CHAPTER VIII.
THE MISTRESS OF BRIERWOOD COTTAGE.
"By night we lingered on the lawn, For underfoot the herb was dry; And genial warmth; and o'er the sky The silvery haze of summer dawn;
"And calm that let the tapers burn Unwavering: not a cricket chirr'd: The brook alone far off was heard, And on the board the fluttering urn." _Tennyson._
"A penny for your thoughts, little Emmie," cried Garth gaily, a few evenings afterwards, when his abrupt entrance had broken up a somewhat silent group. The child, who was sitting at Langley's feet as usual, with her head in her lap, held up her hand warningly.
"Hush! I was counting them; now I have lost one."
"Counting what, you small elf?"
"The angels, of course; we have had ever so many passing through the room this evening. Just now Langley sighed and disturbed one. They never come when we talk and laugh, you know," continued Emmie, with a child's beautiful unreasoning faith in what would seem to older minds a piece of fond superstition. "I do love a real long silence, when people are all thinking together; the angels have such a good time of it then."
"What a queer little thinking machine that is," muttered Ted, drowsily; but Garth only patted her head kindly.
It was never his way to laugh at a child's fancies. "The real germ is hidden in the bud; a mere infant will sometimes turn our wisdom into foolishness," he had observed more than once in his graver moments. "Well, my white May-flower," he continued, using his pet name for her; "so the angels were having it all to themselves this evening, eh?"
"I did not know we were assisting at a _séance_," growled Ted, stretching himself; "we have got a precious small medium, it strikes me. What sort of spirits were they, Emmie, black, white, or grey? I fancied my own familiar, in the shape of an elongated cat, with yellow sparks for eyes, grinned at me with feline and whiskered face from behind the sofa corner. 'Avaunt thee, witch,' I cried, and with diabolic stare and hiss it vanished."
"A truce with your nonsense, Ted; you will scare the child."
"I think we have all been very stupid and silent this evening," interposed Langley. "I fancy that we are all sorry to lose Queenie and Emmie from our circle to-morrow."
"The sofa-cushion is drenched with my tears," continued Ted, the incorrigible. "The drip, drip of them was mistaken by Langley for rain. 'A wet evening,' quoth she; but my sobs prevented me from undeceiving her."
"Isn't Mr. Ted wicked to tell so many stories in play?" interrupted Emmie, in a shocked tone.
"Play!" reiterated that remorseless youth, "is that how you stigmatize an honest grief, and mistaken though blighted devotion? is it nothing to this lacerated heart to know that the beloved heads of the Marriott sisters will rest for the last time to-night beneath our roof? 'Quoth the raven, nevermore, rests sweet Marriott at thy door.'"
"Oh, shut up, you young idiot," exclaimed his brother in a tone of deep disgust.
"He has been so tiresome all day," observed Cathy; "he has not left Queenie and me a moment in peace."
"Only a lock of hair, and that was refused; even a hair-pin would have been prized, or the frayed end of a ribbon; all, all denied.
'Oh stay, the Clayton said; and yield A withered rose, or weed of field. Indignant glared her bright brown eye, And with a frown she made reply, You botherer.'"
Ted, in another moment--"
"You have the heart of a barbarian, Garth; the softer passion is unknown to you--the 'pills and paradise' of a man's existence. Look at me, like Etna half consumed, a mighty ruin--all thy work, oh woman! Ah, as the soothing bard, the glorious Will of immortal memory, once wrote--
'He never told his love; no, never; No more did she, but did you ever'--
She gave him one long glance, and then"--but Ted never finished his ridiculous effusion, for in another moment Garth had pinned him in his powerful grasp, and stretched him prone and struggling on the floor. "And there shall you lie until you have promised not to spout any more nonsense," was the inexorable mandate of his tyrant.
"Floored by fate, and crushed by the gigantic hoof of destiny, I submit. 'More kicks than half-pence,' quoth he, under the healing (heeling) process; but what boots such trifles to the stalwart heart of a young Briton. Alas, thy sole is open and clear to me, my brother, and the footprint of ignoble passion is stamped upon it."
"Pax, pax," groaned Garth.
"Oh, leave him alone, you are only making him worse," laughed Queenie; "if he sees nobody heeds his nonsense he will soon leave off."
