CHAPTER VII

THE FIRST LETTER

"I consecrated my life to you from the moment when I first saw you, and I feel a certain pleasure in sacrificing it to you."--_Letters of a Portuguese Nun._

In all his well-conducted life Denzil Vanston had never stood at the bedside of a beautiful young girl. His staid imagination had not foreshadowed anything like this maiden, with her double halo of mystery and suffering. His brother Felix, younger, harder, and more callous, had felt compassion for the child's feminine helplessness, but no perception of her rare charm.

Denzil, who never thought about women as a rule, perceived it at once. He perceived also the flickering, wistful look, the varying color with which she marked his entrance. Misunderstanding it altogether--for how could he tell that she had been conscious of that elusive, subtle, indescribable thing which we call family likeness?--he sat down by the bedside with everything that was honest and natural about him thoroughly stirred. He took the invalid's hand and held it in his own, as he said they felt glad to know that she was making a good recovery. Even as he spoke he was conscious of some awkwardness. His aunt, he felt, had made a mistake. This was no charity case, to be visited by anybody who was humane enough to take the trouble--this was a young gentlewoman, whose privacy should be respected. He grew scarlet with the feeling that he ought not to be there.

He asked if she were quite content at Aylfleet; if everything was being done for her comfort that could be done. Did she want books, work, games, a kitten?--there were some charming kittens in a basket at Normansgrave.

On that the grave lips smiled, and revealed a row of small milky teeth--teeth which Levy had believed to be unique in the profession for which Rona had been destined. Yes, she would like a kitten. She liked books, too. Yes, she liked to be read aloud to. They had often had books read to them in the Convent School. She felt better; they were very kind. There was only one thing--she wanted to see her brother, David Smith.

Denzil explained. David had gone to Basingstoke with the barge. They had told him she could not be moved for some days. Complete rest was necessary for the complaint from which she suffered. No doubt she would hear from him soon. Would she tell them how her accident happened?

She said, quite simply and without embarrassment, that she did not know how much David would wish her to say. Bursting with curiosity, Denzil had to curb it and ask no more. His imagination had never been so piqued. His heart was on fire when he took leave, having promised to come the following day and bring an interesting book and read aloud to her.

On the way home he could talk of nothing else but the mysterious unknown.

His aunt agreed that it was ridiculous to suppose her a member of the lower classes. There was a mystery somewhere. They would find out when the young man appeared. In her inmost heart Miss Rawson was highly amused. Who would have thought of the sober-minded Denzil being thus suddenly moved out of his ordinary groove? She thought it would do him no harm, and with twinkling eyes saw him depart next morning with Shirley in his pocket and hurry down through the grounds, the short way to Aylfleet.

Meanwhile, Rona had received a letter. It was written in a very labored hand, more like printing than writing, and dated simply Basingstoke. Thus it ran:

"Private.--Not to be shown to anybody.

"MY DEAR RONA,--I am tormenting myself with the idea that you might think I had deserted you. Indeed, that is not so. The lady that took you away did not ask my leave. And I knew it was the only hope for you. The people about the wharf at Dunhythe say that Miss Rawson is kind. So I hope they are being good to you.

"You were too ill for me to explain anything to you.

"I think about you simply all the time. I am ready to do anything for you that a man can do, if they will just keep you at the hospital till you are well enough to travel, and I have earned the money to take you to S....

"I got work in a timber-yard here, directly. Old Doggett spoke for me. Miss Rawson tipped him well, so he has been very civil ever since. He said I was well known to him, and they took me on, and the old bad story of my having been in jail didn't have to come up. I am working like anything, and Old Doggett says in three weeks' time he will bring me back to Dunhythe for nothing.

"Of course, these people who are looking after you will ask you questions. I have been thinking out the best way for you to answer them. There is all about me in the papers, but not about you. Your brute of an uncle has thought best to keep it dark. So it looks as if we had got clear off, but it does not do to be too sure. How much do they know? Do they guess that we escaped together? Sometimes they will lie low, to tempt one out into the open. Our not being together just now is the best thing to draw them off the scent.

"I think our line is to tell as little as possible, because we can't tell the truth.

"It is no use to pretend we belong to the lowest class, because nobody could believe it of you. Say that we are orphans, brother and sister, and that our guardian, who is our uncle, took you from school and got you a place as nursery governess, but that I found you were not kindly treated, and were expected to work like a servant, and they made you clean windows and you turned dizzy and fell and hurt yourself, and that we settled to bolt together, and we don't intend to be caught, so we will say no more.

