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diff --git a/21235.txt b/21235.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..023de06 --- /dev/null +++ b/21235.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8804 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Maidens' Lodge, by Emily Sarah Holt + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Maidens' Lodge + None of Self and All of Thee, (In the Reign of Queen Anne) + +Author: Emily Sarah Holt + +Illustrator: H.W. Petherick + +Release Date: April 27, 2007 [EBook #21235] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAIDENS' LODGE *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + + + + + +The Maidens' Lodge +None of Self and All of Thee, (in the Reign of Queen Anne) + +By Emily Sarah Holt +________________________________________________________________________ +The story opens in 1712, and is a story of the habits, customs, loves +and hates of a gentle family of those days. We pay particular attention +to two young women, Rhoda and Phoebe. Of course your reviewer never did +live in those days, but the style of life of these minor grandees seems +to ring true, as one would expect of this skilled author. As with her +other historical novels, the reader seems to feel pulled into the +contemporary scene of those days and that class: their foolish airs and +graces, their ambition, in most cases, to marry at or above their +"station". + +Amid a welter of other minor grandees appears one Mr Welles, who is +said to be well placed with an income of three thousand pounds a year, +to be compared with one of the players in the story, a curate with 21 +pounds a year with which to bring up his large brood. But he turns out +to be greedy, and makes a bid for one of the two young women, who, he +imagines, is to inherit a large and valuable estate. But he has made a +mistake, and much of the latter part of the book deals with the way in +which he tries to recover his position, and is, of course, rebuffed. +NH +________________________________________________________________________ + +THE MAIDENS' LODGE +NONE OF SELF AND ALL OF THEE, (IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE) + +BY EMILY SARAH HOLT + + + +CHAPTER ONE. + +PHOEBE ARRIVES AT WHITE-LADIES. + + "The sailing of a cloud hath Providence to its pilot." + + _Martin Farquhar Tupper_. + +In the handsome parlour of Cressingham Abbey, commonly called +White-Ladies, on a dull afternoon in January, 1712, sat Madam and her +granddaughter, Rhoda, sipping tea. + +Madam--and nothing else, her dependants would have thought it an +impertinence to call her Mrs Furnival. Never was Empress of all the +Russias more despotic in her wide domain than Madam in her narrow one. + +As to Mr Furnival--for there had been such a person, though it was a +good while since--he was a mere appendage to Madam's greatness--useful +in the way of collecting rents and seeing to repairs, and capable of +being put away when done with. He was a little, meek, unobtrusive man, +fully (and happily) convinced of his own insignificance, and ready to +sink himself in his superb wife as he might receive orders. He had been +required to change his name as a condition of alliance with the heiress +of Cressingham, and had done so with as much readiness as he would in +similar circumstances have changed his coat. It was about fourteen +years since this humble individual had ceased to be the head servant of +Madam; and it was Madam's wont to hint, when she condescended to refer +to him at all, that her marriage with him had been the one occasion in +her life wherein she had failed to act with her usual infallibility. + +It had been a supreme disappointment to Madam that both her children +were of the inferior sex. Mrs Catherine to some extent resembled her +father, having no thoughts nor opinions of her own, but being capable of +moulding like wax; and like wax her mother moulded her. She married, +under Madam's orders, at the age of twenty, the heir of the neighbouring +estate--a young gentleman of blood and fortune, with few brains and +fewer principles--and died two years thereafter, leaving behind her a +baby daughter only a week old, whom her careless father was glad enough +to resign to Madam, in order to get her out of his way. + +The younger of Madam's daughters, despite her sister's passive +obedience, had been the mother's favourite. Her obedience was by no +means passive. She inherited all her mother's self-will, and more than +her mother's impulsiveness. Much the handsomer of the two, she was +dressed up, flattered, indulged, and petted in every way. Nothing was +too good for Anne, until one winter day, shortly after Catherine's +marriage, when the family assembled round the breakfast table, and Anne +was found missing. A note was brought to Madam that evening by one of +Mr Peveril's under-gardeners, in which Anne gaily confessed that she +had taken her destiny into her own hands, and had that morning been +married to the Reverend Charles Latrobe, family chaplain to her +brother-in-law, Mr Peveril. She hoped that her mother would not be +annoyed, and would receive her and her bridegroom with the usual +cordiality exhibited at weddings. + +Madam's, face was a study for a painter. Had Anne Furnival searched +through her whole acquaintance, and selected that one man who would be +least acceptable at Cressingham, she could not have succeeded better. + +A chaplain! the son of a French Huguenot refugee, concerned in trade!-- +every item, in Madam's eyes, was a lower deep beyond the previous one. +It was considered in those days that the natural wife for a family +chaplain was the lady's maid. That so mean a creature should presume to +lift his eyes to the sister of his patroness, was monstrous beyond +endurance. And a Frenchman!--when Madam looked upon all foreigners as +nuisances whose removal served for practice to the British fleet, and +boasted that she could _not_ speak a word of French, with as much +complacency as would have answered for laying claim to a perfect +knowledge of all the European tongues. And a tradesman's son! A +tradesman, and a gentleman, in her eyes, were terms as incompatible as a +blue rose or a vermilion cat. For a man to soil his fingers with sale, +barter or manufacture, was destructive of all pretension not only to +birth, but to manners. + +On the head of her innocent spouse Madam's fury had been outpoured in no +measured terms. Receive the hussy, she vehemently declared, she would +not! She should never set foot in that house again. From this moment +she had but one daughter. + +Two years afterwards, on the evening of Catherine's funeral, and of the +transference of baby Rhoda to the care of her grandmother, a young +woman, shabbily dressed, carrying an infant, and looking tired and +careworn, made her way to the back door of the Abbey. She asked for an +interview with Madam. + +"I cannot disturb Madam," said the grey-haired servant, not unkindly; +"her daughter was buried this morning. You must come again, my good +woman." + +"Must I so, Baxter?" replied the applicant. "Tell her she has one +daughter left. Surely, if ever she will see me, it were to-night." + +"Eh, Mrs Anne!" exclaimed the man, who remembered her as a baby in +arms. "Your pardon, Madam, that I knew you not sooner. Well, I cannot +tell! but come what will, it shall never be said that I turned my young +mistress from her mother's door. If I lose my place by it, I'll take in +your name to Madam." + +The answer he received was short and stern. "_My daughter_ was buried +this morning. I will not see the woman." + +Baxter softened it a little in repeating it to Mrs Latrobe. But he +could not soften the hard fact that her mother refused to see her. She +was turning away, when suddenly she lifted her head and held out her +child to him. + +"Take it to her! 'Tis a boy." + +Mrs Latrobe knew Madam. If a grandchild of the nobler sex produced no +effect upon her, no more could be hoped. Baxter carried the child in, +but he shook his grey head when he brought it back. He did not repeat +the message this time. + +"I'll have nought to do with that beggar tradesfellow's brats!" said +Madam, in a fury. + +"Mrs Anne, there's one bit of comfort," said old Baxter, in a whisper. +"Master slipped out as soon as I told of you, and I saw him cross the +field towards the church. Go you that way, and meet him." + +She did not speak another word, but she clasped the child tight to her +bosom, and hurried away. As she passed a narrow outlet at the end of +the Abbey Church, close to the road, Mr Furnival shambled out and met +her. + +"Eh, Nancy, poor soul, God bless thee!" faltered the poor father, who +was nearly as much to be pitied as his child. "She'll not see thee, my +girl. And she'll blow me up for coming. But that's nothing--it comes +every day for something. Look here, child," and Mr Furnival emptied +all his pockets, and poured gold and silver into Anne's thin hand. "I +can do no more. Poor child! poor child! But if thou art in trouble, my +girl, send to me at any time, and I'll pawn my coat for thee if I can do +no better." + +"Father," said Mrs Latrobe, in an unsteady voice, "I am sorry I was +ever an undutiful child to _you_." + +The emphasis was terribly significant. + +So they parted, with much admiration of the grandson, and Mr Furnival +trotted back to his penance; for Madam kept him very short of money, and +required from him an account of every shilling. The storm which he +anticipated broke even a little more severely than he expected; but he +bore it quietly, and went to bed when it was over. + +Since that night nothing whatever had been heard of Mrs Latrobe until +four months before the story opens. When Mr Furnival was on his +death-bed, he braved his wife's anger by naming the disowned daughter. +His last words were, "Perpetua, seek out Anne!" + +Madam sat listening to him with lips firmly set, and without words. It +was not till he was past speech that she gave him any answer. + +"Jack," she said at last, to the pleading eyes which were more eloquent +than the hushed voice had been, "look you here. I will not seek the +girl out. She has made her bed, and let her lie on it! But I will do +this for you--and I should never have done that without your asking and +praying me now. If she comes or sends to me, I will not refuse her some +help. I shall please myself what sort. But I won't turn her quite +away, for your sake." + +The pleading eyes turned to grateful ones. An hour later, and Madam was +a widow. + +Fourteen years passed, during which Rhoda grew up into a maiden of +nineteen years, always in the custody of her grandmother. Her father +had fallen in one of the Duke of Marlborough's battles, and before his +death had been compelled to sell Peveril Manor to liquidate his gambling +debts. He left nothing for Rhoda beyond his exquisite wardrobe and +jewellery, a service of gold plate, and a number of unpaid bills, which +Madam flatly refused to take upon herself, and defied the unhappy +tradesmen to impose upon Rhoda. She did, however, keep the plate and +jewels; and by way of a sop to Cerberus, allowed the "beggarly +craftsmen," whom she so heartily despised, to sell and divide the +proceeds of the wardrobe. + +When the fourteen years were at an end, on an afternoon in September, a +letter was brought to the Abbey for Madam. Its bearer was a +respectable, looking middle-aged woman. Madam ordered her to have some +refreshment, while she read the letter. Rhoda noticed that her hand +shook as she held it, and wondered what it could be about. Letters were +unusual and important documents in those days. But it was the signature +that had startled Madam--"Anne Latrobe." + +Mrs Latrobe wrote in a strain of suffering, penitence, and entreaty. +She was in sore trouble. Her husband was dead; of her five children +only one was living. She herself was capable of taking a situation as +lady's maid--a higher position then than now--and she knew of one lady +who was willing to engage her, if she could provide otherwise for +Phoebe. Phoebe was the second of her children, and was now seventeen. +She expressed her sorrow for the undutiful behaviour of which she had +been guilty towards both parents; and she besought in all ignorance the +father who had been dead for fourteen years, to plead with Madam, to +help her, in any way she pleased, to put Phoebe into some respectable +place where she could earn her own living. Mrs Latrobe described her +as a "quiet, meek, good girl,--far better than ever I was,"--and said +that she would be satisfied with any arrangement which would effect the +end proposed. + +For some minutes Madam sat gazing out of the window, yet seeing nothing, +with the letter lying open before her. Her promise to her dead husband +bound her to answer favourably. What should she do with Phoebe? After +some time of absolute silence, she startled Rhoda with the question,-- + +"Child, how old are you?" + +"Nineteen, Madam," answered Rhoda, in much surprise. + +"Two years!" responded Madam,--which words were an enigma to her +granddaughter. + +But as Rhoda was of a romantic temperament, and the central luminary of +her sphere was Rhoda Peveril, visions began to dance before her of some +eligible suitor, whom Madam was going to put off for two years. She was +more perplexed than ever with the next question. + +"Would you like a companion, child?" + +"Very much, Madam." Anything which was a change was welcome to Rhoda. + +"I think I will," said Madam. "Ring the bell." + +I have already stated that Madam was impulsive. When her old butler +came in--a man who looked the embodiment of awful respectability--she +said, "Send that woman here." + +The woman appeared accordingly, and stood courtesying just within the +door. + +"Your name, my good woman?" asked Madam, condescendingly. + +"An't please you, Molly Bell, Madam." + +"Whence come you, Molly?" + +"An't please you, from Bristol, Madam." + +"How came you?" + +"An't please you, on foot, Madam; but I got a lift in a carrier's cart +for a matter of ten miles." + +"Do you know the gentlewoman that writ the letter you brought?" + +"Oh, ay, Mistress Latrobe! The Lord be thanked, Madam, that ever I did +know her, and her good master, the Reverend, that's gone to the good +place." + +"You are sure of that?" demanded Madam; but the covert satire was lost +on Molly Bell. + +"Sure!" exclaimed she; adding, very innocently, "You can never have +known Mr Latrobe, Madam, to ask that; not of late years, leastwise." + +"I never did," said Madam, rather grimly. "And do you know Mrs +Phoebe?" + +"Dear heart, Madam!" said Molly, laughing softly, "but how queer it do +sound, for sure, to hear you say Mrs Phoebe! She's always been Miss +Phoebe with us all these years; and we hadn't begun like to think she +was growing up. Oh, dear, yes, Madam, I knew them all--Master Charles, +and Miss Phoebe, and Master Jack, and Miss Perry, and Miss Kitty." + +"Miss Perry?" said Madam, in an interrogative tone. + +"Miss Perpetua, Madam--we always called her Miss Perry for short. A +dear little blessed child she was!" + +Rhoda saw the kind which held the letter tremble again. + +"And they are all dead but Miss Phoebe?" + +"It's a mercy Miss Phoebe wasn't taken too," said Molly, shaking her +head. "They died of the fever, in one fortnight's time--Miss Perry went +the first; and then Master Jack, and then Master Charles, and the +Reverend himself, and Miss Kitty last of all. Miss Phoebe was down like +all of 'em, and the doctor did say he couldn't ha' pulled her through +but for her dear good mother. She never had her gown off, Madam, night +nor day, just a-going from one sick bed to another; and they all died in +her arms. I wonder she didn't lie down and die herself at last. I do +think it was Miss Phoebe beginning to get better as kept her in life." + +"Poor Anne!" + +If anything could have startled Rhoda, it was those two words. She +recognised her aunt's name, and knew now of whom they were speaking. + +Had Molly been retained as counsel for Mrs Latrobe, she could hardly +have spoken more judiciously than she did. She went on now,-- + +"And, O Madam! when all was done, and the five coffins carried out, she +says to me, Mrs Latrobe says, `Molly,' she says, `I'd ought to be very +thankful. I haven't been a good child,' she says, `to my father and +mother. But _they'll_ never pay me back my bitter ways,' she says. And +I'm right sure, Madam, as Miss Phoebe never will, for she's that sweet +and good, she is! So you see, Madam, Mrs Latrobe, she's had her +troubles, and if so be she's sent to you for comfort, Madam, I take the +liberty to hope as you'll give her a bit." + +"You can go back to the kitchen, Molly," said Madam, in what was for her +a very gracious tone. "I will order you a night's lodging here, and +to-morrow one of my carters, who is going to Gloucester, shall take you +so far on your way. I will give you a letter to carry." + +"Thank you kindly, Madam!" + +And with half a dozen courtesies, one for Rhoda, and the rest for Madam, +Molly retreated, well pleased. Madam sat down and wrote her letter. +This was Madam's letter, written in an amiable frame of mind:-- + + "Daughter,--I have yowr leter. Your father is ded thise foreteen + yeres. I promissed him as he lay a dyeing yt wou'd doe some thing for + you. You have nott desarv'd itt, but I am sory to here of your + troble. If you will sende youre childe to mee, I will doe so mutch + for yow as too brede her upp with my granedor Roda, yowr sistar + Catterin's child. I wou'd not have yow mistak my meaneing, wch is + nott that shee shou'd be plac'd on a levell with her cosin, for Roada + is a jantlewoman, and yt is moar than she can say. But to be Rodes + wating mayd, and serve her in her chamber, and bere her cumpany when + she hath need. I will give the girle too sutes of close by the yere, + and some tims a shillinge in her pockit, and good lodgeing and enow of + victle. And if shee be obediant and humbel, and order her self as I + wou'd she may, I will besyde al this give her if shee mary her weding + close and her weddying diner,--yt is, if she mary to my minde,--and if + noe, thenn shee may go whissel for anie thing I will doe for her. It + is moar than she cou'd look for anie whear els. You will bee a foole + to say Noe. + + "P. Furnival. + + "Lett the girle come when you goe to your place. There is a carrer + goes from Bristoll to Teukesburry, and a mann with an horse shal mete + her at the Bell." + +Be not horrified, accomplished modern reader, at Madam's orthography. +She spelt fairly well--for a lady in 1712. + +An interval of about two months followed, and then came another letter +from Mrs Latrobe. She wrote in a most grateful strain; she was +evidently even more surprised than pleased with the offer for Phoebe. +There was a reference of penitent love to her father; a promise that +Phoebe should be at Cressingham on or as near as possible to the +twenty-ninth of January; and warm thanks for her mother's undeserved +kindness, more especially for the consideration which had prompted the +promise that Phoebe should be met at Tewkesbury, instead of being left +to find her way alone in the dark through the two miles which lay +between that town and Cressingham. + +So, on the afternoon of that twenty-ninth of January, an hour after the +man and horses had started, Madam and Rhoda sat in the Abbey parlour, +sipping their tea, and both meditating on the subject of Phoebe. + +Madam, as became a widow, was attired in black. A stiff black bombazine +petticoat was surmounted by a black silk gown adorned with flowers in +raised embroidery, and the train of the gown was pulled through the +pocket-hole of the petticoat. At that time, ladies of all ages wore +their dresses low and square at the neck, edged with a tucker of nett or +lace; the sleeves ended at the elbows with a little white ruffle of +similar material to the tucker. In London, the low head-dress was +coming into fashion; but country ladies still wore the high commode, a +superb erection of lace and muslin, from one to three feet in height. +Long black silk mittens were drawn up to _meet_ the sleeves. The shoes +reached nearly to the ankles, and were finished with large silver +buckles. + +Rhoda was much smarter. She wore a cotton gown--for when all cotton +gowns were imported from India, they were rare and costly articles--of +an involved shawl-like pattern, in which the prevailing colour was red. +Underneath was a petticoat of dark blue quilted silk. Her commode was +brightened by blue ribbons; she wore no mittens; and her shoe-buckles +rivalled those of her grandmother. Rhoda's figure was good, but her +face was commonplace. She was neither pretty nor ugly, neither +intellectual nor stupid-looking. Of course she wore powder (as also did +Madam); but if her hair had been released from its influence, it would +have been perceived that there was about it a slight, very slight, tinge +of red. + +The coming of her cousin was an event of the deepest interest to Rhoda, +for she had been ever since her birth absolutely without any society of +her own age. Never having had an opportunity of measuring herself by +other girls, Rhoda imagined herself a most learned and accomplished +young person. It would be such a triumph to see Phoebe find it out, and +such a pleasure to receive--with a becoming deprecation which meant +nothing--the admiration of one so far her inferior. Rhoda had dipped +into a score or two of her grandfather's books, had picked up sundry +fine words and technical phrases, with a smattering of knowledge, or +what would pass for it; and she sat radiant in the contemplation of the +delightful future which was to exalt herself and overawe Phoebe. + +So lost was she in her own imaginations, that she neither heard Madam +ring her little hand-bell, nor was conscious that the horses had trotted +past the window, until Sukey, one of Madam's maids, came in answer to +the bell, and courtesying, said, "An it please you, Madam, Mrs Phoebe +Latrobe." + +Rhoda lifted her eyes eagerly, and saw her cousin. The first item which +she noticed was that Phoebe's figure was by no means so good as her own, +her shoulders being so high as almost to reach deformity; the next point +was that the expression of Phoebe's face was remarkably sweet; the third +was that Phoebe's dress was particularly shabby. It was a brown stuff, +worn threadbare, too short for the fashion, and without any of the +flounces and furbelows then common. Over it was tied a plain white +linen apron--aprons were then worn both in and out of doors--and +Phoebe's walking costume consisted of a worn black mantua or pelisse, +and a hood, brown like the dress, which was the shabbiest of all. The +manner of the wearer, however, while extremely modest and void of +self-assertion, was not at all awkward nor disconcerted. She +courtesied, first to her grandmother, then to her cousin, and stood +waiting within the door till she was called forward. + +"Come hither, child!" said Madam. + +Phoebe walked forward to her, and dropped another courtesy. Madam put +two fingers under Phoebe's chin, and lifting up the young face, studied +it intently. What she saw there seemed to please her. + +"You'll do, child," she said, letting Phoebe go. "Be a good maid, and +obedient, and you shall find me your friend. Sit down, and loose your +hood. Rhode, pour her a dish of tea." + +And this was Madam's welcome to her granddaughter. + +Phoebe obeyed her instructions with no words but "Thank you, Madam." +Her voice was gentle and low. If the tears burned under her eyelids, no +one knew it but herself. + +"Take Phoebe upstairs, Rhoda, to your chamber," said Madam, when the +new-comer had finished her tea. "I see, child, your new clothes had +better not be long a-coming." + +"I have a better gown than this, Madam, in my trunk," she answered. + +"Well, I am glad of it," said Madam shortly. + +Rhoda led her cousin up the wide stone staircase, and into a pretty +room, low but comfortable, fitted with a large bed, a washstand, a +wardrobe, and a dressing-table. The two girls were to occupy it +together. And here Rhoda's tongue, always restrained in her +grandmother's presence, felt itself at liberty, and behaved accordingly. +A new cousin to catechise was a happiness that did not occur every day. + +"Have you no black gown?" was the first thing which Rhoda demanded of +Phoebe. + +"Oh, yes," said Phoebe. "I wear black for my father, and all of them." + +Heedless of what she might have noticed--the tremor of Phoebe's voice-- +Rhoda went on with her catechism. + +"How long has your father been dead?" + +"Eight months." + +"Did you like him?" + +"_Like_ him!" Phoebe seemed to have no words to answer. + +"I never knew anything about mine," went on Rhoda. "He lived till I was +thirteen; and I never saw him. Only think!" + +Phoebe gave a little shake of her head, as if _her_ thoughts were too +much for her. + +"And my mother died when I was a week old; and I never had any brother +or sister," pursued Rhoda. + +"Then you never had any one to love? Poor Cousin!" said Phoebe, looking +at Rhoda with deep compassion. + +"Love! Oh, I don't know that I want it," said Rhoda lightly. "How is +Aunt Anne, and where is she?" + +"Mother?" Phoebe's voice shook again. "She is going to live with a +gentlewoman at the Bath. She stayed till I was gone." + +"Well, you know," was the next remark of Rhoda, whose ideas were not at +all neatly put in order, "you'll have to wear a black gown to-morrow. +It is King Charles." + +"Yes, I know," said Phoebe. + +"Was your father a Dissenter?" queried Rhoda. + +"No," said Phoebe, looking rather surprised. + +"Because I can tell you, Madam hates Dissenters," said Rhoda. "She +would as soon have a crocodile to dinner. Why didn't you come in your +black gown?" + +"It is my best," answered Phoebe. "I cannot afford to spoil it." + +"What do you think of Madam?" + +Phoebe shrank from this question. "I can hardly think anything yet." + +"Oh dear, I wish to-morrow were over!" said Rhoda with an artificial +shiver. "I do hate the thirtieth of January. I wish it never came. We +have to go to church, and there is only tea and bread and butter for +dinner, and we must not divert ourselves with anything. I'll show you +the ruins, and read you some of my poetry. Did you not know I writ +poetry?" + +"No," replied Phoebe. "But will that not be diverting ourselves?" + +"Oh, but we can't always be miserable!" said Rhoda. "Besides, what good +does it do? It is none to King Charles: and I'm sure it never does me +good. Oh, and we will go and see the Maidens' Lodge, and make +acquaintance with the old gentlewomen." + +"The Maidens' Lodge, what is that?" + +"Why, about ten years ago Madam built six little houses, and called it +the Maidens' Lodge; a sort of better-most kind of alms-houses, you know, +for six old gentlewomen--at least, I dare say they are not all old, but +some of them are. (Mrs Vane does not think she is, at any rate.) You +can't see them from this window; they are on the other side of the +church." + +"And are they all filled?" + +"All but one, just now. I protest I don't know why Madam built them. I +guess she thought it was good works. I should have thought it would +have been better works to have sent for Aunt Anne, as well as you; but +don't you tell her I said so!" + +"Don't be afraid," said Phoebe, smiling. "I trust I am not a +pick-thank. But don't you think, when you would not have a thing said +again, it were better not to say it at the first?" + +[Note: A meddlesome mischief-maker.] + +"Oh, stuff! I can't always be such a prig as that!" + +Phoebe was unpacking a trunk of very modest dimensions, and Rhoda, +perched on a corner of the bed, sat and watched her. + +"Is _that_ your best gown?" + +"Yes," said Phoebe, lifting it carefully out. + +"How many have you?" + +"This and that." + +"Only two? How poor Aunt Anne must be!" + +"We have always been poor." + +"Have you always lived in Bristol?" + +"No. We used to live at the Bath when I was a child. Father was curate +at the Abbey Church." + +"How much did he get?" + +"Twenty-five pounds a year." + +"That wasn't much for seven of you." + +"It was not," returned Phoebe, significantly. + +"What can you do?" asked Rhoda, suddenly. "Can you write poetry?" + +"I never tried, so I cannot tell," said Phoebe. + +"Can you sing?" + +"Yes." + +"And play on anything?" + +"No. I cannot do much. I can sew pretty well, and knit in four +different ways; I don't cook much--I mean, I don't know how to make many +things, but I always try to be nice in all I can do. I can read and +write, and keep accounts." + +"Can you dance a jig?--and embroider, and work tapestry?" + +"No, I don't know anything of that." + +"Can't work tapestry! Why, Phoebe!" + +"You see, there never was any time," said Phoebe, apologetically. "Of +course, I helped mother with the cooking and sewing; and then there were +the children to see to, and I learned Perry and Kitty to read and sew. +Then there were all the salves and physic for the poor folk. We could +not afford much in that way, but we did what we could." + +"Well, I wouldn't marry a parson; that's flat!" said Rhoda. "Fancy +spending all your days a-making salves and boluses! Fiddle-faddle!" + +Phoebe gave a little laugh. "I was not always making salves," she said. + +"Had you any pets? We have a parrot; I believe she's near as old as +Madam. I want a monkey, but Madam won't hear of it." + +"We never had but one," said Phoebe, the quiver coming again into her +voice, "and--it died." + +"What was it?" + +"A little dog." + +"I don't much care for dogs," said Rhoda. "Mrs Vane is the one for +pets; that is, whenever they are modish. She carries dormice in her +pocket, and keeps a lapdog and a squirrel. When the mode goes out, she +gives the thing away, and gets something newer." + +"Oh, dear!" said Phoebe. "I could never give my friends away." + +"Oh, it is not always to friends," said Rhoda, misunderstanding her. +"She gave one of her cats to a tailor at Tewkesbury." + +"But the creatures are your friends," said Phoebe. "How can you bear to +give them away?" + +"Cats, and dogs, and squirrels--friends!" answered Rhoda, laughing. +"Why, Phoebe, what a droll creature you are!" + +"They would be my friends," responded Phoebe. + +"I vow, I'd like to see you make a friend of Mrs Vane's Cupid!" +exclaimed Rhoda, laughing. "He is the most spiteful little brute I ever +set eyes on. He thinks his teeth were made to bite everybody, and his +tail wasn't made to wag." + +"Poor little thing! I don't wonder, if he has a mistress who would give +him away because it was not the mode to keep him." + +"I never saw a maid so droll!" said Rhoda, still laughing; "'twill never +serve to be so mighty nice, that I can tell you. Why, you talk as if +those creatures had feelings, like we have!" + +"And so they have," said Phoebe, warming up a little. + +"You are mightily mistaken," returned Rhoda. + +"Why do they bark, and bite, and wag their tails, then?" said Phoebe, +unanswerably. "It means something." + +"Why, what does it signify if they have?" demanded Rhoda, not very +consistently. "I say, Phoebe, is that your best hood? How shabby you +go!" + +"Yes," answered Phoebe, quietly. + +"How much pin-money do you mean to stand for?" was Rhoda's next +startling question. + +"How much what?" said astonished Phoebe, dropping the gloves she was +taking out of her trunk. + +"How much pin-money will you make your husband give you?" + +"I've not got one!" was Phoebe's very innocent response. + +"Well, you'll have one some day, of course," said Rhoda. "I mean to +have five hundred, at least." + +"Pounds?" gasped Phoebe. + +"Of course!" laughed Rhoda. "I tell you, I mean to be a modish +gentlewoman, as good as ever Mrs Vane; and I'll have a knight at least. +Oh, you'll see, one of these days. I can manage Madam, when I +determine on it. Phoebe, there's the supper bell. Come on." + +And quite regardless of the treasonable language in which she had just +been indulging, Rhoda danced down into the parlour, becoming suddenly +sober as she crossed the threshold. + +Phoebe followed, and unless her face much belied her thoughts, she was a +good deal puzzled by her new cousin. + + + +CHAPTER TWO. + +MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. + +"Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a +distant waste: No shepherds' tents within thy view appear, Yet the Chief +Shepherd is for ever near." + +_Cowper_. + +The Abbey Church of White-Ladies, to which allusion has already been +made, was not in any condition for Divine Service, being only a +beautiful ruin. When Madam went to church, therefore, she drove two +miles to Tewkesbury. + +At nine o'clock punctually, the great lumbering coach was drawn to the +door by the two heavy Flanders mares, with long black tails which almost +touched the ground. Madam, in a superb costume of black satin, trimmed +with dark fur and white lace, took her seat in the place of honour. +Rhoda, in a satin gown and hood, with a silk petticoat, all black, as +became the day, sat on the small seat at one side of the door. But +Rhoda sat with her face to the horses, while the yet lower place +opposite was reserved for Phoebe, in her unpretending mourning. The +great coach rumbled off, out of the grand gates, always opened when +Madam was present, past the ruins of the Abbey Church, and drew up +before a row of six little houses, fronted by six little gardens. They +were built on a very minute scale, exactly alike, each containing four +small rooms--kitchen, parlour, and two bedrooms over, with a little +lean-to scullery at the back. On the mid-most coping-stone appeared a +lofty inscription to the effect that-- + +"The Maidens' Lodge was built to the Praise and Glory of God, by the +pious care of Mistress Perpetua Furnival, Widow, for the lodging of six +decayed gentlewomen, Spinsters, of Good Birth and Quality,--A.D. 1702." + +It occurred to Phoebe, as she sat reading the inscription, that it might +have been pleasanter to the decayed gentlewomen in question not to have +their indigence quite so openly proclaimed to the world, even though +coupled with good birth and quality, and redounding to the fame of +Mistress Perpetua Furnival. But Phoebe had not much time to meditate; +for the door of the first little house opened, and down the gravel walk, +towards the carriage, came the neatest and nicest of little old ladies, +attired, like everybody that day, in black, and carrying a silver-headed +cane, on which she leaned as if it really were needed to support her. +She was one of those rare persons, a pretty old woman. Her complexion +was still as fair and delicate as a painting on china, her blue eyes +clear and expressive. Of course, in days when everyone wore powder, +hair was of one colour--white. + +"This is Mrs Dolly Jennings," whispered Rhoda to Phoebe; "she is the +eldest of the maidens, and she is about seventy. I believe she is some +manner of cousin to the Duke--not very near, you know." + +The Duke, in 1712, of course, meant the Duke of Marlborough. + +"Good morning, Madam," said Mrs Jennings, in a cheerful yet gentle +voice, when she reached the carriage. + +"Good morning, Mrs Dorothy. I am glad I see you well enough to +accompany me to church." + +"You are very good, Madam," was the reply, as Mrs Dorothy clambered up +into the lumbering vehicle; "I thank God my rheumatic pains are as few +and easy to-day as an old woman of threescore and ten need look for." + +"You are a great age, Mrs Dorothy," observed Madam. + +"Yes, Madam, I thank God," returned Mrs Dorothy, as cheerfully as +before. + +While Phoebe was meditating on this last answer, the second Maiden +appeared from Number Two. She was an entire contrast to the first, +being tall, sharp, featured, florid, high-nosed, and generally angular. + +"Mrs Jane Talbot," whispered Rhoda. + +Mrs Jane, having offered her civilities to Madam, climbed also into the +coach, and placed herself beside Mrs Dorothy. + +"Marcella begs you will allow her excuses, Madam, for she is indisposed +this morning," said Mrs Jane, in a quick, sharp voice, which made +Phoebe doubt if all her angularity were outside. + +While Madam was expressing her regret at this news, the doors of Numbers +Five and Six opened simultaneously, and two ladies emerged, who were, in +their way, as much a contrast as Mrs Jane and Mrs Dorothy. Number Six +reached the carriage first. She was a pleasant, comfortable looking +woman of about fifty years of age, with a round face and healthy +complexion, and a manner which, while kindly, was dignified and +self-possessed. + +"Good morning, my Lady Betty!" said the three voices. + +Phoebe then perceived that the seat of honour, beside Madam, had been +reserved for Lady Betty. But Number Five followed, and she was so +singular a figure that Phoebe's attention was at once diverted to her. + +She looked about the age of Lady Betty, but having evidently been a +beauty in her younger days she was greatly indisposed to resign that +character. Though it was a sharp January morning, her neck was +unprotected by the warm tippet which all the other ladies wore. There +was nothing to keep her warm in that quarter except a necklace. Large +ear-rings depended from her ears, half a dozen rings were worn outside +her gloves, a long chatelaine hung from her neck to her waist, to which +were attached a bunch of trinkets of all shapes and sizes. She was +laced very tight, and her poor nose was conscious of it, as it showed by +blushing at the enormity. Under her left arm was a very small, very +fat, very blunt-nosed Dutch pug. Phoebe at once guessed that the lady +was Mrs Vane, and that the pug was Cupid. + +"Well, Clarissa!" said Mrs Jane, as the new-comer took her seat at the +door opposite Rhoda; "pity you hadn't a nose-ring!" + +Mrs Vane made no answer beyond an affected smile, but Cupid growled at +Mrs Jane, whom he did not seem to hold in high esteem. The coach, with +a good effort on the part of the horses, got under way, and rumbled off +towards Tewkesbury. + +"And how does Sir Richard, my Lady Betty?" inquired Madam, with much +cordiality. + +"Oh, extremely well, I thank you," answered Lady Betty. "So well, +indeed, now, that he talks of a journey to London, and a month at the +Bath on his way thence." + +"What takes him to London?" asked Mrs Jane. + +"'Tis for the maids he thinks to go. He would have Betty and Gatty have +a season's polishing; and for Molly--poor little soul!--he is wishful to +have her touched." + +"Is she as ill for the evil as ever, poor child?" + +"Oh, indeed, yes! 'Tis a thousand pities; and such sprightly parts as +she discovers!" + +[Note: So clever as she is.] + +"'Tis a mercy for such as she that the Queen doth touch," said Mrs +Jane. "King William never did." + +"Is that no mistake?" gently suggested Lady Betty. + +"Never _dared_," came rather grimly from Madam. + +"Well, maybe," said Mrs Jane. "But I protest I cannot see why Queen +Mary should not have done it, as well as her sister." + +"I own I cannot but very much doubt," returned Madam, severely, "that +any good consequence should follow." + +By which it will be perceived that Madam was an uncompromising Jacobite. +Mrs Jane had no particular convictions, but she liked to talk Whig, +because all around were Tories. Lady Betty was a Hanoverian Tory--that +is, what would be termed an extreme Tory in the present day, but +attached to the Protestant Succession. Mrs Clarissa was whatever she +found it the fashion to be. As to Mrs Dorothy, she held private +opinions, but she never allowed them to appear, well knowing that they +would be far from acceptable to Madam. And since Mrs Dorothy was +sometimes constrained unwillingly to differ from Madam on points which +she deemed essential, she was careful not to vex her on subjects which +she considered indifferent. + +Rhoda was rather disappointed to find that Phoebe showed no astonished +admiration of Tewkesbury Abbey. She forgot that the Abbey Church at +Bath, and Saint Mary Redcliffe at Bristol, had been familiar to Phoebe +from her infancy. The porch was lined with beggars, who showered +blessings upon Madam, in grateful anticipation of shillings to come. +But Madam passed grandly on, and paid no attention to them. + +The church and the service were about equally chilly. Being a fast-day, +the organ was silent; but all the responding was left to the choir, the +congregation seemingly supposing it as little their concern as Cupid +thought it his--who curled himself up comfortably, and went to sleep. +The gentlemen appeared to be amusing themselves by staring at the +ladies; the ladies either returned the compliment slily behind their +fans, or exchanged courtesies with each other. There was a long, long +bidding prayer, and a sermon which might have been fitly prefaced by the +announcement, "Let us talk to the praise and glory of Charles the +First!" It was over at last. The gentlemen put down their eye-glasses, +the ladies yawned and furled their fans; there was a great deal of +bowing, and courtesying, and complimenting--Mr William informing Mrs +Betty that the sun had come out solely to do her honour, and Mrs Betty +retorting with a delicate blow from her fan, and, "What a mad fellow are +you!" At last these also were over; and the ladies from Cressingham +remounted the family coach, nearly in the same order as they came--the +variation being that Phoebe found herself seated opposite Mrs Clarissa +Vane. + +"Might I pat him?" said Phoebe, diffidently. + +"If you want to be bit, do!" snapped Mrs Jane. + +"Oh deah, yes!" languishingly responded Mrs Clarissa. "He neveh bites, +does 'e, the pwetty deah!" + +"Heyday! Doesn't 'e, the pwetty deah!" observed Mrs Jane, in such +exact imitation of her friend's affected tones as sorely to try Phoebe's +gravity. + +Lady Betty laughed openly, but added, "Mind what you are about, child." + +"Poor doggie!" softly said Phoebe. + +Cupid's response was the slightest oscillation of the extreme point of +his tail. But when Phoebe attempted to stroke him, to the surprise of +all parties, instead of snapping at her, as he was expected to do, Cupid +only wagged rather more decidedly; and when Phoebe proceeded to rub his +head and ears, he actually gave her, not a bite of resentment, but a +lick of friendliness. + +"Deah! the sweet little deah! 