"I feel like the gladiator, butchered to make a Clayton holiday; my breast-bone is staved in by the barbarian. 'Dying, we salute thee, Caesar.' Well, it is of 'no consequence,' as Toots remarks."
"There, get up and behave yourself," interrupted Garth, with a final kick; "and now, to get rid of this foolish fellow, I vote that some of us take a turn in the plane-tree walk. Come, Miss Marriott, you and Cathy put on your hats." But Cathy, who was in a curious mood to-night, and had done nothing but sigh and interlace her fingers restlessly in the twilight, muttered something about Miss Cosie and the Vicarage, and vanished from the room; and so it came to pass that Queenie found herself gravely pacing up and down the plane-tree walk by Garth's side.
Naturally as it had come about--for no one else had volunteered to accompany them--the novelty of the circumstance caused them both a little embarrassment; and, by some curious physiological coincidence, each fell to thinking of Dora Cunningham. Garth smoked his cigar meditatively, and cast curious side-long glances at the slender black figure beside him. Visions of a white dress and golden hair still haunted him. Why was he shy and silent all at once? had he anything in common with this grave, brown-eyed girl? He was wondering, if she were Dora would he have found anything to say to her? He was sorry to think that this was Miss Marriott's last night. Sorry! yes; it made him feel all at once as though the old house had grown suddenly dull and empty; and yet if it had been Dora--
"Miss Marriott, how is it that you and Miss Cunningham don't hit it off better?" he said, so abruptly that Queenie started and changed color. She was feeling very heavy-hearted, poor little soul, to think it was her last night at Church-Stile House; and how she would miss the slow, even tramp of Garth's footsteps under her windows, and the red end of his cigar emerging from the trees every ten minutes. She had often sat and watched it with unconscious interest even to herself; she was loath to part with that, and his cheery good morning when she looked out to smell the roses.
She was just wondering how much he would miss her, and whether her absence would leave any perceptible gap in the family circle; and this question jarred upon her with sudden discord.
"What do you mean?" she asked faintly, conscious all at once of a certain chilliness round the region of the heart. She had hoped for a few words of friendly interest and advice on her own affairs to-night. Had he only brought her out there to talk of Dora Cunningham?
"Why don't you two girls get on better together?" pursued Garth, inexorably. He was quite aware of the reluctance of Queenie's tone as she answered him, but the opportunity was a good one, and he thought he would have it out with her. She was indebted to him for much kindness, he told himself; his sisters and he had taken her by the hand, and found her occupation, and a roof to cover her head; he had a right to ask, as a return, that she should show a little consideration for him and his friends; and her manner to Dora somehow galled him. Perhaps he was a little curious on the subject as well; anyway, he would have his answer.
"How do you know that we do not?" she replied, fencing in her turn. "I have not seen Miss Cunningham more than three or four times; we are comparative strangers to each other."
"You know her as well as you know Mrs. Fawcett or Miss Faith Palmer; they are all comparative strangers to you, but to them your manner is always so bright and genial."
"Ah; one cannot help getting on with them."
"I should have said the same of Miss Cunningham. There, you shake your head; how impossible it is to understand you women. Miss Dora seems so willing to be friendly on her side. She has driven over twice to see you, and tender her advice and help; but one cannot help seeing how these overtures have been repelled."
"Mr. Clayton, pray don't speak as though you were hurt with me."
"I do feel a little hurt about this," he replied, gravely; "at least it disappoints me. You see Dora, I mean Miss Cunningham, has been intimate with us ever since we were children together, and we think so much of her opinion in things. When you came among us, and decided on taking up this new work, I thought at once what a valuable friend you would secure in her."
"You were very kind," stammered poor Queenie with downcast eyes.
"Confess that my kindness was thrown away though," he continued in a lighter tone, for her distress was not lost on him. "You are such an iceberg in her presence that even her good nature has failed to thaw you. You are never proud with Langley or Cathy, and yet Cathy can say rude things sometimes."
"I am never proud with those I love."
"Then you don't mean to love Miss Cunningham."
"No," reluctantly; "but I do not dislike her. There is simply no sympathy between us, and her manner jars and irritates me somehow. It seems as though, she were trying to keep me down in my place, and make me remember that I am only the poor school-mistress in Hepshaw, when, when you all try to make me forget it," continued the girl, and now the tears rushed to her eyes. Garth had never seen her so moved, but her frankness did not displease him. It might be his duty to give her a little wholesome advice, and to bid her curb that troublesome pride of hers; but, on the whole, he felt sorry for her.