"Don't give the name of the uncle, nor the school, nor the place where you were when you had your accident.

"I inclose paper and a stamped addressed envelope for you to write to me. I am working for you only. When they took you away I felt like throwing myself into the canal, but I did no such thing, because I have you to take care of. Keep up hope, get well as fast as you can, and I will find out a way to keep you safe. Mind you let me know if these people will let you stay three weeks, because if not I must arrange to come for you sooner. But another week would be best, as I must get some decent clothes, and my wages aren't much.

"I do fervently trust you are better.

"Your affect. brother, "DAVID SMITH.

"P.S.--_On no account_ ask to see the papers, nor say anything of my being in them. You had better tear up this letter."

This document was, upon the whole, most reassuring to Rona.

The situation was of such an unprecedented sort that it was consoling to find that the memory of her flight was not a dream--that the young man who had saved her had an actual existence, that he had not forgotten her--that he was still prepared to stand by her.

The sole thing which puzzled her was a wonder why her new friend should not wish them to tell the truth.

On this difficulty she bent her mind. They had done nothing of which they need be ashamed. The kind lady who visited her, and the benevolent Squire, would never think of handing back a young girl into the power of such a man as Rankin Leigh. Then why not confess their whole adventure?

Ah, of course, because of the sad secret in David Smith's past! Naturally he did not like to be known as having been in jail. And if, as he said, the account of his disappearance was in the papers, to describe the circumstances fully would be to reveal his disgrace.

This seemed to explain the difficulty, and with all her warm, unsophisticated heart, the young girl vowed that no word of hers should ever betray the man who had done so much for her.

She lay making plans for the future, telling herself how hard she would work, what she would do and be, for gratitude to the hand which had snatched her out of the abyss. The knowledge that he was in the world, working for her, coming to fetch her, eager to take charge of her, just made all the difference. Her sleep was sounder and more sweet that night than since her coming to the hospital. She looked quite radiant next day when Denzil arrived, bearing, according to promise, a story-book and a kitten in a basket.

It pleased him to see how the exquisite face lit up, and the lips parted and the glorious eyes dilated at sight of the bundle of chinchilla-colored fur. Sister Agnes, summoned to admire, provided a rose-colored ribbon for the kitten's neck, and Rona, though not yet allowed to sit upright, yet managed to adjust the bow, with hands which were a delight to watch, so graceful, so adept were they.

Joyously she said that her brother had written, that he had found work, and that he was going to fetch her in three weeks' time, or if she could not be kept so long, a fortnight. Denzil had no doubt about her being kept three weeks. He told Sister Agnes that so it was to be. She was to be quite well by then. She must write to her brother to-day and say there would be no difficulty at all.

Then he sat down to read, Rona busy with some knitting for which she had begged, as she had been brought up never to have idle fingers. But the kitten had a mind to a share in the proceedings, and the reading was punctuated with childish squeals of delight from Rona, and struggles between her and her new pet for the possession of the ball of wool.

Before leaving, Denzil made another attempt to find out more respecting the mystery surrounding the girl. But she told him simply that her brother wished her not to say in what part of London she had been employed, as they had run away together and did not wish to be tracked.

"I expect he will tell you more when he comes," she said. "We have nothing to be ashamed of; but we are hiding, for all that."

Denzil could not but feel deep disapproval of the situation. He urged Rona to write and relieve the anxiety of those she had left. He told her he feared her brother was not a good adviser for her, and hinted that this was a post for which he himself was eminently qualified, and which he would be glad to accept.

Rona was grateful, but stood firm. Much as he desired to know more, he felt the fine quality of faith and loyalty in so young a girl. He did wish that he could feel quite certain that there was nothing discreditable in the mystery that surrounded her. People are not usually in hiding without a reason, he reflected. He was beginning to realize that this girl was having a curious, powerful, unprecedented effect upon him. It would be terrible should it turn out that she was really the sister of a youth who led a canal horse along the towpath. Like most persons of mediocre ability, he was much influenced by the dread of ridicule. He feared to make himself ridiculous concerning the unknown maiden. His judgment approved her; but he lacked confidence in his own judgment.

He walked back to Normansgrave, his mind occupied not as to the tragic circumstances of his brother's disappearance, but about the flight of a young servant girl from a harsh mistress with her brother, a bargee!