CHAPTER VI.

CONCLUSION.

WHEN Mrs. Mavor had gone, Hetty sat a long time pondering over the task awaiting her before she began it, and it took her some time to write the letter after she did begin. But it was finished at last, and humbling as it was, Hetty was glad she had so far conquered herself as to be able to write frankly and fully, taking all the blame, and duly acknowledging that she had no right to enter the garden with her friends.

Hetty would have felt a good deal happier if she could have seen what became of her letter. For Mrs. Mavor, to make sure no one else ever did see it, after she had once read it, tore it up and put it in the fire. She would tell Hetty of this some day, but not just now, or she would defeat the purpose for which she required it written. For somehow she began to like Hetty better than ever she did before, and this letter confirmed the liking, and she hoped that the faults of character that had hitherto dimmed and hidden her better qualities might be overcome.

[Illustration: IT TOOK HER SOME TIME TO WRITE THE LETTER.]

She did not know what bitter distress Hetty was now in, that the little household was positively threatened with starvation, that Hannah had spent their last penny to buy a loaf of bread when she brought that letter. Hannah would have told her readily enough if she had only had the opportunity, but knowing the girl's propensity to gossip, she would not give her the chance. And so the last loaf was cut and eaten without butter, and no one knew where the next was to come from.

Mrs. Golding was still very ill, sometimes raving a little about Hetty, and how cruelly she had deceived her; sometimes about her old friend, Mrs. Newton, of whose death she was quite unconscious. But for the most part she lay very quiet, except for the rolling of her head from side to side.

Hetty was of very little use in the sickroom, for she could not control her feelings sufficiently to do anything. She could only stand by the bedside and shed silent tears of anguish as she looked at her mother, and thought how much mischief her folly had caused, for that she had been mainly instrumental in bringing on this illness she felt sure, as she listened to her mother's plaintive reiteration of "Oh, Hetty, I did not think you would do it! Hetty, Hetty, have you quite forsaken your mother?"

Poor Hetty had to rush from the room very often for fear her sobs should disturb her mother. And the thought that she might pass away, and never know how bitterly she repented of the past, was agony indeed. And she prayed to God to spare her life or restore her to consciousness for a few hours at least, that she might ask her forgiveness for the trouble and anxiety she had caused her.

Hannah did all she could to comfort poor Hetty, but she was at her wits' end to know how she could help her in her distress.

When their last loaf was cut and eaten, she said, "Miss Hetty, why don't you go and see your friend, Miss Hodson? She or her father might be able to tell you what to do."

Hetty looked up quickly. "Do you think it would be any use, Hannah?" she said. "I never thought of Julia helping anybody."

"Well, she is your friend, and Sir Charles might be able to tell you what you ought to do."

"Something must be done certainly, for mamma must have what the doctor orders, and we have no money and no credit now," said Hetty, as if to stimulate her own courage for the disagreeable task before her.

Not for herself could she have done it, but for her mother she could do anything now. And she put on her hat and jacket directly after breakfast, and walked up to see Julia.

She caught a glimpse of her friend at one of the windows, but she moved away directly she saw Hetty—to come and meet her as soon as the door was opened she thought. But, instead of being invited to walk into the drawing-room or meeting Julia in the hall, as she had anticipated, the servant asked her to wait, and she would see if her mistress was at home.

"Miss Julia is not at home," was the message she brought back.

Hetty knew it was a message, but it completely upset her, for Julia had professed such love and friendship before that she did not anticipate such a refusal as this. Julia might be cool in her manner towards her—she had nerved herself to meet this—but to be kept waiting at the door and then denied entrance almost overpowered her.

She stood for a minute or two unable to speak for astonishment, and then by an effort recovering herself she said, "Can I see Sir Charles Hodson?"

Julia's father, she knew, had been very intimate with Mr. Newton, and he might be able to tell her how far her mother's affairs were involved, and help her to tide over her present difficulties. But Sir Charles could tell her nothing, and at last Hetty was obliged to confess that they were on the verge of starvation at home, and until she could obtain her uncle's address in Paris, she knew not where to turn for a shilling.