'E's vewy good!" said his mistress. + +The gentle reader is requested not to suppose that the elision of Mrs +Clarissa's poor letter H, as well as R, proceeded either from ignorance +or vulgarity--except so far as vulgarity lies in blindly following +fashion. Mrs Clarissa's only mistake was that, like most country +ladies, she was rather behind the age. The dropping of H and other +letters had been fashionable in the metropolis some eight years before. + +"Clarissa, what a goose are you!" said Mrs Jane. + +"Come, Jenny, don't you bite!" put in Lady Betty. "Cupid has set you a +better example than so." + +"I'll not bite Clarissa, I thank you," was Mrs Jane's rather spiteful +answer. "It would want more than one fast-day to bring me to that. +Couldn't fancy the paint. And don't think I could digest the patches." + +Lady Betty appeared to enjoy Mrs Jane's very uncivil speeches; while +Cupid's mistress remained untouched by them, being one of those persons +who affect not to hear anything to which they do not choose to respond. + +"Well, Rhoda, child," said Lady Betty, as the coach neared home, "'tis +no good, I guess, to bid you drink tea on a fast-day?" + +"Oh, but I am coming, my Lady Betty," answered Rhoda, briskly. "I mean +to drink a dish with every one of you." + +"I shan't give you anything to eat," interpolated Mrs Jane. "Never do +to be guzzling on a fast-day. You won't get any sugar from me, +neither." + +"Never mind, Mrs Jane," said Rhoda. "Mrs Dolly will give me +something, I know. And I shall visit her first." + +Mrs Dorothy assented by a benevolent smile. + +"I hope, child, you will not forget it is a fast-day," said Madam, +gravely, "and not go about to divert yourself in an improper manner." + +"Oh no, Madam!" said Rhoda, drawing in her horns. + +No sooner was dinner over--and as Rhoda had predicted, there was nothing +except boiled potatoes and bread and butter--than Rhoda pounced on +Phoebe, and somewhat authoritatively bade her come upstairs. Madam had +composed herself in her easy chair, with the "Eikon Basilike" in her +hand. + +"Will Madam not be lonely?" asked Phoebe, timidly, as she followed +Rhoda. + +"Lonely? Oh, no! She'll be asleep in a minute," said Rhoda. + +"I thought she was going to read," suggested Phoebe. + +"She fancies so," said Rhoda, laughing. "I never knew her try yet but +she went to sleep directly." + +Unlocking a closet door which stood in their bedroom, and climbing on a +chair to reach the top shelf, Rhoda produced a small volume bound in red +sheepskin, which she introduced to Phoebe's notice with a rather +grandiloquent air. + +"Now, Phoebe! There's my Book of Poems!" + +Phoebe opened the book, and her eye fell on a few lines of faint, +delicate writing, on the fly-leaf. + +"To Rhoda Peveril, with her Aunt Margaret's love." + +"Oh, you have an aunt!" said Phoebe. + +"I have two somewhere," said Rhoda. "They are good for nothing. They +never give me anything." + +Phoebe looked up with a rather surprised air. "They seem to do, +sometimes," she observed, pointing to the book. + +"Well, that one did," answered Rhoda; "one or two little things like +that; but she is dead. The others are just a pair of spiteful old +cats." + +Phoebe's look of astonishment deepened. + +"They must be very different from my aunt, then. I have only one, but I +would not call her names for the world. She loves me, and I love her." + +"Why, what are aunts good for but to be called names?" was the amiable +response. "But now listen, Phoebe. I am going to read you a piece of +my poetry. You see, our old church is dedicated to Saint Ursula; and +there is an image in the church, which they say is Saint Ursula--it has +such a charming face! Madam doesn't think 'tis charming, but I do. So +you see, this poem is to that image." + +Phoebe looked rather puzzled, but did not answer. + +"Now, I would have you criticise, Phoebe," said Rhoda, condescendingly, +using a word she had picked up from one of her grandfather's books. + +"I don't know what that is," said Phoebe. + +"Well, it means, if you hear anything you don't like, say so." + +"Very well," replied Phoebe, quietly. + +And Rhoda began to read, with the style of a rhetorician--as she +supposed-- + + "Step softly, nearer as ye tread + To this shrine of the royal dead! + This Abbey's hallowed unto one, + Daughter of Britain's ancient throne,-- + History names her one sole thing, + The daughter of a British King." + +Rhoda paused, and looked at her cousin--ostensibly for criticism, really +for admiration. If Phoebe had said exactly what she thought, it would +have been that her ear was cruelly outraged: but Phoebe was not +accustomed to the sharp speeches which passed for wit with Rhoda. She +fell back on a matter of fact. + +"Does history say nothing more about her?" + +"Of course it does! It says the Vandals martyred her. Phoebe, you +can't criticise poetry as if it were prose." + +It struck Phoebe that Rhoda's poetry was very like prose; but she said +meekly, "Please go on. I ask your pardon." + +So Rhoda went on-- + + "Her glorious line has passed away-- + The wild dream of a by-gone day! + We know not from what throne she sprang, + Britain is silent in her song--" + +"What's the matter?" asked Rhoda, interrupting herself. + +"I ask your pardon," said Phoebe again. "But--will _song_ do with +_sprang_? And if Ursula was a real person, as I thought she had been, +she wasn't a wild dream, was she?" + +"Phoebe, I do believe you haven't a bit of taste!" said Rhoda. "I'll +try you with one more verse, and then-- + + "O wake her not! Ages have passed + Since her fair eyelids closed at last." + +"I should think, then, you would find it difficult to wake her," +remarked Phoebe: but Rhoda went on as if she had not heard it,-- + + "For twice six hundred years, 'tis said, + Hath rested 'neath yon tomb her head,-- + That head which soft reposed of old + On couch of satin and of gold." + +"Dear!" was Phoebe's comment. "I didn't know they had satin sofas +twelve hundred years ago." + +"'Tis no earthly use reading poetry to you!" exclaimed Rhoda, throwing +down the book. "You haven't one bit of feeling for it, no more than if +it were a sermon I was reading! Tie your hood on, and make haste, and +we'll go and see the Maidens." + +Phoebe seemed rather troubled to have annoyed her cousin, though she +evidently did not perceive how it had been effected. The girls tied on +their hoods, and Rhoda, who was not really ill-natured, soon recovered +herself when she got into the fresh air. + +"Now, while we are going across the Park," she said, "I will tell you +something about the old gentlewomen. I couldn't this morning, you know, +more than their names, because there was Madam listening. But now, +hark! Mrs Dolly Jennings--the one who came in first, you know, and sat +over against Lady Betty--I don't know what kin she is, but there is some +kin between her and the Duchess of Marlborough. She is the oldest of +the Maidens, and the best one to tell a story--except she falls to +preaching, and then 'tis tiresome. Do you like sermons, Phoebe?" + +"It all depends who preaches them," said Phoebe. + +"Well, of course it does," said Rhoda. "I don't like anyone but Dr +Harris--he has such white hands!" + +"He does not preach about them, does he?" said Phoebe, apparently +puzzled as to the connection. + +"Oh, he nourishes them about, and discovers so many elegancies!" +answered Rhoda. + +"But how does that make him preach better?" + +"Why, Phoebe, how stupid you are! But you must not interrupt me in that +way, or I shall never be done. Mrs Dolly, you see, is seventy or more; +and in her youth she was in the great world. So she has all manner of +stories, and she'll always tell them when you ask her. I only wish she +did not preach! Well, then, Mrs Jane Talbot--that one with the high +nose, that sat next Mrs Dolly in the coach--she has lively parts +enough, and that turn makes her very agreeable. I don't care for her +sister, Mrs Marcella, that lives next her--she's always having some +distemper, and I don't like sick people. Mrs Clarissa Vane is the +least well-born of all of them; but she's been a toast, you see, and she +fancies herself charming, poor old thing! As for Lady Betty--weren't +you surprised? I believe Madam pays her a good lot to live there; it +gives the place an air, you know. She is Sir Richard Delawarr's aunt, +and he is the great man all about here--all the land that way belongs to +him, as far as you can see. He is of very good family--an old Norman +house. They are thought a great deal of, you know." + +"But isn't that strange?" said Phoebe, meditatively. "If Sir Richard is +thought more of because his forefathers came from France six hundred +years ago, why is my grandfather thought less of because he came from +France thirty years ago?" + +"O Phoebe! It is not the same thing at all!" + +"But why is it not the same thing?" gently persisted Phoebe. + +"Oh, nonsense!" said Rhoda, cutting the knot peremptorily. "Phoebe, can +you speak French?" + +"Yes." + +"Have a care you don't let Madam hear you! Who taught you?--your +father?" + +"Yes. He said it was our own language." + +"Why, you don't mean to say he was _proud_ of being a Frenchman?" cried +Rhoda, in amazement. + +"I think he was, if he was proud of anything," answered Phoebe. "He +loved France very dearly. He thought it the grandest country in the +world." + +And Phoebe's voice trembled a little. Evidently her father was in her +eyes a hero, and all that he had loved was sacred. + +"But, Phoebe! not greater than England? He couldn't!" cried Rhoda, to +whom such an idea seemed an impossibility. + +"He was fond of England, too," said Phoebe. "He said she had sheltered +us when our own country cast us off, and we should love her and be very +thankful to her. But he loved France the best." + +Rhoda tried to accept this incredible proposition. + +"Well! 'tis queer!" she said at last. "Proud of being a Frenchman! +What would Madam say?" + +"'Tis only like Sir Richard Delawarr, is it?" + +"Phoebe, you've no sense!" + +"Well, perhaps I haven't," said Phoebe meekly, as they turned in at the +gate of Number One. + +Mrs Dolly Jennings was ready for her guests, in her little parlour, +with the most delicate and transparent china set out upon the little +tea-table, and the smallest and brightest of copper kettles singing on +the hob. + +"Well, you thought I meant it, Mrs Dolly!" exclaimed Rhoda laughingly, +as the girls entered. + +"I always think people mean what they say, child, until I find they +don't," said Mrs Dorothy. "Welcome, Miss Phoebe, my dear!" + +"Oh, would you please to call me Phoebe?" said the owner of that name, +blushing. + +"So I will, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy, who was busy now pouring out +the tea. "Mrs Rhoda, take a chair, child, and help yourself to bread +and butter." + +Rhoda obeyed, and did not pass the plate to Phoebe. + +"Mrs Dolly," she said, interspersing her words with occasional bites, +"I am really concerned about Phoebe. She hasn't the least bit of +sense." + +"Indeed, child," quietly responded Mrs Dorothy, while Phoebe coloured +painfully. "How doth she show it?" + +"Why, she doesn't care a straw for poetry?" + +"Is it poetry you engaged her with?" + +"What do you mean?" said Rhoda, rather pettishly. "It was my poetry." + +"Eh, dear!" said Mrs Dorothy, but there was a little indication of fun +about her mouth. "Perhaps, my dear, you write lyrics, and your cousin +hath more fancy for epical poetry." + +"She doesn't care for any sort, I'm sure," said Rhoda. + +"What say you to this heavy charge, Phoebe?" inquired little Mrs +Dorothy, with a cheery smile. + +"I like some poetry," replied Phoebe, bashfully. + +"What kind?" blurted out Rhoda, apparently rather affronted. + +Phoebe coloured, and hesitated. "I like the old hymns the Huguenots +used to sing," she said, "such us dear father taught me." + +"Hymns aren't poetry!" said Rhoda, contemptuously. + +"That is true enough of some hymns, child," answered Mrs Dorothy. +"But, Phoebe, my dear, will you let us hear one of your hymns?" + +"They are in French," whispered Phoebe. + +"They will do for me in French, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy. + +Rhoda stared in manifest astonishment. Phoebe struggled for a moment +with her natural shyness, and then she began:-- + + "Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre, + Il est a desirer; + Je n'ai plus rien a craindre, + Car Dieu est mon Berger." + + "My lot asks no complaining, + But joy and confidence; + I have no fear remaining, + For God is my Defence." + +But the familiar words evidently brought with them a rush of +associations which was too much for Phoebe. She burst in tears, and +covered her face with her hands. + +"What on earth are you crying for?" asked Rhoda. + +"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs Dorothy. "The verse is enough for a +day, and the truth which is in it is enough for a life." + +"I ask your pardon!" sobbed Phoebe, when she could speak at all. "But I +used to sing it--to dear father, and when he was gone I said it to poor +mother. And they are all gone now!" + +"Oh, don't bother!" said Rhoda. "My papa's dead, and my mamma too; but +you'll not see me crying over it." + +Rhoda pronounced the words "Pappa," and "Mamma," as is done in America +to this day. + +"You never knew your parents, Mrs Rhoda," said the little old lady, +ever ready to cast oil on the troubled waters. "Phoebe, dear child, +wouldst thou wish them all back again?" + +"No; oh, no! I could not be so unkind," said Phoebe, wiping her eyes. +"But only a year ago, there were seven of us. It seems so hard!" + +"I say, Phoebe, if you mean to cry and take on," said Rhoda, springing +up and drinking off her tea, "you'll give me the spleen. I hate to be +hipped. I shall be off to Mrs Jane. Come along!" + +"Go yourself, Mrs Rhoda, my dear, and leave your cousin to recover, if +tears be your aversion." + +"Why, aren't they all our aversions?" said Rhoda, outraging grammar. +"You don't need to pretend, Mrs Dolly! I never saw you cry in my +life." + +"Ah, child!" said Mrs Dorothy, as if she meant to indicate that there +had been more of her life than could be seen from Rhoda's +standing-point. "But you'll do well to take an old woman's counsel, my +dear. Run off to Mrs Jane, and divert yourself half an hour; and when +you return, your cousin will have passed her trouble, and I will have a +Story to tell you both. I know you like stories." + +"Come, I'll go, for a story when I came back," said Rhoda; "but I meant +to take Phoebe. Can't she wipe her eyes and come?" + +"Then I shall not tell you a story," responded Mrs Dorothy. + +Rhoda laughed, and ran off. Mrs Dorothy let Phoebe have her cry out +for a short time. She moved softly about, putting things in order, and +then came and sat down by Phoebe on the settle. + +"The world is too great for thee, poor child!" she said, tenderly, +taking Phoebe's hands in hers. "It is a long way from thy father's +grave; but, bethink thee, 'tis no long way from himself, if he is gone +to Him that is our Father." + +"I know he is," whispered Phoebe. + +"And is the Lord thy Shepherd, dear child?" + +"I know He is," said Phoebe, again. + +"`Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre,'" softly repeated Mrs Dorothy. + +"Oh, it is wrong of me!" sobbed Phoebe. "But it does seem so hard. +Nobody cares for me any more." + +"Nay, my child, `He careth for thee.'" + +"Oh, I know it is so!" was the answer; "but I can't feel it. It all +looks so dark and cold. I can't feel it!" + +"Poor little child, lost in the dark!" said Mrs Dorothy, gently. +"Dear, the Lord must know how very much easier it would be to see. But +His especial blessing is spoken on them that have not seen, and yet have +believed. 'Tis an honour to thy Father, little Phoebe, to put thine +hand in His, and let Him lead thee where He will. Thine earthly father +would have liked thee to trust him. Canst thou not trust the heavenly +Father?" + +Phoebe's tears were falling more softly now. + +"Phoebe, little maiden, shall I love thee?" + +"Thank you, Mrs Dorothy, but people don't love me," said Phoebe, as if +it were a fact, sad, indeed, but incontrovertible. "Only dear father +and Perry." + +"And thy mother," suggested Mrs Dorothy, in a soothing tone. + +"Well--yes--I suppose so," doubtfully admitted Phoebe. "But, you see, +poor mother--I had better not talk about it, Mrs Dorothy, if you +please." + +Mrs Dorothy let the point pass, making a note of it in her own mind. +She noticed, too, that Phoebe said, "Dear father" and "poor mother"; yet +it was the father who was dead, and the mother was living. The terms, +thought Mrs Dorothy, must have some reference to character. + +"Little Phoebe," she said, "if it should comfort thee betimes to pour +out thine heart to some human creature, come across the Park, and tell +thy troubles to me. Thou art but a young traveller; and such mostly +long for some company. Yet, bethink thee, my dear, I can but be sorry +for thee, while the Lord can help thee. He is the best to trust, +child." + +"Yes, I know," whispered Phoebe. "You are so good, Mrs Dorothy!" + +"Now for the story!" said Rhoda, dancing into the little parlour. +"You've had oceans of time to dry your eyes. I have been to Mrs Jane, +and Mrs Clarissa, and my Lady Betty; and I've had a dish of tea with +each one. I shall turn into a tea-plant presently. Now I'm ready, Mrs +Dorothy; go on!" + +"What fashion of tale should you like, Mrs Rhoda?" + +"Oh, you had better begin at the beginning," said Rhoda. "I don't think +I ever heard you tell about when you were a child; you always begin with +the Revolution. Go back a little earlier, and let us have your whole +history." + +Mrs Dorothy paused thoughtfully. + +"It won't do me any harm," added Rhoda; "and I can't see why you should +care. You're nearly seventy, aren't you?" + +Phoebe's shy glance at her cousin might have been interpreted to mean +that she did not think her very civil; but Mrs Dorothy did not resent +the question. + +"Yes, my dear, I am over seventy," she said, quietly. "And I don't know +that it would do you any harm. You have to face the world, too, one of +these days. Please God, you may have a more guarded entrance into it +than I had! Here is a cushion for your back, Mrs Rhoda; and, Phoebe, +my dear, here is one for you. Let me reach my knitting, and then you +shall hear my story. But it will be a long one." + +"So much the better, if 'tis agreeable," answered Rhoda. "I don't care +for stories that are over in a minute." + +"This will not be over in a day," said Mrs Dorothy. + +"All right," responded Rhoda, settling herself as comfortably as she +could. "I say, Phoebe, change cushions with me; I'm sure you've got the +softer." + +And Phoebe obeyed in an instant. + + + +CHAPTER THREE. + +LITTLE MRS. DOROTHY. + + "And the thousands come and go + All along the crowded street; + But they give no ear to the things we know, + And they pass with careless feet. + For some hearts are hard with gold, + And some are crushed in the throng, + And some with the pleasures of life are cold-- + How long, O Lord, how long!" + +"If I am to begin at the beginning, my dears," said little Mrs Dorothy, +"I must tell you that I was born in a farmhouse, about a mile from Saint +Albans, on the last day of the year of our Lord 1641; that my father was +the Reverend William Jennings, brother to Sir Edward; and that my mother +was Mrs Frances, daughter to Sir Jeremy Charlton." + +"Whatever made your father take up with a parson's life?" said Rhoda. +"I wouldn't be one for an apron full of money! Surely he was married +first, wasn't he?" + +"He was married first," answered Mrs Dorothy; "and both his father and +my mother's kindred took it extreme ill that he should propose such +views to himself,--the rather because he was of an easy fortune, his +grandmother having left him some money." + +"Would I have been a parson!" exclaimed Rhoda. "I'm too fond of jellies +and conserves--nobody better." + +"Well, my dear Mrs Rhoda, if you will have me say what I think," +resumed Mrs Dorothy. + +"You can if you like," interjected Rhoda. + +"It does seem to me, and hath ever done so, that the common custom +amongst us, which will have the chaplain to rise and withdraw when +dessert is served, must be a relique of barbarous times." + +Dessert at that time included pies, puddings, and jellies. + +"O Mrs Dorothy! you have the drollest notions!" + +And Rhoda went off in a long peal of laughter. The idea of any other +arrangement struck her as very comical indeed. + +"Well, my dear," said Mrs Dorothy, "I hope some day to see it +otherwise." + +"Oh, how droll it would be!" said Rhoda. "But go on, please, Mrs +Dolly." + +"Through those troublous times that followed on my birth," resumed the +old lady, "I was left for better safety with the farmer at whose house I +was born; for my father had shortly after been made parson of a church +in London, and 'twas not thought well that so young a child as I then +was should be bred up in all the city tumults. My foster-father's name +was Lawrence Ingham; and he and his good wife were as father and mother +to me." + +"But what fashion of breeding could you get at a farmhouse?" demanded +Rhoda, with a scornful pout. + +"Why, 'twas not there I learned French, child," answered Mrs Dorothy, +smiling; "but I learned to read, write, and cast accounts; to cook and +distil, to conserve and pickle; with all manner of handiworks--sewing, +knitting, broidery, and such like. And I can tell you, my dear, that in +all the great world whereunto I afterwards entered I never saw better +manners than in that farmhouse. I saw more ceremonies, sure; but not +more courtesy and kindly thought for others." + +"Why, I thought folks like that had no manners at all!" said Rhoda. + +"Then you were mightily mistaken, my dear. Farmer Ingham had two +daughters, who were like sisters to me; but they were both older than I. +Their names were Grace and Faith. 'Twas a very quiet, peaceful +household. We rose with the sun in summer, and before it in winter--" + +"Catch me!" interpolated Rhoda. + +"And before any other thing might be done, there was reading and prayer +in the farmhouse kitchen. All the farm servants trooped in, and took +their places in order, the men on the right hand of the master, and the +women on the left of the mistress. Then the farmer read a chapter, and +afterwards prayed, all joining in `Our Father' at the end." + +"But--he wasn't a parson?" demanded Rhoda, with a perplexed look. + +"Oh no, my dear." + +"Then how could he pray?" said Rhoda. "He'd no business to read the +Prayer-Book; and of course he couldn't pray without it." + +"Ah, then he made a mistake," replied Mrs Dorothy very quietly. "He +fancied he could." + +"But who ever heard of such a thing?" said Rhoda. + +"We heard a good deal of it in those days, my dear. Why, child, the +Common Prayer was forbid, even in the churches. Nobody used it, save a +few here and there, that chose to run the risk of being found out and +punished." + +"How queer!" cried Rhoda. "Well, go on, Mrs Dolly. I hope the prayers +weren't long. I should have wanted my breakfast." + +"They were usually about three parts of an hour." + +"Ugh!" with a manufactured shudder, came from Rhoda. + +"After prayers, for an hour, each went to her calling. Commonly we took +it turn about, the girls and I--one with the mistress in the kitchen, +one with the maids in the chambers, and the third, if the weather was +fine, a-weeding the posies in the garden, or, if wet, at her sewing in +the parlour. Then the great bell was rung for breakfast, and we all +gathered again in the kitchen. For breakfast were furmety, eggs, and +butter, and milk, for the women; cold bakemeats and ale for the men." + +"No tea?" asked Rhoda. + +"I was near ten years old, child, ere coffee came into England; and tea +was some years later. The first coffee-house that ever was in this +realm was set up at Oxford, of one Jacobs, a Jew; and about two years +after was the first in London. For tea, 'twas said Queen Catherine +brought it hither from Portingale; but in truth, I believe 'twas known +among us somewhat sooner. But when it came in, for a long time none +knew how to use it, except at the coffee-houses. I could tell you a +droll tale of a neighbour of Farmer Ingham's, that had a parcel of tea +sent her as a great present from London, with a letter that said 'twas +all the mode with the quality. And what did she, think you, but boiled +it like cabbage, and bade all her neighbours come taste the new greens." + +"Did they like them?" asked Rhoda, as well as she could speak for +laughing. + +"I heard they all thought with their hostess, who said, `If those were +quality greens, the quality were welcome to keep 'em; country folk would +rather have cabbage and spinach any day.'" + +"Well!" said Rhoda, bridling a little, when her amusement had subsided; +"'tis very silly for mean people to ape the quality." + +"It is so, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy, with that extreme quietness +which was the nearest her gentle spirit could come to irony. "'Tis +silly for any to ape another, be he less or more." + +"Why, there can be no communication between them," observed Rhoda, with +a toss of her head. + +"`Communication,' my dear," said Mrs Dolly. "Yonder's a new word. +Where did you pick it up?" + +"O Mrs Dolly! you can't be in the mode if you don't pick up all the new +words," answered Rhoda more affectedly than ever. She was showing off +now, and was entirely in her element. + +"And pray what are the other new words, my dear?" inquired Mrs Dorothy +good-naturedly, and not without a little amusement. "That one sounds +very much like the old-fashioned `commerce.'" + +"Well, I don't know them all!" said Rhoda, with an assumption of +humility; "but now-o'-days, when you speak of any one's direction, you +must say _adresse_, from the French; and if one is out of spirits, you +say he is _hipped_--that's from hypochondriacal; and a crowd of people +is a _mob_--that's short for mobile; and when a man goes about, and +doesn't want to be known, you say he is _incog._--that means incognito, +which is the Spanish for unknown. Then you say Mr Such-an-one spends +_to the tune of five_ hundred a year; and there are a lot of men _of his +kidney_; and _I bantered them_ well about it. Oh, there are lots of new +words, Mrs Dolly." + +"So it seems, my dear. But are you sure incognito is Spanish?" + +"Oh, yes! William Knight told me so," said Rhoda, with another toss of +her head. + +"I imagined it was Latin," observed Mrs Dorothy. "But 'tis true, I +know nought of either tongue." + +"Oh, William Knight knows everything," said Rhoda, hyperbolically. + +"He must be a very ingenious young man," quietly observed Mrs Dorothy. + +"Well, he is," said Rhoda, scarcely perceiving the satire latent in Mrs +Dorothy's calm tones. + +"I am glad to hear it, my dear," returned the old lady. + +"But he's very uppish,--that's pos.," resumed the young one. + +"Really, my dear, you are full of new words," said Mrs Dorothy, +good-naturedly. "What means `pos.,' pray you?" + +"Why, `positive,'" said Rhoda, laughing. "And _rep._ means reputation, +and _fire_ means spirit, and _smart_ means sharp, and a _concert_ means +a lot of people singing and playing on instruments of music, and an +_operation_ means anything you do, and a _speculation_ means--well, it +means--it means a speculation, you know." + +"Dear, dear!" cried little Mrs Dorothy, holding up her hands. "I +protest, my dear, I shall be drove to learn the English tongue anew if +this mode go on." + +"Well, Mrs Dolly, suppose your tale should go on?" suggested Rhoda. +"Heyday! do you know what everybody is saying?--everybody that is +anybody, you understand." + +"I thought that everybody was somebody," remarked Mrs Dorothy, with a +comical set of the lips. + +"Oh dear, no!" said Rhoda. "There are ever so many people who are +nobody." + +"Indeed!" said Mrs Dorothy. "Well, child, what is everybody saying?" + +"Why, they say the Duke is not so well with the Queen as he has been. +'Tis thought, I assure you, by many above people." + +"Is that one of the new words?" inquired Mrs Dorothy, with a little +laugh. "Dear child, what mean you?--the angels?" + +"Oh, Mrs Dorothy, you are the oddest creature!" cried Rhoda. "Why, you +know very well what I mean. Should you be sorry, Mrs Dolly, if the +Duke became inconsiderable?" + +"No, my dear. Why should I?" + +"Well, I thought--" but Rhoda's thought went no further. + +"You thought," quietly continued the old lady, "that I had not had enow +of town vanities, and would fain climb a few rungs up the ladder, +holding on to folks' skirts. Was that it, child?" + +"Well, I don't know," said Rhoda uneasily, for Mrs Dorothy had +translated her thought into rather too plain language. + +"Ah, my dear, that is because you would love to climb a little +yourself," said Mrs Dorothy, smilingly, "and you apprehend no +inconveniency from it. But, child, 'tis the weariest work in all the +world--except it be climbing from earth to heaven. To climb on men's +ladders is mostly as a squirrel climbs in its cage,--round and round; +you think yourself going vastly higher, but those that stand on the firm +ground and watch you see that you do but go round. But to climb up +Jacob's ladder, whereof the Lord stands at the top, it will be other +eyes that behold you climbing up, when in your own eyes you have not +bettered yourself by a step. Climb as high as you will there, dear +maids!--but never mind the ladders that go round. They are infinitely +disappointing. I know it, for I have climbed them." + +"Well, Mrs Dolly, do go on, now, and tell us all about it, there's a +good soul!" said Rhoda. + +Little Mrs Dorothy was executing some elaborate knitting. She went on +with it for a few seconds in silence. + +"I was but sixteen," she said, quietly, "when my mother came to visit +me. I could not remember seeing her before: and very frighted was I of +the grand gentlewoman, for so she seemed to me, that rustled into the +farmhouse kitchen in silken brocade, and a velvet tippet on her neck. +She was evenly disappointed with me. She thought me stiff and gloomy; +and I thought her strange and full of vanities. `In three years' time, +Dolly,' quoth she, `thou wilt be nineteen, and I will then have thee up +to Town, and thou shalt see somewhat of the world. Thou art not +ill-favoured,' quoth she,--'twas my mother that said this, my dears," +modestly interpolated Mrs Dorothy,--"and I dare say thou wilt be the +Town talk in a week. 'Tis pity there is no better world to have thee +into!--and thy father as sour and Puritanical as any till of late, save +the mark!--but there, `we must swim with the tide,' saith she. `'Tis a +long lane that has no turning.' Ah me! but the lane had turned ere I +was nineteen." + +"Why, Mrs Dolly, the Restoration must have been that very year," +observed Rhoda. + +"That very year," repeated Mrs Dorothy. "'Twas in April I quitted +Farmer Ingham's house, and was fetched up to London; and in May came the +King in, and was shortly thereafter crowned." + +"If it please you," asked Phoebe, speaking for the first time of her own +accord, "were you glad to go, Madam?" + +"Well, my dear, I was partly glad and partly sorry. I was sorrowful to +take leave of mine old friends, little knowing if I should ever see them +again or no; yet, like an untried maid, I was mightily set up with the +thought of seeing London, and the lions, and Whitehall, and the like. +Silly maid that I was! I had better have shed tears for the last than +for the first." + +"What thought you the finest thing in London?" said Rhoda. "But tell +us, what thought you of London altogether?" + +"Why, the first thing I thought of was the size and the noise," answered +Mrs Dorothy. "It seemed to me such a great overgrown town, so +different from Saint Albans; and so many carts and wheelbarrows always +rattling over the stones; and so many folks in the streets; and all the +strange cries of a morning. I thought my father a very strange, cold +man, of whom I was no little afraid; and my mother was sadly +disappointed that I did not roll my eyes, and had not been taught to +dance." + +"Why did they ever leave you at a farmhouse?" inquired Rhoda, rather +scornfully. + +"_I_ cannot entirely say, my dear; but I think that was mainly my +father's doing. My poor father!" + +And Mrs Dorothy's handkerchief was hastily passed across her eyes. + +"The first night I came," she said, "my mother had a large assembly in +her withdrawing-chamber. There were smart-dressed ladies fluttering of +their fans, and gentlemen in all the colours of the rainbow; and I, +foolish maid! right well pleased when one and another commended my +country complexion, or told me something about my fine eyes: when all at +once came a heavy hand on my shoulder, and my father saith, `Dorothy, I +would speak with you.' I followed him forth, not a little trembling +lest he should be about to chide me; but he led me into his own closet, +and shut the door. He bade me sit, and leaning over the fire himself, +he said nought for a moment. Then saith he, `Dorothy, you heard Mr +Debenham speak to you?' `Yes, Sir,' quoth I. `And what said he, +child?' goes on my father, gently. I was something loth to repeat what +he had said; for it was what I, in my foolish heart, thought a very fine +speech about Mrs Doll's fine eyes, that glistered like stars. Howbeit, +my father waited quiet enough; and having been well bred to obey by +Farmer Ingham, I brought it out at last. `Did you believe it, Dorothy?' +saith my father. `Did you think he meant it?' I did but whisper, `Yes, +Sir,' for I could not but feel very much ashamed. `Then, Dorothy,' +saith he, `the first lesson you will do well to learn in London is that +men and women do not always mean it when they flatter you. And he does +not. Ah!' saith my father, fetching a great sigh,--`'tis easy work for +fathers to say such things, but not so for maidens to believe them. +There is one other thing I would have you learn, Dorothy.' `Yes, Sir,' +quoth I, when he stayed. He turned him around, and looked in my face +with his dark eyes, that seemed to burn into me, and he saith, `Learn +this, Dorothy,--that 'tis the easiest thing in all the world for a man +to drift away from God. Ay, or a woman either. You may do it, and +never know that you have done it,--for a while, at least. David was two +full years ere he found it out. Oh Dorothy, take warning! I was once +as innocent as you are. I have drifted from God, oh my child, how far! +The Lord keep you from a like fate.' I was fairly affrighted, for his +face was terrible. An hour after, I saw him dealing the cards at ombre, +with a look as bright and mirthful as though he knew not grief but by +name." + +Phoebe looked up with eyes full of meaning. "Did he never come back?" + +"Dear child," said Mrs Dorothy, turning to her, "hast thou forgot that +the Good Shepherd goeth after that which was lost, until He find it? He +came back, my dear. But it was through the Great Plague and the Great +Fire." + +It was evident for a few minutes that Mrs Dorothy was wrestling with +painful memories. + +"Well, and what then?" said Rhoda, who wanted the story to go on, and +was afraid of what she called preaching. + +"Well!" resumed the old lady, more lightly, "then, for three days in the +week I had a dancing-master come to teach me; and twice in the week a +music-master; and all manner of new gowns, and my hair dressed in a +multitude of curls; and my mother's maid to teach me French, and see +that I carried myself well. And when this had gone on a while, my +mother began to carry me a-visiting when she went to see her friends. +For above a year she used a hackney coach; but then my father was made +Doctor, and had a great church given him that was then all the mode; and +my Lady Jennings came up to Town, and finding he had parts, she began to +take note of him, and would carry him in her coach to the Court; and my +mother would then set up her own coach, the which she did. And at +length, the summer before I was one-and-twenty, my Lady Jennings, +without the privity of my father, offered my mother to have me a maid to +one of the Ladies in Waiting on the Queen. From this place, said she, +if I played my cards well, and was liked of them above me, I might come +in time to be a Maid of Honour." + +"O rare!" exclaimed Rhoda. "And did you, Mrs Dolly?" + +"Yes, child," slowly answered Mrs Dorothy. "I did so." + +Rhoda's face was sparkling with interest and pleasure. Phoebe's was +shadowed with forebodings, of a sad end to come. + +"The night ere I left home for the Court," pursued the old lady, "my +mother held long converse with me. `Thou art mightily improved, Dolly,' +saith she, `since thy coming to London; but there is yet a stiff +soberness about thee, that thou wilt do well to be rid of. Thou +shouldst have more ease, child. Do but look at thy cousin Jenny, that +is three years younger than thou, and yet how will she rattle to every +man that hath a word of compliment to pay her!' But after she had made +an end, my father called me into his closet. `Poor Dorothy!' he said. +`The bloom is not all off the peach yet. But 'tis going, child--'tis +fast going. I feared this. Poor Dorothy!'" + +"Oh, dear!" said Rhoda. "You were not going to a funeral, Mrs Dolly!" + +"Ah, child! maybe, if I had, it had been the better for me. The wise +man saith, `It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the +house of feasting.'" + +"But pray, what harm came to you, Mrs Dorothy?" + +"No outward bodily harm at all, my dear. Yet even that was no thanks to +me. It was `of the Lord's compassion,' seeing He had a purpose of mercy +toward me. But, ah me! what inward and spiritual harm! Mrs Rhoda, my +dear, I saw sights and heard sayings those two years I dwelt in the +Court which I would give the world, so to speak, only to forget them +now." + +"What were they, Mrs Dorothy?" asked Rhoda, eagerly sitting up. + +"Think you I am likely to tell you, child? No, indeed!" + +"But what sort of harm did they to you, Mrs Dolly?" + +"Child, I learned to think lightly of sin. People did not talk of sin +there at all; the words they used were crime and vice. Every wrong +doing was looked on as it affected other men: if it touched your +neighbour's purse or person, it was ill; if it only grieved his heart, +then 'twas a little matter. But how it touched God was never so much as +thought on. There might have been no God in Heaven, so little account +was taken of Him there." + +"Now do tell us. Mrs Dolly, what the Queen was like, and the King," +said Rhoda, yawning. "And how many Maids of Honour were there? Just +tell us all about it." + +"There were six," replied the old lady, taking up her knitting, which +she had dropped in her earnestness a minute before. "And Mrs Sanderson +was their mother. I reckon you will scarce know that always a married +gentlewoman goeth about with these young damsels, called the Mother of +the Maids, whose work it is to see after them." + +"And keep them from everything jolly!" exclaimed Rhoda. "Now, that's a +shame! Wouldn't it be fun to bamboozle that creature? I protest I +should enjoy it!" + +"O Mrs Rhoda! Mrs Rhoda!" + +"I should, of all things, Mrs Dolly! But now, what were the King and +Queen like? Was she very beautiful?" + +[Note: Charles the Second and Catherine of Braganza.] + +"No," said Mrs Dorothy, "she was not. She had pretty feet, fine eyes, +and very lovely hair. 