"I think we ought to be very patient with a person that displeases us, and ask ourselves whether the fault may not lie on our side," continued her young Mentor gravely. He rather liked the right he had assumed of lecturing this girl; the occupation was piquant and interesting, and then she took his rebukes so meekly. "Miss Cunningham is a very superior person, you cannot fail to own that, I am sure; so many people rely upon her. She is the mainstay at home; her father's right hand in every thing; and then her sisters idolize her. She must be truly lovable, or they would not be so fond of her."
"Mr. Clayton, what does it matter whether we get on together or not?" exclaimed Queenie at this point, stung by all this praise, and sore almost to unhappiness. "It cannot matter to her, or to you either, whether I like her or not."
"It matters a good deal to me whether my friends are appreciated. I am disappointed about it, because I wanted to secure you a valuable ally, that is all; but I suppose it cannot be helped. Women are unaccountable beings; it is best, after all, to leave them alone," and Garth's voice was so full of kindness and regret that Queenie's soreness vanished in a sudden effort of magnanimity.
"I dare say it was my fault; I am sure Miss Cunningham meant to be kind," she faltered out hurriedly. "Only when one is poor, one is proud and sensitive over little things. Don't say anything more about it, Mr. Clayton; I mean to like her. I will like her, and you shall not have reason to complain of my disagreeable manner again."
"No; not disagreeable, only cold," he returned, with a smile of genuine content, for this admission pleased him well. They had stopped simultaneously at the little gate, and Queenie made a movement as though to go in, but he would not suffer it. "No; you shall not leave me in this way, we will have another turn," he said cheerfully. "Let us talk of something else--of yourself and your plans. Do you know, I feel quite dull at the thought of losing you and Emmie to-morrow. I wonder how much you intend to miss us."
"More than I ever missed any one in my whole life before," was the answer on Queenie's lips, but she prudently forbore to utter it, as she moved again by his side in the darkness. Did no warning monitor within her whisper that this man was growing dangerously dear to her; that the snare was already spread for her unconscious feet?
"He means to marry Dora; but I have a right to claim him still as my friend. No one shall steal his friendship from me. I will have what belongs to me," she had said to herself, almost fiercely; but the falseness of the sophistry was glossed over and hidden from her eyes. For the last few days a great sadness had crept over her. Since the evening Dora had passed through the little gate, and had walked with him up and down in the sunset, some visionary hope, baseless and unsubstantial as a dream, had vanished from her heart.
Of what avail was her idle whim now? Would it not have been better, so she told herself, to have shaken off the dust of Hepshaw from her feet? Whose blame was it if she had tangled her own life? Some impulse, some undefinable influence, had drawn her to weave these strange plans of hers; more than a girl's fancy and love of mystery and adventure were wrapped up in them. But might it not be that bitter failure and remorse should be her portion hereafter?
Would there not have been greater peace and safety for her in that house in Carlisle? Queenie asked herself these questions with a sigh long after she had left Garth, and retired to her own room, where Emmie was slumbering peacefully. She kissed the child, and placed herself under the shadow of the window-curtain, and watched, for the last time, the tiny red spark emerging every now and then from under the trees.
"Miss him! he little knows how I shall miss him!" she said to herself, bitterly. "Right or wrong, he has got into my life, and I cannot get him out. Does he love Dora, I wonder? I cannot make up my mind; but he will marry her, for all that; and then, then, if I find it very hard to bear, if she will not let me keep him as a friend, we will go away, Emmie and I, somewhere a long way off, where I can have plenty of work, and forget, and begin afresh."
But when Queenie came to this point she suddenly broke down; an oppressive sense of loneliness, as new as it was terrible, crushed on her with overwhelming force. For the first time Queenie's brave spirit seemed utterly broken, and some of the bitterest tears she ever shed wetted the child's pillow.
As for Garth, he strolled on for a long time, placidly enjoying his cigar. He had delivered his little lecture, and had then sent the girl in soothed and comforted; so he told himself. It is true a sad and wistful glance from two large dark eyes somewhat haunted him at intervals, but he drove it persistently away.
