CHAPTER XXVII

SORROWFUL PARTINGS

BY Mr. Hollys' pressing invitation, Mr. Harvey became his guest for a time. Coral quickly lost all fear of him. His bronzed, bearded face had a kind look, and his manner to the children was gentle and winning. He could not make enough of little Coral, who reminded him so vividly of the sister he had lost, and it seemed to him that by goodness to her child he might, to some extent, make amends to his dead sister for the unkindness he now so deeply regretted.

It may be imagined what a blow it was to the children when they learned that Mr. Harvey had made up his mind to return to Australia in the following month, and that he meant to take Coral with him.

Beryl protested indignantly against the cruelty of taking Coral from her. Coral's sorrow was less demonstrative, but she grieved sorely as the parting drew near.

"Australia is such miles and miles and miles away!" Beryl would declare. "I shall never see you again, Coral, if you go there; I know I never shall. And I thought you were always going to be my dear little sister, and we should never be parted. Oh, it is too dreadful!"

"And to think that the great wide sea will be always between us," said Coral; "that will make you seem such an immense way off."

"I shall never look at the waves without thinking of you," said Beryl. "I shall fancy you are right away there, as far as one can see, and I shall call across the waves—'Coral! Coral!' But you will not hear me."

"Perhaps I shall, if you call very loud," replied Coral.

The children had their photographs taken before they parted, and as souvenirs they exchanged lockets, made of solid gold, with a wreath of forget-me-nots wrought in turquoise, which Mr. Hollys bought for them. Beryl's locket held Coral's likeness, and Coral's Beryl's, and each promised the other to look at the portrait and kiss it every morning and night. But we must not dwell on that sad parting. The children's last farewell was painful to see. Mr. Hollys had forcibly to separate them at last.

Coral disappeared with her uncle. She would have the relief of fresh scenes and new interests; but Beryl, left alone amid the familiar scenes, was as one broken-hearted. It was long ere Beryl could be roused from her sorrow. She missed her little sister at every turn, and all attempts to cheer her proved vain. She loved to dwell on her loss, and she would wander disconsolately through the garden or along the beach, thinking, with a heavy heart, of the happy times that had passed away for ever.

But every one was so kind to her, and so anxious to give her pleasure, that gradually Beryl's natural buoyancy of spirit returned. Her father took her for many a ride with him, mounted on her little grey pony. When the hunting season commenced, he allowed Beryl to ride with him to the various meets, consigning her to Andrew's care, whilst he followed the hounds. Beryl thoroughly enjoyed these glimpses of the hunt. She longed to be grown-up, that she might ride after the hounds, as did some daring young ladies of the neighbourhood.

Children are seldom observant of the demeanour of their elders, or Beryl might have seen that her governess was not so happy as she had been when first she came to Egloshayle. One day the truth came to her knowledge in a surprising way.

It was a bright November day, one of those late autumn days which have a beauty of their own. There was a crisp freshness in the still air, the sky was clear and gloriously blue, the sea calm and bright, whilst the trees in the garden showed the rich russets and yellows peculiar to this season.

Beryl had been longing for a walk; but Miss Burton had been obliged to insist upon a French exercise being first re-written, and she had gone to make some calls in the village, having arranged that Beryl should join her there as soon as the exercise was creditably written.

Beryl was not in a working mood, and the exercise took her a long time. When, at last, she pushed aside her books with a sigh of relief, she was dismayed to find how late it was. She hurried upstairs to get ready for her walk, when a glance from her bedroom window showed her that Miss Burton had already returned, and was walking in the garden with Mr. Hollys.

Something in their appearance made Beryl stand at the window to watch them. She wondered what her father could be talking about so earnestly as he gazed into Miss Burton's face. And Miss Burton looked pale, startled, unlike herself. Her father seemed to be urging some request, to which Miss Burton would not listen.

Now she appeared to utter a final word, and turning from Mr. Hollys, walked quickly to the house.

What could it mean? Beryl wondered.

She hastily put on her hat and jacket, and ran downstairs to join her governess. But she was not to be found in the schoolroom, nor in any of the sitting-rooms, and after waiting a few minutes Beryl, growing impatient, went to Miss Burton's room.

Beryl did as children not seldom do. She knocked at the door, and opened it at the same instant.

"Can you come for a walk, now, Miss Burton?" she said, as she advanced into the room.

There was no reply, and to Beryl's dismay she saw Miss Burton kneeling beside the bed, her hands clasped, her face hidden, whilst stifled sobs shook her frame. At the sound of the child's approach she started and raised her head, but could not at once conquer her emotion.

"Oh, what is the matter, Miss Burton?" cried Beryl, greatly alarmed. "Are you feeling ill?"

"No, I am not ill," said Miss Burton faintly, as she rose from her knees and sank on to the nearest chair.

"Then what is it?" asked Beryl. "Have you had bad news? Is your mother ill?"

"No, no, dear; it is not that," said Miss Burton, struggling to subdue her sobs.

"Oh, Miss Burton, do tell me what is making you unhappy!" Beryl implored her.

"I cannot, dear; so please do not ask me any more questions," said Miss Burton, trying to smile. "I have my troubles as well as you; but they won't bear talking about. Now run away, and take a walk by yourself; for I do not feel equal to going with you."

Slowly and reluctantly Beryl turned away. She went into the garden. Her father was still there, and she thought that she would join him; but as she came in sight, he turned hastily towards the stable-yard. Beryl felt sure that he had seen her, and she fancied that he too must wish to be left to himself. She did not follow him, but took a solitary and dreary walk.

Miss Burton did not come down during the remainder of the day, nor did she appear at breakfast the next morning. At that meal Mr. Hollys announced to his sister his intention of leaving home forthwith. This was a surprise both to her and to Beryl.

"You will not be away long, papa?" Beryl cried. "You will come back for Christmas?"

"I cannot say," he returned hastily. "I may be away some time—perhaps I shall go abroad."

Beryl was perplexed and grieved; but something in her father's manner restrained her from asking questions. He was given to making and carrying out his plans promptly, and in less than an hour he had driven away from Egloshayle House to catch the London express. Another painful surprise awaited Beryl. A few days later her governess told her that she would be obliged to leave her at Christmas.

"Leave me!" repeated Beryl. "You do not mean altogether?"

"Yes, dear; it grieves me to say it, but I shall be obliged to leave you for good."

"Oh, Miss Burton, you cannot mean it! How could I do without you?" cried Beryl wildly.

"You must learn to do without me, Beryl."

"I will not; you shall not go!" exclaimed Beryl passionately. "Why are you going? Does papa wish you to go?"

"No, it is not that," said her governess tremulously.

"Then you really must not go; I will write to papa!" cried Beryl.

"No, no, dear; you must not do that," replied Miss Burton, laying her hand on Beryl's arm. "Listen to me. I am obliged to go. Your father knows about it, and will not attempt to hinder me. It is painful enough to leave you; do not make it harder for me by your words."

Beryl could not understand why, if it was painful to her, Miss Burton should insist on going. Nor when she spoke to her aunt on the subject could she get any satisfactory explanation. Miss Hollys understood Miss Burton's reasons for the step as little as Beryl.

There was about it all an element of mystification which added to the pain with which Beryl contemplated the coming change. It was bad enough to lose Coral, but what would life at Egloshayle be like when Miss Burton too was gone? Miss Burton tried to cheer her by saying that perhaps Beryl would be able to come, and stay with her at Hampstead sometimes. But Beryl only shook her head. Nothing would ever be nice again. When the parting day came, it was a sad, despairful young face Miss Burton looked back upon as the train carried her out of Egloshayle station.