'Twas rich brown on the top of her head, and +descending downward it grew into jet black. For the rest, she was but +tolerable. In truth, her teeth wronged her by sticking too far out of +her mouth; but for that she would have been lovelier by much." + +"Horrid!" said Rhoda. "I forget where she came from, Mrs Dolly?" + +"She came from Portingale, my dear, being daughter to the King of that +country, and her name was Catherine." + +"And what was the King like?" + +"When he was little, my dear, his mother, Queen Mary, used to say he was +so ugly a baby that she was quite ashamed of him. He was +better-favoured when he grew a man; he had good eyes, but a large +Mouth." + +[Note: Queen Mary was Henrietta Maria, always termed Queen Mary during +her own reign.] + +"He was a black man, was he not?" + +By which term Rhoda meant what we now call a dark man. + +"Yes, very black and swarthy." + +"Where did he commonly live?" + +"Mostly at Whitehall or Saint James's. At times he went to Hampton +Court, and often, for a change of sir, to Newmarket; now and then to +Tunbridge Wells. He was but little at Windsor." + +"Did you like him, Mrs Dorothy?" + +Phoebe looked up, when no answer came. The expression of Mrs Dorothy's +face was a curious mixture of fear, repulsion, and yet amusement. + +"No!" she said at length. + +"Why not?" demanded Rhoda. + +"Well, there were some that did," was the reply, in a rather constrained +tone; "and the one that he behaved the worst to loved him the best of +all." + +"How droll!" said Rhoda. "And who were your friends, then, Mrs +Dorothy?" + +"That depends, my dear, on what you mean by friends. If you mean them +that flattered me, and joked with me, and the like,--why, I had very +many; or if you mean them that would take some trouble to push me in the +world,--well, there were several of those; but if you mean such as are +only true friends, that would have cast one thought to my real welfare, +whether I should go to Heaven or Hell,--I had but one of that sort." + +"And who was your one friend, Mrs Dolly?" asked Rhoda, pursing up her +lips a little. + +"The King's Scots cook, my dear," quietly replied Mrs Dorothy. + +"The _what_?" shrieked Rhoda, going into convulsions of laughter. + +"Ah, you may laugh, Mrs Rhoda. You know there's an old saying, `Let +them laugh that win.' If ever an old sinner like me enters the gates of +Heaven, so far as the human means are concerned, I shall owe it, first +of all, to old David Armstrong." + +"Will you please to tell us about him, Madam?" rather timidly asked +Phoebe. + +"With all my heart, my dear. Dear old Davie! Methinks I see him now. +Picture to yourselves, my dears, a short man, something stooping in the +shoulders, with sharp features and iron-grey hair; always dressed in his +white cooking garb, and a white cap over his frizzled locks. But before +I tell you what I knew of old Davie, methinks I had better tell you a +tale of him that will give you some diversion, without I mistake." + +"Oh do, Mrs Dolly?" cried Rhoda, who feared nothing so much as too +great seriousness in her friend's stones. + +"Well," said Mrs Dorothy, "then you must know, my dears, that once upon +a time the King and Queen were at dinner, and with them, amongst others, +my Lord Rochester, who was at that time a very wild gallant. He died, +indeed, very penitent, and, I trust, a saved man; but let that be. They +were sat after dinner, and my Lord Rochester passes the bottle about to +his next neighbour. `Come, man!' saith the King, in his rollicksome +way, `take a glass of that which cheereth God and man, as Scripture +saith.' My Lord Rochester at once bets the King forty pound that there +was no such saying in Scripture. The King referreth all to the Queen's +chaplain, that happened to be the only parson then present; but saith +again, that though he could not name the place, yet he was as certain to +have read it in Scripture as that his name was Charles, `What thinks +your Majesty?' quoth my Lord Rochester, turning to the Queen. She, very +modestly--" + +"But, Mrs Dolly, was not the Queen a Papist? What would she know about +the Bible?" + +"So she was, my dear. But they have a Bible of their own, that they +allow the reading of to certain persons. And I dare say she was one. +However, my Lord Rochester asked her, for I heard him; and she said, +very womanly, that she was unfit to decide such matters, but she could +not think there to be any such passage in the Bible." + +"Why, there isn't!" rashly interpolated Rhoda. + +Mrs Dorothy smiled, but did not contradict her. + +"Then up spoke the Queen's chaplain, and gave his voice like his +mistress, that there was no such passage; and several others of them at +the table said they thought the like. So the King, swearing his wonted +oath, cried out for some to bring a Bible, that he might search and +see." + +"O Mrs Dolly! what was his favourite oath?" + +"I do not see, my dear, that it would do you any good to know it. Well, +the Bible, as matters went, was not to be had. King, Queen, chaplain, +and courtiers, there was not a man nor woman at the table that owned to +possessing a Bible." + +"How shocking!" said Phoebe, under her breath. + +"Very shocking, my dear," assented Mrs Dorothy. "But all at once my +Lord Rochester cries out, `Please your Majesty, I'll lay you forty +shillings there's one man in this palace that has a Bible! He cut me +short for swearing in the yard a month since. That's old David, your +Majesty's Scots cook. If you'll send for him--' `Done!' says the King. +`Killigrew, root out old Davie, and tell him to come here, and bring his +Bible with him.' So away went Mr Killigrew, the King's favourite page; +and ere long back he comes, and old Davie with him, and under Davie's +arm a great brown book. `Here he is, Sire, Bible and all!' says Mr +Killigrew. `Come forward, Davie, and be hanged!' says the King. `I'll +come forward, Sire, at your Majesty's bidding,' says Davie, `and gin ye +order it, and I ha'e deservit it, I can be hangit,' saith he, mighty +dry; 'but under your Majesty's pleasure I'll just tak' the liberty to +ask, Sire, what are ye wantin' wi' the Buik?" + +"Oh, how queer you talk, Mrs Dolly!" + +"As David talked, my dear. He was a Scot, you know. Well, the King +gave a hearty laugh; and says he, `Oh, come forward, Davie, and fear +nothing. We'll not hang you, and we want no hurt to your darling book.' +`Atweel, Sire,' says Davie, `and I'd ha'e been gey sorry gin ye had +meant to hurt my buik, seein' it was my mither's, and I set store by it +for her sake; but trust me, Sire, I'd ha'e been a hantle sorrier gin ye +had meant onie disrespect to the Lord's Buik. I'll no stand by, wi' a' +honour to your Majesty, an' see I lichtlied.'" + +"What does that mean, Mrs Dolly?" + +"Set light by, my dear. Well, the King laughed again, but I think +Davie's words a little sobered him, for he spoke kindly enough, that no +harm should be done, nor was any disrespect intended; `but,' saith he, +`my Lord Rochester and I fell a-disputing if certain words were in the +Bible or no; and as you are the only man here like to have one, I sent +for you.' Davie looks, quiet enough, round all the table; and he says, +under his breath, `The only man here like to have a Bible! Ay, your +Majesty, I ken weel eneuch that I ha'e my habitation among the tents o' +Kedar. Atweel, Sire, an' I'll be pleasit to answer onie sic question, +gin ye please to tell me the words.' My Lord Rochester saith, `"Wine, +which cheereth God and man." Are such words as those in the Bible, +David?' Neither yea nor nay said old Davie: but he turned over the +leaves of his Bible for a moment, and then, clearing his voice, and +first doffing his cook's cap (which he had but lifted a minute for the +King), he read from the Book of Judges, Jotham's parable of the trees. +'Twas a little while ere any spoke: then said the Queen's chaplain, +swearing a great oath, that he could not but be infinitely surprised to +find there to be such words in the Bible." + +"O Mrs Dolly! a parson to swear!" + +"There are different sorts of parsons, my dear. But old David thought +it shocking, for he turns round to the chaplain, and saith he, `Your +pardon, Mr Howard, but gin ye'd give me leave, I'd be pleasit to swear +the neist oath for ye. It would sound rather better, ye ken, for a cook +than a chaplain.' `Hurrah!' says the King, swearing himself, `the +sprightliest humour I heard of a long time! Pray you, silence, and hear +old Davie swear!' `I see nothing to swear anent the now, an' it please +your Majesty,' says Davie, mighty dry again: `when I do, your Majesty'll +be sure to hear it.' The King laughed heartily, for he took Davie right +enough, though I saw some look puzzled. Of course he never would see +reason to do a sinful thing. But a new thought had come into the King's +head, and he turns quick to Mr Howard, and desires that he would give +exposition of the words that Davie had read. `You ought to know what +they mean, if we don't, poor sinners,' saith the King. `I protest, +Sire,' saith the chaplain, `that I cannot so much as guess what they +mean.' `Now then, David the divine,' cries my Lord Rochester, `your +exposition, if you please.' And some of the courtiers, that by this +time were not too sober, drummed on the table with glasses, and shouted +for David's sermon." + +"I think, Mrs Dolly, that was scarce proper, in the King's and Queen's +presence." + +"So I think, my dear. But King Charles's Court was Liberty Hall, and +every man did that which was right in his own eyes. But Davie stood +very quiet, with the Bible yet open in his hands. He waited his +master's bidding, if they did not. `Oh ay, go on, Davie,' saith the +King, leaning back in his chair and laughing. `Silence for Mr David +Armstrong's sermon!' cries my Lord Rochester, in a voice of a master of +ceremonies. But Davie took no note of any voice but the King's, though +'twas to my Lord Rochester he addressed him when he spoke. `That wine +cheereth man, your Lordship very well knows,' quoth Davie, in his dry +way: and seeing his Lordship had drank a bottle and a half since he sat +down, I should think he did, my dears. `But this, that wine cheereth +God, is referable to the drink-offering commanded by God of the Jews, +wherein the wine doth seem to typify the precious blood of Christ, and +the thankfulness of him that hath his iniquity thereby purged away. For +in the fifteenth chapter of the Book of Numbers you shall find this +drink-offering termed "a sweet savour unto the Lord." And since nothing +but Christ is a sweet savour unto God, therefore we judge that the wine +of the drink-offering, like to that of the Sacrament, did denote the +blood of Christ whereby we are redeemed; the one prefiguring that +whereto it looked forward, as the other doth likewise figure that +whereunto it looketh back. This, therefore, that wine cheereth God, is +to be understood by an emblem, of the blood of Christ, our Mediator; for +through this means God is well pleased in the way of salvation that He +hath appointed, whereby His justice is satisfied. His law fulfilled, +His mercy reigneth, His grace doth triumph, all His perfections do agree +together, the sinner is saved, and God in Christ glorified. Now, Sire, +I have done your bidding, and I humbly ask your Majesty's leave to +withdraw.' The King said naught, but cast him a nod of consent. My +dears, you never saw such a change as had come over that table. Every +man seemed sobered and awed. The Queen was weeping, the King silent and +thoughtful. My Lord Rochester, whom at that time nothing could sober +long, was the only one to speak, and rising with make-believe gravity, +as though in his place in the House of Lords, he offered a motion that +the King should please to send Mr Howard into the kitchen to make kail, +and raise the Reverend Mr David Armstrong to the place of chaplain." + +"What is kail, Mrs Dolly?" asked Rhoda, laughing. + +"'Tis Scots broth, my dear, whereof King Charles was very fond, and old +David had been fetched from Scotland on purpose to make it for him." + +"What a droll old man!" exclaimed Rhoda. + +"Ah, he was one of the best men ever I knew," said Mrs Dorothy. "But, +my dear, look at the clock!" + +"I declare!" cried Rhoda. "Phoebe, we have but just time to run home +ere supper, if so much as that. Good evening, Mrs Dolly, and thank +you. What will Madam say?" + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note: David Armstrong is a historical person, and this anecdote is true. +The surname given to him only is fictitious, as history does not record +any name but "David." + + + +CHAPTER FOUR. + +THROUGH THORNY PATHS. + + "I do repent me now too late of each impatient thought, + That would not let me tarry out God's leisure as I ought." + + _Caroline Bowles_. + +"Is it long since Madam woke, Baxter?" cried Rhoda in a breathless +whisper, as she came in at the side door. + +"But this minute, Mrs Rhoda," answered he. + +"That's good!" said Rhoda aside to Phoebe, and slipping off her shoes, +she ran lightly and silently upstairs, beckoning her cousin to follow. + +Phoebe, having no idea of the course of Rhoda's thoughts, obeyed, and +followed her example in doffing her hood and smoothing her hair. + +"Be quick!" said Rhoda, her own rapid movements over, and putting on her +shoes again. + +They found Madam looking barely awake, and staring hard at her book, as +if wishful to persuade herself that she had been reading. + +"I hope, child, you were not out all this time," said she to Rhoda. + +"Oh no, Madam!" glibly answered that trustworthy young lady. "We only +had a dish of tea with Mrs Dolly, and I made my compliments to the +other gentlewomen." + +"And where were you since, child?" + +"We have been upstairs, Madam," said Rhoda, unblushingly. + +"Not diverting yourselves, I hope?" was Madam's next question. + +"Oh no, not at all, Madam. We were not doing anything particular." + +"Talking, I suppose, as maids will," responded Madam. "Phoebe, +to-morrow after breakfast bring all your clothes to my chamber. I must +have you new apparelled." + +"Oh, Madam, give me leave to come also!" exclaimed Rhoda, with as much +eagerness as she ever dared to show in her grandmother's presence. "I +would so dearly like to hear what Phoebe is to have! Only, please, not +a musk-coloured damask--you promised me that." + +"My dear," answered Madam, "you forget yourself. I cannot talk of such +things to-day. You may come if you like." + +Supper was finished in silence. After supper, a pale-faced, +tired-looking young man, who had been previously invisible, came into +the parlour, and made a low reverence to Madam, which she returned with +a queenly bend of her head. His black cassock and scarf showed him to +be in holy orders. Madam rang the hand-bell, the servants filed in, and +evening prayers were read by the young chaplain, in a thin, monotonous +voice, with a manner which indicated that he was not interested himself, +and did not expect interest in any one else. Then the servants filed +out again; the chaplain kissed Madam's hand, and wished her good-night, +bowed distantly to Rhoda, half bowed to Phoebe, instantly drew himself +up as if he thought he was making a mistake, and finally disappeared. + +"'Tis time you were abed, maids," said Madam. + +Rhoda somewhat slowly rose, knelt before her grandmother, and kissed her +hand. + +"Good-night, my dear. God bless thee, and make thee a good maid!" was +Madam's response. + +Phoebe had risen, and stood, rather hesitatingly, behind her cousin. +She was doubtful whether Madam would be pleased or displeased if she +followed Rhoda's example. In her new life it seemed probable that she +would not be short of opportunities for the exercise of meekness, +forbearance, and humility. Madam's quick eyes detected Phoebe's +difficulty in an instant. + +"Good-night, Phoebe," she said, rising. + +"Good-night, Madam," replied Phoebe in a low voice, as she followed +Rhoda. It was evident that no relationship was to be recognised. + +"Here, you carry the candle," said Rhoda, nodding towards the hall table +on which the candlesticks stood. "That's what you are here for, I +suppose,--to save me trouble. Dear, I forgot my cloak,--see where it +is! Bring it with you, Phoebe." + +Demurely enough Rhoda preceded Phoebe upstairs. But no sooner was the +bedroom door closed behind them, than Rhoda threw herself into the large +invalid chair, and laughed with hearty amusement. + +"Oh, didn't I take her in? Wasn't it neatly done, now? Didn't you +admire me, Phoebe?" + +"You told her a lie!" retorted Phoebe, indignantly. + +"'Sh!--that's not a pretty word," said Rhoda, pursing her lips. "Say a +fib, next time.--Nonsense! Not a bit of it, Phoebe. We had been +upstairs since we came in." + +"Only a minute," answered Phoebe. "You made her think what was not +true. Father called that a lie,--I don't know what you call it." + +"Now, Phoebe," said Rhoda severely, "don't you be a little Puritan. If +you set up for a saint at White-Ladies, I can just tell you, you'll pull +your own nest about your ears. You are mightily mistaken if you think +Madam has any turn for saints. She reckons them designing persons-- +every soul of 'em. You'll just get into a scrape if you don't have a +care." + +Phoebe made no reply. She was standing by the window, looking up into +the darkened sky. There were no blinds at White-Ladies. + +It was well for Rhoda--or was it well?--that she could not just then see +into Phoebe's heart. The cry that "shivered to the tingling stars" was +unheard by her. "O Father, Father," said the cry. "Why did you die and +leave your poor little Phoebe, whom nobody loves, whose love nobody +wants, with whom nobody here has one feeling in common?" And then all +at once came as it were a vision before her eyes, of a scene whereof she +had heard very frequently from her father,--a midnight meeting of the +Desert Church, in a hollow of the Cevennes mountains, guarded by +sentinels posted on the summit,--a meeting which to attend was to brave +the gallows or the galleys,--and Phoebe fancied she could hear the words +of the opening hymn, as the familiar tune floated past her:-- + + "Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre, + Il est a desirer; + Je n'ai plus rien a craindre, + Car Dieu est mon Berger." + +It was a quiet, peaceful face which was turned back to Rhoda. + +"Did you hear?" rather sharply demanded that young lady. + +"Yes, I heard what you said," calmly replied Phoebe. "But I have been a +good way since." + +"A good way!--where?" rejoined her cousin. + +"To France and back," said Phoebe, with a smile. + +"What are you talking about?" stared Rhoda. "I said nothing about +France; I was telling you not to be a prig and a saint, and make Madam +angry." + +"I won't vex her if I can help it," answered Phoebe. + +"Well, but you will, if you set up to be better than your neighbours,-- +that's pos.! Take the pins out of my commode." + +"Why should not I be better than my neighbours?" asked Phoebe, as she +pulled out the pins. + +"Because they'll all hate you--that's why. I must have clean ruffles-- +they are in that top drawer." + +"Aren't you better than your neighbours?" innocently suggested Phoebe, +coming back with the clean ruffles. + +Rhoda paused to consider how she should deal with the subject. The +question was not an easy one to answer. She believed herself very much +better, in every respect: to say No, therefore, would belie her wishes +and convictions; yet to say Yes, would spoil the effect of her lecture. +There was moreover, a dim impression on her mind that Phoebe was +incapable of perceiving the delicate distinction between them, which +made it inevitable that Rhoda should be better than Phoebe, and highly +indecorous that Phoebe should attempt to be better than Rhoda. On the +whole, it seemed desirable to turn the conversation. + +"Oh, not these ruffles, Phoebe! These are some of my best. Bring a +pair of common ones--those with the box plaits.--What were you thinking +about France?" + +"Oh, nothing particular. I was only--" + +"Never mind, if you don't want to tell," said Rhoda, graciously, now +that her object was attained. "I wonder what new clothes Madam will +give you. A camlet for best, I dare say, and duffel for every day. +Don't you want to know?" + +"No, not very much." + +"I should, if I were you. I like to go fine. Not that she'll give +_you_ fine things, you know--not likely. There! put my shoes out to +clean, and tuck me up nicely, and then if you like you can go to bed. I +shan't want anything more." + +Phoebe did as she was requested, and then knelt down. + +"I vow!" exclaimed her cousin, when she rose. "Do you say your prayers +on Sunday nights? I never do. Why, we've only just been at it +downstairs. And what a time you are! I'm never more than five minutes +with mine!" + +"I couldn't say all I want in five minutes," replied Phoebe. + +"Want! why, what do you want?" said Rhoda. "I want nothing. I've got +to do it--that's all." + +"Well, I dare say five minutes is enough for that," was the quiet reply +from Phoebe. "But when people get into trouble, then they do want +things." + +"Trouble! Oh, you don't know!" said Rhoda, loftily. "I've had heaps of +trouble." + +"Have you?" innocently demanded Phoebe, in an interested tone. + +"Well, I should think so! More than ever you had." + +"What were they?" said Phoebe, in the same manner. + +"Why, first, my mother died when I was only a week old," explained +Rhoda. "I suppose, you call that a trouble?" + +"Not when you were a week old," said Phoebe; "it would be afterwards-- +with some people. But I should not think it was, much, with you. You +have had Madam." + +"Well, then my father went off to London, and spent all his estate, that +I should have had, and there was nothing left for me. That was a +trouble, I suppose?" + +"If you had plenty beside, I should not think it was." + +"`Plenty beside!' Phoebe, you are the silliest creature! Why, don't +you see that I should have been a great fortune, if I had had Peveril as +well as White-Ladies? I should have set my cap at a lord, I can tell +you. Only think, Phoebe, I should have had sixty thousand pounds. What +do you say to that? Sixty thousand pounds!" + +"I should think it is more than you could ever spend." + +"Oh, I don't know about that," said Rhoda. "When White-Ladies is mine, +I shall have a riding-horse and a glass coach; and I will have a +splendid set of diamonds, and pearls too. They cost something, I can +tell you. Oh, 'tis easy spending money. You'll see, when it comes to +me." + +"Are you sure it will come to you?" + +"Why, of course it will!" exclaimed Rhoda, sitting up, and leaning on +her elbow. "To whom else would Madam leave it, I should like to know! +Why, you never expect her to give it to _you_, poor little white-faced +thing? I vow, but that is a good jest!" + +Rhoda's laugh had more bitterness than mirth in it. Phoebe's smile was +one of more unmixed amusement. + +"Pray make yourself easy," said Phoebe. "I never expect anything, and +then I am not disappointed." + +"Well, I'll just tell you what!" rejoined her cousin. "If I catch you +making up to Madam, trying to please all her whims, and chime in with +her vapours, and that--fancying she'll leave you White-Ladies--I tell +you, Phoebe Latrobe, I'll never forgive you as long as I live! There!" + +Rhoda was very nearly, if not quite, in a passion. Phoebe turned and +looked at her. + +"Cousin," she said, gently, "you will see me try to please Madam, since +'tis my duty: but if you suppose 'tis with any further object, such as +what she might give me, you very ill know Phoebe Latrobe." + +"Well, mind your business!" said Rhoda, rather fiercely. + +A few minutes later she was asleep. But sleep did not visit Phoebe's +eyes that night. + +When the morning came, Rhoda seemed quite to have forgotten her +vexation. She chattered away while she was dressing, on various topics, +but chiefly respecting the new clothes which Madam had promised to +Phoebe. If words might be considered a criterion, Rhoda appeared to +take far more interest in these than Phoebe herself. + +Breakfast was a solemn and silent ceremony. When it was over, Madam +desired Phoebe to attend her in her own chamber, and to bring her +wardrobe with her. Rhoda followed, unasked, and sat down on the form at +the foot of the bed to await her cousin. Phoebe came in with her arms +full of dresses and cloaks. She was haunted by a secret apprehension +which she would not on any account have put into words--that she might +no longer be allowed to wear mourning for her dead father. But Phoebe's +fears were superfluous. Madam thought far too much of the proprieties +of life to commit such an indecorum. However little she had liked or +respected the Rev. Charles Latrobe, she would never have thought of +requiring his child to lay aside her mourning until the conventional two +years had elapsed from the period of his decease. + +Phoebe's common attire was very quickly discarded, as past further wear; +and she was desired to wear her best clothes every day, until new ones +were ready for her. This decided, Rhoda was ordered to ring for Betty, +Madam's own maid, and Betty was in her turn required to fetch those +stuffs which she had been bidden to lay aside till needed. Betty +accordingly brought a piece of black camlet, another of black bombazine, +and a third of black satin, with various trimmings. The two girls alike +watched in silence, while Betty measured lengths and cut off pieces of +camlet and bombazine, from which it appeared that Phoebe was to have two +new dresses, and a mantua and hood of the camlet: but when Rhoda heard +Betty desired to cut off satin for another mantua, her hitherto +concealed chagrin broke forth. + +"Why, Madam!--she'll be as fine as me!" + +"My dear, she will be as I choose," answered Madam, in a tone which +would have silenced any one but Rhoda. "And now, satin for a hood, +Betty--" + +"'Tis a shame!" said Rhoda, under her breath, which was as much as she +dared venture; but Madam took no notice. + +"You will line the hoods and mantuas warm, Betty," pursued Madam, in her +most amiable tone. "Guard the satin with fur, and the camlet with that +strong gimp. And a muff she must have, Betty." + +"A muff!" came in a vexed whisper from Rhoda. + +"And when the time comes, one of the broidered India scarves that were +had of Staveley, for summer wear; but that anon. Then--" + +"But, Madam!" put in Rhoda, in a troubled voice, "you have never given +me one of those scarves yet! I asked you for one a year ago." To judge +from her tone, Rhoda was very near tears. + +"My dear!" replied Madam, "'tis becoming in maids to wait till they are +spoken to. Had you listened with proper respect, you would have heard +me bid Betty lay out one also for you. You cannot use them at this +season." + +Rhoda subsided, somewhat discontentedly. + +"Two pairs of black Spanish gloves, Betty; and a black fan, and black +velvet stays. (When the year is out she must have a silver lace.) And +bid Dobbins send up shoes to fit on, with black buckles--two pairs; and +lay out black stockings--two pairs of silk, and two of worsted; and +plain cambric aprons--they may be laced when the year is out. I think +that is all. Oh!--a fur tippet, Betty." + +And with this last order Madam marched away. + +"Oh, shocking!" cried Rhoda, the instant she thought her grandmother out +of hearing. "I vow, but she's going to have you as fine as me. Every +bit of it. Betty, isn't it a shame?" + +"Well, no, Mrs Rhoda, I don't see as how 'tis," returned Betty, +bluntly. "Mrs Phoebe, she's just the same to Madam as you are." + +"But she isn't!" exclaimed Rhoda, blazing up. "I'm her eldest +daughter's child, and she's only the youngest. And she hasn't done it +before, neither. Last night she didn't let her kiss her hand. I say, +Betty, 'tis a crying shame!" + +"Maybe Madam thought better of it this morning," suggested Betty, +speaking with a pin in her mouth. + +"Well, 'tis a burning shame!" growled Rhoda. + +"Perhaps, Mrs Betty," said Phoebe's low voice, "you could leave the +satin things for a little while?" + +"Mrs Phoebe, I durstn't, my dear!" rejoined Betty; "nay, not if 'twas +ever so! Madam, she's used to have folk do as she bids 'em; and she'll +make 'em, too! Never you lay Mrs Rhoda's black looks to heart, my +dear, she'll have forgot all about it by this time to-morrow." + +Rhoda had walked away. + +"But I shall not!" answered Phoebe, softly. + +"Deary me, child!" said Betty, turning to look at her, "don't you go for +to fret over that. Why, if a bit of a thing like that'll trouble you, +you'll have plenty to fret about at White-Ladies. Mrs Rhoda, she's on +and off with you twenty times a day; and you'd best take no notice. She +don't mean anything ill, my dear; 'tis only her phantasies." + +"Oh, Mrs Betty! I wish--" + +"Phoebe!" came up from below. "Fetch my cloak and hood, and bring your +own--quick, now! We are about to drive out with Madam." + +"Come, dry your eyes, child, and I'll fetch the things," said Betty, +soothingly. "You'll be the better of a drive." + +Rhoda's annoyance seemed to have vanished from her mind as well as from +her countenance; and Madam took no notice of Phoebe's disturbed looks. +The Maidens' Lodge, was first visited, and a messenger sent in to ask +Lady Betty if she were inclined to take the air. Lady Betty accepted +the offer, and was so considerate as not to keep Madam wailing more than +ten minutes. No further invitation was offered, and the coach rumbled +away in the direction of Gloucester. + +For a time Phoebe heard little of the conversation between the elder +ladies, and Rhoda, as usual in her grandmother's presence, was almost +silent. At length she woke up to a remark made by Lady Betty. + +"Then you think, Madam, to send for Gatty and Molly?" + +"That is my design, my Lady Betty. 'Twill be a diversion for Rhoda; and +Sir Richard was so good as to say they should come if I would." + +"Indeed, I think he would be easy to have them from home, Madam, till +they may see if Betty's disorder be the small-pox or no." + +"When did Betty return home, my Lady?" + +"But last Tuesday. 'Tis not possible that her sisters have taken aught +of her, for she had been ailing some days ere she set forth, and they +have bidden at home all the time. You will be quite safe, Madam." + +"So I think, my Lady Betty," replied Madam. "Rhoda, have you been +listening?" + +"No, Madam," answered Rhoda, demurely. + +"Then 'tis time you should, my dear," said Madam, graciously. "I will +acquaint you of the affair. I think to write to Lady Delawarr, and ask +the favour of Mrs Gatty and Mrs Molly to visit me. Their sister Mrs +Betty, as I hear, is come home from the Bath, extreme distempered; and +'tis therefore wise to send away Mrs Gatty and little Mrs Molly until +Mrs Betty be recovered of her disorder. I would have you be very nice +toward them, that they shall find their visit agreeable." + +"How long will they stay, Madam?" inquired Rhoda. + +"Why, child, that must hang somewhat on Mrs Betty's recovering. I take +it, it shall be about a month; but should her distemper be tardy of +disappearing, it shall then be something longer." + +"Jolly!" was the sound which seemed to Phoebe to issue in an undertone +from the lips of Rhoda. But the answer which reached her grandmother's +ears was merely a sedate "Yes, Madam." + +"I take it, my Lady Betty," observed Madam, turning to her companion, +"that the sooner the young gentlewomen are away, the better shall it +be." + +"Oh, surely, Madam!" answered Lady Betty. "'Tis truly very good of you +to ask it; but you are always a general undertaker for your friends." + +"We were sent into this world to do good, my Lady Betty," returned +Madam, sententiously. + +Unless Phoebe's ears were deceived, a whisper very like "Fudge!" came +from Rhoda. + +The somewhat solemn drive was finished at last; Lady Betty was set down +at the Maidens' Lodge; inquiries were made as to the health of Mrs +Marcella, who returned a reply intimating that she was a suffering +martyr; and Rhoda and Phoebe at last found themselves free from +superveillance, and safe in their bedroom. + +"Now that's just jolly!" was Rhoda's first remark, with nothing in +particular to precede it. "Molly Delawarr's a darling! I don't much +care for Gatty, and Betty I just hate. She's a prig and a fid-fad both. +But Molly--oh, Phoebe, she's as smart as can be. Such parts she has! +You know, she's really--not quite you understand--but really she's +almost as clever as I am!" + +Phoebe did not seem overwhelmed by this information; she only said, "Is +she?" + +"Well, nearly," said Rhoda. "She knows fourteen Latin words, Molly +does; and she always brings them in." + +"Into what?" asked Phoebe, with the little amused laugh which was very +rare with her. + +"Into her discourse, to be sure, child!" said Rhoda, loftily, "You don't +know fourteen Latin words; how should you?" + +"How should I, indeed," rejoined Phoebe, meekly, "if father had not +taught me?" + +"Taught you--taught you Latin?" gasped Rhoda. + +"Just a little Latin and Greek; there wasn't time for much," humbly +responded Phoebe. + +"Greek!" shrieked Rhoda. + +"Very little, please," deprecated Phoebe. + +"Phoebe, you dear sweet darling love of a Phoebe!" cried Rhoda, kissing +her cousin, to the intense astonishment of the latter; "now won't you, +like a dear as you are, just tell me one or two Greek words? I would +give anything to outshine Molly and make her look foolish, I would! She +doesn't know one word of Greek--only Latin. Do, for pity's sake, tell +me, if 'tis only one Greek word! and I won't say another syllable, not +if Madam gives you a diamond necklace!" + +Phoebe was laughing more than she had yet ever done at White-Ladies. +She was far too innocent and amiable to think of playing Rhoda the trick +of which Melanie's father was guilty, in _Contes a ma Fille_, when, +under the impression that she was saying in Latin, "Knowledge gives the +right to laugh at everything," he cruelly caused her to remark in +public, "I am a very ridiculous donkey." Phoebe bore no malice. She +only said, still smiling, "I don't know what words to tell you." + +"Oh, any!" answered Rhoda, accommodatingly. "What's the Greek for +ugly?" + +"I don't know," said Phoebe, dubiously. "Kakos means _bad_." + +"And what is _good_ and _pretty_?" + +"Agathos is _good_," replied Phoebe, laughing; "and _beautiful_ is +kallios." + +"That'll do!" said Rhoda, triumphantly. "'Tis plenty,--I couldn't +remember more. Let me see,--kaks, and agathos, and kallius--is that +right?" + +Phoebe laughingly offered the necessary corrections. "All right!" said +Rhoda. "I've no more to wish for. I'll take the shine out of Molly!" + +At supper that evening, Madam announced that she had sent her note to +Lady Delawarr by a mounted messenger, and had received an answer, +according to which Gatty and Molly might be expected to arrive at +White-Ladies on Wednesday evening. Madam appeared to be in one of her +most gracious moods, for she even condescended to inform Phoebe that +Mrs Gatty was two months older than Rhoda, and Mrs Molly four years +her junior,--"two years younger than you, my dear," said Madam, very +affably. + +"Now, Phoebe, I'll tell you what we'll do," asserted Rhoda, as she sat +down before the glass that night to have her hair undressed by her +cousin. "I'm not going to have Molly teasing about the old gentlewomen +down yonder. I'll soon shut her mouth if she begins; and if Gatty wants +to go down there, well, she can go by herself. So I'll tell you what: +you and I will drink a dish of tea with Mrs Dolly to-morrow, and we'll +make her finish her story. I only do wish the dear old tiresome thing +wouldn't preach! Then I'll take you in to see Mrs Marcella, and we'll +get that done. Then in the morning, you must just set out all my gowns +on the bed, and I'll have both you and Betty to sew awhile I must have +some lace on that blue. I'll make Madam give me a pair of new silver +buckles, too. I can't do unless I cut out those creatures somehow. And +the only way to cut out Gatty is by dress, because she hasn't anything +in her,--'tis all on her. I cut out Molly in brains. But my Lady +Delawarr likes to dress Gatty up, because she fancies the awkward +thing's pretty. She isn't, you know,--not a speck; but _she_ thinks +so." + +Whether the last pronoun referred to Lady Delawarr or to Gatty, Rhoda +was not sufficiently perspicuous to indicate. Phoebe went on +disentangling her hair in silence, and Rhoda likewise fell into a brown +study. + +Of the nature of her thoughts that young lady gave but two intimations: +the first, as she tied up her hair in the loose bag which then served +for a night-cap,-- + +"I cannot abide that Betty!" + +The second came a long while afterwards, just as Phoebe was dropping to +sleep. + +"I say, Phoebe!" + +"Yes?" + +"Did you say `kakios?'" + +Phoebe had to collect her thoughts. "Kakos," she said. + +"Oh, all right; _they_ won't know. But won't I take the shine out of +that Molly!" + +Phoebe's arrested sleep came back to her as she was reflecting on the +curious idea which her cousin seemed to have of friendship. + +"Come along, Phoebe! This is the shortest way." + +"Oh, couldn't we go by the road?" asked Phoebe, drawing back +apprehensively, as Rhoda sprang lightly from the top of the stile which +led into the meadow. + +"Of course we could, but 'tis ever so much further round, and not half +so pleasant. Why?" + +"There are--cows!" said Phoebe, under her breath. + +Rhoda laughed more decidedly than civilly. + +"Cows! Did you never see cows before? I say, Phoebe, come along! +Don't be so silly!" + +Phoebe obeyed, but in evident trepidation, and casting many nervous +glances at the dreaded cows, until the girls had passed the next stile. + +"Cows don't bite, silly Phoebe!" said Rhoda, rather patronisingly, from +the height of her two years' superiority in age. + +"But they toss sometimes, don't they?" tremblingly demanded Phoebe. + +"What nonsense!" said Rhoda, as they rounded the Maidens' Lodge. + +Little Mrs Dorothy sat sewing at her window, and she nodded cheerily to +her young guests as they came in. + +"What do you think, Mrs Dolly?--good evening!" said Rhoda, +parenthetically. "If this foolish Phoebe isn't frighted of a cow!" + +"Sure, my dear, that is no wonder, for one bred in in the town," gently +deprecated Mrs Dorothy. + +"So stupid and nonsensical!" said Rhoda. "I say, Mrs Dolly, are you +afraid of anything?" + +"Yes, my dear," was the quiet answer. + +"Oh!" said Rhoda. "Cows?" + +"No, not cows," returned Mrs Dorothy, smiling. + +"Frogs? Beetles?" suggested Rhoda. + +"I do not think I am afraid of any animal, at least in this country, +without it be vipers," said Mrs Dorothy. "But--well, I dare say I am +but a foolish old woman in many regards. I oft fear things which I note +others not to fear at all." + +"But what sort of things, Mrs Dolly?" inquired Rhoda, who had made +herself extremely comfortable with a large chair and sundry cushions. + +"I will tell you of three things, my dear, of which I have always felt +afraid, at the least since I came to years of discretion. And most +folks are not afraid of any of them. I am afraid of getting rich. I am +afraid of being married. And I am afraid of judging my neighbours." + +"Oh!" cried Rhoda, in genuine amazement. "Why, Mrs Dolly, what _do_ +you mean? As to judging one's neighbours,--well, I suppose the Bible +says something against that; but we all do it, you know." + +"We do, my dear; more's the pity." + +"But getting rich, and being married! Oh, Mrs Dolly! Everybody wants +those." + +"No, my dear, asking your pardon," replied the old lady, in a tone of +decision unusual with her. "I trust every Christian does not want to be +rich, when the Lord hath given him so many warnings against it. And +every man does not want to marry, nor every woman neither." + +"Well, not every man, perhaps," admitted Rhoda; "but every woman does, +Mrs Dolly." + +"My dear, I am sorry to hear a woman say it," answered Mrs Dorothy, +with as much warmth as was consonant with her nature. "I hoped that was +a man's delusion." + +"Why, Mrs Dolly! I do," said Rhoda, with great candour. + +"Then I wish you more wisdom, child." + +"Well, upon my word!" exclaimed Rhoda. "Didn't you, when you were +young, Mrs Dolly?" + +"No, I thank God, nor when I was old neither," replied Mrs Dorothy, in +the same tone. + +"But, Mrs Dolly! A maid has no station in society!" said Rhoda, using +a phrase which she had picked up from one of her grandfather's books. + +"My dear, your station is where God puts you. A maid has just as good a +station as a wife; and a much pleasanter, to my thinking." + +"Pleasanter!" exclaimed Rhoda. "Why, Mrs Dolly, nobody thinks anything +of an old maid, except to pity her." + +"They may keep their pity to themselves," said Mrs Dorothy, with a +little laugh. "We old maids can pity them back again, and with more +reason." + +"Mrs Dolly, would you have all the world hermits?" + +"No, my dear; nor do I at all see why people should always leap to the +conclusion that an old maid must be an ill-tempered, lonely, +disappointed creature. Sure, there are other relatives in this world +beside husbands and children; and if she choose her own lot, what cause +hath she for disappointment? 'Tis but a few day since Mr Leighton +said, in my hearing, `Of course we know, when a gentlewoman is unwed, +'tis her misfortune rather than her fault'--and I do believe the poor +man thought he paid us women a compliment in so speaking. For me, I +felt it an insult." + +"Why so, Mrs Dolly?" + +"Why, think what it meant, my dear. `Of course, a woman cannot be so +insensible to the virtues and attractions of men that she should wish to +remain unwed; therefore, if this calamity overtake her, it shows that +she hath no virtues nor attractions herself.'" + +"You don't think Mr Leighton meant that, Mrs Dolly?" asked Rhoda, +laughing. + +"No, my dear; I think he did not see the meaning of his own words. But +tell me, if it is not a piece of great vanity on the part of men, that +while they never think to condole with a man who is unmarried, but take +it undoubted that he prefers that life, they take it as equally +undoubted that a woman doth not prefer it, and lament over her being +left at ease and liberty as though she had suffered some great +misfortune?" + +"I never did see such queer notions as you have, Mrs Dolly! I can't +think where you get them," said Rhoda. "However, you may say what you +will; _I_ mean to marry, and I am going to be rich too. And I expect I +shall like both of them." + +"My dear!" and Mrs Dorothy laid down her work, and looked earnestly at +Rhoda. "How do you know you are going to be rich?" + +"Why, I shall have White-Ladies," answered Rhoda. "And of course Aunt +Harriet will leave me everything." + +"Have Madam and Mrs Harriet told you so, my dear?" + +"No," said Rhoda, rather impatiently. "But who else should they leave +it to?" + +Mrs Dorothy let that part of the matter drop quietly. + +"`They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare,'" she said, +taking up her work again. + +"What snare?" said Rhoda, bluntly. + +"They get their hearts choked up," said the old lady. + +"With what, Mrs Dolly?" + +"`Cares, and riches, and pleasures of this life.' O my dear, may the +Lord make your heart soft! Yet I am afraid--I am very sore afraid, that +the only way of making some hearts soft is--to break them." + +"Well, I don't want my heart breaking, thank you," laughed Rhoda; "and I +don't think anything would break it, unless I lost all my money, and was +left an old maid. O Mrs Dolly, I can't think how you bear it! To come +down, now, and live in one of these little houses, and have people +looking down on you, instead of looking up to you--if anything of the +sort would kill me, I think that would." + +"Well, it hasn't killed me, child," said Mrs Dorothy, calmly; "but +then, you see, I chose it. That makes a difference." + +"But you didn't choose to be poor, Mrs Dolly?" + +"Well, yes, in one sense, I did," answered the old lady, a little tinge +of colour rising in her pale cheek. + +"How so?" demanded Rhoda, who was not deterred from gaining information +by any delicacy in asking questions. + +"There was a time once, my dear, that I might have married a gentleman +of title, with a rent-roll of six thousand a year." + +"Mrs Dolly! you don't mean that?" cried Rhoda. "And why on earth +didn't you?" + +"Well, my dear, I had two reasons," answered Mrs Dorothy. "One was"-- +with a little laugh--"that as you see, I preferred to be one of these +same ill-conditioned, lonely, disappointed old maids. And the other +was"--and Mrs Dorothy's voice sank to a softer and graver tone--"I +could not have taken my Master with me into that house. I saw no track +of His footsteps along that road. And His sheep follow Him." + +"But God means us to be happy, Mrs Dolly?" + +"Surely, my dear. But He knows better than we how empty and fleeting is +all happiness other than is found in Him. 