"She is a sweet girl, a very sweet girl; but she has her faults, like all of us," he said to himself. "I am glad I put her right about Dora. If Dora ever comes here, it would not do for Miss Marriott not to be friendly with her. Dora would have a right to expect then that the others should give way to her, if she ever comes here as my wife;" and here the young man's pulses quickened a little, and in the darkness the hot blood rushed to his face. "Dora my wife! how strange it sounds! Well, I suppose it will come to that some day; things seem shaping themselves that way. She will expect it, and her father too, after what has passed. I fancy there is a kind of understanding between us. I wonder what sort of feeling she has for me? She keeps a fellow at such a distance, there is no finding out; but I'll master her yet. She will soon find out, if I once make up my mind, that I am not one to bear any shilly-shallying. I don't think I could stand nonsense from any woman, not even from Dora. Her father told me once that if he died Dora would not have a penny, though the other girls have tidy little sums, each of them. I like her all the better for that. Well, after all there is no hurry. Being in love is all very well, but it is better to take life easily, and digest matters a little;" and with a conscious laugh that sounded oddly to him in the darkness, Garth swung back the little gate, and walked towards the house.
It was arranged that the sisters' modest luggage should be sent over to the cottage in the course of the morning, and that Queenie should take possession of her new abode as soon as her afternoon duties were discharged, and that Cathy and Emmie should be there to receive her.
"I am to pour out tea my own self, and Cathy has promised to make some of her delicious cakes," exclaimed Emmie, rapturously. "Langley will not come, though I have begged her over and over again; she says we three will be so much cosier together."
Queenie nodded and smiled as she bade her little sister good-bye, and trudged down the lane. The sun was shining brightly; a rose-laden wind blew freshly in her face; with the morning light courage and hope had returned; she felt half ashamed of her last night's sadness. Queenie was young, and life was strong within her. In youth happiness is a necessity, a second nature. When the heart is young it rebels fiercely against sorrow. To exist is to hope; to hope is to believe.
In youth we believe in miracles; utterly impossible combinations would not surprise us; the sun must stand still in our firmament, the stars in their course fight against Sisera; what has happened to others cannot happen to us.
It is only bitter experience that tears down this fairy glamor, the thin, gossamer film through which we so long looked. How barren and loveless life appears then! Our fairest hopes are shipwrecked; a moral earthquake has shattered our little world. We look up at the heavens, and they are as brass, and the earth under our feet as wrought iron; while beyond, and in the dim horizon, hollow voices seem to whisper a perpetual dirge.
It is a terrible subject, this awful mystery of pain, this dim and inscrutable decree, that man is born to trouble. Ah, well for those who, like that tired wanderer in that far-off land, can discern in their darkness and loneliness the ladder that reaches from earth to heaven, and feel the fanning of invisible wings even in their heaviest stupor.
Queenie's healthy young nature recoiled and shuddered at the first touch of probable pain; it lay folded like a troublesome nightmare far back among her thoughts. It had mastered her last night in the darkness; this morning the sunshine had chased it away.
"How do I know? how does any one know?" she said to herself, somewhat ambiguously, as she sat among her children that morning. "I may be wrong; it may never happen; and if it does, what is, is best, I suppose," and here she sighed. "I am thinking of him, of them both, too much. After all, what is he to me? a dear friend, a very dear friend; but my friendship must not cost me too much. I will be good and reasonable, and not ask more than a fair amount of happiness; it is only children who cry for the moon."
If you want to be happy, be good; it is a very safe maxim. Queenie felt quite bright as she walked through the little town. True, she had a slight qualm as she passed the turning that led to Church-Stile House; but she bravely stifled the feeling, and hummed an air as she opened her own little gate.
How fresh and bright it all looked. The walk was new gravelled, the little lawn looked trim and green; roses and geraniums bloomed under the windows; a honeysuckle was nicely trained round the porch. Emmie met her on the threshold, and dragged her in with both hands.
"Oh, Queen, it is all so lovely; just like a bit out of a story-book. To think of you and me living alone together in our own little cottage; only you and me!"
"I am so glad you are happy, darling, because that makes me happy," returned her sister, affectionately. "Ah, there is our little maid Patience," as the girl stood curtseying and smoothing down her clean apron, with a pleased, excited face. "Cathy--oh, Mr. Clayton, are you here too?" as Garth's dark handsome face suddenly beamed on her from the little parlor.