"Dear me! That is very shocking, Miss Golding," said the gentleman. And then taking out his purse, he laid a sovereign on the table saying, "You will oblige me by accepting that for your present need, and I hope in a few days you will have news from Paris."

Hetty coloured crimson at the thought of receiving charity, but what was she to do? She looked at the sovereign and thought of her mother at home. She felt choking, but she managed to stammer out. "Do you know that we may never be able to repay this?—We may be quite ruined. We have no money in the bank now I know, for I have written to ask."

"Never mind that, you are welcome to this trifle. And, if you do not hear from your uncle in a day or two, come and see me again. I am very sorry your mother is so ill, Miss Golding. I daresay Newton's affairs have worried her a good deal, but I trust she will soon get over it."

"Thank you, I hope so," gasped Hetty, as she took up the sovereign and put it into her little empty purse.

She tried to thank Sir Charles for this, but she was too much overcome to utter a word, and walked out like one in a dream.

When she reached home, she flung herself into a chair, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of sobbing. "Oh, Hannah, I never thought I should come to this!" she said, throwing the sovereign on to the table.

"Well, Miss Hetty, I don't see what you've got to cry about now," said Hannah, seizing the sovereign and looking at it complacently. "I can get all the mistress wants now, and you and I and nurse can live on a mere nothing till we hear from Miss Lettice again."

"I would not have taken it if it had not been for mamma," sobbed Hetty. "Oh! If she would only get better, I would try and do something to earn money myself. What do you think I could do, Hannah?" said the young lady, trying to choke back her tears.

"Well, Miss Hetty, you used to say—"

"Oh, never mind what I used to say! I have been a vain, silly girl," interrupted Hetty. "Just tell me if there is anything I can do to earn money."

"Well, Miss Hetty, you are clever at music I've heard, and you might teach it, I should think."

"I should think so too," said Hetty, brightening at once. "I wonder who I could ask about it?"

"I wouldn't do more than think about it just yet, if I were you, Miss Hetty. You're a lady, you know, and ladies never work for money. I've heard you say it again and again."

"Oh, yes, I know I have, but I'm getting wiser now, I hope. I've tried to make everybody believe we were rich people because uncle was, but I know mamma would be glad if I tried to do something useful."

Hetty had learned another bitter lesson that morning. Julia Hodson and her maxims of what the world deemed genteel and proper had been thought of and studied far more than her mother's wishes. But she knew how to value the professed love of such a friend now, and she resolved to begin at once and carry out what she knew her mother would approve, even though she could not ask her about it at present.

Her usual impulsiveness forbade her waiting long after she had once made up her mind to do a thing. So as soon as dinner was over, she put on her bonnet to go and consult her former governess about her plan of becoming a music teacher, hoping she might be asked to teach some of the juniors among her former schoolfellows—a hope that was not disappointed. For the lady knew that if Hetty liked to be patient and take pains with her pupils, she could soon be a very clever teacher. She also recommended her to call upon Mrs. Mavor, who had been inquiring for a music teacher for her little girl.

Mrs. Mavor was rather surprised to see the proud Miss Golding upon such an errand. But, after hearing her reason for wishing to do something towards helping her mother, she encouraged her to persevere, and engaged her at once to teach her little daughter.

Hetty proved a more painstaking teacher than even her governess anticipated. And by the time Mrs. Golding was well enough to be told what Hetty had done, she was also able to add that her work was not nearly so irksome as she had feared it would be. She had begun to take an interest in the progress of her pupils, and really liked teaching them.

[Illustration: FROM HETTY'S OWN LIPS SHE HEARD THE WHOLE STORY.]

Mrs. Golding could only wonder and be thankful for the change in Hetty, for she was not told of the bitter experiences through which she had passed until she got better. Then, from Hetty's own lips she heard the whole story.