'Tis only because the Lord is +our Shepherd that we shall not want." + +"Mrs Dolly, that is what good people say; but it always sounds so +gloomy and melancholy." + +"What sounds melancholy, my dear?" inquired Mrs Dorothy, with slight +surprise in her tone. + +"Why, that one must find all one's happiness in reading sermons, and +chanting Psalms, and thinking how soon one is going to die," said Rhoda, +with an uncomfortable shrug. + +"My dear!" exclaimed Mrs Dorothy, "when did you ever hear me say +anything of the kind?" + +"Why, that was what you meant, wasn't it," answered Rhoda, "when you +talked about finding happiness in piety?" + +"And when did I do that?" + +"Just now, this minute back," said Rhoda in surprise. + +"My dear child, you strangely misapprehend me. I never spoke a word of +finding happiness in piety; I spoke of finding it in God. And God is +not sermons, nor chanting, nor death. He is life, and light, and love. +I never think how soon I shall die. I often think how soon the Lord may +come; but there is a vast difference between looking for the coming of a +thing that you dread, and looking for the coming of a person whom you +long to see." + +"But you will die, Mrs Dolly?" + +"Perhaps, my dear. The Lord may come first; I hope so." + +"Oh dear!" said Rhoda. "But that means the world may come to an end." + +"Yes. The sooner the better," replied the old lady. + +"But you don't _want_ the world to end, Mrs Dolly?" + +"I do, my clear. I want the new heavens and the new earth, wherein +dwelleth righteousness." + +"Oh dear!" cried Rhoda again. "Why, Mrs Dolly, I can't bear to think +of it. It would be an end of everything I care about." + +"My dear," said the old lady, gravely and yet tenderly, "if the Lord's +coming will put an end to everything you care about, that must be +because you don't care much for Him." + +"I don't know anything about Him, except what we hear in church," +answered Rhoda uneasily. + +"And don't care for that?" softly responded her old friend. + +Rhoda fidgeted for a moment, and then let the truth out. + +"Well, no, Mrs Dolly, I _don't_. I know it sounds very wicked and +shocking; but how can I, when 'tis all so far off? It doesn't feel +real, as you do, and Madam, and all the other people I know. I can't +tell how you make it real." + +"_He_ makes it real, my child. 'Tis faith which sees God. How can you +see Him without it? But I am not shocked, my dear. You have only told +me what I knew before." + +"I don't see how you knew," said Rhoda uncomfortably; "and I don't know +how people get faith." + +"By asking the Lord for it," said Mrs Dolly. "Phoebe, my child, is it +a sorrowful thing to thee to think on Christ and His coming again?" + +"Oh no!" was Phoebe's warm answer. "You see, Madam, I haven't anything +else." + +"Dear child, thank God for it!" replied Mrs Dorothy softly. "`Ton sort +n'est pas a plaindre.'" + +"I declare, if 'tis not four o'clock!" cried Rhoda, springing up, and +perhaps not sorry for the diversion. "There, now! I meant you to +finish your story, and we haven't time left. Come along, Phoebe! We +are going to look in a minute on Mrs Marcella, and then we must hurry +home." + + + +CHAPTER FIVE. + +GATTY'S TROUBLES. + + "And I come down no more to chilling praise, + To sneers, to wearing out of empty days, + But rest, rejoicing in the power I've won, + To go on learning, though my crying's done." + + _Isabella Fyvie Mayo_. + +As the two girls turned into the little garden of Number Three, the +latch of the door was lifted, and Mrs Jane came out. + +"Good evening!" said she. "Come to see my sister, are you? I and my +Deb are doing for her to-day, for her Nell has got a holiday--gone to +see her mother--lazy slut!" + +"Which is the lazy slut, Mrs Jane?" asked Rhoda, laughing. + +"Heyday! they're all a parcel together," answered Mrs Jane. "Nell and +her mother, and her grandmother before them. And Marcella, too, she's +no better. Go in, if you want a string of complaints. You can come out +when you've had plenty." + +"How many complaints are plenty, Mrs Jane?" + +"One," said Mrs Jane, marching off. "Plenty for me." + +Rhoda lifted the latch, and walked in, Phoebe following her. She tapped +at the inner door. + +"Oh, come in, whoever it is," said a querulous, plaintive voice. "Well, +Mrs Rhoda, I thought you would have been to see me before. A poor +lonely creature, that nobody cares for, and never has any comfort nor +pleasure! And who have you with you? I'm sure she's in a deep +consumption from the looks of her. Coltsfoot, my dear, and horehound, +with plenty of sugar, boiled together; and a little mallow won't hurt. +But they'll not do you much good, I should say; you're too far gone: +still, 'tis a duty to do all one can, and some strange things do happen: +like Betty Collins--the doctors all gave her up, and there she is, +walking about, as well as anybody. And so may you, my dear, though you +don't look like it. Still, you are young--there's no telling: and +coltsfoot is a very good thing, and makes wonderful cures. Oh, that +careless Jane, to leave me all alone, just when I wanted my pillows +shaking! And so inconsiderate of Nell to go home just to-day, of all +days, when she knew I was sure to be worse; I always am after a +fast-day. Fast-days don't suit me at all; they are very bad for sick +people. They make one's spirits so low, and are sure to give me the +vapours. Oh dear, that Jane!" + +"What's the matter with that Jane?" demanded the bearer of the name, +stalking in, as Phoebe was trying to brace up her courage to the point +of offering to shake the pillows. "Want another dose of castor oil? +I've got it." + +A faint shriek of deprecation was the answer. + +"Oh dear! And you know how I hate it! Jane, do shake up my pillows. +They feel as if there were stones instead of flocks in them, or--" + +"Nutmegs, no doubt," suggested Mrs Jane. "Shake them up? Oh yes, and +you too--do you both good." + +"Oh, don't, Jane! Have you an orange for me?" + +"Sit down, my dears," said Mrs Jane, parenthetically. "Can't afford +them, Marcella. Plenty of black currant tea. Better for you." + +"I don't like it!" said Mrs Marcella, plaintively. + +"Oranges are eightpence a-piece, and currants may be had for the +gathering," observed Mrs Jane, sententiously. + +"They give me a pain in my side!" moaned the invalid. + +"Well, the oranges would give you a pain in your purse. I'd rather have +one in my side, if I were you." + +"You don't know what it is to be ill!" said Mrs Marcella, closing her +eyes. + +"Don't I? I've had both small-pox and spotted fever." + +"So long ago!" + +"Bless you, child! I'm not Methuselah!" said Mrs Jane. + +"Well, I think you might be, Jane, for really, the way in which you can +sit up all night, and look as fresh as a daisy in the morning, when you +have not had a wink of sleep, and I am perfectly worn-out with +suffering--just skin and bone, and no more--" + +"There's a little tongue left, I reckon!" said Mrs Jane. + +"The way she will get up and go to market, my dears, after such a night +as that," pursued Mrs Marcella, who always ran on her own line of +rails, and never shunted to avoid collision; "you never saw anything +like her--the amount she can bear! She's as tough as a rhinoceros, and +as strong as an elephant, and as wanting in feeling as--as--" + +"A sensitive plant," popped in Mrs Jane. "Now, Marcella, open your +mouth and shut your eyes, and take this." + +"Is it castor oil?" faintly screamed the invalid, endeavouring to +protect herself. + +"Stuff! 'Tis good Tent wine. Take it and be thankful." + +"Where did you get it, Jane?" + +"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," said Mrs Jane. "It +was honestly come by." + +"Well, I think we must be going, Mrs Marcella," said Rhoda, rising. + +"Oh, my dear! Must you, really? And so seldom as you come to see a +poor thing like me, who hasn't a living creature to care for her--except +Jane, of course, and she doesn't, not one bit! Dear! And to think that +I was once a pretty young maid, with a little fortune of my own; and +there was many a young gentleman, my dear, that would have given his +right hand for no more than a smile from me--" + +"Heyday! how this world is given to lying!" interpolated Mrs Jane. + +"And we were a large family then--eight of us, my dear; and now they are +all dead, and I am left quite alone, except Jane, you know. Oh dear, +dear, but to think of it! But there is no thankfulness in the world, +nor kindness neither. The people I have been good to! and now that I +have _come down_ a little, to see how they treat me! Jane doesn't mind +it; she has no tender feelings at all; she can stand all things, and +never say a word, I am sure I don't know how she does it. I am all +feeling! These things touch me so keenly. But Jane's just like a +stone. Well, good evening, my dear, if you must go. I think you might +have come a little sooner, and you might come oftener, if you would. +But that is always my lot, to be neglected and despised--a poor, lonely, +ugly old maid, that nobody cares for. And it wasn't my fault, I am +sure; I never chose such a fate. I cannot think why such afflictions +have been sent me. I am sure I am no worse than other people. Clarissa +is a great deal vainer than I am; and Jane is ever so much harder; and +as to Dorothy, why, 'tis misery to see her--she is so cheerful and full +of mirth, and she has not a thing to be content with--it quite hurts me +to see anyone like that. But people are so wanting in feeling! I am +sure--" + +"Go, if you want," said Mrs Jane, shortly, holding the door open. + +"Oh, yes, go! Of course you want to go!" lamented Mrs Marcella. "What +pleasure can there be to a bright young maid like you, to sit with a +poor, sick, miserable creature like me? Dear, dear! And only to +think--" + +Rhoda escaped. Phoebe followed, more slowly. Mrs Jane came out after +them, and shut the door behind them. + +"She's in pain, this evening," said the last-named person in her usual +blunt style. "Some folks can bear pain, and some can't. And those that +can must beat with those that can't. She'll be better of letting it out +a bit. Good evening." + +"Oh, isn't it dreadful!" said Rhoda, when they were out of the gate. "I +just hate going to see Mrs Marcella, especially when she takes one of +her complaining fits. If I were Mrs Jane, I should let her have it out +by herself. But she is hard, rather--she doesn't care as I should." + +But Phoebe thought that a mistake. She had noticed the drawn brow of +the silent sister, while the sufferer was detailing her string of +troubles, and the sudden quiver of the under lip, when allusion was made +to the eight of whom the family had once consisted: and Phoebe's +deduction was, not that Jane Talbot bore no burden, but that she kept it +out of sight. Perhaps that very characteristic bluntness of her manner +denoted a tight curb kept upon her spirit. + +Rhoda had noticed nothing of all this. Herself a surface character, she +could not see below the surface in another. + +The Wednesday evening came, and with it Sir Richard Delawarr's coach, +conveying his two younger daughters. They were extremely unlike in +person. Gatty was tall, calm, and deliberate; Molly was rather +diminutive for her years, and exceedingly lively. While Gatty came +forward in a stately, courteous manner, courtesying to Madam, and kindly +answering her inquiries after Betty, Molly linked her arm in Rhoda's, +with-- + +"How goes it, old jade?" + +And when Mr Onslow, who happened to be crossing the hall, stopped and +inquired in a rather timid manner if Mrs Betty's health were improving, +Molly at once favoured him with a slap on the back, and the counter +query,-- + +"What's that to you, you old thief?" Phoebe was horrified. If these +were aristocratic manners, she preferred those of inferior quality. But +noticing that Gatty's manners were quiet and correct, Phoebe concluded +that Molly must be an exceptional eccentricity. She contemplated the +prospect of a month in that young lady's company with unmitigated +repugnance. + +"Well, Mrs Molly, my dear,--as smart as ever!" remarked Madam, turning +to Molly with a smile. "All right, old witch!" said Molly. And to +Phoebe's astonishment, Madam smiled on, and did not resent the +impertinence. + +"Well!--how do you like Gatty and Molly?" said Rhoda to Phoebe, when +they were safe in their own room. + +"Pretty well, Mrs Gatty," replied Phoebe, leaving the question of Molly +undecided. + +"Don't you like Molly?" demanded Rhoda, laughing. "Ah! I see. She's +rather too clever to please you." + +"I ask your pardon, but I don't see any cleverness in downright +rudeness," timidly suggested Phoebe. + +"Oh, nobody cares what Molly says," answered Rhoda. "They put up with +all that,--she's so smart. You see, she's very, very ingenious, and +everybody thinks so, and she knows people think so. She's a rep., you +see, and she has to keep it up." + +"I ask your pardon," said Phoebe again; "a _what_, if you please?" + +"A rep., child," answered Rhoda, in her patronising style. "A +reputation,--a character for smartness, you know. Don't you see?" + +"Well, I would rather have a character for something better," said +Phoebe. + +"You may make yourself easy; you'll never get a character for +smartness," responded her cousin with an unpleasant laugh. "Well, I +say, Phoebe, while they are here I shall have Molly in my room, and you +must sleep with Gatty. You can come in and dress me of a morning, you +know, and help me into bed at night; but we can't do with three in one +room." + +Phoebe was inwardly thankful for it. What little she had seen of Gatty +was rather negative than positive; but at least it had not, as in the +case of Molly revealed anything actively disagreeable. Rhoda was +heartily welcome to Molly's society so far as Phoebe was concerned. But +it surprised and rather perplexed Phoebe to find that Rhoda actually +liked this very objectionable maiden. + +"Panem?" asked Molly, the next morning at breakfast. Her Latin, such as +it was, was entirely unburdened with cases and declensions. "Thank you, +I will take kakos." + +"Fiddle-de-dee! what's that?" said Molly. Rhoda had completely +forgotten what the word meant. + +"Oh, 'tis the Greek for biscuit," said she, daringly. + +Phoebe contrived to hide a portion of her face in her teacup, but Gatty +saw her eyes, and read their meaning. + +"The Greek!" cried Molly. "Who has taught you Greek, Ne'er-do-well?" + +"A very learned person," said Rhoda, to whom it was delight to mystify +Molly. + +"Old Onslow?" demanded irreverent Molly, quite undeterred by the +consideration that the chaplain sat at the table with her. + +"You can ask him," said Rhoda. + +"Did you, old cassock?" inquired Molly, who appeared to apply that +adjective in a most impartial manner. + +"Indeed, Mrs Molly, I did not--I never knew--" stammered the startled +chaplain, quite shaken out of his propriety. + +"Never knew any Greek? I thought so," responded audacious Molly, +thereby evoking laughter all round the table, in which even Madam +joined. + +Phoebe, who had recovered herself, sat lost in wonder where the +cleverness of all this was to be found. It simply disgusted her. Rhoda +was not always pleasant to put up with, but Rhoda was sweetness and +grace, compared with Molly. Gatty sat quietly, neither rebuking her +sister's sallies, nor apparently amused by them. And Rhoda _liked_ this +girl! It was a mystery to Phoebe. + +When night came Phoebe found her belongings transferred to Gatty's room. +She assisted Rhoda to undress, herself silent, but a perpetual chatter +being kept up between Rhoda and Molly on subjects not by any means +interesting to Phoebe. + +The latter was at length dismissed, and, with a sense of relief, she +went slowly along the passage to the room in which she and Gatty were to +sleep. + +Though it was getting very late, the clock being on the stroke of ten, +yet Gatty was not in bed. She seemed to have half undressed herself, +and then to have thrown a scarf over her shoulders and sat down by the +window. It was a beautiful night, and a flood of silvery moonlight +threw the trees into deep shadow and lit up the open spaces almost like +day. Phoebe came and stood at the window beside Gatty. Perhaps each +was a little shy of the other; for some seconds passed in silence, and +Phoebe was the first to speak. + +"You like it," she said timidly. + +"Oh, yes. 'Tis so quiet," was Gatty's answer. + +Phoebe was thinking what she should say next, when Gatty rose, took off +her scarf, which she folded neatly and put away in the wardrobe, +finished her undressing, and got into bed, without another word beyond +"Good-night." + +For three weeks of the month which the visit was to last this proved to +be the usual state of matters. Gatty and Phoebe regularly exchanged +greetings, night and morning; but beyond this their conversation was +limited to remarks upon the weather, and an occasional request that +Phoebe would inspect the neat and proper condition of some part of +Gatty's dress which she could not conveniently see. And Phoebe began to +come to the conclusion that Rhoda had judged rightly,--Gatty had nothing +in her. + +But one evening, when Molly had been surpassingly "clever," keeping +Rhoda in peals of laughter, and Phoebe in a state of annoyed disgust,-- +on reaching their bedroom, Phoebe found Gatty, still dressed, and +sitting by the bed, with her face bowed upon her hands. + +"I ask your pardon, but are you not well?" said Phoebe, in a +sympathising tone. + +"Oh, yes. Quite well," was Gatty's reply, in a constrained voice; but +as she rose and moved her hands from her face, Phoebe saw that she had +been crying. + +"You are in trouble," said Phoebe, gently. "Don't tell me anything, +unless you like; but I know what trouble is; and if I could help you--" + +"You can't," said Gatty, shortly. + +Phoebe was silent. Her sympathy had been repulsed--it was not wanted. +The undressing was, as usual, without a word. + +But when the girls had lain down in bed, Phoebe was a little surprised +to hear Gatty say suddenly,-- + +"Phoebe Latrobe!--does anybody love you?" + +"God loves me," said Phoebe, simply. "I am not sure that any one else +does." + +"I like you," said Gatty. "You let me be. That's what nobody ever +does." + +"I am not sure that I understand you," responded Phoebe. + +"I'll tell you," replied Gatty, "for I think you can hold your tongue, +and not be always chatter, chatter, chatter, like--like some people. +You think there's only one Gatty Delawarr; and I'll be bound you think +her a very dull, stupid creature. Well, you're about right there. But +there are two: there's me, and there's the thing people want to make me. +Now, you haven't seen me,--you've only seen the woman into whom I am +being pinched and pulled. This is me that talks to you to-night, and +perhaps you'll never see me again,--only that other girl,--so you had +better make the most of me now that you have me. I'm sure, if you +dislike her as much as I do--! You see, Phoebe, there are three of us-- +Betty, and me, and Molly: and Mother's set her heart on our all making a +noise in the world. Well, perhaps we could have managed better if we +might have made our own noise; but we have to make it to order, and we +don't do it well at all. Betty's the best off, because Mother hit on +something that went with her nature,--she's the notable housewife. So +she plays her play well. But when she set up Molly for a wit, and me +for a beauty, she made a great blunder. Molly hasn't a bit of wit, so +she falls back on rude speeches, and they go through me just as if she +ran a knife into me. You did not think so, did you?" + +"No," said Phoebe, wonderingly; "I thought you did not seem to care." + +"That's the other Gatty. She does not care. She's been told,--oh, a +hundred times over!--to compose herself and keep her features calm, and +not let her voice be ruffled; and move slowly, so that her elbows are +not square, and all on in that way; and she has about learned it by this +time. I know how to sit still and look unconcerned, if my heart be +breaking. And it is breaking, Phoebe." + +"Dear Mrs Gatty, what can I do for you?" + +"You can't do anything but listen to me. Let me pour it out this once, +and don't scold me. I don't mean anything wrong, Phoebe. I don't wish +to complain of Mother, or Molly, or any one. I only want to tell +somebody what I have to bear, and then I'll compose myself again to my +part in the world's big theatre, and go away and bear it, like other +girls do. And you are the only person I have acquaintance with, that I +feel as if I could tell." + +"Pray go on, Mrs Gatty; I can feel sorry, if I can do nothing else." + +"Well,--at home somebody is at me from morning to night. There's a +posture-master comes once a week; and Mother's maid looks to my carriage +at all times, 'tis an endless round of--`Gatty, hold your head +up,'--`Gatty, put that plate down, and take it up with your arm +rounded,'--`Gatty, you must not laugh,'--`Gatty, you must not +sneeze,'--`Gatty, walk slower,'--come, that's enough. Then there's +Molly on the top of it. And there's Betty on the top of Molly,--who +can't conceive why anybody should ruffle her mind about anything. And +there's Mother above all, for ever telling me she looks to have me cut a +dash, and make a good match; and if I had played my cards rightly I +ought to have caught a husband ere I was seventeen,--'tis disgraceful +that I should thus throw away my advantages. And, Phoebe, _I_ want +nothing but to creep into some little, far-away corner, and _be me_, and +throw away my patches and love-locks, and powder and pomatum, and never +see that other Gatty any more. That's how it was up to last month." + +Gatty paused a moment, and drew a long sigh. + +"And then, there came another on the scene, and I suppose the play grew +more entertaining to Mother, and Betty, and Molly, in the boxes. People +don't think, you know, when they look down at the prima donna, painted, +and smiling, and decked with flowers,--they don't think if she has a +husband who ill-uses her, or a child dying at home. She has come there +to make them sport. Well, there came an old lord,--a man of sixty or +seventy,--who has led a wild rakish life all these years, and now he +thinks 'tis time to settle down, and he wants me to help him to make +people think he's become respectable. And they say I shall marry him. +Phoebe, they say I must,--there is to be no help for it. And I can't +bear him to look at me. If he touches my glove, I want to fling it into +the fire when it comes off. And this one month, here, at White-Ladies, +is my last quiet time. When I go home--if Betty be recovered of her +distemper--I am to be married to this old man in a week's time. I am +tied hand and foot, like a captive or a slave; and I have not even the +poor relief of tears. They make my eyes red, and I must not make, my +eyes red, if it would save my life. But nothing will save me. The +lambs that used to be led to the altar are not more helpless than I. +The rope is round my neck; and I must trot on beside the executioner, +and find what comfort I can in the garland of roses on my head." + +There was a silence of a few seconds after Gatty finished her miserable +tale. And then Phoebe's voice asked softly,-- + +"Dear Mrs Gatty, have you asked God to save you?" + +"What's the use?" answered Gatty, in a hopeless tone. + +"Because He would do it," said Phoebe. "I don't know how. It might be +by changing my Lady Delawarr's mind, or the old lord's, or yours; or +many another way; I don't know how. But I do know that He has promised +to bring no temptation on those that fear Him, beyond what they shall be +able to bear." + +"Oh, I don't know!" said Gatty, in that tone which makes the word sound +like a cry of pain. + +"Have you tried entreating my Lady Delawarr?" + +"Tried! I should think so. And what do you think I get by it? `Gatty, +my dear, 'tis so unmodish to be thus warm over anything! Compose +yourself, and control your feelings. Love!--no, of course you do not +love my Lord Polesworth, while you are yet a maid; 'twould be highly +indecorous for you to do any such thing. But when you are his wife, +you'll be perfectly content; and that is all you can expect. My dear, +do compose yourself, or your face will be quite wrinkled; and let me +hear no more of this nonsense, I beg of you. Maids cannot look to +choose for themselves, 'tis not reasonable.' That is what I get, +Phoebe." + +"And your father, Mrs Gatty?" + +"My father? Oh! `Really, Gatty, I can't interfere,--'tis your mother's +affair; you must make up your mind to it. We can't have always what we +like,'--and then he whistles to his hounds, and goes out a-hunting." + +"Well, Mrs Gatty, suppose you try God?" + +"Suppose I have done, Phoebe, and got no answer at all?" + +"Forgive me, I cannot suppose it." + +"Is He so good to _you_, Phoebe?" + +The question was asked in a very, very mournful tone. + +"Mrs Gatty," said Phoebe, softly, "He has given me Himself. I do not +think He has given me anything else of what my heart longs for. But +that is enough. In Him I have all things." + +"What do you mean?" came in accents of perplexity from the bed in the +opposite corner. + +"I am afraid," said Phoebe, "I cannot tell you. I mean, I could not +make you understand it." + +"`Given you Himself!'" repeated Gatty. "I can fancy how He could reward +you or make you happy; but, `give you Himself!'" + +"Well, I cannot explain it," said Phoebe. "Yes, it means giving +happiness; but it means a great deal more. I can feel it, but I cannot +put it in words." + +"I don't understand you the least bit!" + +"Will you talk awhile with Mrs Dolly Jennings, and see if she can +explain it to you? I do not think any one can, in words; but I guess +she would come nearer to it than I could." + +"I like Mrs Dolly," said Gatty, thoughtfully; "she is very kind." + +"Very," assented Phoebe. + +"I think I should not mind talking to her," said Gatty. "We will walk +down there to-morrow, if we can get leave." + +"And now, had we not better go to sleep?" suggested Phoebe. + +"Well, we can try," sighed Gatty. "But, Phoebe, 'tis no good telling me +to pray, because I have done it. I said over every collect in the +Prayer-book--ten a day; and the very morning after I had finished them, +that horrid man came, and Mother made--I had to go down and sit half an +hour listening to him. Praying does no good." + +"I am not sure that you have tried it," said Phoebe. + +"Didn't I tell you, this minute, I said every--" + +"I ask your pardon for interrupting you, but saying is not praying. Did +you really pray them?" + +"Phoebe, I do not understand you! How could I pray them and not say +them?" + +"Well, I did not quite mean that," said Phoebe; "but please, Mrs Gatty, +did you feel them? Did you really ask God all the collects say, or did +you only repeat the words over? You see, if I felt cold in bed, I might +ask Mrs Betty to give me leave to have another blanket; but if I only +kept saying that I was cold, to myself, over and over, and did not tell +Mrs Betty, I should be long enough before I got the blanket. Did you +say the collects to yourself, Mrs Gatty, or did you say them to the +Lord?" + +There was a pause before Gatty said, in rather an awed voice, "Phoebe, +when you pray, is God there?" + +"Yes," said Phoebe, readily. + +"He is not, with me," replied Gatty. "He feels a long, long way off; +and I feel as if my collects might drop and be lost before they can get +up to Him. Don't you?" + +"Never," answered Phoebe. "But I don't send my prayers up by +themselves; I give them to Jesus Christ to carry. He never drops one, +Mrs Gatty." + +"'Tis all something I don't understand one bit," said Gatty, wearily. +"Go to sleep, Phoebe; I won't keep you awake. But we'll go and see Mrs +Dolly." + +The next afternoon, when Rhoda and Molly had disappeared on their +private affairs, Gatty dropped a courtesy to Madam, and requested her +permission to visit Mrs Dolly Jennings. + +"By all means, my dear," answered Madam, affably. "If Rhoda has no +occasion for her, let Phoebe wait on you." + +The second request which had been on Gatty's lips being thus +forestalled, the girls set forth--without consulting Rhoda, which Gatty +was disinclined to do, and which Phoebe fancied that she had done--and +reached the Maidens' Lodge without falling in with any disturbing +element, such as either Rhoda or Molly would unquestionably have been. +Mrs Dorothy received them in her usual kindly manner, and gave them tea +before they entered on the subject of which both the young minds were +full. Then Gatty told her story, if very much the same terms as she had +given it to Phoebe. + +"And I can't understand Phoebe, Mrs Dolly," she ended. "She says God +has given her Himself; and I cannot make it out. And she says she gives +her prayers to Jesus Christ to carry. I don't know what she means. It +sounds good. But I don't understand it--not one bit." + +Mrs Dorothy came up to where Gatty was sitting, and took the girl's +head between her small, thin hands. It was not a beautiful face; but it +was pleasant enough to look on, and would have been more so, but for the +discipline which had crushed out of it all natural interest and youthful +anticipation, and had left that strange, strained look of care and +forced calm upon the white brow. + +"Dear child," she said, gently, "you want rest, don't you?" + +Gatty's grey eyes filled with tears. + +"That is just what I do want, Mrs Dolly," she said, "somewhere where I +could be quiet, and be let alone, and just be myself and not somebody +else." + +"Ah, my dear!" said Mrs Dorothy, shaking her head, "you never get let +alone in this world. Satan won't let you alone, if men do. But to be +yourself--that is what God wants of you. At least 'tis one half of what +He would have; the other half is that you should give yourself to Him." + +"'Tis no good praying," said Gatty, as before. + +"Did the Lord tell you that, my dear?" + +"No!" said Gatty, looking up in surprise. + +"Well, I would not say it till He does, child. But what did you pray +for?" + +"I said all the collects over." + +"Very good things, my dear; but were they what you wanted? I thought +you had a special trouble at this time." + +"But what could I do?" asked Gatty, apparently rather bewildered. + +"Dear child, thou couldst sure ask thy Father to help thee, without more +ado. But `bide a wee,' as my old friend, Scots Davie, was wont to say. +There is a great deal about prayer in the Word of God. Let us look at a +little of it." Little Mrs Dorothy trotted to her small work-table, +which generally stood at her side, and came back with a well-worn brown +Bible. Gatty watched her with a rather frightened look, as if she +thought that something was going to be done to her, and was not sure +whether it might hurt her. + +"Now hearken: `Be careful for nothing; but in everything, by prayer and +supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto +God.' Again: `Whatsoever ye shall ask in My Name, that will I do.' +These are grand words, my dear." + +"But they can't mean that Mrs Dorothy! Why, only think--if I were to +ask for a fortune, should I get it?" + +"I must have two questions answered, my dear, ere I can tell that. Who +are the _you_ in these verses?" + +"I thought it meant everybody." + +"Not so. Listen again: `If ye abide in Me, and My words abide in you, +ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.' 'Tis not +everybody doth that." + +"But I don't know what that means, Mrs Dorothy." + +"Then, my dear, you have answered my second question--Are you one of +these? For if you know not even what the thing is, 'tis but reasonable +to conclude you have never known it in your own person." + +"I suppose not," said Gatty, sorrowfully. + +"You see, my dear, 'tis to certain persons these words are said. If you +are not one of these persons, then they are not said to you." + +"I am not." And Gatty shook her head sadly. "But, Mrs Dorothy, what +does it mean?" + +"Dear," said the old lady, "when we do truly abide in Christ, we desire +first of all that His will be done. We wish for this or that; but we +wish more than all that He choose all things for us--that He have His +own way. Our wills are become His will. It follows as a certainty, +that they shall be done. We must have what we wish, when it is what He +wishes who rules all things. `Ye shall ask what ye will.' He guides us +what to ask, if we beg Him to do so." + +"Is any one thus much perfect?" inquired Gatty, doubtfully. + +"Many are trying for it," said Mrs Dolly. "There may be but few that +have fully reached it." + +"But that makes us like machines, Mrs Dolly, moved about at another's +will." + +"What, my dear! Love makes us machines? Never! The very last thing +that could be, child." + +"I don't know much about love," said Gatty, drearily. + +"About love, or about being loved?" responded Mrs Dolly. + +"Both," answered the girl, in the same tone. + +"Will you try it, my dear? 'Tis the sweetener of all human life." + +Gatty looked up with a surprised expression. + +"_I_ can't make people love me," she said. + +"Nor can you make yourself love others," added Mrs Dorothy. "But you +can ask the Lord for that fairest of all His gifts, saving Jesus +Christ." + +"Ask God for a beau! O Mrs Dorothy!" exclaimed Gatty in a shocked +tone. + +"My dear, I never so much as named one," responded Mrs Dorothy, with a +little laugh. "Sure, you are not one of those foolish maids that think +they must be loveless and forlorn without they have a husband?" + +Gatty had always been taught to think so; and she looked bewildered and +mystified. A more eligible husband than old Lord Polesworth was the +only idea that associated itself in her mind with the word love. + +"But what else did you mean?" she asked. + +"Ay me!" said Mrs Dorothy, as if to herself. "How do men misunderstand +God! Child, wert thou never taught the first and great commandment? +`Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy +mind, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength?'" + +"Oh, of course," said Gatty, as if she were listening to some scientific +formula about a matter wherein she was not at all concerned. + +"Have you done that, my dear?" + +"Done what?" demanded Gatty in a startled tone. + +"Have you loved God with all your heart?" + +Gatty looked as if she had been suddenly roused from sleep, and was +unable to take in the circumstances. + +"I don't know! I--I suppose, so." + +"You suppose so! Dear child, how can you love any, and not know it?" + +"But that is quite another sort of love!" cried Gatty. + +"There is no sort but one, my dear. Love is love." + +"Oh, but we can't _love_ God!" said Gatty, as if the idea quite shocked +her. "That means--it means reverence, you know, and duty, and so on. +It can't mean anything else, Mrs Dorothy." + +Mrs Dorothy knitted very fast for a moment. Phoebe saw that her eyes +were filled with tears. + +"Poor lost sheep!" she said, in a grieved voice. "Poor straying lamb, +whom the wolf hath taught to be frightened of the Shepherd! You did not +find that in the Bible, my dear." + +"Oh, but words don't mean the same in the Bible!" urged Gatty. "Surely, +Mrs Dorothy, 'twould be quite unreverent to think so." + +"Surely, my dear, it were more unreverent to think that God does not +mean what He saith. When He saith, `I will punish you seven times for +your sins,' He means it, Mrs Gatty. And when He saith, `I will be a +Father unto you,' shall we say He doth not mean it? O my dear, don't do +Him such an injury as that!" + +"Do God an injury!" said Gatty in an awed whisper. + +"Ay, a cruel injury!" was the answer. "Men are always injuring God. +Either they try to persuade themselves that He means not what He says +when He threatens: or else they shut their hearts up close, and then +fancy that His heart is shut up too. My dear, He did not tarry to offer +to be your Father, until you came and asked Him for it. `He _first_ +loved you.' Child, what dost thou know of the Lord Jesus Christ?" + +Ah, what did she know? For Gatty lived in a dreary time, when religion +was at one of its lowest ebb-tides, and had sunk almost to the level of +heathen morality. If Gatty had been required to give definitions of the +greatest words in the language, and had really done it from the bottom +of her heart, according to her own honest belief, the list would have +run much in this way:-- + +"God.--The Great First Cause of all things, who has nothing to do with +anything now, but will, at some remote period, punish murderers, +thieves, and very wicked people. + +"Christ.--A supernaturally good man, who was crucified seventeen hundred +years ago. + +"Heaven.--A delightful place, where everybody is happy, to which all +respectable people will go, when they can't help it any longer. + +"Bible.--A good book read in church; intensely dry, as good books always +are no concern of mine. + +"Salvation, peace, holiness, and the like.--Words in the Prayer-Book. + +"Faith, hope, love, etcetera.--Duties, which of course we all perform, +and therefore don't need to trouble ourselves about them. + +"Prayer.--An incantation, to be repeated morning and evening, if you +wish to avert ill luck during the day." + +These were Gatty's views--if she could be said to have any. How +different from those of Mrs Dorothy Jennings! To her, God was the +Creator, from whom, and by whom, and to whom, were all things: the +Fountain of Mercy, who had so loved the world as to give His +only-begotten Son for its salvation: the Father who, having loved her +before the world was, cared for everything, however insignificant, which +concerned her welfare. Christ was the Friend who sticketh closer than a +brother--the Lamb who had been slain for her, the High Priest who was +touched with every feeling of human infirmity. Heaven was the home +which her Father had prepared for her. The Bible was the means whereby +her Father talked with her; and prayer the means whereby she talked with +Him. Salvation was her condition; holiness, her aim; faith, love, +peace, the very breath she drew. While, in Gatty's eyes, all this was +unknown and unreal, to Mrs Dorothy it was the most real thing in all +the world. + +Gatty answered her friend's query by a puzzled look. + +"It comes in church," she said. "He is in the Creed, and at the end of +the prayers. I don't know!" + +"Child," replied Mrs Dorothy, "you don't know Him. And, Mrs Gatty, my +dear, you must know Him, if you are ever to be a happy woman. O poor +child, poor child! To think that the Man who loved you and gave His +life for you is no more to you than one of a row of figures, a name set +to the end of a prayer!" + +Gatty was taken by surprise. She looked up with both unwonted emotion +and astonishment in her eyes. + +"Mrs Dolly," she said, with feeling, "I cannot tell, but I think +'twould be pleasant to feel like you. It sounds all real, as if you had +a live friend." + +"That is just what it is, my dear Mrs Gatty. A Friend that loves me +enough to count the very hairs of my head,--to whom nothing is a little +matter that can concern me. And He is just as ready to be your Friend +too." + +"What makes you think so, Mrs Dolly?" + +"My dear, He died on purpose to save you." + +"The world, not me!" said Gatty. + +"If there had been no world but you," was the answer, "He would have +thought it worth while." + +Gatty's answer was not immediate. When it came, it was-- + +"What does He want me to do?" + +"He wants you to give Him your heart," said the old lady. "Do that +first, and you will very soon find out how to give Him your hands and +your head." + +"And will He keep away my Lord Polesworth?" asked the girl, earnestly. + +"He will keep away everything that can hurt you. Not, maybe, everything +you don't like. Sometimes 'tis just the contrary. The sweet cake that +you like might harm you, and the physic you hate might heal you. If so, +He will give you the physic. But, child, if you are His own, He will +put the cup into your had with a smite which will make it easy to take." + +"I should like that," said Gatty, wistfully. "But could it be right to +wed with my Lord Polesworth, when I could not love nor honour him in my +heart at all?" + +"It can never be right to lie. Ask God to make you a way of escape, if +so it be." + +"What way?" + +"Leave that to Him." + +Mrs Dorothy's little clock struck four. + +"I think, if you please, Mrs Gatty," said Phoebe's hitherto silent +voice, "that Madam will be looking for us." + +"Yes, I guess she will," answered Gatty, rising, and courtesying. "I +thank you, Mrs Dolly. You have given me a ray of hope--if 'twill not +die away." + +Mrs Dorothy drew the girl to her, and kissed her cheek. + +"Christ cannot die, my child," she replied. "And Christ's love is +deathless as Himself. `Death hath no more dominion over Him.' And He +saith to His own, `Because I live, ye shall live also.'" + +"It should be a better life than this," said Gatty, with a sigh. + +"This is not the Christian's life, my dear. `His life is hid with +Christ in God.' 