"I could not resist the pleasure of showing you the transformation," he returned, gaily. "You hardly know the place, do you? Langley and Cathy have done wonders. It is a pretty little home after all, and quite big enough for you two, and I hope you will be as happy as the day is long."
"Oh, what have you all done!" exclaimed Queenie, in a stifled voice. Her heart began to beat more quickly, an odd, choking feeling was in her throat. Was this their thought for her? She could not for her life have spoken another word as she followed Garth and Cathy into the parlor.
"We have only put a table and some chairs into the front room; it will be handy for Emmie to learn her lessons and play there. Langley knew we must not put you to any unnecessary expense," went on Garth, cheerfully. "This is very snug, is it not?"
Snug! Queenie looked round her half dazed. Had she ever seen this room before? Though it was summer, a little fire burnt in the grate. There was a crimson carpet; a grey rug was spread invitingly; a couch stood by the open window. There was a bird-cage, and a stand of flowers. A pretty print hung over the mantel-piece. Some book-shelves with some tempting-looking volumes had been fitted up over the corner cupboard. A gay little pink and white tea-service was on the round table. Some low basket-work chairs gave an air of comfort.
Outside the transformation was still more marked. Instead of the green wilderness, all docks and nettles, there was a long green lawn. A broad gravel path bordered the window; a few flower-beds had been cut in the turf.
"It is too late to do much this season; we shall have it very pretty next summer," observed Garth, in a cool, matter-of-fact tone, as he followed her to the window. "We have cut away a good deal of the turf, as it made the house so damp; the gravel path is far better. Cathy wants you to have a rockery and some ferns in one corner."
"It will look very nice," returned Queenie, absently.
She had a misty vision after that of a bright little kitchen that reminded her of a doll-house that she had had as a child, and then of two bed-rooms, one for herself, and one for Emmie, with a small room for Patience, all as fresh as white dimity could make them. There were flowers on the toilet-table; the little painted chest of drawers had a sweet perfume of lavender. Everything was simple and well chosen, and testified to thoughtful and loving hands.
"Oh, Cathy, what am I to say to him? what am I to say to you all?" exclaimed poor Queenie, feeling ready to throw her arms round her friend's neck and burst into tears. They were standing in the little entry, and Garth was watching them.
"Aren't you going to give me tea after all this?" he interposed, in a droll voice. "Here I have been gardening and carpentering and acting as odd man to the establishment for I do not know how long."
"Tea! oh, I forgot," returned Queenie, dashing the tears from her eyes, and hurrying to her place.
Garth stood near her a moment as he brought her one of the basket chairs.
"Does our work satisfy you? have we given you pleasure?" he asked, looking into her downcast face rather anxiously. "Do you think you will be happy here, you and Emmie, in your own little home?"
"It will be my own fault if I am not," she faltered, holding out her hand; and such a look of pure childish gratitude lit her dark eyes that the young man reddened and turned aside. "Oh, Mr. Clayton, what can I do to repay you and Langley?"
"Hush," he replied, lightly, and trying to turn it off with a laugh; "there is no talk of payment between friends; it is all understood between us. You are only in our debt a little while; besides, you are a rich woman now."
"Oh, I forgot," she exclaimed in such a tone of dismay that the others looked quite startled. "I mean--ah, yes, it will all be right soon," endeavouring to recover herself.
It was a cosy little meal after all. Garth, who saw that Queenie's fluctuating spirits needed tranquillizing, set himself to reassure and soothe her; and when he had succeeded, the three had one of their long thoughtful talks. By-and-bye Langley came, and then Ted, and filled the little room to overflowing, so that they betook themselves to the porch and the lawn.
It was quite late when they separated, and Queenie went up to her new little room. The glimmering lights in the village had been extinguished. The roads looked white and still in the moonlight; only a faint barking from a dog in the distance broke the stillness.
"How wrong and wicked I was last night!" thought the girl humbly, as she stood by the table, touching Langley's roses with caressing fingers. "I was lonely and sad; I wanted I cannot tell what. But to-night it is so different; it is so sweet to feel he has done all this for me; that it is his thought for me as well as theirs; that, whatever happens, he will be my friend, always my friend."