Meanwhile, a letter had come from Lettice, saying they were going to stay a week or two in Paris. And, in response to Hetty's confused letter about her mother's illness, and their distress, and her going out as a music teacher, Uncle John came back post haste to see what it all meant. For Mrs. Golding was his only sister, and he had taken care that most of her money should be safely invested, so that he could afford to laugh when Hetty told him that her mother had been ruined by the downfall of their friend, Mr. Newton.

"Nonsense, child! I took care that your mother should never be able to ruin herself through her kindness to friends. The most she could have lent was the little surplus she had saved and put away in the bank here, so you may make your mind easy about that, and give up your teaching to-morrow if you like."

"But suppose I should not like, uncle?" said Hetty, laughing in her turn, for she could laugh now this great dread was lifted from her mind.

"Well, I should say you were a more sensible girl than I thought you were," said Uncle John, in a cordial tone. For the report brought him by Lettice of the way her cousin had acted during her visit had not disposed him to meet his niece in a very affectionate manner.

Hetty coloured. "I have been foolish, and worse than foolish, uncle," she said, "but I mean to act differently in the future. Mamma quite approves of my effort to be independent, as she says, for she does not know why it was so urgent for me to begin to earn money at once, or why I was so anxious to see you. She is too ill to be troubled about anything yet, and now there will be no need to tell her until she gets quite well. I do think she will get well now, don't you, uncle?"

"Certainly, my dear, and the knowledge that you are acting in such a sensible, womanly way will help her more than anything else. Keep on with your music teaching by all means, and don't add to the number of helpless women in the world. Never mind what your fine, frivolous friends may say, but, believe me, an idle, helpless woman is always a miserable one, and often gets herself into as much mischief as you did with your grand garden-party. Lettice told me about that, but I shall be able to give her a very different account of you, and she will be pleased and proud to hear it. For it is one of her pet theories that a woman may nearly always conquer adverse circumstances if she only conquers herself first, and I think you have proved it. I am quite proud of my little niece now," added Uncle John, gently patting Hetty's blushing cheek.

He stayed with them a few days, long enough to set matters straight from a pecuniary point of view, and seeing his sister fairly progressing towards recovery. He also called upon Sir Charles Hodson, to thank him for the assistance given to Hetty in her time of need. And Miss Julia was so impressed by his noble appearance, and the fact that Hetty Golding was not quite penniless, that she called to see her the next day, to apologise, as she said, for not returning Hetty's call when she was not at home.

But Hetty was only coldly polite to her gushing friend now. She would have no time, she said, to continue the acquaintance, for she was occupied in teaching several hours each day, and her mother would require so much care and attention for some months to come, that she would have no leisure for other companionship.

It was Miss Hodson's turn to be astonished, and she was both surprised and vexed, for she really did like Hetty Golding as much as it was in her nature to like any one, and to have a renewal of her highly-esteemed friendship thus coolly declined was nothing less than a positive insult, according to her view of the matter. But remembering the past, and how glad Hetty had been to accept the smallest token of favour from her, she thought she would soon forget her present notions, and be glad to resume her former standing, if she waited. So she took her leave very coolly, but resolved to wait and watch for Hetty to make some overtures of friendship.

But Hetty had no desire whatever to go back to that time. As she herself remarked, the number of things which now claimed her attention and absorbed her leisure left no margin for idle gossip as to what was the world's opinion of this and that. Moreover, when her mother in due course was restored to health, Hetty's interest had centred so happily in her work and her home that she had no inclination or motive to induce her to cultivate friendship with girls of Julia Hodson's stamp.

Hetty's first earnings went to pay the debts incurred by her foolish garden-party. Mrs. Mavor's bill of costs for the damage done to the growing vegetables in the slip she had given to the gardener was the heaviest item on the list.

Hetty, however, paid it cheerfully, saying the lessons she had learnt through it would be a warning throughout her life, for she could never forget that garden-party, and what came of it.

THE END.

[Illustration]