'Tis not left in his own hands to keep; he would soon +lose it, if it were. Farewell, dear child; and may the Lord keep thee!" + +Gatty looked up suddenly. "Tell me what to say to Him." + +Mrs Dorothy scarcely hesitated a moment. + +"`Teach me to do Thy will,'" she answered. "That holds everything. You +cannot do His will unless you are one of His redeemed. He must save +you, and hold you up, and guide you to glory, if you do His will--not +because you do it, for the salvation cometh first; but without the one, +there cannot be the other. And he that doeth the will of God soon +learns to love it, better than any mortal thing. `Oh, how love I Thy +law!' saith David. `There is nothing on earth that I desire in +comparison of Thee.'" + +She kissed both the girls again, and they went away. + + + +CHAPTER SIX. + +TRAPS LAID FOR RHODA. + + "La souveraine habilite consiste a bien connoitre le prix des choses." + + _La Rochefoucauld_. + +There was an earnest, wistful, far-away look in Gatty's eyes, as though +some treasure-house had been opened to her, the existence of which she +had never previously suspected; but neither she nor Phoebe said a word +to each other as they crossed the Park, and went up the wide white steps +of the Abbey. + +"Where on earth have you been, you gadabouts?" came in Rhoda's voice +from the interior of the hall. "Oh, but I've such a jolly piece of news +for you! Molly and me heard it from Madam. Guess what it is." + +Rhoda's grammar was more free and easy than correct at all times; and +Phoebe could not help thinking that in that respect, as in others, she +had perceptibly deteriorated by contact with Molly. + +"I don't care to hear it, thank you," said Gatty, rather hastily, +walking straight upstairs. + +"Oh, don't you, Mrs Prim?" demanded Rhoda. "Well, it doesn't concern +you much. Now, Phoebe, guess!" + +Phoebe felt very little in tune for the sort of amusement usually +patronised by Rhoda. But she set herself to gratify that rather +exacting young lady. + +"I don't guess things well," she said. "Is one of your aunts coming?" + +"My aunts!" repeated Rhoda, in supreme scorn. "Not if I know it, thank +you. I said it was jolly. Why, Phoebe! to guess such a thing as that!" + +"Well, I should be pleased enough if mine were coming to see me," said +Phoebe, good-temperedly. "I don't know what else to guess. Has some +one given you a present?" + +"Wish they had!" ejaculated Rhoda. "No, I'm sorry to say nobody's had +so much good sense. But there's somebody--I shall have to tell you +sooner or later, you stupid goose, so I may as well do it now-- +somebody's coming to Number Four. Mrs Eleanor Darcy, a cousin of my +Lord Polesworth--only think!--and (that's best of all) she's got a +nephew." + +"How is that best of all?" asked Phoebe. + +"Mr Marcus Welles--isn't it a pretty name?--and he will come with her, +to settle her in her new house. `_Why_?' Oh, what a silly Phoebe you +are! He has three thousand a year." + +"Then I should think he might take better care of his aunt than let her +be an indigent gentlewoman," said Phoebe, rather warmly. + +"As if he would want to be pothered with an old aunt!" cried Rhoda. +"But I'll tell you what (you are so silly, you want telling +everything!)--I mean to set my cap at him." + +"Won't you have some cleaner lace on it first?" suggested Phoebe, with +the exceedingly quiet, dry fun which was one of her characteristics. + +"You stupid, literal thing!" said Rhoda. "I might as well talk to the +cat. Oh, here you come, Molly! Now for tea, if 'tis ready, and then--" + +Madam was already at the tea-table, and Baxter was just bringing in the +kettle. + +"I trust you have had a pleasant walk, my dears," said she, kindly, as +the four girls filed in--Molly first, Phoebe last. + +"Middling," said Molly, taking the initiative as usual. "Robbed +seventeen birds' nests, climbed twenty-four trees, and jumped over a +dozen five-barred gates." + +"Oh, did you!" murmured Phoebe, in a shocked tone, too horrified for +silence. + +Rhoda went into convulsions behind her handkerchief. + +"Innocent little darling!" exclaimed Molly; "she thinks we did!" + +"You said so," answered Phoebe, reproachfully. + +"You are so smart, my dear Mrs Molly," said Madam, smilingly. "Did you +all walk together?" + +"No, I thank you!" responded Molly. "Gatty and the innocent little dear +went to a Quakers' meeting." + +Had Madam taken the assertion literally, she would have been alarmed and +horrified indeed; for at that time all Dissenters were considered +dangerous characters, and Quakers the worst of all. But, recognising it +as one of Molly's flights of intellect, she smiled placidly, and said no +more. + +"My dear, I think you will be acquainted with Mrs Eleanor Darcy?" asked +Madam, addressing herself to Gatty. + +"She has visited my mother, but only once," answered Gatty. + +"Oh, the pootsy-bootsy!" broke in Molly. "Isn't she a sweet, charming, +handsome creature?--the precious dear!" + +"I fear she doth not please you, Mrs Molly?" asked Madam, interpreting +Molly's exclamation by the rule of contrary. + +"She's the ugliest old baboon that ever grinned!" was Molly's +complimentary reply. + +"What say you, Mrs Gatty?" + +"She is certainly not handsome," answered Gatty, apparently with some +reluctance; "but I have heard her well spoken of, as very kind and +good." + +"Have you met with Mr Welles, her nephew, my dear?" + +Molly had clasped her hands, leaned back, lifted her eyes with an +expression of sentimental rapture, and was executing an effective +_tableau vivant_. + +"Yes, I have seen him two or three times," said Gatty. + +"Is he a young man of an agreeable turn?" inquired Madam. + +"He is very handsome," replied Gatty, rather doubtfully, as if she +hardly knew what to say. + +"Pleasant as a companion?" pursued Madam. + +"People generally think so, I believe," answered Gatty, with studied +vagueness. + +"You dear old concatenation, you'll get nothing out of my wretch of a +sister," impetuously cried Molly. + +"I'll tell you all about Marcus. He's the brightest eyes that ever +shone, and the sweetest voice that praised your fine eyes, and the most +delightful manners! White hands, and a capital leg, and never treads on +your corns. Oh, there's nobody like him. I mean to marry him." + +"Molly!" said Gatty. It was the first time she had offered anything +like a reproof to her sister. + +"Now, you hold your tongue, Mrs Prude!" responded Molly. "You're not a +bit better than I am." + +Gatty made no reply. + +"Don't you set up to be either a prig or a saint!" continued Molly, +angrily. "Betty's enough. She isn't a saint; but she's a prig. If +ever you're either, I'll lead you a life!" + +And there could be little doubt of Molly's fulfilling her threat. + +The next day, Gatty and Molly Delawarr went home. Betty had quite +recovered, and was gone to stay with a friend near Bristol; the house +had been thoroughly disinfected, and was pronounced free from all +danger; and Lady Delawarr thought there was no longer need for the girls +to remain away. + +"I wonder what will become of me without you, Molly!" said Rhoda, +dolefully. + +"Oh, you'll have plenty to do, old Gatepost," observed Molly, apparently +in allusion to Rhoda's uneventful life. "You've got to fall in love +with Marcus. I'll cut you into slices if you do, and make buttered +toast of you." + +"Good-bye!" said Rhoda laughing. + +"_Vale_!" responded Molly. + +"Good-bye, dear little Phoebe!" was Gatty's farewell. "I wonder what +would have become of me if I had not met you and Mrs Dorothy. For I +have asked Him to be my Friend,--you know,--and I think, I _think_ He +will." + +"I am sure of it. Good-bye." + +And so Gatty and Molly passed out of the life at White-Ladies. + +On returning to the old order of things, Phoebe found Rhoda, as she +expected, considerably changed for the worse. What had been a sort of +good-humoured condescension was altered into absolute snappishness, and +Phoebe was sorely tried. But the influence of Molly, bad as it had +been, proved temporary. Rhoda sank by degrees--or shall I say rose?-- +into her old self, and Phoebe presently had no more to bear than before +the visit from Delawarr Court. + +About a fortnight after the departure of Gatty and Molly, as Phoebe was +sitting at the parlour window with her work, she perceived Mrs Jane +Talbot, hooded, cloaked, and pattened,--for the afternoon was damp,-- +marching up to the side door. The fact was communicated to Madam, who +rose and glanced at herself in the chimney-glass, and ringing her little +hand-bell, desired Baxter to show Mrs Jane into the parlour. + +"Good afternoon, Mrs Jane; 'tis a pleasure I did not look for," said +Madam, as she rose. + +"Your servant, Madam," returned Mrs Jane, who had divested herself of +cloak and pattens in the hall. + +"Pray be seated, Mrs Jane. And what brings you hither?--for methinks +some matter of import will have called you out on so rainy a day as +this." + +"Easy to guess," answered Mrs Jane, taking a seat as requested, and +delivering her communication in short, blunt sentences, like small shot. +"A whim of Marcella's. Got a fancy for Port O Port. Sent me to beg a +sup of you, Madam. Fancies it will cure her. Fiftieth time she has +thought so, of something. All nonsense. Can't help it." + +"Indeed, my dear Mrs Jane, I am happy to be capable of helping Mrs +Marcella to her fancy, and trust it may be of the advantage she +thinks.--Phoebe! tell Betty to bid Baxter bring hither a bottle of the +best Port O Port--that from the little ark in the further cellar.--And +how does Mrs Marcella this afternoon?" + +"As cross as two sticks," said Mrs Jane. + +"She is a great sufferer," observed Madam, in her kindest manner. + +Mrs Jane made no reply, unless her next remark could properly be called +one. + +"Mrs Darcy came last night." + +"Last night!" answered Madam, in accents of surprise. "Dear! I quite +understood she was not to arrive before this evening. You have seen +her, Mrs Jane?" + +"Seen her! Oh dear, yes; I've seen her. We were schoolfellows." + +"Were you, indeed? That I did not know. 'Twill be a pleasure to you, +Mrs Jane, to have an old schoolfellow so near." + +"Depends," said Mrs Jane sententiously. + +"No doubt," answered Madam. "Were you and Mrs Eleanor friends at +school, Mrs Jane?" + +"No, Madam." + +"Not? Perhaps you were not near enough of an age." + +"Only six months between. No; that wasn't it. I was a silly +scapegrace, and she was a decent, good maid. Too good for me. I +haven't got any better. And she hasn't got any handsomer." + +"Pray forgive me," replied Madam, with a smile, "but I cannot think that +name applies to you now, Mrs Jane. And was her nephew with Mrs +Eleanor; as he engaged?" + +"Large as life," said Mrs Jane. + +"And how large is that, in his case?" inquired Madam. + +"Asking him or me?" retorted Mrs Jane. "_I_ should say, about as big +as a field mouse. He thinks himself big enough to overtop all the +elephants in creation. Marcus Welles! Oh, yes, I'll mark him well,-- +you trust me." + +It was tolerably evident that Mr Welles had not succeeded in +fascinating Mrs Jane, whatever he might do to other people. + +"I was told he was extreme handsome?" remarked Madam, in a tone of +inquiry. + +Mrs Jane's exclamation in response sounded very like--"Pish!" + +"You think not, Mrs Jane?" + +"Folks' eyes are so different, Madam," answered Mrs Jane. "Chinamen's +beauties wouldn't go for much in England, I guess. He's a silly, +whimsical, finnicking piece--that's what he is! Pink velvet coat, laced +with silver. Buff breeches. White silk stockings with silver clocks. +No cloak. And raining cats and dogs and pitchforks. Reckon Eleanor got +all the sense that was going in that family. None left for Mr +Mark-me-well. Missed it, anyhow." + +From that day forward, behind his back, Mark-me-well was the only name +bestowed by Mrs Jane on the young man in question. To his face she +gave him none,--an uncivil proceeding in 1714; but Mrs Jane being +allowedly an eccentric character, no one expected her to conform to +conventional rules on all occasions. + +It would seem that Mr Welles wished to lose no time in paying his court +to Madam; for that very evening, as soon as calling-hours began, he put +in an appearance at White-Ladies. + +Calling-hours and visiting-days were as common then as now; but the +hours were not the same. From five to eight o'clock in the evening was +the proper time for a visit of ceremony; candles were always lighted, +there was a special form of knock, and the guests sat round the room in +a prim circle. + +Perhaps the "cats, dogs, and pitchforks" alluded to before had spoiled +the pink and buff suit which had roused the scorn of Mrs Jane. The +colours in which Mr Welles chose to make his _debut_ at White-Ladies +were violet and white. A violet velvet coat, trimmed with silver lace, +was fastened with little silver hasps; white satin breeches led +downwards to violet silk stockings with silver clocks, girt below the +knee with silver garters. A three-cornered hat, of violet silk and +silver lace, was heavily adorned with white plumes, and buttoned up at +one side with a diamond. He wore shoes with silver buckles and very +high red heels, white-silver fringed gloves, a small muff of violet +velvet; and carried in his hand a slender amber-headed cane. Being a +London beau of fashion, he was afflicted with a slight limp, and also +with intense short-sightedness, which caused him to wear a gold +eye-glass, constantly in use--except when alone, on which occasions Mr +Welles became suddenly restored to the full use of his faculties. + +He certainly was very handsome, and his taste was good. His wig was +always suited to his complexion, and he rarely wore more than two +colours, of which one was frequently black or white. Mr Welles was +highly accomplished and highly fashionable; he played ombre and basset, +the spinnet and the violin; he sang and danced well, composed anagrams +and acrostics, was a good rider, hunted fearlessly and gamed high, +interlarded his conversation with puns, and was a thorough adept at +small talk. He was personally acquainted with every actor on the London +stage, and by sight with every politician in the Cabinet. His manners +were of the new school then just rising--which means, that they were +very free and easy, removed from all the minute and often cumbersome +ceremonies which had distinguished the old school. He generally rose +about noon, dined at three p.m., spent the evening at the opera or +theatre, and went to bed towards morning. Add to this, that he +collected old china, took much snuff, combed his wig in public, and was +unable to write legibly or spell correctly--and a finished portrait is +presented of Mr Marcus Welles, and through him of a fashionable London +gentleman of his day. + +The impression made by Mr Welles on the ladies at the Abbey was of +varied character. Madam commended him, but with that faint praise which +is nearly akin to censure. He was well favoured, she allowed, and +seemed to be a man of parts; but in her young days it was considered +courteous to lead a lady to a chair before a gentleman seated himself; +and it was not considered courteous to omit the Madam in addressing her. +Rhoda said very little in her grandmother's presence, reserving her +opinion for Phoebe's private ear. But as soon as they were alone, the +girls stated their ideas explicitly. + +"Isn't he a love of a dear?" cried Rhoda, in ecstasy. + +"No, I don't think he is," responded Phoebe, in a tone of unmistakable +disgust. + +"Why, Phoebe! Are you not sensible of the merit of such a man as that?" + +"No, I am sure I did not see any," said Phoebe, as before. + +"Oh, Phoebe! Such taste as he has! And his discourse! I never saw so +quick a wit. I am sure he is a man of great reach, and a man of figure +too. I shall think the time long till I see him again." + +"Dear me! I shan't!" exclaimed Phoebe. "Taste? Well, I suppose you +may dress a doll with taste. His clothes are well enough, only they are +too fine for anything but visiting." + +"Well, wasn't he visiting, you silly Phoebe?" + +"And he may be a man of figure--I don't know; but as to reach! I wonder +what you saw in his discourse to admire; it seemed to me all about +nothing." + +"Why, that's just his parts!" said Rhoda. "Any man can talk about +something; but to be able to talk in a clever, sprightly way about +nothing--that takes a man of reach." + +"Well! he may take his reach out of my reach," answered Phoebe, in a +disgusted tone. "I shall think the time uncommonly short, I can promise +you, till I see him again; for I never wish to do it." + +"Phoebe, I do believe you haven't one bit of discernment!" + +But Phoebe held her peace. + +Madam called in due form on her new guest at the Maidens' Lodge, and +Mrs Darcy returned the visit next day. She proved to be a short, +stout, little woman, with a face which, while undeniably and excessively +plain, was so beaming with good humour that it was difficult to remember +her uncomeliness after the first _coup d'oeil_. Mr Welles accompanied +her on the return visit. What had induced him to take up his quarters +at the Bear, at Tewkesbury, was an enigma to the inhabitants of +White-Ladies. Of course he could not live at the Maidens' Lodge, Madam +being rigidly particular with respect to the intrusion of what Betty +called "he creeturs" into that enchanted valley, and not tolerating the +habitual presence even of a servant of the obnoxious sex. According to +the representations of Mr Welles himself, he was fascinated by the +converse and character of Madam, and was also completely devoted to his +dear Aunt Eleanor. But Mr Welles had not favoured the Bear with very +much of his attention before it dawned upon one person at least that +neither Madam nor Mrs Eleanor had much to do with his frequent visits +to Cressingham. Mrs Dorothy Jennings quickly noticed that Mr Welles +was quite clever enough to discover what pleased different persons, and +to adapt himself accordingly with surprising facility; and she soon +perceived that the attraction was Rhoda, or rather Rhoda's prospects as +the understood heiress of White-Ladies. Mr Welles accommodated himself +skilfully to the prejudices of Madam; his manners assumed a graver and +more courtly air, his conversation a calm and sensible tone; and Madam +at length remarked to her grand-daughters, how very much that young man +had improved since his first arrival at Cressingham. + +With Rhoda, in the absence of her grandmother, he was an entirely +different being. A great deal of apparent interest in herself, and +deference to her opinions; a very little skilful flattery, too +delicately administered for its hollowness to be perceived; a quick +apprehension of what pleased and amused her, and a ready adaptation to +her mood of the moment--these were Mr Welles' tactics with the heiress +for whom he was angling. As to Phoebe, he simply let her alone. He +soon saw that she was of no account in Rhoda's eyes, and was not her +chosen _confidante_, but simply the person to whom she talked for want +of any other listener. There was not, therefore, in his opinion, any +reason why he should trouble himself to propitiate Phoebe. + +Ever since the visit of the Delawarrs, Rhoda had seemed disinclined for +another call on Mrs Dorothy Jennings. Now and then she went to see +Mrs Clarissa, when the conversation usually turned on the fashions and +cognate topics; sometimes she drank tea with Lady Betty, whose discourse +was of rather a more sensible character. Rarely, she looked in on Mrs +Marcella. Mrs Jane had thoroughly estranged her by persisting in her +sarcastic nickname for Rhoda's chosen hero, and letting off little +shafts against him, more smart than nattering. On Mrs Darcy she called +perpetually, perhaps with a view to meet him at her house; but all Mr +Welles' alleged devotion to his dear Aunt Eleanor scarcely ever seemed +to result in his going to see her at the Maidens' Lodge. When Rhoda met +him, which she very often did, it was either by his calling at the +Abbey, or by an accidental _rencontre_--if accidental it were--in some +secluded glade of the Park. + +At length, one day, without any warning, a horse cantered up to the side +door, and Molly Delawarr's voice in its loudest tones (and very loud +they were) demanded where all those stupid creatures were who ought to +be there to take her horse. Then Miss Molly, having been helped off, +came marching in, and greeted her friends with a recitative-- + +"Lucy Locket lost her pocket; `Kitty Fisher found it!'" + +"My dear Mrs Molly, I am quite rejoiced to see you!" + +"No! you aren't, are you?" facetiously responded Molly. "Rhoda--I vow, +child, you're uglier than ever!--mother wants you for a while. There's +that jade Betty going to come of age, and she means to make the biggest +fuss over it ever was heard. She said she would send Wilson over, but I +jumped on my tit, and came to tell you myself. You'll come, won't you, +old hag?" + +Rhoda looked at her grandmother. + +"My dear, of course you will go!" responded Madam, "since my Lady +Delawarr is so good. 'Tis so kind in Mrs Molly to take thus much +trouble on herself." + +"Fiddle-de-dee!" ejaculated Molly. "I'm no more kind than she's good. +She wants a fuss, and a lot of folks to make it; and I wanted a ride, +and some fun with Rhoda. Where's the goodness, eh?" + +"Shall I take Phoebe?" asked Rhoda, doubtfully. + +"You'd better," returned Molly, before Madam could speak. "You'll want +somebody to curl your love-locks and stitch your fal-lals; and I'm not +going to do it--don't you fancy so. Oh, I say, Rhoda! you may have +Marcus Welles, if you want him. There's another fellow turned up, with +a thousand a year more, that will suit me better." + +"Indeed! I thank you!" said Rhoda, with a little toss of her head. + +"My dear Mrs Molly, you are so diverting," smiled Madam. + +"You don't say so!" rejoined that fascinating young person. "You'll put +on your Sunday bombazine, Rhoda. We're all going to be as fine as +fiddlers. As for you"--and Molly's bold eyes surveyed Phoebe, seeming +to take in the whole at a glance--"it won't matter. You aren't an +heiress, so you can come in rags." + +Phoebe said nothing. + +"I don't think," went on Molly, in a reflective tone, "that you can make +a catch; but you can try. There is the chaplain--horrid old centipede! +And there's old Walford"--Molly never favoured any man with a Mr to his +name--"an ugly, spiteful old bear that nobody'll have: he's rich enough; +and he might look your way if you play your cards well. Any way, you'll +not have much chance else; so you'd better keep your eyes pretty well +open. Now, Rhoda, come along, and we'll have some fun." + +And away went Molly and Rhoda, with a smiling assent from Madam. + +What a very repulsive, vulgar disagreeable girl this Molly Delawarr is! +True, my gentle reader. And yet--does she do much more than say, in +plain language, what a great number of Mollys are not ashamed to think? + +Phoebe's sensations, in view of the coming visit to the Court, were far +removed from pleasure. Must she go? She braced up her courage, and +ventured to ask. + +"If you please, Madam--" + +"Well, child?" was the answer, in a sufficiently gracious tone to +encourage Phoebe to proceed. + +"Must I go with Mrs Rhoda to Delawarr Court, if you please, Madam?" + +"Why, of course, child." Madam's tone expressed surprise, though not +displeasure. + +Phoebe swallowed her regret with a sigh, and tried to comfort herself +with the thought of meeting Gatty, which was the only bright spot in the +darkness. But would Gatty be there? + +Rhoda and Molly came in to tea arm-in-arm. + +"And how has my Lady Delawarr her health, Mrs Molly?" inquired Madam, +as she poured out the refreshing fluid. + +Molly had allowed no time for inquiries on her first appearance. + +"Oh, _she's_ well enough," said Molly, carelessly. + +"And Mrs Betty is now fully recovered of her distemper?" + +"She's come out of the small-pox, and tumbled into the vapours," said +Molly. + +"The vapours" was a most convenient term of that day. It covered +everything which had no other name, from a pain in the toe to a pain in +the temper, and was very frequently descriptive of the latter ailment. +Betty's condition, therefore, as subject to this malady, excited little +regret. + +"And how goes it with Mrs Gatty? Is she now my Lady Polesworth?" + +"My Lady Fiddlestrings!" responded Molly. "Not she--never will. Old +Polesworth wanted a pretty face, and after Gatty's small-pox, why, you +couldn't--" + +"Small-pox!" cried Madam and Rhoda in concert. + +"What, didn't you know?" answered Molly. "To be sure--took it the +minute she got home. But that wasn't all, neither. Old Polesworth told +Mum"--which meant Lady Delawarr--"that he might have stood small-pox, +but he couldn't saintship; so Saint Gatty lost her chance, and much +she'll ever see of such another. Dad and Mum were as mad as hornets. +Dad said he'd have horsewhipped her if she'd been out of bed. Couldn't, +_in_ bed, you see--wouldn't have looked well." + +"But, my dear, she could not help taking the small-pox?" + +"Maybe not, but she might have helped taking the saint-pox," said Molly. +"I believe she caught it from you," nodding at Phoebe. "But what vexed +Mum most was that the grey goose actually made believe to be pleased +when she lost her chance of the tinsel. Trust me, but Mum blew her up-- +a little! All leather and prunella, you know, of course. Pleased to be +an old maid!--just think, what nonsense. She will be an old maid now, +sure as eggs are eggs, unless she marries some conventicle preacher. +That would be the best end of her, I should think." + +Phoebe sat wondering why Molly paid so poor a compliment to her own +denomination as to suppose that the natural gravitation of piety was +towards Dissent. But Molly's volatile nature passed to a different +subject the next moment. + +"I say, old Roadside, bring a white gown. The Queen's coming to the +Bath, and a lot of folks are trying to make her come on to Berkeley; and +if she do, a whole parcel of young gentlewomen are to be there to +courtesy to her, and give her a posy, and all that sort of flummery. +And Mum says she'll send us down, if they do it." + +"Who's to give the posy?" eagerly asked Rhoda. + +"Don't know. Not you. You won't have a chance, old Fid-fad. No more +shan't I. It'll be some thing of quality. I'll tread on her tail, +though,--see if I don't." + +"Whose?" whispered Rhoda; for Molly's last remark had been confidential. +"You don't mean the Queen?" + +"Of course I do,--who better? Her grandmother was a baronet's daughter; +what else am I? I'll have a snip of her gown, if I can." + +"O Molly!" exclaimed Rhoda in unfeigned horror. + +"Why not? I've scissors in my pocket." + +"Molly, you never could!" + +"Don't you lay much on those odds, my red currant bush. I can do pretty +near anything I've a mind--when I _have_ a mind." + +Rhoda was not pleased by Molly's last vocative, which she took as an +uncomplimentary allusion to the faint shade of red in her hair,--a +subject on which she was peculiarly sensitive. This bit of confidence +had been exchanged out of the hearing of Madam, who had gone to a +cabinet at the other end of the long room, but within that of Phoebe, +who grew more uncomfortable every moment. + +"Well, 'tis getting time to say ta-ta," said Molly, rising shortly after +tea was over. "Where's that tit of mine?" + +"My dear, I will send to fetch your horse round," said Madam, "Pray, +make my compliments to my Lady Delawarr, and tell her that I cannot but +be very sensible of her kindness in offering Rhoda so considerable a +pleasure." + +Madam was about to add more, but Molly broke in. + +"Come now! Can't carry all that flummery. My horse would fall lame +under the weight. I'll say you did the pretty thing. Ta-ta! See you +on Monday, old gentlewoman." She turned to Rhoda; threw a nod, without +words, to Phoebe, and five minutes afterwards was trotting across the +Park on her way home to Delawarr Court. + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN. + +DELAWARR COURT. + + "Le coeur humain a beaucoup de plis et de replis." + + _Madame de Motteville_. + +"And how goes it, my dear, with Madam and Mrs Rhoda?" inquired little +Mrs Dorothy as she handed a cup to Phoebe. + +"They are well, I thank you. Mrs Dolly, I have come to ask your +counsel." + +"Surely, dear child. Thou shalt have the best I can give. What is thy +trouble?" + +"I have two or three troubles," said Phoebe, sighing. "You know Rhoda +is going to-morrow to Delawarr Court; and I am to go with her. I wish I +need not!" + +"Why, dear child?" + +"Well, I am afraid it must sound silly," answered Phoebe, with a little +laugh at herself; "but really, I can scarce tell why. Do you never feel +thus unwilling to do a thing, Mrs Dorothy, almost without reason?" + +"Ah, there is a reason," said the old lady: "and it comes either from +your body or your mind, Phoebe. If 'tis from your body, let your mind +govern it in any matter you _must_ do. If it come from your mind, +either you see a clear cause for it, or you do not." + +"I do not, Mrs Dolly. I reckon 'tis but the spleen." + +Everything we call nervous then fell under the head of spleen. + +"There is an older name for that, Phoebe, without it arise from some +disorder of the body." + +"What, Mrs Dorothy?" + +"Discontent, my child." + +"But that is sin!" said Phoebe, looking up, as if startled. + +"Ay. `Whatsoever is not of faith is sin.'" + +"Then should I be willing to go, Mrs Dolly?" + +"What hast thou asked, my dear? Should God's child be willing to do her +Father's will?" + +Phoebe's face became grave. + +"Dear Phoebe, `when the people murmured, it displeased the Lord.' Have +a care!--Well, what is your next trouble?" + +"I have had a letter from mother," said Phoebe, colouring and looking +uncomfortable. + +"Is that a trouble, child?" + +"No,--not that. Oh no! But--" + +"But a trouble sticks to it. Well,--what?" + +"She says I ought to--to get married, Mrs Dorothy; and she looks for me +to do it while I tarry at White-Ladies, for she reckons that will be the +best chance." + +Mrs Dorothy was silent. If her thoughts were not complimentary to Mrs +Latrobe, she gave no hint of it to Phoebe. + +"I don't think I should like it, please, Mrs Dorothy," said Phoebe +uneasily. "And ought I?" + +"I suppose somebody had better ask you first," was Mrs Dorothy's dry +answer. + +"I would rather live with Mother," continued Phoebe. And suddenly a cry +broke out which had been repressed till then. "I wish--oh, I wish +Mother loved me! She never seemed to do it but once, when I was ill of +the fever. I do so wish Mother could love me!" + +Mrs Dorothy busied herself for a moment in putting the cups together on +her little tea-tray. Then she came over to Phoebe. + +"Little maid!" she said, lovingly, "there are some of us women for whom +no love is safe, saving the love of Him that died for us. If we have it +otherwise, we go wrong and set up idols in our hearts. Art thou one of +those, Phoebe?" + +"I don't know!" sobbed Phoebe. "How can I know?" + +"Dear child, He knows. Canst thou not trust Him? `Dieu est ton +Berger.' The Shepherd takes more care of the sheep, Phoebe, than the +sheep take care of themselves. Poor, blundering creatures that we are! +always apt to think, in the depth of our hearts, that God would rather +not save us, and that we shall have to take a great deal of trouble to +persuade Him to do it. Nay! it is the Shepherd that longs to have the +lamb safe folded, and the poor silly lamb that is always straying away. +Phoebe, `the Father Himself loveth thee.'" + +"Oh, I know! But I can't see Him, Mrs Dorothy." + +"I suppose He knows that, too," answered her old friend, softly. "He +knows how much easier it would be to believe if we could see and feel. +Maybe 'tis therefore He hath pronounced so special a blessing upon such +as have not seen, and yet have believed." + +"Mrs Dorothy,"--and Phoebe looked up earnestly,--"don't you think +living is hard work?" + +"I did once, my maid. But I am beyond the burden and the heat of the +day now. My tools are gathered together and put away, and I am waiting +for the Master to call me in home to my rest. Thou too wilt come to +that, child, if thy life be long enough. And to some, even here,--to +all, afterward,--it is given to see where the turns were taken in the +path, and whereto the road should have led that we took not. Ah, child, +one day thy heaviest cause of thankfulness may be that in this or that +matter--perchance in the matter that most closely engaged thee in this +life--thy Father did not give thee the desire of thine heart." + +"Yet that is promised as a blessing?" said Phoebe, interrogatively, +looking up. + +"As a blessing, dear child, when thy will is God's will. Can it be any +blessing, when thy will and His run contrary the one to the other?" + +"Then you think I should not wish to be loved!" said Phoebe, with a +heavy sigh. + +"I think God's child will do well to leave the choice of all things to +her Father." + +"I must leave it. He will have it." + +"He will have it," repeated Mrs Dorothy solemnly; "but, Phoebe, you can +leave it in loving submission, or you can have it wrenched from you in +judgment. Though it may be that you must loose your hold on a gem, yet +you please yourself whether you yield it as a gift, or wait to have it +torn away." + +"I see," said Phoebe. + +"Was there any further trouble, my dear?" + +"Only that," replied Phoebe. "Life seems hard. I get so tired!" + +"Thou art young to know that, child," said Mrs Dorothy, with a rather +sad smile. + +"Well, I don't know," answered Phoebe, doubtfully. "I think I have +always been tired. And don't you know some people rest you, and some +people don't? When there is nobody that rests one-- Father used-- +but--" + +Mrs Dorothy thought there was not much difficulty in reading the story +hidden behind Phoebe's broken sentences. + +"So life is hard?" she echoed. "Poor child! Dear, it was harder to Him +that sat on the well at Sychar, wearied with His journey. He has not +forgotten it, Phoebe. Couldst thou not go and remind Him of it, and ask +Him to bless and rest thee?" + +"Mrs Dolly, do you feel tired like that?" + +A little amused laugh was Mrs Dolly's answer. + +"Thou hast not all the sorrows of life in thine own portion, little +Phoebe. I have felt it. I do not often now. The journey is too near +at an end to fret much over the hard fare or the rough road. When there +be only a few days to pass ere you leave school, your mind is more set +on the coming holidays than on the length or hardness of the lessons +that lie betwixt." + +"I wish I hadn't to go to Delawarr Court!" sighed Phoebe. "There will +be a great parcel of people, and not one I know but Rhoda, and Mrs +Gatty, and Mrs Molly; and Rhoda always snubs me when Mrs Molly's +there." + +"Molly is trying," admitted the old lady. "But I think, dear child, you +might make a friend of Gatty." + +"Perhaps," said Phoebe. + +"And, Phoebe, strive against discontent," said Mrs Dorothy; adding, +with a smile, "and call it discontent, and not vapours. There is a +great deal in giving names to things. So long as you call your pride +self-respect and high spirit, you will reckon yourself much better than +you are; and so long as you call your discontent low spirits or vapours, +you will reckon yourself worse used than you are. Don't split on that +rock, Phoebe. The worst thing you can do with wounds is to keep pulling +off the bandage to see how they are getting on; and the worst thing you +can do with griefs and wrongs is to nurse them and brood over them. +Carry them to the Lord and show them to Him, and ask His help to bear +them or right them, as He chooses; and then forget all about them as +fast as you can. Dear old Scots Davie gave me that counsel, and through +fifty years I have proved how good it was." + +"You never finished your story, Mrs Dolly," suggested Phoebe. + +"I did not, my dear. Yet there was little to finish. I did but tarry +at Court till the great plague-time, when all was broke up, and I went +home to nurse my mother, who took the plague and died of it. After that +I continued to dwell with my father. For a while after my mother's +death, he was very low and melancholical, saying that God had now met +with him and was visiting his old sins upon him. And then, the very +next year, came the fire, and we were burned out and left homeless. +Then he was worse than ever. 'Twas like the curse pronounced on David, +said he, that the sword should never depart from his house: he could +never look to know rest nor peace any more; God hated him, and pursued +him to the death. No word of mine, though I strove to find many from +the Word of God, seemed to bring him any comfort at all. They were not +for him, he said, but for them toward whom God had purposes of mercy, +and there was none for him. He had sinned against light and knowledge; +and God would none of him any more. + +"One morning, about a week after the fire, as I was coming back from my +marketing to the little mean lodging where we had took shelter, and was +just going in at the door, I was sorely started to feel a great warm +hand on my shoulder, and a loud, cheery voice saith, `Dolly Jennings, +whither away so fast thou canst not see an old friend?' I looked up, +and there was dear old Farmer Ingham, in his thick boots and country +homespun; but I declare to you, child, that in my trouble his face was +to me as that of an angel of God. I brake down, and sobbed aloud. +`Come, come, now!' saith he, comfortably; `not so bad as that, is it? +I've been seeking thee these four days, Dolly, child. I knew I could +find thee if I came myself, though the Missis said I never should; and +I've asked at one, and asked at another, and looked up streets and down +streets, till this morning I saw a young maid, with her back to me, +a-going down an alley; and says I, right out loud, "That's Dolly's back, +or else I'm a Dutchman!" So I ran after thee, and only just catched +thee up. I'm not so lissome as thou; nay, nor so lissome as I was at +thy years. However, here I am, and here thou art; so that's all right. +And there's a good bed and a warm welcome for everyone of you at Ingle +Nook'--that was the name of his farm, my dear--`and I've brought up a +cart and the old tit to drag it, and we'll see if we can't make thee +laugh and be rosy again.' Dear old man! no nay would he take, nor +suffer so much as a word from father about our being any cost and +trouble to him. `Stuff and nonsense!' said he; `I've got money saved, +and the farm's doing well, and only my two bits of maids to leave it to; +and who should I desire to help in this big trouble, if not my own +foster-child, and hers?' So father yielded, and we went down to Ingle +Nook. + +"Farmer Ingham very soon found what was wrong with father. `Eh, poor +soul!' said he to me, `he's the hundredth sheep that's got lost out on +the moor, and he reckons the Shepherd'll bide warm in the fold with the +ninety and nine, and never give a thought to him, poor, starved, +straying thing! Dear, dear!--and as if _I'd_ do such a thing, sinner +that I am!--as if I could eat a crust in peace till I'd been after my +sheep, poor wretch!--and to think the good Lord'd do it!--and the poor +thing a-bleating out there, and wanting to get home! Dear, dear! how we +poor sinners do wrong the good Lord!' I said, `Won't you say a word to +him, daddy?' That was what I had always called him, my dear, since I +was a little child. `Eh, child!' says he, `what canst thou be thinking +on? The like of me to preach to a parson, all regular done up, bands +and cassock and shovel hat and all! But I'll tell thee what--there's +Dr Bates a-coming to bide with me a night this next week, on his way +from the North into Sussex, and I'll ask him to edge in a word. He's a +grand man, Dolly! "Silver-tongued Bates." Thou'lt hear.' + +"Well, I knew, for I had heard talk of it at the time, that Dr Bates +was one of them that gave up their livings when the Act of Uniformity +came in, so that he was regarded as no better than a conventicler; and I +wondered how father should like to be spoke to by Dr Bates any more +than by Farmer Ingham, because to him they would both be laymen alike. +But at that time I was learning to tarry the Lord's leisure--ah! that's +a grand word, Phoebe! For His leisure runs side by side with our +profit, and He'll be at leisure to attend to you the minute that you +really need attending to. So I waited quietly to see what would come. +Dr Bates came, and he proved to be no common hedge-preacher, but a +learned man that had been to the University, and had Greek and Hebrew +pat at his tongue's end. I could see that it was pleasant to father to +talk with such a man; and maybe he took to him the rather because he had +the look of one that had known sorrow. When a man is suffering, he will +converse more readily with a fellow-sufferer than with a hale man. So +they talked away of their young days, when they were at school and +college, and father was much pleased, as I could see, to find that Dr +Bates and he were of the same college, though not there at the same +time: and a deal they had to say about this and that man, that both +knew, but of course all strangers to me. I thought I had never seen +Father seem to talk with the like interest and pleasure since my +mother's death. + +"But time went on, and their talk, and not a word from Dr Bates of the +fashion I desired. I went to bed somewhat heavy. The next morning, +however, as I was sat at my sewing by the parlour window--which was +open, the weather being very sultry--came Dr Bates and father, and +stood just beyond the window. The horse was then saddling for Dr Bates +to be gone. All at once, they standing silent a moment, he laid his +hand on father's shoulder, and saith very softly, `"I will hearken what +the Lord God will say concerning me."' Father turns and stares at him, +as started. But he goes on, and saith, `"For the iniquity of his +covetousness was I wroth, and smote him: I hid Me and was wroth, and he +went on frowardly in the way of his heart. I have seen his ways, and +will heal him; I will lead him also, and restore comforts unto him and +to his mourners. I create the fruit of the lips. Peace, peace to him +that is far off"'--he said it twice--`"peace to him that is far off, and +to him that is near, saith the Lord, and I will heal him."' He did not +add one word, but went and mounted his horse, and when he had bid +farewell to all else, just as he was turning away from the door, he +calls out, in a cheerful voice, `Good morning, Brother Jennings.' Then, +as it were, Father seemed to awake, and he runs after, and puts his hand +in Dr Bates's, who drew bridle, and for a minute they were busy in +earnest discourse. Then they clasped hands again, and father saith, +`God bless you!' and away rode Dr Bates. But after that Father was +different. He said to me--it was some weeks later--`Dolly, if it please +God, I shall never speak another word against the men that turned out in +Sixty-Two. They may have made blunders, but some at least of them were +holy men of God, for all that.'" + +"I was always sorry for them," said Phoebe. "And Father said so too." + +"True, my dear. Yet 'tis not well we should forget that the parsons +were turned out the first, and the conventiclers afterward. There were +faults on both sides." + +"But, Mrs Dolly, why can't good men agree?" + +"Ah, child! `They shall see eye to eye, when the Lord shall bring again +Zion.' No sooner. Thank God that He looketh on the heart. I believe +there may be two men in arms against each other, bitter opposers of each +other, and yet each of them acting with a single eye to the honour of +their Lord. He knows it, and He only, now. But how sorry they will be +for their hard thoughts and speeches when they come to understand each +other in the clear light of Heaven!" + +"It always seems to me," said Phoebe, diffidently, "that there are a +great many things we shall be sorry for then. But can anybody be sorry +in Heaven?" + +Mrs Dorothy smiled. "We know very little about Heaven, my dear. Less +than Madam's parrot or Mrs Clarissa's dog understands about anyone +writing a letter." + +"Dogs do understand a great deal," remarked Phoebe. "Our Flossie did." + +"My dear, I have learned no end of lessons from dogs. I only wish we +Christians minded the word of our Master half as well as they do theirs. +I wish men would take pattern from them, instead of starving and +kicking them, or tormenting them with a view to win knowledge. We may +be the higher creatures, but we are far from being the better. You may +take note, too, that your dog will often resist an unpleasant thing--a +dose of medicine, say--just because he does not understand why you want +to give it to him, and does not know the worse thing that would +otherwise befall him. Didst thou never serve thy Master like that, +dear?" + +"I am afraid so," said Phoebe, softly. + +"We don't trust Him enough, Phoebe. It does seem as if the hardest +thing in all the world was for man to trust God. You would not think I +paid you much of a compliment if you heard me say, `I'll trust Phoebe +Latrobe as far as I can see her.' Yet that is what we are always doing +to God. The minute we lose sight of His footsteps, we begin to murmur +and question where He is taking us. But, my dear, I must not let you +tarry longer; 'tis nigh sundown." + +"Oh, dear!" and Phoebe looked up and rose hurriedly. "I trust Madam +will not be angry. 