was drawing to a close, and she was very glad, for she had wearied of her task, a fact Sir Jasper had failed to notice.
"What, come to say good-bye!" Sir Jasper exclaimed. "I am sorry for that. I hope we part to meet again," he added with great cordiality, for Putty stood high in his estimation.
"I hope so," was the smiling response; "and I want to thank you, Sir Jasper, for all the kindness and hospitality you've shown me."
"Before you came, I remember saying you would be welcome here as Mr. Cole's godson, and doubly welcome as Eric's friend; now I can say you will always be welcome for your own sake."
Putty flushed with pleasure on hearing this; and Eric flashed a smiling glance at Celia, who, however, did not smile in return, being occupied with thoughts of her own. She looked rather depressed and unhappy, her brother fancied.
After Putty was gone, the others went into the house to supper, and an hour later Celia and Eric said good-night to Sir Jasper, and retired to their own quarters in the east wing.
"Oh, dear! I've spent such a long, dull evening," Celia complained. "Uncle Jasper kept me reading the newspaper to him for nearly an hour. I was really thankful when I could see to read no longer."
"Poor girl!" laughed Eric.
"Poor girl, indeed!" sighed Celia. "You boys get by far the best of it. Oh, what a miserable time I've had whilst Joy's been ill! First the anxiety and trouble about her; and then having only Uncle Jasper for a companion, whilst you and Putty have been enjoying yourselves here, there, and everywhere."
"Well, that's been your own fault," Eric told her, truthfully; "whilst you were staying with the Tillotsons at T—, Joy used to have a very good time with Putty and me, but you always refused to join us in everything. Why, it was only yesterday I asked you to go on a nutting expedition with us to Brimley copse, and you turned up your nose at the idea."
"Because Brimley copse is two miles from here; and what fun is there in climbing hedges after nuts, and scratching yourself in brambles and—"
"That's all very fine!" Eric interrupted, impatiently. "We were quite contented that you should remain at home, but you needn't put on an injured air as though you'd been purposely neglected."
"You have no consideration for me," Celia pouted; "however, I shall have Joy for a companion again soon."
"Celia, I suppose there is no doubt but that Joy's hip will get well after a while?" Eric asked, impressively. "Don't you think she ought to be able to walk by this time?"
"Oh, I suppose Dr. Forbes understands all about it," Celia rejoined, "and he says she must not stand yet."
Eric looked dissatisfied; but he said no more, and shortly afterwards the sister and brother separated for the night. The boy, who had been out-of-doors all the day, and had been playing cricket for several hours, was very tired, so that the minute his head touched the pillow he was in the land of dreams. And such disturbing, horrifying dreams they were too!
He fancied he saw the carriage accident, the lumbering traction engine, the horses running away, and his mother and sisters flung from the carriage into the road. Then the scene changed, and he imagined that he and Putty were making an enormous bonfire in the Vicarage garden, and that it was burning finely, the flames leaping up high, whilst clouds of smoke arose from it. A sudden puff of wind seemed to blow the smoke into his face; it grew thicker and thicker so that he could not see the bonfire at all; it made his eyes smart, and almost choked him. He tried to run away, but could not move; he was bound hand and foot, and though he endeavoured to scream, his lips refused to utter a sound; then he felt he was falling headlong over a precipice, and suddenly awoke with a sensation of shock.
"I've been dreaming," he muttered. "How horrible it was! There's no bonfire really, and I'm safe in bed all right."
The last thing before getting into bed he had pulled up the blind, so now the full harvest moon shone into the window, and lit up the room. Eric opened his eyes and looked around; shut his eyes, and opened them again. How misty everything looked, and surely he really did smell smoke!
Fully awakened now, the boy sprang out of bed and slipped on his dressing-gown. Opening the door, he was startled to find the smell of smoke stronger outside. Celia's room was between his mother's and his own, and thither he hurried, rapping sharply upon her door. Receiving no answer, he turned the handle, but the door refused to open. It was locked.
Now thoroughly alarmed, Eric rapped louder than before; then he became aware of the fact that smoke was pouring from under the door, and through the crevices by the hinges. Uttering a cry of alarm, he rushed down the passage to the swing door which shut off the east wing from the rest of the house, and pushing it open shrieked, "Fire! Fire!" at the top of his voice.
In a very few minutes there were sounds of doors opening, a confusion of tongues, and Eric shouted:—
"The fire is in the east wing! Get help quickly! Someone come with me, for Celia's locked into her room, and I can't make her hear!"
Suddenly remembering that he could gain admittance to his sister's room through his mother's, Eric waited no longer at the swing door, but hurriedly retraced his footsteps, conscious that the smoke was becoming denser and denser. He entered his mother's room and rushed to the door leading into Celia's apartment, the dread thought in his mind that that, too, might prove to be locked; but, no! it opened immediately, and the following moment he was almost driven back by the volume of smoke which met him on the threshold.
"Celia!" he called, his heart imploring help from God, "Celia, where are you? Why don't you answer me? Celia!"
There was no reply. Eric sprang forward, and looked wildly around him. At first he thought the whole room was in flames, for tongues of flame were leaping around the bed, and creeping across the floor towards him.
"Celia!" he cried, hoarsely, "Celia!"
He rushed to the bed, expecting to find sister there, but she was not; instead, she was lying back in an easy chair close by, wrapped in her dressing-gown, her feet on an ottoman, and her golden head resting on a pillow. A paper-covered novel lay upon her lap, and the remains of a candle flared on the ground close to the smouldering valance of the bed.