'Tis much later than I thought." + +She found Madam too busy to notice what time she returned. Rhoda's +wardrobe was being packed for her visit, under the supervision of her +grandmother, by the careful hands of Betty. The musk-coloured damask, +which she had coveted, was the first article provided, and a +cherry-coloured velvet mantle, lined with squirrel-skins, was to be worn +with it. A blue satin hood completed this rather showy costume. A +wadded calico wrapper, for morning wear; a hoop petticoat wider than +Rhoda had ever worn before; the white dress stipulated by Molly; small +lace head-dresses, instead of the old-fashioned commode; aprons of +various colours, silk and satin; muslin and lace ruffles; a blue camlet +riding-habit, laced with silver (ladies rode at this time dressed +exactly like gentlemen, with the addition of a long skirt); and an +evening dress of cinnamon-colour, brocaded with large green leaves and +silver stems, with a white and gold petticoat under it--were the chief +items of Rhoda's wardrobe. A new set of body-linen was also added, made +of striped muslin. Since our fair ancestresses made their night-dresses +of "muslin," it would appear that they extended the term to some stouter +material than the thin and flimsy manufacture to which we restrict it. +Rhoda's boots were of white kid, goloshed with black velvet. There were +also "jessamy" gloves--namely, kid gloves perfumed with jessamine; a +black velvet mask; a superb painted fan; a box of patches, another of +violet powder, another of rouge, and a fourth of pomatum; one of the +India scarves before alluded to; a stomacher set with garnet, a pearl +necklace, and a silver box full of cachou and can-away comfits, to be +taken to church for amusement during long sermons. The enamelled +picture on the lid Rhoda would have done well to lay to heart, as it +represented Cupid fishing for human beings, with a golden guinea on his +hook. Rhoda was determined to be the finest dressed girl at Delawarr +Court, and Madam had allowed her to order very much what she pleased. +Phoebe's quiet mourning, new though it was, looked very mean in +comparison--in her cousin's eyes. + +No definite time was fixed for Rhoda's return home. She was to stay as +long as Lady Delawarr wished to keep her. + +"Phoebe, my dear!" said Madam. + +"Madam?" responded Phoebe, with a courtesy. + +"Come into my chamber; I would have a few words with you." + +Phoebe followed, her heart feeling as if it would jump into her mouth. +Madam shut the door, and took her seat on the cushioned settle which +stretched along the foot of her bed. + +"Child," she said to Phoebe, who stood modestly before her, "I think +myself obliged to tell you that I expect Rhoda to settle in life on the +occasion of this visit. I apprehend that she will meet with divers +young gentlemen, with any of whom she might make a good match; and she +can then make selection of him that will be most agreeable to her." + +Phoebe privately wondered how the gentleman whom Rhoda selected was to +be induced to select Rhoda. + +"Then," pursued Madam, "when she returns, she will tell me her design; +and if on seeing the young man, and making inquiries of such as are +acquainted with him, I approve of the match myself, I shall endeavour +the favour of his friends, and doubt not to obtain it. Rhoda will have +an excellent fortune, and she is of an agreeable turn enough. Now, my +dear, at the same time, I wish you to look round you, and see if you can +light on some decent man, fit for your station, that would not be +disagreeable to you. I have apprised myself that Sir Richard's chaplain +hath entered into no engagements, and if he were to your taste, I would +do my best to settle you in that quarter, I cannot think he would prove +uneasy to me, should I do him the honour; at the same time, if you find +him unpleasant to you, I do not press the affair. But 'tis high time +you should look out, for you have no fortune but yourself, and what I +may choose to give with you: and if you order yourself after my wish, I +engage myself to undertake for you--in reason, my dear, of course. The +chaplain is very well paid, for Sir Richard finds him in board and a +horse, and gives him beside thirty-five pound by the year, which is more +than many have. He is, I learn, a good, easy man, that would not be +likely to give his wife any trouble. Not very smart, but that can well +be got over; and of good family, but indigent--otherwise it may well be +reckoned he would not be a chaplain. So I bid you consider him well, my +dear, and let me know your thoughts when you return hither." + +Phoebe's thoughts just then were chasing each other in wild confusion: +the principal one being that she was a victim led to the sacrifice with +a rope round her neck. + +"I ask your pardon, Madam; but--" + +"Well, my dear, if you have something you wish to say, I am ready to +listen to it," said Madam, with an air of extreme benignity. + +Phoebe felt her position the more difficult because of her grandmother's +graciousness. She so evidently thought herself conferring a favour on a +portionless and unattractive girl, that it became hard to say an +opposing word. + +"If you please, Madam, and asking your pardon, must I be married?" + +"Must you be married, child!" repeated Madam in astonished tones, "Why, +of course you must. The woman is created for the man. You would not +die a maid?" + +"I would rather, if you would allow me, Madam," faltered Phoebe. + +"But, my dear, I cannot allow it. I should not be doing my duty by you +if I did. The woman is made for the man," repeated Madam, +sententiously. + +"But--was every woman made for some man, if you please, Madam?" asked +poor Phoebe, struggling against destiny in the person of her +grandmother. + +"Of course, child--no doubt of it," said Madam. + +"Then, if you please, Madam, might I not wait till I find the man I was +made for?" entreated Phoebe with unconscious humour. + +"When you marry a man, my dear, he is the man you were made for," +oracularly replied Madam. + +Phoebe was silenced, but not at all convinced, which is a very different +thing. She could remember a good many husbands and wives with whom she +had met who so far as she could judge, did not appear to have been +created for the benefit of one another. + +"And I trust you will find him at Delawarr Court. At all events, you +will look out. As to waiting, my dear, at your age, and in your +station, you cannot afford to wait. One or two years is no matter for +Rhoda; but 'twill not serve for you. I was married before I was your +age, Phoebe." + +Phoebe sighed, but did not venture to speak. She felt more than ever as +if she were being led to the slaughter. There was just this +uncomfortable difference, that the sacrificed sheep or goat did not feel +anything when once it was over, and the parallel would not hold good +there. She felt utterly helpless. Phoebe knew her mother too well to +venture on any appeal to her, even had she fondly imagined that +representations from Mrs Latrobe would have weight with Madam. Mrs +Latrobe would have been totally unable to comprehend her. So Phoebe did +what was better,--carried her trial and perplexity to her Father in +Heaven, and asked Him to undertake for her. Naturally shy and timid, it +was a terrible idea to Phoebe that she was to be handed over bodily in +this style to some stranger. Rhoda would not have cared; a change was +always welcome to her, and she thought a great deal about the superior +position of a matron. But in Phoebe's eyes the position presented +superior responsibility, a thing she dreaded; and superior notoriety, a +thing she detested. She was a violet, born to blush unseen, yet +believing that perfume shed upon the desert air is not necessarily +wasted. + +"Here you are, old Rattle-trap!" cried Molly, from the head of the +stairs, as Rhoda and Phoebe were mounting them. "Brought that white +rag? We're going. Mum says so. Turn your toes out,--here's Betty." + +Rhoda's hand was clasped, and her cheek kissed, by a pleasant-spoken, +rather good-looking girl, very little scarred from her recent illness. + +"Phoebe Latrobe?" said Betty, turning kindly to her. "I know your name, +you see. I trust you will be happy here. Your chamber is this way, +Rhoda." + +It was a long, narrow room, with a low whitewashed ceiling, across which +ran two beams. A pot-pourri stood on the little table in the centre, +and there were two beds, one single and one double. + +"Who's to be here beside me?" inquired Rhoda. + +"Oh, Mother would have given you and Phoebe a chamber to yourselves," +replied Betty, "but we are so full of company, she felt herself obliged +to put in some one, so Gatty is coming to you." + +"Can't it be Molly?" rather uncivilly suggested Rhoda. + +Phoebe privately hoped it could not. + +"Will, I think not," answered Betty, smiling. "Lady Diana Middleham +wants Molly. She's in great request." + +"Who is,--me?" demanded Molly, appearing as if by magic in the doorway. +"Of course. I'm not going to sleep with you, Pug-nose. Not going to +sleep at all. Spend the night in tickling the people I like, and +running pins into those I don't. Fair warning!" + +"I wonder whether it is better to be one you like, Molly, or one you +don't like," said Rhoda, laughing. + +"I hope you don't like me in that regard," said Betty, laughing too. + +"Well, I don't particularly," was Molly's frank answer, "so you'll get +the pins. Right about face! Stand--at--ease! Here comes Mum." + +A very gorgeously dressed woman, all flounces and feathers as it seemed +to Phoebe, sailed into the room, kissed Rhoda, told her that she was +welcome, in a languishing voice, desired Betty to see her made +comfortable, informed Molly that her hair was out of curl, took no +notice of Phoebe, and sailed away again. + +"I'm off!" Molly announced to the world. "There's Mr +What-do-you-call-him downstairs. Go and have some fun with him." And +Molly vanished accordingly. + +Then Rhoda's unpacking had to be seen to by herself and Phoebe; that is +to say, Phoebe did it, and Rhoda sat and watched her, Betty flitted +about, talking to Rhoda, and helping Phoebe, till her name was called +from below, and away she went to respond to it. Phoebe, at least, +missed her, and thought her pleasant company. Whatever else she might +be, she was good-natured. When the unpacking was finished to her +satisfaction, Rhoda declared that she was perishing for hunger, and must +have something before she could dress. Before she could make up her +mind what to do, a rap came on the door, and a neat maid-servant entered +with a tray. + +"An't please you, Madam, Mrs Betty bade me bring you a dish of tea," +said she; "for she said 'twas yet two good hours ere supper, and you +should be the better of a snack after your journey. Here is both tea +and chocolate, bread and butter, and shortcake." And setting down the +tray, she left them to enjoy its contents. + +"Long life to Betty!" said Rhoda. "Here, Phoebe! pour me a dish of +chocolate. I never get any at home. Madam has a notion it makes people +fat." + +"But does she not like you to take it?" asked Phoebe, pausing, with the +silver chocolatiere in her hand. + +"Oh, pother! go on!" exclaimed Rhoda. "Give it me, if your tender +conscience won't let you. I say, Phoebe, you'll be a regular prig and +prude, if you don't mind." + +"I don't know what those are," replied Phoebe, furtively engaged in +rubbing her hand where Rhoda had pinched it as she seized the handle of +the chocolate pot. + +"Oh, don't you?" answered Rhoda. "I do, for I've got you to look at. A +prig is a stuck-up silly creature, and a prude is always thinking +everything wicked. And that's what you are." + +Phoebe wisely made no reply. Tea finished, Rhoda condescended to be +dressed and have her hair curled and powdered, gave Phoebe very few +minutes for changing her own dress, and then, followed by her cousin and +handmaid, she descended to the drawing-room. To Phoebe's consternation, +it seemed full of young ladies and gentlemen, in fashionable array; and +the consternation was not relieved by a glimpse of Mr Marcus Welles, +radiant in blue and gold, through a vista of plumes, lace lappets, and +fans. Betty was there, making herself generally useful and agreeable; +and Molly, making herself the reverse of both. Phoebe scanned the +brilliant crowd earnestly for Gatty. But Gatty was nowhere to be seen. + +Rhoda went forward, and plunged into the crowd, kissing and courtesying +to all the girls she recognised. She was soon the gayest of the gay +among them. No one noticed Phoebe but Betty, and she gave her a kindly +nod in passing, and said, "Pray divert yourself." Phoebe's diversion +was to retire into a corner, and from her "loop-hole of retreat, to peep +at such a world." + +A very young world it was, whose oldest inhabitant at that moment was +under twenty-five. But the boys and girls--for they were little more-- +put on the most courtier-like and grown-up airs. The ladies sat round +the room, fluttering their fans, or laughing behind them: in some cases +gliding about with long trains sweeping the waxed oak floor. The +gentlemen stood before them, paying compliments, cracking jokes, and +uttering airy nothings. Both parties took occasional pinches of snuff. +For a few minutes the scene struck Phoebe as pretty and amusing; but +this impression was quickly followed by a sensation of sadness. A +number of rational and immortal beings were gathered together, and all +they could find to do was to look pretty and be amusing. Why, a bird, a +dog, or a monkey, could have done as much, and more. + +And a few words came into Phoebe's mind, practically denied by the mass +of mankind then as now, "Thou hast created all things, and _for Thy +pleasure_ they are." + +How apt man is to think that every creature and thing around him was +created for _his_ pleasure! or, at least, for his use and benefit. The +natural result is, that he considers himself at liberty to use them just +as he pleases, quite regardless of their feelings, especially when any +particular advantage may be expected to accrue to himself. + +But "the Lord hath made all things for Himself," and "He cometh to judge +the earth." + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT. + +RHODA IS TAKEN IN THE TRAP. + + "That busy hive, the world, + And all its thousand stings." + +Phoebe sat still for a while in her corner, watching the various members +of the party as they flitted in and out: for the scene was now becoming +diversified by the addition of elder persons. Ere long, two gentlemen +in evening costume, engaged in conversation, came and stood close by +her. One of them, as she soon discovered, was Sir Richard Delawarr. + +"'Tis really true, then," demanded the other--a round-faced man, with +brilliant eyes, who was attired as a dignitary of the Church--"'tis +really true, Sir, that the Queen did forbid the visit of the Elector?" + +"_I_ had it from an excellent hand, I assure you," returned Sir Richard. +"Nor only that, but the Princess Sophia so laid it to heart, that 'twas +the main cause of her sudden death." + +"It really was so?" + +"Upon honour, my Lord; my Lady Delawarr had it from Mrs Rosamond +Harley." + +"Ha! then 'tis like to be true. You heard, I doubt not, Sir, of +D'Urfey's jest on the Princess Sophia?--ha, ha, ha!" and the Bishop +laughed, as if the recollection amused him exceedingly. + +"No, I scarce think I did, my Lord." + +"Not? Ah, then, give me leave to tell it you. I hear it gave the Queen +extreme diversion. + + "`The crown is too weighty + For shoulders of eighty-- + She could not sustain such a trophy: + Her hand, too, already + Has grown so unsteady, + She can't hold a sceptre: + So Providence kept her + Away--poor old dowager Sophy!'" + +Sir Richard threw his head back, and indulged in unfeigned merriment. +Phoebe, in her corner, felt rather indignant. Why should the Princess +Sophia, or any other woman, be laughed at solely for growing old? + +"Capital good jest!" said the Baronet, his amusement over. "I heard +from a friend that I met at the Bath, that the Queen is looking vastly +well this summer--quite rid of her gout." + +"So do I hear," returned the Bishop. "What think you of the price set +on the Pretender's head?" + +Sir Richard whistled. + +"The Queen's own sole act, without any concurrence of her Ministers," +continued the Bishop. + +"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Sir Richard. "Five thousand, I was told?" + +"Five thousand. An excellent notion, I take it." + +"Well--I--don't--know!" slowly answered Sir Richard. "I cannot but feel +very doubtful of the mischievous consequence that may ensue. A price on +the head of the Prince of Wales! Sounds bad, my Lord--sounds bad! +Though, indeed, he be not truly the Queen's brother, yet 'tis unnatural +for his sister to set a price on his head." + +By which remark it will be seen that Sir Richard's intellect was not of +the first order. The intellect of Bishop Atterbury was: and a slightly +contemptuous smile played on his lips for a moment. + +"`The Prince of Wales!'" repeated he. "Surely, Sir, you have more wit +than to credit that baseless tale? Why not set a price on the +Pretender?" + +Be it known to the reader, though it was not to Sir Richard, that on +that very morning Bishop Atterbury had forwarded a long letter to the +Palace of Saint Germain, in which he addressed the aforesaid Pretender +as "your Majesty," and assured him of his entire devotion to his +interests. + +"Oh, come, I leave the whys and wherefores to yon gentlemen of the black +robe!" answered Sir Richard, laughing. "By the way, talking of prices, +have you heard the prodigious price Sir Nathaniel Fowler hath given for +his seat in the Commons? Six thousand pounds, 'pon my honour!" + +"Surely, Sir, you have been misinformed. Six thousand! 'Tis amazing." + +"Your Lordship may well say so. Why, I gave but eight hundred for mine. +By the way, there is another point I intended to acquaint you of, my +Lord. Did you hear, ever, that there should be a little ill-humour with +my Lord Oxford, on account of--you know?" + +"On account? Oh!" and the Bishop's right hand was elevated to his lips, +in the attitude of a person drinking. "Yes, yes. Well, I cannot say I +am entirely ignorant of that affair. Sir Jeremy's lady assured me she +knew, beyond contradiction, that my Lord Oxford once waited on her, +somewhat foxed." + +Of course, "she" was the Queen. But why a fox, usually as sober a beast +as others, should have been compelled to lend its name to the vocabulary +of intoxication, is not so apparent. + +"Absolutely drunk, I heard," responded Sir Richard; "and she was +prodigiously angered. Said to my Lady Masham, that if it were ever +repeated, she would take his stick from him that moment. Odd, if the +ministry were to fall for such a nothing as that." + +"Well, 'twas not altogether reverential to the sovereign," said the +Bishop; "and the Queen is extreme nice, you know." + +The threat of taking the stick from a minister was less figurative in +Queen Anne's days than now. The white wand of office was carried before +every Cabinet Minister, not only in his public life, but even in +private. + +At this point a third gentleman joined the others, and they moved away, +leaving Phoebe in her corner. + +Phoebe sat meditating, for nobody had spoken to her, when she felt a +soft gloved hand laid upon her arm. She turned, suddenly, to look up +into a face which she thought at first was the face of a stranger. +Then, in a moment, she knew Gatty Delawarr. + +The small-pox had changed her terribly--far more than her sister. No +one could think of setting her up for a beauty now. The soft, +peach-like complexion, which had been Gatty's best point, was replaced +by a sickly white, pitifully seamed with the scars of the dread disease. + +"You did not know me at first," said Gatty, quietly, as if stating a +fact, not making an inquiry. + +"I do now," answered Phoebe, returning Gatty's smile. + +"Well, you see the Lord made a way for me. But it is rather a rough +one, Phoebe." + +"I am afraid you must have suffered _very_ much, Mrs Gatty." + +"Won't you drop the Mistress? I would rather. Well, yes, I suffered, +Phoebe; but it was worse since than just then." + +Phoebe's face, not her tongue, said, "In what manner?" + +"'Tis not very pleasant, Phoebe, to have everybody bewailing you, and +telling all their neighbours how cruelly you are changed, but I could +have stood that. Nor is it delightful to have Molly for ever at one's +elbow, calling one Mrs Baboon, and my Lady Venus, and such like; but I +could have stood that, though I don't like it. But 'tis hard to be told +I have disappointed my mother's dearest hopes, and that she will never +take any more pleasure in me; that she would to Heaven I had died in my +cradle. That stings sometimes. Then, to know that if one makes the +least slip, it will be directly, `Oh, your saints are no better than +other folks!' Phoebe, I wish sometimes that I had not recovered." + +"Oh, but you must not do that, Mrs Gatty!--well, Gatty, then, as you +are so kind. The Lord wanted you for something, I suppose." + +"I wonder for what!" said Gatty. + +"Well, we can't tell yet, you see," replied Phoebe, simply. "I suppose +you will find out by and bye." + +"I wish I could find out," said Gatty, sighing. + +"I think He will show you, when He is ready," said Phoebe. "Father used +to say that it took a good deal longer to make a fine microscope than it +did to make a common chisel or hammer; and he thought it was the same +with us. I mean, you know, that if the Lord intends us to do very nice +work, He will be nice in getting us ready for it, and it may take a good +while. And father used to say that we seldom know what God is doing +with us while He does it, but only when He has finished." + +"Nice," at that time, had not the sense of pleasant, but only that of +delicately particular. + +"I am glad you have told me that, Phoebe. I wish your father had been +living now." + +"Oh!" very deep-drawn, from Phoebe, echoed the wish. + +"Phoebe, I want you to tell me where you get your patience?" + +"My patience!" repeated astonished Phoebe. + +"Yes; I think you are the most patient maid I know." + +"I can't tell you, I am sure!" answered Phoebe, in a rather puzzled +tone. "I didn't know I was patient. I don't think I have often asked +for that, specially. Very often, I ask God to give me what He sees I +need; and if that be as you say, I suppose He saw I wanted it, and gave +it me." + +The admiring look in Gatty's eyes was happily unintelligible to Phoebe. + +"Now then!" said Molly's not particularly welcome voice, close by them. +"Here's old Edmundson. Clasp your hands in ecstasy, Phoebe. Mum says +you and he have got to fall in love and marry one another; so make haste +about it. He's not an ill piece, only you'll find he won't get up +before noon unless you squirt water in his face. Now then, fall to, and +say some pretty things to one another!" + +Of course Molly had taken the most effectual way possible to prevent any +such occurrence. Phoebe did not dare to lift her eyes; and the chaplain +was, if possible, the shyer of the two, and had been dragged there +against his will by invincible Molly. Neither would have known what to +do, if Gatty had not kindly come to the rescue. + +"Pray sit down, Mr Edmundson," she said, in a quiet, natural way, as if +nothing had happened. "I thought I had seen you riding forth, half an +hour ago; I suppose it must have been some one else." + +"I--ah--yes--no, I have not been riding to-day," stammered the perturbed +divine. + +"Twas a very pleasant morning for a ride," said mediating Gatty. + +"Very pleasant, Madam," answered the chaplain. + +"Have you quite lost your catarrh, Mr Edmundson?" + +"Quite, I thank you, Madam." + +"I believe my mother wishes to talk with you of Jack Flint, Mr +Edmundson." + +"Yes, Madam?" + +"The lad hath been well spoken of to her for the under-gardener's boy's +place. I think she wished to have your opinion of him." + +"Yes, Madam." + +"Is the boy of a choleric disposition?" + +"Possibly, Madam." + +"But what think you, Mr Edmundson?" + +"Madam, I--ah--I cannot say, Madam." + +"I think I see Mr Lamb beckoning to you," observed Gatty, wishful to +relieve the poor _gauche_ chaplain from his uncomfortable position. + +"Madam, I thank you--ah--very much, Madam." And Mr Edmundson made a +dive into the throng, and disappeared behind a quantity of silk brocade +and Brussels lace. Phoebe ventured to steal a glance at him as he +departed. She found that the person to whom she had been so +unceremoniously handed over, alike by Madam, Lady Delawarr, and Molly, +was a thickset man of fifty years, partially bald, with small, +expressionless features. He was not more fascinating to look at than to +talk to, and Phoebe could only entertain a faint hope that his preaching +might be an improvement upon both looks and conversation. + +A little later in the evening, as Phoebe sat alone in her corner, +looking on, "I say!" came from behind her. Her heart fluttered, for the +voice was Molly's. + +"I say!" repeated Molly. "You look here. I'm not all bad, you know. I +didn't want old Edmundson to have you. And I knew the way to keep him +from it was to tell him he must. I think 'tis a burning shame to treat +a maid like that. They were all set on it--the old woman, and Mum, and +everybody. He's an old block of firewood. You're fit for something +better. I tease folks, but I'm not quite a black witch. Ta-ta. +_He'll_ not tease you now." + +And Molly disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared. There was no +opportunity for Phoebe to edge in a word. But, for once in her life, +she felt obliged to Molly. + +The next invader of Phoebe's peace was Lady Delawarr herself. She sat +down on an ottoman, fanned herself languidly, and hoped dear Mrs Rhoda +was enjoying herself. + +Phoebe innocently replied that she hoped so too. + +"'Twill be a pretty sight, all the young maids in white, to meet the +Queen at Berkeley," resumed Lady Delawarr. "There are fourteen going +from this house. My three daughters, of course, and Lady Diana--she is +to hand the nosegay--and Mrs Rhoda, and Mrs Kitty Mainwaring, and Mrs +Sophia Rich, and several more. Those that do not go must have some +little pleasure to engage them whilst the others are away. I thought +they might drink a dish of chocolate in yon little ivy-covered tower in +the park, and have the young gentlemen to wait on them and divert them. +The four gentlemen of the best families and fortunes will wait on the +gentlewomen to Berkeley: that is, Mr Otway, Mr Seymour, my nephew Mr +George Merton, and Mr Welles. I shall charge Mr Derwent yonder to +wait specially on you, Mrs Phoebe, while Mrs Rhoda is away." + +Phoebe perceived that she was not one of the fourteen favoured ones. A +little flutter of anxiety disturbed her anticipations. What would go on +with Rhoda and Mr Welles? + +Lady Delawarr sat for a few minutes, talking of nothing in particular, +and then rose and sailed away. It was evident that the main object of +her coming had been to give Phoebe a hint that she must not expect to +join the expedition to Berkeley. + +As Phoebe went upstairs that evening, feeling rather heavy-hearted, she +saw something gleam and fall, and discovered, on investigation, that a +tassel had dropped from Rhoda's purse, which that young lady had desired +her to carry up for her. She set to work to hunt for it, but for some +seconds in vain. She had almost given up the search in despair, when a +strange voice said behind her, "Le voici, Mademoiselle." + +Phoebe turned and faced her countrywoman--for so she considered her-- +with an exclamation of delight. + +"Ah! you speak French, Mademoiselle?" said the girl. "It is a pleasure, +a pleasure, to hear it!" + +"I am French," responded Phoebe, warmly. "My father was a Frenchman. +My name is Phoebe Latrobe: what is yours?" + +"Louise Dupret. I am Lady Delawarr's woman. I have been here two long, +long years; and nobody speaks French but Madame and Mesdemoiselles her +daughters. And Mademoiselle Marie will not, though she can. She will +talk to me in English, and laughs at me when I understand her not. Ah, +it is dreadful!" + +"From what part of France do you come?" + +"From the mountains of the Cevennes. And you?" + +"The same. Then you are of the religion?" + +This was the Huguenot form of inquiry whether a stranger belonged to +them. Louise's eyes lighted up. + +"We are daughters of the Church of the Desert," she said. "And we are +sisters in Jesus Christ." + +From that hour Phoebe was not quite friendless at Delawarr Court. It +was well for her: since the preparations for Berkeley absorbed Gatty, +and of Rhoda she saw nothing except during the processes of dressing and +undressing. Very elaborate processes they became, for Lady Delawarr +kept a private hair-dresser, who came round every morning to curl, friz, +puff, and powder each young lady in turn; and the unfortunate maiden who +kept him waiting an instant was relegated to the last, and certain to be +late for breakfast. Following in the footsteps of his superiors, he did +not notice Phoebe, nor count her as one of the group; but after the +meeting on the stairs, as soon as Lady Delawarr released her, Louise was +at hand with a beaming face, entreating permission to arrange +Mademoiselle, and she sent her downstairs looking very fresh and +stylish, almost enough to provoke the envy of Rhoda. + +"Ah, Mademoiselle!--if you were but a rich, rich lady, and I might be +your maid!" sighed Louise. "This is a dreary world; and a dreary +country, this England; and a dreary house, this Cour de la Warre! +Madame is--is--ah, well, she is my mistress, and it is not right to +chatter all one thinks. Still one cannot help thinking. Mademoiselle +Betti--if she were in my country, we should call her Elise, which is +pretty--it is ugly, Betti!--well, Mademoiselle Betti is very +good-natured--very, indeed; and Mademoiselle Henriette--ah, this droll +country! her name is Henriette, and they call her Gatti!--she is very +good, very good and pleasant Mademoiselle Henriette. And since she had +the small-pox she is nicer than before. It had spoiled her face to +beautify her heart. Ah, that poor demoiselle, how she suffers! +Perhaps, Mademoiselle, it is not right that I should tell you, even you; +but she suffers so much, this good demoiselle, and she is so patient! +But for Mademoiselle Marie--ah, there again the droll name, Molli!--does +not Mademoiselle think this a strange, very strange, country?" + +The great expedition was ready to set out at last. All the girls were +dressed exactly alike, in white, and all the gentlemen in blue turned up +with white. They were to travel in two coaches to Bristol, where all +were to sleep at the house of Mrs Merton, sister-in-law to Lady +Delawarr; the next day the bouquet was to be presented at Berkeley, and +on the third day they were to return. By way of chaperone, the +housekeeper at the Court was to travel with them to and from Bristol, +out Mrs Merton herself undertook to conduct them to Berkeley. + +Rhoda was in the highest spirits, and Phoebe saw her assisted into the +coach by Mr Marcus Welles with no little misgiving. Molly, as she +brushed past Phoebe, allowed the point of a steel scissors-sheath to +peep from her pocket for an instant, accompanying it with the mysterious +intimation--"You'll see!" + +"What will she see, Molly?" asked Lady Diana, who was close beside her. + +"How to use a pair of scissors," said Molly. "What's to be cut, Molly?" +Sophia Rich wished to know. + +"A dash!" said Molly, significantly. And away rolled the coaches +towards Bristol. Phoebe turned back into the house with a rather +desolate feeling. For three days everybody would be gone. Those who +were left behind were all strangers to her except Mr Edmundson, and she +wanted to get as far from him as she could. True, there was Louise; but +Louise could hardly be a companion for her, even had her work for Lady +Delawarr allowed it, for she was not her equal in education. The other +girls were engaged, as usual, in idle chatter, and fluttering of fans. +Lady Delawarr, passing through the room, saw Phoebe sitting rather +disconsolately in a corner. + +"Mrs Phoebe, my dear, come and help me to make things ready for +to-morrow," she said, good-naturedly; and Phoebe followed her very +willingly. + +The picnic was a success. The weather was beautiful, and the young +people in good temper--two important points. Lady Delawarr herself, in +the absence of her housekeeper, superintended the packing of the light +van which carried the provisions to the old tower. There was to be a +gipsy fire to boil the kettle, with three poles tied together over it, +from which the kettle was slung in the orthodox manner. Phoebe, who was +trying to make herself useful, stretched out her hand for the kettle, +when Lady Delawarr's voice said behind her, "My dear Mrs Phoebe, you +may be relieved of that task. Mr Osmund Derwent--Mrs Phoebe Latrobe. +Mrs Latrobe--Mr Derwent." + +There was one advantage, now lost, in this double introduction; if the +name were not distinctly heard in the first instance, it might be caught +in the second. + +Phoebe looked up, and saw a rather good-looking young man, whose good +looks, however, lay more in a pleasant expression than in any special +beauty of feature. A little shy, yet without being awkward; and a +little grave and silent, but not at all morose, he was one with whom +Phoebe felt readily at home. His shyness, which arose from diffidence, +not pride, wore off when the first strangeness was over. It was evident +that Lady Delawarr had given him, as she had said, a hint to wait on +Phoebe. + +The peculiarity of Lady Delawarr's conduct rather puzzled Phoebe. At +times she was particularly gracious, whilst at others she utterly +neglected her. Simple, unworldly Phoebe did not guess that while Rhoda +Peveril and Phoebe Latrobe were of no consequence in the eyes of her +hostess, the future possessor of White-Ladies was of very much. Lady +Delawarr never felt quite certain who that was to be. She expected it +to be Rhoda; yet at times the conviction smote her that, after all, +there was no certainty that it might not be Phoebe. Madam was +impulsive; she had already surprised people by taking up with Phoebe at +all; and Rhoda might displease her. In consequence of these +reflections, though Phoebe was generally left unnoticed, yet +occasionally Lady Delawarr warmed into affability, and cultivated the +girl who might, after all, come to be the heiress of Madam's untold +wealth. For Lady Delawarr's mind was essentially of the earth, earthy; +gold had for her a value far beyond goodness, and pleasantness of +disposition or purity of mind were not for a moment to be set in +comparison with a suite of pearls. + +Mr Derwent took upon himself the responsibility of the kettle, and +chatted pleasantly enough with Phoebe, to whom the other damsels were +only too glad to leave all trouble. He walked home with her, insisting +with playful persistence upon carrying her scarf and the little basket +which she had brought for wild flowers; talked to her about his mother +and sisters, his own future prospects as a younger son who must make his +way in the world for himself, and took pains to make himself generally +agreeable and interesting. Under his kindly notice Phoebe opened like a +flower to the sun. It was something new to her to find a sensible, +grown-up person who really seemed to take pleasure in talking with her-- +except Mrs Dorothy Jennings, and she and Phoebe were not on a level. +In conversation with Mrs Dorothy she felt herself being taught and +counselled; in conversation with Mr Derwent she was entertained and +gratified. + +Judging from his conduct, Mr Derwent was as much pleased with Phoebe as +she was with him. During the whole time she remained at Delawarr Court, +he constituted himself her cavalier. He was always at hand when she +wanted anything, at times supplying the need even before she had +discovered its existence. Phoebe tasted, for the first time in her +life, the flattering ease of being waited on, instead of waiting on +others; the delicate pleasure of being listened to, instead of snubbed +and disregarded; the intellectual treat of finding one who was willing +to exchange ideas with her, rather than only to impart ideas to her. +Was it any wonder if Osmund Derwent began to form a nucleus in her +thoughts, round which gathered a floating island of fair fancies and +golden visions, all the more beautiful because they were vague? + +And all the while, Phoebe never realised what was happening to her. She +let herself drift onwards in a pleasant dream, and never thought of +pausing to analyse her sensations. + +The absentees returned home in the afternoon of the third day. And +beyond the roll of the coaches, and the noise and bustle inseparable +from the arrival of eighteen persons, the first intimation of it which +was given in the drawing-room was caused by the entrance of Molly, who +swept into the room with tragi-comic dignity, and mounting a chair, +cleared her voice, and held forth, as if it had been a sceptre, a minute +bow of black gauze ribbon. + +"Ladies and gentlewomen!" said Molly with solemnity. "(The gentlemen +don't count.) Ladies and gentlewomen! I engaged myself, before leaving +the Court, to bring back to you in triumph a snip from the Queen's gown. +Behold it! (Never mind how I got it,--here it is.) Upon honour, as +sure as my name is Mary--('tisn't,--I was christened Maria)--but, as +sure as there is one rent and two spots of mud on this white gown which +decorates my charming person,--the places whereof are best known to +myself,--this bow of gauze, on which all your eyes are fixed,--now +there's a shame! Sophy Rich isn't looking a bit--this bow was on the +gown of Her Majesty Queen Anne yesterday morning! _Plaudite vobis_!" + +And down came Miss Molly. + +"If I might be excused, Mrs Maria," hesitatingly began Mr Edmundson, +who seemed almost afraid of the sound of his own voice, "_vobis_ is, as +I cannot but be sensible, not precisely the--ah--not quite the word-- +ah--" + +"You shut up, old Bandbox," said Molly, dropping her heroics. "None of +your business. Can't you but be sensible? First time you ever were!" + +"I ask your pardon, Mrs Maria. I trust, indeed,--ah--I am not--ah-- +insensible, to the many--ah--many things which--" + +The youthful company were convulsed with laughter. They were all aware +that Molly was intentionally talking at cross purposes with her pastor; +and that while he clung to the old signification of sensible, namely, to +be aware of, or sensitive to, a thing, she was using it in the new, now +universally accepted, sense of sagacious. The fun, of course, was +enhanced by the fact that poor Mr Edmundson was totally unacquainted +with the change of meaning. + +"I don't believe she cut it off a bit!" whispered Kitty Mainwaring. +"She gave a guinea to some orange-girl who was cousin to some other maid +in the Queen's laundry,--some stuff of that sort. Cut it off!--how +could she? Just tell me that." + +Before the last word was well out of Kitty's lips, Molly's small, bright +scissors were snapped within an inch of Kitty's nose. + +"Perhaps you would have the goodness to say that again, Mrs Catherine +Mainwaring!" observed that young person, in decidedly menacing tones. + +"Thank you, no, I don't care to do," replied Kitty, laughing, but +shrinking back from the scissors. + +"When I say I will do a thing, I will do it, Madam!" retorted Molly. + +"If you can, I suppose," said Kitty, defending herself from another +threatening snap. + +"Say I can't, at your peril!" + +And Molly and her scissors marched away in dudgeon. + +"You are very tired, I fear, Mrs Gatty," said Phoebe, when Gatty came +up to the room they shared, for the night. + +"Rather," answered Gatty, with a sad smile on her white face. + +But she did not tell Phoebe what had tired her. It was not the journey, +nor the ceremony, but her mother's greeting. + +"Why, Betty, you are quite blooming!" Lady Delawarr had said. "It hath +done you good, child. And Molly, too, as sprightly as ever! Child, did +you get touched?" + +"I did, Madam," answered Molly, with an extravagant courtesy. + +"Ah!" said her mother, in a tone of great satisfaction. "Then we need +apprehend no further trouble from the evil. I am extreme glad. O +Gatty! you poor, scarred, wretched creature! Really, had it not been +that the absence of one of my daughters would be remarked on, I vow I +wish you had not gone! 'Tis such a sight to show, that dreadful face of +yours. You will never give me any more comfort--that is certain." + +"Pos.!" echoed Molly, exactly in the same tone. + +"I would not mind, Gatty!" was Betty's kindly remark. + +"Thank you," said Gatty, meekly. "I wish I did not!" + +Gatty did not repeat this to Phoebe. But Phoebe saw there was something +wrong. + +Rhoda came rustling in before much more could be said. She was full of +details of the journey. What the Queen looked like,--a tall, stout +woman, with such blooming cheeks that Rhoda felt absolutely certain she +wore rouge,--how she was dressed,--all in black, with a black calash, or +high, loose hood, and adorned with diamonds--how she had been +received,--with ringing cheers from the Tory part of the population, but +ominous silence, or very faint applause, from such as were known to be +Whigs: how Sophia Rich had told Rhoda that all the Whig ladies of mark +had made up their minds to attend no drawing-rooms the next season: how +it was beginning to be dimly suspected that Lord Mar was coquetting with +the exiled members of the royal family, and more than suspected that the +Duke and Duchess of Marlborough were no longer all powerful with Queen +Anne, as they had once been: how the Queen always dined at three p.m., +never drank French wine, held drawing-rooms on Sundays after service, +would not allow any gentleman to enter her presence without a +full-bottomed periwig: all these bits of information Rhoda dilated on, +passing from one to another with little regard to method, and wound up +with an account of the presentation of the bouquet, and how the Queen +had received it from Lady Diana with a smile, and, "I thank you all, +young gentlewomen," in that silver voice which was Anne's pre-eminent +charm. + +But half an hour later, when Gatty was asleep, Rhoda said to Phoebe,-- + +"I have made up my mind, Phoebe." + +"Have you?" responded Phoebe. "What about?" + +"I mean to marry Marcus Welles." + +"Has he asked you?" said Phoebe, rather drily. + +"Yes," was Rhoda's short answer. + +Phoebe lay silent. + +"Well?" said Rhoda, rather sharply. + +"I think, Cousin, I had better be quiet," answered Phoebe; "for I am +afraid I can't say what you want me." + +"What I want you!" echoed Rhoda, more sharply than ever. "What do I +want you to say, Mrs Prude, if you please?" + +"Well, I suppose you would like me to say I was glad: and I am not: so I +can't." + +"I don't suppose it signifies to us whether you are glad or sorry," +snapped Rhoda. "But why aren't you glad?--you never thought he'd marry +you, surely?" + +Phoebe said "No" with a little laugh, as she thought how very far she +was from any such expectation, and how very much farther from any wish +for it. But Rhoda was not satisfied. + +"Well, then, what's the matter?" said she. + +"Do you want me to say, Cousin?" + +"Of course I do! Should I have asked you if I didn't?" + +"I am afraid he does not love you." + +Rhoda sat up on her elbow, with an ejaculation of amazement. + +"If I ever heard such nonsense? What do you know about it, you poor +little white-faced thing?" + +"I dare say I don't know much about it," said Phoebe, calmly; "but I +know that if a man really loves one woman with all his heart, he won't +laugh and whisper and play with the fan of another, or else he is not +worth anybody's love. And I am afraid what Mr Welles wants is just +your money and not you. I beg your pardon, Cousin Rhoda." + +It was time. Rhoda was in a towering passion. What could Phoebe mean, +she demanded with terrible emphasis, by telling such lies as those? Did +she suppose that Rhoda was going to believe them? Did Phoebe know what +the Bible said about speaking ill of your neighbour? Wasn't she +completely ashamed of herself? + +"And I'll tell you what, Phoebe Latrobe," concluded Rhoda, "I don't +believe it, and I won't! I'm not going to believe it,--not if you go +down on your knees and swear it! 'Tis all silly, wicked, abominable +nonsense!--and you know it!" + +"Well, if you won't believe it, there's an end," said Phoebe, quietly. +"And I think, if you please, Cousin, we had better go to sleep." + +"Pugh! Sleep if you can, you false-hearted crocodile!" said Rhoda, +poetically, in distant imitation of the flowers of rhetoric of her +friend Molly. "I shan't sleep to-night. Not likely!" + +Yet Rhoda was asleep the first. + + + +CHAPTER NINE. + +SOMETHING ALTERS EVERYTHING. + + "To-night we sit together here, + To-morrow night shall come--ah, where?" + + _Robert Lord Lytton_. + +"There! Didn't I tell you, now?" ejaculated Mrs Jane Talbot. + +"I am sure I don't know, Jane," responded her sister, in querulous +tones. "You are always talking about something. I never can tell how +you manage to keep continually talking, in the way you do. I could not +bear it. I never was a talker; I haven't breath for it, with my poor +chest,--such a perpetual rattle,--I don't know how you stand it, I'm +sure. And to think what a beautiful singer I was once! Young Sir +Samuel Dennis once said I entranced him, when he had heard my singing to +Mrs Lucy's spinnet--positively entranced him! And Lord James +Morehurst--" + +"An unmitigated donkey!" slid in Mrs Jane. + +"Jane, how you do talk! One can't get in a word for you. What was I +saying, Clarissa?" + +"You were speaking of Lord James Morehurst, dear Marcella. 'Tis all +very well for Jane to run him down," said Mrs Vane in a languishing +style, fanning herself as she spoke, "but I am sure he was the most +charming black man I ever saw. He once paid me such a compliment on my +fine eyes!" + +"More jackanapes he!" came from Mrs Jane. + +"Well, I don't believe he ever paid you such an one," said Mrs +Clarissa, pettishly. + +"He'd have got his ears boxed if he had," returned Mrs Jane. "The +impudence of some of those fellows!" + +"Poor dear Jane! she never had any taste," sighed Mrs Marcella. "I +protest, Clarissa, I am quite pleased to hear this news. As much +pleased, you know, as a poor suffering creature like me can be. But I +think Mrs Rhoda has done extreme well. Mr Welles is of a good stock +and an easy fortune, and he has the sweetest taste in dress." + +"Birds of a feather!" muttered Mrs Jane. "Ay, I knew what Mark-Me-Well +was after. Told you so from the first. I marked him, be sure." + +"I suppose he has three thousand a year?" inquired Mrs Clarissa. + +"Guineas--very like. Not brains--trust me!" said Mrs Jane. + +"And an estate?" pursued Mrs Clarissa, with languid interest. + +"Oh dear, yes!" chimed in the invalid; "I would have told you about it, +if Jane could ever hold her tongue. Such a--" + +"I've done," observed Mrs Jane, marching off. + +"Oh, my dear Clarissa, you can have no conception of what I suffer!" +resumed Mrs Marcella, sinking down to a confidential tone. "I love +quiet above all things, and Jane's tongue is never still. Ah! if I +could go to the wedding, as I used to do! I was at all the grand +weddings in the county when I was a young maid. I couldn't tell you how +many times I was bridesmaid. When Sir Samuel was married--and really, +after all the fine things he had said, and the way he used to ogle me +through his glass, I _did_ think!--but, however, that's neither here nor +there. The creature he married had plenty of money, but absolutely no +complexion, and she painted--oh, how she did paint! and a turn-up +nose,--the ugliest thing you ever saw. And with all that, the airs she +used to give herself! It really was disgusting." + +"O, my dear! I can't bear people that give themselves airs," observed +Mrs Clarissa, with a toss of her head, and "grounding" her fan. + +"No, nor I," echoed Mrs Marcella, quite as unconscious as her friend of +the covert satire in her words. "I wonder what Mrs Rhoda will be +married in. I always used to say I would be married in white and +silver. And really, if my wretched health had not stood in the way, I +might have been, my dear, ever so many times. I am sure it would have +come to something, that evening when Lord James and I were sitting in +the balcony, after I had been singing,--and there, that stupid Jane must +needs come in the way! I always liked a pretty wedding. I should think +it would be white and silver. And what do you suppose Madam will give +her?" + +"Oh, a set of pearls, I should say, if not diamonds," answered Mrs +Clarissa. + +"She will do something handsome, of course." + +"Suppose you do something handsome, and swallow your medicine without a +lozenge," suggested Mrs Jane, walking in and presenting a glass to her +sister. "'Tis time." + +"I am sure it can't be, Jane! You are always making me swallow some +nasty stuff. And as to taking it without a lozenge, I couldn't do such +a thing!" + +"Stuff! You could, if you did," said Mrs Jane. "Come, then,--here it +is. I shouldn't want one." + +"Oh, you!--you have not my fine feelings!" responded Mrs Marcella, +sitting with the glass in her hand, and looking askance at its +reddish-brown contents. + +"Come, sup it up, and get it over," said her sister. "O Jane!--you +unfeeling creature!" + +"'Twill be no better five minutes hence, I'm sure." + +"You see what I suffer, Clarissa!" wailed Mrs Marcella, gulping down +the medicine, and pulling a terrible face. "Jane has no feeling for me. +She never had. I am a poor despised creature whom nobody cares for. +Well, I suppose I must bear it. 'Tis my fate. But what I ever did to +be afflicted in this way! Oh, the world's a hard place, and life's a +very, very dreary thing. Oh dear, dear!" + +Phoebe Latrobe, who had been sent by Madam to tell the news at the +Maidens' Lodge, sat quietly listening in a corner. But when Mrs +Marcella began thus to play her favourite tune, Phoebe rose and took her +leave. She called on Lady Betty, who expressed her gratification in the +style of measured propriety which characterised her. Lastly, with a +slow and rather tired step, she entered the gate of Number One. She had +left her friend Mrs Dorothy to the last. + +"Just in time for a dish of tea, child!" said little Mrs Dorothy, with +a beaming smile. "Sit you down, my dear, and take off your hood, and I +will have the kettle boiling in another minute. Well, and how have you +enjoyed your visit? You look tired, child." + +"Yes, I feel tired," answered Phoebe. "I scarce know how I enjoyed the +visit, Mrs Dorothy--there were things I liked, and there were things I +didn't like." + +"That is generally the case, my dear." + +"Yes," said Phoebe, abstractedly. "Mrs Dorothy, did you know Mrs +Marcella Talbot when she was young?" + +"A little, my dear. Not so well as I know her now." + +"Was she always as discontented as she is now?" + +"That is a spirit that grows on us, Phoebe," said Mrs Dorothy, gravely. + +Phoebe blushed. "I know you think I have it," she replied. "But I +should not wish to be like Mrs Marcella." + +"I think thy temptation lies that way, dear child. But thy disposition +is not so light and frivolous as hers. However, we will not talk of our +neighbours without we praise them." + +"Mrs Dorothy, Rhoda has engaged herself to Mr Marcus Welles. Madam +sent me down to tell all of you." + +"She has, has she?" responded Mrs Dorothy, as if it were quite what she +expected. "Well, I trust it may be for her good." + +"Aren't you sorry, Mrs Dorothy?" + +"Scarce, my dear. We hardly know what are the right things to grieve +over. You and I might have thought it a very mournful thing when the +prodigal son was sent into the field to feed swine: yet--speaking after +the manner of men--if that had not happened, he would not have arisen +and have gone to his father." + +"Do you think Rhoda will have to go through trouble before she can find +peace, Mrs Dorothy?" + +"`Before she can--' I don't know, my dear. Before she will--I am +afraid, yes." + +"I am so sorry," said Phoebe. + +"Dear child, the last thing the prodigal will do is to arise and go to +the Father. He will try every sort of swine's husks first. He doth not +value the delicates of the Father's house--he hath no taste for them. +The husks are better, to his palate. What wonder, then, if he tarry yet +in the far country?" + +"But how are you to get him to change his taste, Mrs Dorothy?" + +"Neither you nor he can do that, my dear. Most times, either the husks +run short, or he gets cloyed with them. That is, if he ever go back to +the Father. For some never do, Phoebe--they stay on in the far country, +and find the husks sweet to the end." + +"That must be saddest of all," said Phoebe, sorrowfully. + +"It is saddest of all. Ah, child!--thank thy Father, if He have made +thy husks taste bitter." + +"But all things are not husks, Mrs Dorothy!" + +"Certainly not, my dear. Delight in the Lord's works in nature, or in +the pleasures of the intellect such things as these are right enough in +their place, Phoebe. The danger is of putting them into God's place." + +"Mrs Dolly," asked Phoebe, gravely, "do you think that when we care +very much for a person or a thing, we put it into God's place?" + +"If you care more for it than you do for Him. Not otherwise." + +"How is one to know that?" + +"Ask your own heart how you would feel if God demanded it from you." + +"How ought I to feel?" + +"Sorry, perhaps; but not resentful. Not as though the Lord had no right +to ask this at your hands. Grief is allowed; 'tis murmuring that +displeases Him." + +When Mrs Dorothy said this, Phoebe felt conscious of a dim conviction, +buried somewhere very deep down, that there was something which she +hoped God would not demand from her. She did not know herself what it +was. It was not exactly that she would refuse to give it up; but rather +that she hoped she would never be called upon to do it--that if she were +it would be a very hard thing to do. + +Phoebe left the Maidens' Lodge, and walked slowly across the Park to +White-Ladies. She was feeling for the unknown cause of this sentiment +of vague soreness at her heart. She had not found it, when a voice +broke in upon her meditations. + +"Mrs Latrobe?" + +Phoebe came to a sudden stop, and with her heart heating wildly, looked +up into the face of Osmund Derwent. + +"I am too happy to have met with you," said he. "I was on my way to +White-Ladies. May I presume to ask your good offices, Mrs Phoebe, to +favour me so far as to present me to Madam Furnival!" + +Phoebe courtesied her assent. + +"Mrs Rhoda, I trust, is well?" + +"She is very well, I thank you." + +"I am rejoiced to hear it. You will not, I apprehend, Mrs Phoebe, +suffer any surprise, if I tell you of my hopes with regard to Mrs +Rhoda. You must, surely, have seen, when at Delawarr Court, what was my +ambition. Think you there is any chance for me with Madam Furnival?" + +It was well for Osmund Derwent that he had not the faintest idea of what +was going on beneath the still, white face of the girl who walked beside +him so quietly. She understood now. She knew, revealed as by a flash +of lightning, what it was which it would be hard work to resign at God's +call. + +It was Rhoda for whom he cared--not Phoebe. Phoebe was interesting to +him, simply as being in his mind associated with Rhoda. And Rhoda did +not want him: and Phoebe had to tell him so. + +So she told him. "I am sure Madam would receive you with a welcome," +she said. "But as for Mrs Rhoda, 'tis best you should know she stands +promised already." + +Mr Derwent thought Phoebe particularly unsympathising. People often do +think so of those whose "hands are clasped above a hidden pain," and who +have to speak with forced calmness, as the only way in which they dare +speak at all. He felt a little hurt; he had thought Phoebe so friendly +at Delawarr Court. + +"To whom?" he asked, almost angrily. + +"Mr Marcus Welles." + +"That painted fop!" cried Derwent. + +Phoebe was silent. + +"You really mean that? She is positively promised to him?" + +"She is promised to him." + +Phoebe spoke in a dull, low, dreamy tone. She felt as though she were +in a dream: all these events which were passing around her never could +be real. She heard Osmund Derwent's bitter comments, as though she +heard them not. She was conscious of only one wish for the future--to +be left alone with God. + +Osmund Derwent was extremely disappointed in Phoebe. He had expected +much more sympathy and consideration from her. He said to himself, in +the moments which he could spare from the main subject, that Phoebe did +not understand him, and did not feel for him in the least. She had +never loved anybody--that was plain! + +And meantime, simply to bear and wait, until he chose to leave her, +taxed all Phoebe's powers to her uttermost. + +She was left alone at last. But instead of going back to the house, +where she had no certainty of privacy, Phoebe plunged into the shade of +a clump of cedars and cypresses, and sat down at the foot of one of +them. + +It was a lovely, cloudless day. Through the bright feathery green of a +Syrian cypress she looked up into the clear blue sky above. Her love +for Osmund Derwent--for she gave it the right name now--was a hopeless +thing. His heart was gone from her beyond recall. + +"But Thou remainest!" + +The words flashed on her, accompanied by the well-remembered tones of +her father's voice. She recollected that they had formed the text of +the last sermon he had preached. She heard him say again, as he had +said to her on his death-bed, "Dear little Phoebe, remember always, +there is no way out of any sin or sorrow except Christ." The tears came +now. There was relief and healing in them. + +"But Thou remainest!" + +"Can I suffice for Heaven, and not for earth?" + +Phoebe's face showed no sign, when she reached home, of the tempest +which had swept over her heart. + +"Phoebe, I desire you would wait a moment," said Madam that evening +after prayers, when Phoebe, candle in hand, was about to follow Rhoda. + +"Yes, Madam." Phoebe put down the candle, and stood waiting. + +Madam did not continue till the last of the servants had left the room. +Then she said, "Child, I have writ a letter to your mother." + +"I thank you, Madam," replied Phoebe. + +"And I have sent her ten guineas." + +"I thank you very much, Madam." + +"I will not disguise from you, my dear, that I cannot but be sensible of +the propriety and discretion of your conduct since you came. I think +myself obliged to tell you, child, that 'tis on your account I have done +so much as this." + +"I am sure, Madam, I am infinitely grateful to you." + +"And now for another matter. Child, I wish to know your opinion of Mr +Edmundson." + +"If you please, Madam, I did not like him," said Phoebe, honestly; "nor +I think he did not me." + +"That would not much matter, my dear," observed Madam, referring to the +last clause. "But 'tis a pity you do not like him, for while I would be +sorry to force your inclinations, yet you cannot hope to do better." + +"If you would allow me to say so, Madam," answered Phoebe, modestly, yet +decidedly, "I cannot but think I should do better to be as I am." + +Madam shook her head, but did not answer in words. She occupied herself +for a little while in settling her mittens to her satisfaction, though +she was just going to pull them off. Then she said, "'Tis pity. Well! +go to bed, child; we must talk more of it to-morrow. Bid Betty come to +me at once, as you pass; I am drowsy to-night." + +"I say, Fib," said Rhoda, who had adopted (from Molly) this not very +complimentary diminutive for her cousin's name, but only used it when +she was in a good humour--"I say, Fib, what did Madam want of you?" + +"To know what I thought of Mr Edmundson." + +"What fun! Well, what did you?" + +"Why, I hoped his sermons would be better than himself: and they +weren't." + +"Did you tell Madam that?" inquired Rhoda, convulsed with laughter. + +"No, not exactly that; I said--" + +"O Fib, I wish you had! She thinks it tip-top impertinence in any woman +to presume to have an opinion about a sermon. My word! wouldn't you +have caught it!" + +"Well, I simply told her the truth," replied Phoebe; "that I didn't like +him, and I didn't think he liked me." + +Rhoda went off into another convulsion. + +"O Fib, you are good--nobody better! What did she say to that?" + +"She said his not fancying me wouldn't signify. But I think it would +signify a good deal to me, if I had to be his wife." + +"Well, she wouldn't think so, not a bit," said Rhoda, still laughing. +"She'd just be thunderstruck if Mr Edmundson, or anybody else in his +place, refused the honour of marrying anybody related to her. Shouldn't +I like to see him do it! It would take her down a peg, I reckon." + +This last elegant expression was caught from Molly. + +"Well, I am sure I would rather be refused than taken unwillingly." + +"Where did you get your notions. Fib? They are not the mode at all. +You were born on the wrong side of fifty, I do think." + +"Which is the wrong side of fifty?" suggestively asked Phoebe. + +"I wish you wouldn't murder me with laughing," said Rhoda. "Look here +now: what shall I be married in?" + +"White and silver, Mrs Marcella said, this morning." + +("This morning!" Phoebe's words came back no her. Was it only this +morning?) + +"Thank you! nothing so insipid for me. I think I'll have pink and +dove-colour. What do you say?" + +"I don't think I would have pink," said Phoebe, mentally comparing that +colour with Rhoda's red and white complexion. "Blue would suit you +better." + +"Well, blue does become me," answered Rhoda, contemplating herself in +the glass. "But then, would blue and dove-colour do? I think it should +be blue and cold. Or blue and silver? What do you think, Phoebe? I +say!"--and suddenly Rhoda turned round and faced Phoebe--"what does +Madam mean by having Mr Dawson here? Betty says he was here twice +while we were visiting, and he is coming again to-morrow. What can it +mean? Is she altering her will, do you suppose?" + +"I am sure I don't know, Cousin," said Phoebe. + +"I shouldn't wonder if she is. I dare say she'll leave you one or two +hundred pounds," said Rhoda, with extreme benignity. "Really, I wish +she would. You're a good little thing, Fib, for all your whims." + +"Thank you, Cousin," said Phoebe, meekly. + +And the cousins went to sleep with amiable feelings towards each other. + +The dawn was just creeping over the earth when something awoke Phoebe. +Something like the faint tingle of a bell seemed to linger in her ears. + +"Rhoda!--did you hear that?" she asked. + +"Hear what?" demanded Rhoda, in a very sleepy voice. + +"I fancied I heard a bell," said Phoebe, trying to listen. + +"Oh, nonsense!" answered Rhoda, rather more awake. "Go to sleep. +You've been dreaming." + +And Phoebe, accepting the solution, took the advice. She was scarcely +asleep again, as it seemed to her, when the door was softly opened, and +Betty came in. + +"Mrs Rhoda, my dear, you'd better get up." + +"What time is it?" sleepily murmured Rhoda. + +"You'd better get up," repeated Betty. "Never mind the time." + +"Betty, is there something the matter?" + +Betty ignored Phoebe's question. + +"Come, my dear, jump up!" she said, still addressing Rhoda. "You'll be +wanted by-and-bye." + +"Who wants me?" inquired Rhoda, making no effort to rise. + +"Well, Mr Dawson, the lawyer, is coming presently, and you'll have to +see him." + +"I!" Rhoda's eyes opened pretty wide. "Why should I see him? 'Tis +Madam wants him, not me." + +To the astonishment of both the girls, Betty burst out crying. + +"Betty, I am sure something has happened," said Phoebe, springing up. +"What is the matter?" + +"O, my dear, Madam's gone!" sobbed Betty. "Poor dear gentlewoman! +She'll never see anybody again. Mrs Rhoda, she's died in the night." + +There was a moment of silent horror, as the eyes of the cousins met. +Then Phoebe said under her breath-- + +"That bell!" + +"Yes, poor dear Madam, she rang her bell," said Betty; "but she could +not speak when I got to her. I don't think she was above ten minutes +after. I've sent off sharp for Dr Saunders, and Mr Dawson too; but +'tis too late--eh, poor dear gentlewoman!" + +"Did you send for Mr Leighton?" asked Rhoda, in an awe-struck voice. + +"Oh dear, yes, I sent for him too; but la! what can he do?" answered +Betty, wiping her eyes. + +They all came in due order: Dr Saunders to pronounce that Madam had +been dead three hours--"of a cardial malady," said he, in a +professionally mysterious manner; Mr Leighton, the Vicar of Tewkesbury, +to murmur a few platitudes about the virtues and charity to the poor +which had distinguished the deceased lady, and to express his firm +conviction that so exalted a character would be at once enrolled among +the angelic host, even though she had not been so happy as to receive +the Holy Sacrament. Mr Dawson came last, and his concern appeared to +be awakened rather for the living than the dead. + +"Sad business this!" said he, as he entered the parlour, where the +cousins sat, close together, drawn to one another by the fellowship of +suffering, in a manner they had never been before. "Sad business! Was +to have seen me to-day--important matter. Humph!" + +The girls looked at him, but neither spoke. + +"Do you know," he pursued, apparently addressing himself to both, "how +your grandmother had arranged her affairs?" + +"No," said Rhoda and Phoebe together. + +"Humph! Pity! Been a good deal better for you, my dear young +gentlewoman, if she had lived another four-and-twenty hours." + +Neither said "Which?" for both thought they knew. + +"Poor Phoebe!" said Rhoda, pressing her hand. "But never mind, dear; +I'll give it you, just right, what she meant you to have. We'll see +about it before I'm married. Oh dear!--that will have to be put off, I +suppose." + +"You are going to be married?" asked the lawyer. + +"Yes," said Rhoda, bridling. + +"Humph!--good thing for you." + +Mr Dawson marched to the window, with his hands in his pockets, and +stood there softly whistling for some seconds. + +"Got any money?" he abruptly inquired. + +"I? No," said Rhoda. + +"No, no; your intended." + +"Oh! Yes--three thousand a year." + +"Humph!" Mr Dawson whistled again. Then, making as if he meant to +leave the room, he suddenly brought up before Phoebe. + +"Are _you_ going to be married?" + +"No, Sir," said Phoebe, blushing. + +"Humph!" ejaculated the lawyer, once again. + +Silence followed for a few seconds. + +"Funeral on Sunday, I suppose? Read the will on Monday morning--eh?" + +"Yes, if you please," said Rhoda, who was very much subdued. + +"Good. Well!--good morning! Poor girl!" The last words were in an +undertone. + +"I am so sorry for it, Phoebe, dear," said Rhoda, who was always at her +best under the pressure of trial. "But never you mind--you shall have +it. I'll make it up to you." + +Rhoda now naturally assumed the responsibility of mistress, and gave +orders that no visitor should be admitted excepting the Vicar and Mr +Welles. The evening brought the latter gentleman, who had apparently +spent the interval in arraying himself in faultless mourning. + +"I am so grieved, my charmer!" exclaimed Mr Marcus Welles, dropping on +one knee, and lifting Rhoda's hand to his lips. "Words cannot paint my +distress on hearing of your sorrow. Had I been a bird, I would have +flown to offer you consolation. Pray do not dim your bright eyes, my +fair. 'Tis but what happens to all, and specially in old age. Old +folks must die, you know, dearest Madam; and, after all, did they not, +young folks would find them very often troublesome. But you have now no +one over you, and you see your slave at your feet." + +And with a most unexceptionable bow, Mr Marcus gently possessed himself +of Rhoda's fan, wherewith he began fanning her in the most approved +manner. It occurred to Phoebe that if the gentleman's grief had been +really genuine, it was doubtful whether his periods would have been +quite so polished. Rhoda's sorrow, while it might prove evanescent, was +honest while it lasted: and had been much increased by the extreme +suddenness of the calamity. + +"I thank you, Sir," she said quietly. "And I am sure you will be +grieved to hear that my grandmother died just too soon to make that +provision she intended for my cousin. So the lawyer has told us this +morning. You will not, I cannot but think, oppose my wish to give her +what it was meant that she should have." + +"Dearest Madam!" and Mr Welles' hand went to his heart, "you cannot +have so little confidence in me as to account it possible that I could +oppose any wish of yours!" + +Engaged persons did not, at that time, call each other by the Christian +name. It would have been considered indecorous. + +"I was sure, Sir, you would say no less," answered Rhoda. + + + +CHAPTER TEN. + +MR. WELLES DOES IT BEAUTIFULLY. + + "Thy virtues lost, thou would'st not look + Me in thy chains to hold? + Know, friend, thou verily hast lost + Thy chiefest virtue--gold." + +Nine o'clock on the Monday morning was the hour appointed for reading +Madam's will. When Rhoda and Phoebe, in their deep mourning, entered +the parlour, they were startled to find the number of persons already +assembled. Not only all the household and outdoor servants, but all the +inmates of the Maidens' Lodge, excepting Mrs Marcella, and several +others, stood up to receive the young ladies as they passed on to the +place reserved for them. + +Mr Dawson handed the girls to their places, and then seated himself at +the table, and proceeded to unfold a large parchment. + +"It will be well that I should remark," said he, looking up over his +spectacles, "that the late Madam Furnival had intended, at the time of +her death, to execute a fresh will. I am sorry to say it was not +signed. This, therefore, is her last will, as duly executed. It bears +date the fourteenth of November, in the year 1691--" + +An ejaculation of dismay, though under her breath, came from Rhoda, the +lawyer went on:-- + +"--When Mrs Catherine Peveril, mother of Mrs Rhoda here, was just +married, and before the marriage of Mrs Anne Furnival, mother to Mrs +Phoebe Latrobe, who is also present. The intended will would have made +provision for both of these young gentlewomen, grand-daughters to Madam +Furnival. By the provisions of the present one, one of them is +worsened, and the other bettered." + +Rhoda's alarm was over. The last sentence reassured her. + +Mr Dawson cleared his voice, and began to read. The will commenced +with the preamble then usual, in which the testatrix declared her +religious views as a member of the Church of England; and went on to +state that she wished to be buried with her ancestors, in the family +vault, in the nave of Tewkesbury Abbey. One hundred pounds was +bequeathed to the Vicar of Tewkesbury, for the time being; twenty pounds +and a suit of mourning to every servant who should have been in her +employ for five years at the date of her death; six months' wages to +those who should have been with her for a shorter time; a piece of black +satin sufficient to make a gown, mantua, and hood, and forty pounds in +money, to each inmate of the Maidens' Lodge. Mourning rings were left +to the Maidens, the Vicar. Dr Saunders, Mr Dawson, and several +friends mentioned by name, of whom Sir Richard Delawarr was one. Then +the testatrix gave, devised, and bequeathed to her "dear daughter +Catherine, wife of Francis Peveril, Esquire, with remainder to the heirs +of her body, the sum of two thousand pounds of lawful money." + +Rhoda's face grew eager, as she listened for the next sentence. + +"Lastly, I give, devise, and bequeath the Abbey of Cressingham, commonly +called White-Ladies, and all other my real and personal estate +whatsoever, not hereinbefore excepted, to my dear daughter Anne +Furnival, her heirs, assigns, administrators, and executors for ever." + +The effect was crushing. That one sentence had changed everything. Not +Rhoda, but Phoebe, was the heiress of White-Ladies. + +Mr Dawson calmly finished reading the signatures and attestation +clause, and then folded up the will, and once more looked over his +spectacles. + +"Mrs Phoebe, as your mother's representative, give me leave to wish you +joy. Shall you wish to write to her? I must, of course. The letters +could go together." + +Phoebe looked up, half-bewildered. + +"I scarcely understand," she said. "There is something left to Mother, +is there not?" + +"My dear young gentlewoman, there is everything left to her. She is the +lady of the manor." + +"Just what is there for Rhoda?" gasped Phoebe, apparently not at all +elated by her change of position. + +"A poor, beggarly two thousand pounds!" burst out Rhoda. "'Tis a shame! +And I always thought I was to have White-Ladies! I shall just be +nobody now! Nobody will respect me, and I can never cut any figure. +Well! I'm glad I am engaged to be married. That's safe, at any rate." + +The elevation of Mr Dawson's eyebrows, and the pursing of his lips, +might have implied a query on that score. + +"I'm so sorry, dear!" said Phoebe, gently. "For you, of course, I mean. +I could not be sorry that there was something for Mother, because she +is not well off; but I am very sorry you are disappointed." + +"You can't help it!" was Rhoda's rather repelling answer. Still, +through all her anger, she remembered to be just. + +"Certainly not, my dear Mrs Phoebe," said the lawyer. "'Tis nobody's +fault--not even Madam Furnival's, for the new will would have given +White-Ladies to Mrs Rhoda, and five thousand pounds to Mrs Anne +Latrobe. Undoubtedly she intended, Mrs Rhoda, you should have it." + +"Then why can't I?" demanded Rhoda, fiercely. + +Mr Dawson shook his head, with a pitying smile. "The law knows nothing +of intentions," said he: "only of deeds fully performed. Still, it may +be a comfort in your disappointment, to remember that this was meant for +you." + +"Thank you for your comfort!" said Rhoda, bitterly. "Why, it makes it +all the worse." + +"I wish--" but Phoebe stopped short. + +"Oh, I don't blame you," said Rhoda, impetuously. "'Tis no fault of +yours. If she'd done it now, lately, I might have thought so. But a +will that was made before either you or me was born--" Rhoda's grammar +always suffered from her excitement--"can't be your fault, nor anybody +else's. But 'tis a shame, for all that. She'd no business to let me go +on all these years, expecting to have everything, and knew all the while +her will wasn't right made. 'Tis too bad! My Lady Betty!--Mrs +Dorothy!--don't you think so?" + +"My dear," said Lady Betty, "I am indeed grieved for your +disappointment. But there is decorum, my dear Mrs Rhoda--there is +decorum!" + +"No, my dear," was Mrs Dorothy's answer. "I dare not call anything bad +that the Lord doth. Had it been His will you should have White-Ladies, +be sure you would have had it." + +"Well, you know," said Rhoda, in a subdued tone, and folding one of her +black gauze ribbons into minute plaits, "of course, one can't complain +of God." + +"Ah, child!" sighed Mrs Dorothy, "I wish one could not!" + +"O my dear Mrs Rhoda, I feel for you so dreadfully!" accompanied the +tragically clasped hands of Mrs Clarissa. "My feelings are so keen, +and run away with me so--" + +"Then let 'em!" said Mrs Jane Talbot's voice behind. "Mine won't. My +dears, I'm sorry you've lost Madam. But as to the money and that, I'll +wait ten years, and then I'll tell you which I'm sorry for." + +"Well, I'm sorry for both of you," added Mrs Eleanor Darcy. "I don't +think, Mrs Phoebe, my dear, you'll lie on roses." + +No one was more certain of that than Phoebe herself. + +She wrote a few lines to her mother, which went inside Mr Dawson's +letter. Mrs Latrobe was in service near Reading. Her daughter felt +sure that she would lose no time in taking possession. The event proved +that she was right. The special messenger whom Mr Dawson sent with the +letters returned with an answer to each. Phoebe's mother wrote to her +thus:-- + + "Child,--Mr Dawson hath advertized me of the deth of Madam Furnivall, + my mother. I would have you, on rect of this, to lett your cousen + know that shee need not lieve the house afore I come, wich will be as + soon as euer I can winde all upp and bee wth you. I would like to + make aquaintance wth her ere anything be settled. I here from the + layer [by which Mrs Latrobe meant _lawyer_] that she is to be maried, + and it will be soe much ye better for you. I trust you may now make a + good match yrself. But I shal see to all yt when I com. + + "Yr mother, A. Latrobe." + +Phoebe studied every word of this letter, and the more she studied it, +the less she liked it. First, it looked as if Mrs Latrobe did mean +Rhoda to leave the house, though she graciously intimated her intention +of making acquaintance with her before she did so. Secondly, she was +evidently in a hurry to come. Thirdly, she congratulated herself on +Rhoda's approaching marriage, because it would get rid of her, and leave +the way open for Phoebe. And lastly, she threatened Phoebe with "a good +match." Phoebe thought, with a sigh, that "the time was out of joint," +and heartily wished that the stars would go back into their courses. + +Mrs Latrobe managed to wind all up in a surprisingly short time. She +reached her early home in the cool of a summer evening, Rhoda having +sent the family coach to meet her at Tewkesbury. Phoebe had said +nothing to her cousin of any approaching change, which she thought it +best to leave to her mother; so she contented herself by saying that +Mrs Latrobe wished to make the acquaintance of her niece. Lady Betty +kindly came up to help the inexperienced girls in making due preparation +for the arrival of the lady of the manor. When the coach rolled up to +the front door, Phoebe was standing on the steps, Lady Betty and Rhoda +further back in the hall. + +Mrs Latrobe was attired in new and stylish mourning. + +"Ah, child, here you are!" was her first greeting to Phoebe. "The old +place is grown greyer. Those trees come too near the windows; I shall +cut some of them down. Where is your cousin?" + +Rhoda heard the inquiry, and she stepped forward. + +"Let us look at you, child," said Mrs Latrobe, turning to her. "Ah, +you are like Kitty--not so good-looking, though." + +"Mother," said Phoebe, gently, "this is my Lady Betty Morehurst. She +was so kind as to help us in getting ready for you." + +Mrs Latrobe appraised Lady Betty by means of one rapid glance. Then +she thanked her with an amount of effulgence which betrayed either +subservience or contempt. Lady Betty received her thanks with a quiet +dignity which refused to be ruffled, kissed Rhoda and Phoebe, and took +her leave, declining to remain even for the customary dish of tea. Mrs +Latrobe drew off her gloves, sat down in Madam's cushioned chair, and +desired Phoebe to give her some tea. + +"Let me see, child!" she said, looking at Rhoda. "You are near +one-and-twenty, I suppose?" + +Rhoda admitted the fact. + +"And what do you think of doing?" + +Rhoda looked blankly first at her aunt, then at her cousin. Phoebe came +hastily to the rescue. + +"She is shortly to be married, Mother; did you forget?" + +"Ah!" said Mrs Latrobe, still contemplating Rhoda. "Well--if it hold-- +you may as well be married from hence, I suppose. Is the day fixed?" + +"No, Aunt Anne." + +"I think, my dear," remarked Mrs Latrobe, sipping her tea, "'twould be +better if you said Madam.--Why, Phoebe, what old-fashioned china! Sure +it cannot have been new these forty years. I shall sweep away all that +rubbish.--Whom are you going to marry? Is he well off?--Phoebe, those +shoe-buckles of yours are quite shabby. I cannot have you wear such +trumpery. You must remember what is due to you.--Well, my dear?" + +Rhoda had much less practice in the school of patience than Phoebe, and +she found the virtue difficult just then. But she restrained herself as +well as she could. + +"I am engaged in marriage with Mr Marcus Welles; and he has an estate, +and spends three thousand pounds by the year." + +"Welles! A Welles of Buckinghamshire?" + +"His estate is in this shire," said Rhoda. + +"Three thousand! That's not much. Could you have done no better? He +expected you would have White-Ladies, I suppose?" + +"I suppose so. I did," said Rhoda, shortly. + +"My dear, you have some bad habits," said Mrs Latrobe, "which Phoebe +should have broken you of before I came. 'Tis very rude to answer +without giving a name." + +"You told me not to give you one, Aunt Anne." + +"You are slow at catching meanings, my dear," replied Mrs Latrobe, with +that calm nonchalance so provoking to an angry person. "I desired you +to call me Madam, as 'tis proper you should." + +"Phoebe doesn't," burst from Rhoda. + +"Then she ought," answered Mrs Latrobe, coolly examining the crest on a +tea-spoon. + +"Oh, I will, Rhoda, if Mother wishes it," put in Phoebe, anxious above +all things to keep the peace. + +Rhoda vouchsafed no reply to either. + +"Well!" said the lady of the manor, rising, "you will carry me to my +chamber, child," addressing Rhoda. "You can stay here, Phoebe. Your +cousin will wait on me." + +It was something new for Rhoda to wait on anyone. She swallowed her +pride with the best grace she could, and turned to open the door. + +"I suppose you have had the best room made ready for me?" inquired Mrs +Latrobe, as she passed out. + +"Madam's chamber," replied Rhoda. + +"Oh, but--not the one in which she died?" + +"Yes," answered Rhoda; adding, after a momentary struggle with herself, +"Madam." + +"Oh, but that will never do!" said Mrs Latrobe, hastily. "I couldn't +sleep there! A room in which someone died scarce a month ago! Where is +my woman? Call her. I must have that changed." + +Rhoda summoned Betty, who came, courtesying. Her mistress was too much +preoccupied in mind to notice the civility. + +"Why, what could you all be thinking of, to put me in this chamber? I +must have another. This is the best, I know; but I cannot think of +sleeping here. Show me the next best--that long one in the south wing." + +"That is the young gentlewomen's chamber, Madam," objected Betty. + +"Well, what does that matter?" demanded Mrs Latrobe, sharply. "Can't +they have another? I suppose I come first!" + +"Yes, of course, Madam," said subdued Betty. + +Rhoda looked dismayed, but kept silence. She was learning her lesson. +Mrs Latrobe looked into the girls' room, rapidly decided on it, and +ordered it to be got ready for her. + +"Then which must the young gentlewomen have, Madam?" inquired Betty. + +"Oh, any," said Mrs Latrobe, carelessly. "There are enough." + +"Which would you like, Mrs Rhoda?" incautiously asked Betty. + +Before Rhoda could reply, her aunt said quickly,-- + +"Ask Mrs Phoebe, if you please." + +And Betty remembered that the cousins had changed places. It was a very +bitter pill to Rhoda; and it was not like Rhoda to say--yet she said it, +as soon as she had the opportunity-- + +"Phoebe, Aunt Anne means you to choose our room: please don't have a +little stuffy one." + +"Dear Rhoda, which would you like?" responded Phoebe at once. + +A little sob escaped Rhoda. + +"Oh, Phoebe, you are going to be the only one who is good to me! I +should like that other long one in the north wing, that matches ours; +but don't choose it if you don't like it." + +"We will have that," said Phoebe, reassuringly; "at least, if Mother +leaves it to me." + +Thus early it was made evident that the old nature in Anne Latrobe was +scotched, not killed. Sorrow seemed to have laid merely a repressive +hand upon her bad qualities, and to have uprooted none but good ones. +The brilliance and playfulness of her early days were gone. The _coeur +leger_ had turned to careless self-love, the impetuosity had become +peevish obstinacy. + +"Old Madam never spoke to me in that way!" said Betty. "She liked to +have her way, poor dear gentlewoman, as well as anybody; and she +wouldn't take a bit of impudence like so much barley-sugar, I'll not say +she would; but she was a gentlewoman, every inch of her, that she was. +And that's more than you can say for some folks!" + +The next morning, all the Maidens--the invalid, as usual, excepted--came +trooping up one after another, to pay their respects to the new lady of +the manor. + +Lady Betty came first; then Mrs Dorothy and Mrs Eleanor, together; +after a little while, Mrs Clarissa; and lastly, Mrs Jane. + +"My dear Mrs Anne, I remember you well, though perhaps you can scarce +recollect me," said Mrs Dorothy, "for you were but nine years old the +last time that I saw you. May the Lord bless you, my dear, and make you +a blessing!" + +"Oh, I don't doubt I shall do my duty," was the response of Mrs +Latrobe, which very much satisfied herself and greatly dissatisfied Mrs +Dorothy. + +"'Tis delightful to see you back, dear Madam Latrobe!" said Mrs +Clarissa, gushingly. "How touching must it be to return to the home of +your youth, after so many years of banishment!" + +Mrs Latrobe had not felt in the least touched, and hardly knew how to +reply. "Oh, to be sure!" she said. "Glad to see you," said Mrs Jane. +"Great loss we've had in Madam. Hope you'll be as good as she was. My +sister desired me to make her compliments. Can't stir off the sofa. +Fine morning!" + +When the Maidens left the Abbey--which they did together--they compared +notes on the new reign. + +Lady Betty's sense of decorum was very much shocked. Mrs Latrobe had +not spoken a word of her late mother, and had hinted at changes in +matters which had existed at White-Ladies from time immemorial. + +Mrs Clarissa was charmed with the new lady's manners and mourning, both +which she thought faultless. + +Mrs Eleanor thought "she was a bit shy, poor thing! We must make +allowances, my dear friends--we must make allowances!" + +"Make fiddlestrings!" growled Mrs Jane. "She's Anne Furnival still, +and she'll be Anne Furnival to the end of the chapter. As if I didn't +know Nancy! Ever drive a jibbing horse?" + +Mrs Clarissa, who was thus suddenly appealed to, declared in a shocked +tone that she never drove a horse of any description since she was born. + +"Ah, well! I have," resumed Mrs Jane, ignoring the scandalised tone of +her sister Maiden: "and that's just Nancy Furnival. She's as sleek in +the coat as ever a Barbary mare. But you'll not get her along the road +to Tewkesbury, without you make her think you want to drive her to +Gloucester. I heard plenty of folks pitying Madam when she bolted. My +word!--but I pitied somebody else a vast deal more, and that was Charles +Latrobe. I wouldn't have married her, if she'd been stuck all over with +diamonds." + +"I fancy she drove him," said Mrs Eleanor with a smile. + +"Like enough, poor soul!" responded Mrs Jane. "Only chance he had of +any peace. He was a decent fellow enough, too,--if only he had kept +clear of Nancy." + +"What made him marry her?" thoughtfully asked Mrs Eleanor. + +"Deary me!" exclaimed Mrs Jane. "When did you ever see a man that +could fathom a woman? Good, simple soul that he was!--she made him +think black was white with holding up a finger. She glistened bravely, +and he thought she was gold. Well!--_we_ shan't have much peace now,-- +take my word for it. Eh, this world!--'tis a queer place as ever I +saw." + +"True, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy: "let us therefore be thankful +there is a better." + +But her opinion of Mrs Latrobe was not given. + +The same evening, as Phoebe sat in the parlour with her mother, Betty +came in with a courtesy. + +"Mr Marcus Welles, to speak with Madam." + +"With Mrs Rhoda?" asked Phoebe, rising. "I will go seek her." + +"No, if you please, Mrs Phoebe: Mr Welles said, Madam or yourself." + +"Phoebe, my dear, do not be such a fid-fad!" entreated Mrs Latrobe. +"If Rhoda is wanted, she can be sought.--Good evening, Sir! I am truly +delighted to have the pleasure of seeing you, and I trust we shall be +better acquainted." + +Mr Welles bowed low over Mrs Latrobe's extended hand. + +"Madam, the delight is mine, and the honour. Mrs Phoebe, your +servant,--your most humble servant." + +It was the first time that Mr Welles had ever addressed Phoebe with +more than a careless "good evening." + +"Ready to serve you, Sir," said she, courtesying. "Shall I seek my +cousin? She has wanted your company, I think." + +This was a very audacious speech for Phoebe: but she thought it so +extraordinary that Mr Welles had not paid one visit to his betrothed +since the funeral, that she took the liberty of reminding him of it. + +"Madam," said Mr Welles, with a complacent smile, toying with his gold +chatelaine, "I really could not have visited you sooner, under the +circumstances in which I found myself." + +"Phoebe! have you lost your senses?" inquired Mrs Latrobe, sharply. + +"I am sure," resumed Mr Marcus Welles, with an extremely graceful wave +of his hand towards Mrs Latrobe, "that Madam will fully enter into my +much lacerated feelings, and see how very distressing 'twould have been +both to myself and her, had I forced my company on Mrs Rhoda, as +matters stand at present." + +Phoebe sat listening with a face of utter bewilderment. By what means +had Mr Welles' feelings been lacerated?--and why should it be more +distressing for him to meet Rhoda now than before?--But she kept +silence, and Mrs Latrobe said,-- + +"I think, Sir, I have the honour to understand you." + +"Madam!" replied Mr Marcus Welles, with his courtliest bow, "I am sure +that a gentlewoman of your parts and discretion can do no less, I cannot +but be infinitely sensible of the severe and cruel loss I am about to +sustain: still, to my small estate, any other dealing would be of such +mischievous consequence, that I think myself obliged to resign the views +I proposed to myself." + +Phoebe tried to understand him, and found it impossible. + +"This being the case," continued he, "you will understand, dear Madam, +that I thought myself engaged to wait until I might be honoured by some +discourse with you: and meanwhile to abstain from any commerce of +discourse in other quarters, till I had permission to acquaint you of +the affair. I have indeed been in pain until I was able to wait upon +you. I shall now be something eased. You, I am certain, dearest Madam, +will contrive the business far better than my disordered mind would +allow me; and I doubt not 'twould be more agreeable to all parties to +communicate by that canal." + +"If you wish it, Sir, it shall certainly be so," answered Mrs Latrobe, +who seemed to be under no doubt concerning Mr Welles' meaning. "I am +yours to serve you in the matter." + +"Dearest Madam, you are an angel of mercy! The sooner I retire, then, +the better." + +He kissed Mrs Latrobe's hand, and came round to Phoebe. + +"Mr Welles, you have not seen Rhoda yet. I do not understand!" said +Phoebe blankly, as he bowed iver her hand. + +"Madam, I have but just now engaged myself--" + +"Phoebe, don't be a goose!" burst from her mother. "You must be a baby +if you do not understand. Cannot you see that Mr Welles, in a most +honourable manner, which does him infinite credit, withdraws all +pretensions to your cousin's hand, leaving her free to engage herself +elsewhere? Really, I should have thought you had sense enough for +that." + +For a moment Phoebe looked, with a bewildered air, from her mother to +Mr Welles. Then shyness, fear and reserve gave way before indignation. +She did understand now. + +"You mean to desert Rhoda, because she has lost the paltry money that +you expected she would have?" + +For once in his life, Mr Marcus Welles seemed startled and taken at a +disadvantage. + +"I was afraid you wanted her chiefly for her money, but I did not +believe you capable of this! So you do not care for her at all? And +you run away, afraid to face the pangs you have created, and to meet the +eyes of the maid you have so foully wronged. Shame on you!" + +"Phoebe, you must be mad!" exclaimed Mrs Latrobe, rising. "Don't +listen to her, dear Mr Welles; 'tis a most distressing scene for you to +bear. I am infinitely concerned my daughter should have so far +forgotten herself as to address you with such vulgar abuse. I can only +excuse her on the ground--" + +"Dearest Madam, there is every excuse," said Mr Welles, with the +sweetest magnanimity. "Sweet Mrs Phoebe is a woodland bird, +untrammelled as yet by those fetters which we men and women of the world +must needs bear. 'Tis truly delightful to see the charming generosity +and the admirable fire with which she plays the knight-errant. Indeed, +Madam, such disinterested warmth and fervour of heart are seen but too +seldom in this worn old world. Suffer me to entreat you not to chide +Mrs Phoebe for her charming simplicity and high spirit." + +"Since Mr Welles condescends to intercede for you, Phoebe, +notwithstanding your shocking behaviour, I am willing to overlook it +this time; but I warn you I shall not prove thus easy another time." + +"I am sure I hope there will never be another time!" cried Phoebe, her +eyes flashing. + +"Phoebe, go to your chamber, and don't let me hear one word more," said +Mrs Latrobe, severely. + +And Phoebe obeyed, rushing upstairs with feet that seemed to keep pace +with the whirlwind in her heart. + +"Phoebe, I wonder whether of these ribbons, the silk or the gauze, would +go best with-- Why, whatever in the world is the matter?" said Rhoda, +breaking off. + +"You may well ask, my dear," answered the voice of Mrs Latrobe, behind +Phoebe. "Your cousin has been conducting herself in a most improper +manner--offering gross insults to my guests in my house." + +"Phoebe!" cried Rhoda, as if she could not believe her ears. + +"Yes, Phoebe. She really has. I can only fear--indeed, I had almost +said hope--that her wits are something impaired. What think you of her +telling a gentleman who had acted in a most noble and honourable +manner--exactly as a gentleman should do--that she could not have +believed him capable of such baseness? and she cried shame on him!" + +"Not Phoebe!" exclaimed Rhoda again, looking from one to the other very +much as Phoebe had done. "Why, Phoebe, what does all this mean?" + +"Oh, Rhoda, I can't tell you!" said Phoebe, sobbing, for the reaction +had come. "Mother, you will have to tell her. I can't." + +"Of course I shall tell her," calmly answered Mrs Latrobe. "I came for +that very thing. Rhoda, my dear, I am sure you are a maid of sense and +discretion." + +"I hope so, Madam." + +"So do I, child: and therefore you will hear me calmly, and not fly into +passions like that silly maid yonder. My dear, you must have +remembered, I am certain, that when you promised yourself to Mr Welles, +you were in a very different situation from now." + +Rhoda only bowed. Perhaps, on that subject, she was afraid to trust her +voice. + +"And, of course, it has also occurred to you, my dear, that this being +the case, you could not in honour hold Mr Welles bound to you any +longer, if he wished to be free?" + +"But we don't wish to be free," said Rhoda, in a puzzled tone. + +"You are mistaken, my dear, so far as one of you is concerned. Perhaps +it had been yet more graceful had you been the one to loose the bond: +yet Mr Welles has done it with so infinite a grace and spirit that I +can scarce regret your omission. My dear, you are now entirely free. +He sets you completely at liberty, and has retired from all pretension +to you." + +"But what, Aunt Anne--I do not understand you!" exclaimed Rhoda, in +accents of bewildered amazement, which had a ring of agony beneath, as +though she was struggling against the comprehension of a grief she was +reluctant to face. + +"Surely, my dear, you must have understood me," said Mrs Latrobe. "Mr +Welles resigns his suit to you." + +"He has given me up?" bursts from Rhoda's lips. + +"He has entirely given you up. You cannot have really expected anything +else?" + +"I thought _he_ was true!" said Rhoda through her set teeth. "Are you +sure you understood him? Phoebe, you tell me,--did he mean that?" + +"O Rhoda! poor Rhoda! I am afraid he did!" said Phoebe, as distinctly +as tears would let her. + +"But, my dear," interposed Mrs Latrobe, remonstratingly, "surely you +cannot be surprised? When Mr Welles engaged himself to you, it was (as +he thought) to the heiress of a large estate. You could not expect him +to encumber himself with a wife who brought him less than one year's +income of his own. 'Tis not reasonable, child. No man in his senses +would do such a thing. We live in the world, my dear,--not in Utopia." + +"We live in a hard, cold, wicked, miserable world, and the sooner we are +out of it the better!" came in a constrained voice from Rhoda. + +"I beg, my dear," answered Mrs Latrobe, "you will not make extravagant +speeches. There might be not another man in the world, that you should +go into such a frenzy. We shall yet find you a husband, never fear." + +"Not one like him, I hope!" murmured Phoebe. "And I don't think Rhoda +wants anybody else." + +"Phoebe," said her mother, "I am extreme concerned at the coarseness of +your speeches. I had hoped you were a gentlewoman." + +"Well, Mother," said Phoebe, firing up again, "if Mr Welles be a +gentleman, I almost hope not!" + +"My dear," said Mrs Latrobe, "Mr Welles is a gentleman. The style in +which he announced his desire to withdraw from his suit to your cousin, +was perfect. A prince could not have done it better." + +"I should hope a prince would not have done it at all!" was the blunt +response from Phoebe. + +"You are not a woman of the world, my dear, but a very foolish, ignorant +child, that does not know properly what she is saying. 'Tis so near +bed-time you need not descend again. You will get over your +disappointment, Rhoda, when you have slept, and I shall talk with you +presently. Good-night, my dears." + +And Mrs Latrobe closed the door, and left the cousins together. + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN. + +PHOEBE IN A NEW CHARACTER. + + "We mend broken china, torn lace we repair; + But we sell broken hearts cheap in Vanity Fair." + +"Did _she_ ever love anybody?" came in a low voice from Rhoda, when Mrs +Latrobe had withdrawn, "Oh, I don't know!" sobbed Phoebe, who was crying +violently, and might have seemed to a surface observer the more unhappy +of the two. + +"Don't weep so," said Rhoda. "I'm sure you don't need. Aunt Anne will +never be angry long--she does not care enough about anything to keep it +up." + +"Oh, it is not for myself, Rhoda--poor Rhoda!" + +"For me? Surely not, Phoebe. I have never been so good to you as to +warrant that." + +"I don't know whether you have been good to me or you have not, Cousin; +but I am so sorry for you!" + +Phoebe was kneeling beside the bed. Rhoda came over to her, and kissed +her forehead, and said--what was very much for Rhoda to say--"I scarce +think I deserve you should weep for me, Phoebe." + +"But I can't help it!" said Phoebe. + +"Well! I reckon I should have known it," said Rhoda, in a rather hard +tone. "I suppose that is what all men are like. But I did think he was +true--I did!" + +"I never did," responded Phoebe. + +"Well!" sighed Rhoda again. "Let it pass. Perhaps Mrs Dorothy is +right--'tis best to trust none of them." + +"I don't think Mrs Dorothy said that," replied Phoebe, heaving a long +sigh, as she sat up and pushed back her ruffled hair. "I do hope I +wasn't rude to Mother." + +"Nothing she'll care about," said Rhoda. "I wondered he did not come, +Phoebe." + +"So did I, and I told him as much. But--Rhoda, I think perhaps we shall +forgive him sooner if we don't talk about it." + +"Ah! I have not come to forgiving yet," was Rhoda's answer. "Perhaps I +shall some time. Well! I shall be an old maid now, Phoebe, like Mrs +Dorothy, I suppose you'll be the one to marry." + +"Thank you, I'd rather not!" said Phoebe, quickly. "I am not sure I +should like it at all; and I am quite sure I don't want to be married +for my money, or for what people expect me to have." + +"Oh, there's nothing else in this world!" answered Rhoda, with an air of +immense experience. "Don't you expect it. Every man you come across is +an avaricious, designing creature. Oh dear! 'tis a weary weary world, +and 'tis no good living!" + +"Yes, Rhoda dear, there is one good in living, and 'tis always left to +us, whatever we may lose," said Phoebe, earnestly. "Don't you remember +what the Lord Jesus said to His disciples--`My meat is to do the will of +Him that sent Me?' There is always that, Rhoda." + +"Ah, that is something I don't know anything about," said Rhoda, +wearily. "And I always think 'tis right down shabby of people to turn +religious, just because they have lost the world, and are disappointed +and tired. And I was never cut out for a saint, Phoebe--'tis no use!" + +"Rhoda, dear, when people give all their days to Satan, and then turn +religious, as you say, just at last, when they are going to die, or +think they are--don't you think that right down shabby? The longer you +keep away from God, the less you have to give Him when you come. And +as--" + +"I thought you Puritans always said we hadn't anything to give to God, +but He gave everything to us," objected Rhoda, pettishly. + +Phoebe passed the tone by, and answered the words, "I think there are +two things we can give to God, Cousin: our sins, that He may cast them +into the depths of the sea; and ourselves, that He may save and train +us. And the longer you stay away, the more sin you will have to bring; +and the less time there will be for loving and serving Him. You will be +sorry, when you do come, that you were not sooner." + +"How do you know I shall? I tell you, I wasn't cut out for a saint." + +"I think you will, Cousin, because I have asked Him to bring you," said +Phoebe, simply; "and it must be His will to hear that; because He +willeth not the death of a sinner." + +"So you count me a sinner! I am sure I'm very much obliged to you!" +said Rhoda, more in her old style than before. + +"Yes, dear Cousin, I count you a sinner; and so do I myself, and every +body else," said Phoebe, gently. + +"Oh, well, I suppose we are all sinners," admitted Rhoda. "Don't I keep +telling you I am not made for a saint?" + +"But you were, Rhoda; God made you for Himself," said Phoebe. + +"Oh, well 'tis no use talking!" and Rhoda got up, and began to pull down +her elaborately-dressed hair, with hasty, uncareful fingers. "We'd +better go to bed." + +"Perhaps it isn't much use talking," said Phoebe, as she rose to help +her. "But it is sure to be some praying, so I shall go on." + +It was a few days later, and Phoebe was crossing the Park on her way to +the Maidens' Lodge, carrying a basket of fruit sent by Mrs Latrobe to +Lady Betty. From all the Maidens, except Lady Betty, Mrs Latrobe held +aloof. Mrs Jane was too sharp for her, Mrs Marcella too querulous, +and Mrs Dorothy too dull. Mrs Clarissa she denounced as "poor vain +flirt that could not see her time was passed," and Mrs Eleanor, she +declared, gave her the horrors only to look at. But Lady Betty she +diligently cultivated. How much of her regard was due to her Ladyship's +title, Mrs Latrobe did not explain. + +Phoebe was nearing the Maidens' Lodge, and had just entered the last +glade on her way thither, when--very much to her disapprobation and +dismay--from a belt of trees on her left hand, Mr Marcus Welles stepped +out and stood before her. + +"Your most humble servant, Mrs Phoebe! I was very desirous to have the +honour of waiting on you this fine morning; and thinking that I saw you +at a little distance, I took the great liberty of accosting you." + +If Phoebe had said just what she thought, she would have informed Mr +Welles that he had taken a wholly unwarrantable liberty in so doing; for +while she sagely counselled Rhoda to forgive the offender, she had by no +means forgiven him herself. But being mindful of conventionalities, +Phoebe courtesied stiffly, and left Mr Welles to explain himself at his +leisure. Now, Mr Welles had come to that glade in the Park for the +special purpose of making a communication, which he felt rather an +awkward one to make with that amount of grace which beseemed him: +nevertheless, being a very adroit young man, and much given to turning +corners in a rapid and elegant manner, he determined to go through with +the matter. If it had only been anyone but Phoebe! + +"Mrs Phoebe," he began, "I cannot but flatter myself that you are not +wholly ignorant of the high esteem I have long had for your deep merit." + +"Cannot you, Sir?" responded Phoebe, by no means in a promising manner. + +Mr Welles felt the manner. He thought his web was scarcely fine-spun +enough. He must begin again. + +"I trust that Madam is in good health, Mrs Phoebe?" + +"My mother is very well, I thank you, Sir." + +"You are yourself in good health, I venture to hope, Madam?" + +"I am, Sir, I thank you." + +The task which Mr Welles had set himself, as he perceived with chagrin, +was proving harder than he had anticipated. Phoebe evidently intended +to waste no more time on him than she could help. + +"The state of affairs at White-Ladies is of infinite concern to me, +Madam." + +"Is it, Sir?" + +"Undoubtedly, Madam. Your health and happiness--all of you--are extreme +dear to me." + +"Really, Sir!" + +"Especially _yours_, Madam." + +Phoebe made no answer to this. Her silence encouraged Mr Welles to +proceed. He thought his tactics had succeeded, and the creature was +coming round by degrees. The only point now requiring care was not to +startle her away again. + +"Allow me to assure you, Madam, that your welfare is in my eyes a matter +of infinite concern." + +"So you said, Sir," was Phoebe's cool reply, Mr Welles was very +uncomfortable. Had he made any mistake? Was it possible that, after +all, the creature was not coming round in an orthodox manner? + +"Madam, give me leave to assure you, moreover, that I am infinitely +attached to you, and desire no higher happiness than to be permitted to +offer you my service." + +It was an instant before Phoebe recognised that Mr Marcus Welles was +actually making her an offer. When she did, her answer was immediate +and unmistakable. + +"Don't you, Mr Welles?" said Phoebe. "Then I do!" + +"Madam, have you misapprehended me?" demanded her suitor, to whom the +idea of any woman refusing him was an impossibility not to be +entertained for a moment. + +"I should be glad if I had," said Phoebe. + +"You must be labouring under some mistake, Madam. I have an estate +which brings me in three thousand a year, and I am my own master. 'Tis +not an opportunity a maid can look to meet with every day, nor is it +every gentlewoman that I would ask to be my wife." + +"No--only a golden one!" said Phoebe. + +"Madam!" + +Phoebe turned, and their eyes met. + +"Mr Welles, give me leave to tell you the truth: you do not hear it +often. You do not wish to marry me. You wish to obtain White-Ladies. +'Tis of no consequence to you whether the woman that must needs come +with it be Phoebe Latrobe or Rhoda Peveril. My cousin would please you +better than I; but you really care not a straw for either of us. You +only want the estate. Allow me in my turn to assure you that, so far as +I am concerned, you will not get it. The man who could use my cousin as +you have done may keep away from endeavouring my favour. I wish you a +very good morning, Mr Welles." + +"I beg, Madam, that you will permit me to explain--" stammered Mr +Welles, whose grace and tactics alike forsook him under the treatment to +which he was subjected by Phoebe. + +"Sir, there is nothing to explain." + +And with a courtesy which could be construed into nothing but final +dismissal, Phoebe left her astonished suitor to stand and look after her +with the air of a beaten general, while she turned the corner of the +Maidens' Lodge, and made her way to Lady Betty's door. + +Lady Betty was at that moment giving an "at home" on the very minute +scale permitted by the diminutive appointments of the Maidens' Lodge. +Mrs Jane Talbot and Mrs Dorothy Jennings were seated at her little +tea-table. + +"Why, my dear Mrs Phoebe! what an unlooked-for pleasure!" exclaimed +Lady Betty, coming forward cordially. + +If her cordiality had been a shade more distinct since Phoebe became +heiress of Cressingham--well, she was only human. The other ladies +present had sustained no such change. + +"The Lord bless thee, dear child!" was the warm greeting of Mrs Dolly; +but it had been quite as warm long before. + +"Evening!" said Mrs Jane, with a sarcastic grin. "Got it over, has he? +Saw you through the side window. Bless you, child, I know all about +it--I expected that all along. Hope you let him catch it--the +jackanapes!" + +"I did not let him catch me, Mrs Jane," answered Phoebe, with some +dignity. + +"That's right!" said Mrs Jane, decidedly. "That bundle of velvet and +braid would never have made any way with me, when I was your age, my +dear. Why, any mantua-maker could cut him out of snips, and have some +stuff left over." + +"He is of very good family, my dear Mrs Jane," observed Lady Betty; "at +least, if I take you rightly in supposing you allude to Mr Welles." + +"More pity for the family!" answered Mrs Jane. "Glad I'm not his +mother. Ruin me to keep, him in order. Cost a fortune in whip-leather. +How's Mrs Rhoda?" + +"She is very well, I thank you, Madam." + +"Is she crying out her eyes over that piece of fiddle-faddle?" + +"I think she has finished for the present," replied Phoebe, rather +drily. + +"Just you tell her he's been making up to you. Best thing you can do. +Cure her sooner than anything else." + +"Mrs Phoebe, my dear, may I beg of you to do me the favour to let Madam +know that my niece, my Lady Delawarr, is much disordered in her health?" + +"Certainly, my Lady Betty; I am grieved to hear it." + +"Very much so, as 'tis feared; and Sir Richard hath asked me thither to +visit her, and see after matters a little while she is laid by. I +purpose to go thither this next week, but I would not do so without +paying my respects to Madam, for which honour I trust to wait on her +to-morrow. Indeed, my dear--and if you will mention it to Madam, you +will do me a service--Sir Richard's letter is not without some +importunity that should my niece be laid aside for any time, as her +physician fears, I would remove altogether, and make my home with them." + +"Indeed, Madam, I will tell my mother all about it." + +"I thank you, my dear; 'twill be a kindness. Of course, I would not +like to leave without Madam's concurrence." + +"That you will have," quietly said Mrs Dorothy. + +"Indeed, so I hope," returned Lady Betty. "I dare say Mrs Phoebe here +at least does not know that when my nephew Sir Richard was young, after +his mother died--my poor sister Penelope--he was bred up wholly in my +care, so that he looks on me rather as his mother than his aunt, and +'tis but natural that his thoughts should turn to me in this trouble." + +"You must have been a young aunt, my Lady Betty," remarked Mrs Dorothy. + +"Truly, but twelve years elder than my nephew," said Lady Betty, with a +smile. + +"Clarissa would have told us that, without waiting to be asked," laughed +Mrs Jane. "How are the girls, my Lady Betty?" + +"Very well, as I hear. You know, I guess, that Betty is engaged in +marriage?" + +"So we heard. To Sir Charles Rich, is it not?" + +"The same. But maybe you have not heard of Molly's conquest?" asked +Lady Betty, with an amused little laugh. + +"What, is Mrs Molly in any body's chains?" + +"Indeed, I guess not, Mrs Jane," replied Lady Betty, still laughing. +"I expect my friend Mr Thomas Mainwaring is in Molly's chains, if +chains there be." + +"Eh, she'll lead him a weary life!" said Mrs Jane. + +"Let us hope she will sober down," answered Lady Betty. "I am not +unwilling to allow there hath of late been room for improvement. Yet is +there some good in Molly, as I think." + +Phoebe remembered Molly's assistance in the matter of Mr Edmundson, and +thought it might be so. + +"Well, and what of Mrs Gatty?" + +"Ah, poor maid! She, at least, can scarce hope to be happy, her +disfigurement is so unfortunate." + +"I must needs ask your pardon, my Lady Betty, but I trust that is not +the case," said Mrs Dorothy, with a gentle smile. "Sure, happiness +doth not depend on face nor figure?" + +"The world mostly reckons so, I believe," answered Lady Betty, with a +responsive smile. "Maybe, we pick up such words, and use them, in +something too heedless a manner." + +"I am mightily mistaken if Mrs Gatty do not prove the happiest of the +three," was Mrs Dorothy's reply. + +Mrs Dorothy rose to go home, and Phoebe took leave at the same time. +She felt tired and harassed, and longed for the rest of a little quiet +talk with her old friend. + +"And how doth Mrs Rhoda take this, my dear?" was the old lady's first +question, when Phoebe had poured out her story. + +"She seemed very much troubled at first, and angry; but I fancy she is +getting over it now." + +"Which most?--troubled or angry?" + +"I think--after a few minutes, at least--more angry." + +"Then she will quickly recover. I do not think she loved him, Phoebe. +She liked him, I have no doubt: and she flattered herself that he loved +her; but if she be more angry than hurt, that shows that her pride +suffers rather than her love. At least," said Mrs Dorothy, correcting +herself, "I mean it looks so. Who am I, that I should judge her?" + +"I wanted it to do her some good, Mrs Dolly. It seems hard to have the +suffering, and not get the good." + +"'Tis not easy for men to tell what does good, and when. We cannot as +concerns ourselves; how then shall we judge for others?" + +"I wonder what Rhoda will do now?" suggested Phoebe, after a minute's +silence. + +She looked up, and saw an expression, which was the mixture of pity and +amusement, on Mrs Dorothy's lips. The amusement died away, but the +pity remained and grew deeper. + +"Can you guess, Mrs Dolly?" + +"`Lord, and what shall this man do?' You know the answer, Phoebe." + +"Yes, I know: but-- Mrs Dorothy, would you not like to know the +future?" + +"Certainly not, dear child. I am very thankful for the mist which my +Father hath cast as a veil over my eyes." + +"But if you could see what would come, is it not very likely that there +would not be some things which you would be glad and relieved to find +absent?" + +"Very likely. The things of which we stand especially in fear often +fail to come at all. But there would be other things, which I should be +very sorry to find, and much astonished too." + +"I wonder sometimes, what will be in my life," said Phoebe, dreamily. + +"That which thou needest," was the quiet answer. + +"What do I need?" asked Phoebe. + +"To have thy will moulded after God's will." + +"Do you think I don't wish God's will to be done, Mrs Dorothy?" + +Mrs Dorothy smiled. "I quite believe, dear child, thou art willing He +should have His way with respect to all the things thou dost not care +about." + +"Mrs Dorothy!" + +"My dear, that is what most folks call being resigned to the will of +God." + +"Mrs Dolly, why do people always talk as though God's will must be +something dreadful? If somebody die, or if some accident happen, they +say, `Ah, 'tis God's will, and we must submit.' But when something +pleasant comes, they never say it then. Don't you think the pleasant +things are God's will, as well as the disagreeable ones?" + +"More so, Phoebe. `In all our affliction, He is afflicted.' `He doth +not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men.' Pleasant things +are what He loves to give us; bitter things, what He needs must." + +"Then why do people talk so?" repeated Phoebe. + +"Ah, why do they?" said Mrs Dorothy. "Man is always wronging God. Not +one of us all is so cruelly misunderstood of his fellows as all of us +misunderstand Him." + +"Yet He forgives," said Phoebe softly: "and sometimes we don't." + +"He is always forgiving, Phoebe. The inscription is graven not less +over the throne in Heaven than over the cross on earth,--`This Man +receiveth sinners.'" + +There was a pause of some minutes; and as Phoebe rose to go, Mrs +Dorothy said,-- + +"I will tell you one thing I have noted, child, as I have gone through +life. Very often there has been something looming, as it were, before +me that I had to do, or thought I should have to bear,--and in the +distance and the darkness it took a dread shape, and I looked forward to +it with terror. And when it has come at last, it has often--I say not +always, but often--proved to be at times a light and easy cross, even at +times an absolute pleasure. Again, there hath often been something in +the future that I have looked forward to as a great good and delight, +which on its coming hath turned out a positive pain and evil. 'Tis +better we should not know the future, dear Phoebe. Our Father knows +every step of the way: is not that enough? Our Elder Brother hath +trodden every step, and will go with us through the wilderness. Perfect +wisdom and perfect love have prepared all things. Ah, child, thy +fathers were wise men to sing as they sang-- + + "`Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre, + Il est a desirer; + Je n'ai plus rien a craindre, + Car Dieu est mon Berger.'" + +"But, Mrs Dolly-- I suppose it can't be so, yet--it does seem as if +there were some things in life which the Lord Jesus did not go through." + +"What things, my dear?" + +"Well, we never read of His having any kind of sickness for one thing." + +"Are you sure of that? `Himself took our infirmities, and bare our +sicknesses,' looks very like the opposite. You and I have no idea, +Phoebe, how He spent thirty out of thirty-three years of His mortal +life. He may--mind, I don't say it was so, for I don't know--but He may +have spent much of them in a sick chamber. He was `in _all_ points +tempted like as we are.' My father used to tell me that the word there +rendered `tempted' signifies not only temptations of Satan, but trials +sent of God." + +"But--He was never a woman, Mrs Dolly." + +"And therefore cannot feel for a woman as though He had been,--is that +thy meaning, dear? Nay, Phoebe, I believe He was the only creature that +ever dwelt on earth in whom were the essential elements both of man and +woman. He took His flesh of the woman only. The best part of each was +in Him,--the strength and intelligence of the man, the love and +tenderness of the woman. 'Tis modish to say women are tender, Phoebe; +more modish than true. Many are soft, but few are tender. But He was +tenderness itself." + +"I don't think women always are tender," said Phoebe. + +"My dear," said Mrs Dorothy, "you may laugh at me, but I am very much +out of conceit with my own sex. A good woman is a very precious thing, +Phoebe; the rather since 'tis so rare. But an empty, foolish, frivolous +woman is a sad, sad sight to see. Methinks I could scarce bear with +such, but for four words that I see, as it were, graven on their +brows,--`For whom Christ died.'" + +"Very good!" said Mrs Latrobe. "I will not conceal from you, Phoebe, +that I am extreme gratified with this decision of Lady Betty. I trust +she will carry it out." + +Phoebe felt a good deal surprised. Lady Betty had been the only inmate +of the Lodge whose society her mother had apparently cared to cultivate, +and yet she expressed herself much pleased to hear of her probable +departure. She remembered, too, that Mrs Dorothy had expected Mrs +Latrobe's assent. To herself it was a mystery. + +Mrs Latrobe gave no explanation at the time. She went at once to +another part of the subject, informing Phoebe that she had asked Betty +and Molly Delawarr on a visit. Gatty had been invited also, but had +declined to leave her mother in her present condition. Phoebe received +this news with some trepidation. Had it been Betty alone, she would not +have minded; for she thought her very good-natured, and could not +understand Rhoda's expressed dislike to her. But Molly!--Phoebe tried +to remember that Molly had done one kind action, and hoped she would be +on her best behaviour at White-Ladies. Mrs Latrobe went on to say that +she wished Phoebe to share her room with Betty, and would put Rhoda and +Molly in another. But when Phoebe ventured to ask if Rhoda might not +retain the room which she knew her to prefer, and Phoebe herself be the +one to change, Mrs Latrobe refused to entertain the proposition. + +"No, my dear, certainly not. You forget your station, Phoebe. You are +the daughter of this house, not your cousin. You must not be thinking +of how things were. They have changed. I could not think of allowing +Rhoda to have the best chamber. Besides, she has got to come down, and +she had best know it at once." + +"What do you mean, Madam, if you please?" + +"What do I mean? Why, surely you have some sense of what is proper. +You don't fancy she could continue to live here, do you? If she had +married Mr Welles, I should have said nothing against her staying here +till her marriage--of course, if it were a reasonable time; but now that +is all over. She must go." + +"Go!" gasped Phoebe. "Go whither, Madam?" + +"I shall offer her the choice of two things, my clear. She can either +go to service, in which case I will not refuse to take the trouble to +look out a service for her--I am wishful to let her down gently, and be +very good to her; or, if she prefer that, she may have my Lady Betty's +house as soon as she is gone. Have you any idea which she will choose?" + +"Service! The Maidens' Lodge! Rhoda!" + +"My dear Phoebe, how very absurd you are. What do you mean by such +foolish ejaculations? Rhoda will be uncommonly well off. You forget +she has the interest of her money, and she has some good jewellery; she +may make a decent match yet, if she is wise. But in the meantime, she +must live somehow. Of course I could not keep her here--it would spoil +your prospects, simpleton! She has a better figure than you, and she +has more to say for herself. You must not expect any body to look at +you while she is here." + +"Oh, never mind that!" came from the depth of Phoebe's heart. + +"But, my dear, I do mind it. I must mind it. You do not understand +these things, Phoebe. Why, I do believe, with a very little +encouragement--which I mean him to have--Mr Welles himself would offer +for you." + +"That is over, Madam." + +"What is over? Phoebe! what do you mean? Has Mr Welles really spoken +to you?" + +"Yes, Madam." + +"When, my dear?" asked Mrs Latrobe, in a tone of deep interest. + +"This afternoon, Madam!" + +"That is right! I am so pleased. I was afraid he would want a good +deal of management. And you've no more notion how to manage a man than +that parrot. I should have to do it all myself." + +"I beg your pardon, Madam," said Phoebe, with some dignity; "I gave him +an answer." + +"Of course, you did, my dear. I am only afraid--sometimes, my dear +Phoebe, you let your shyness get the better of you till you seem quite +silly--I am afraid, I say, that you would hardly speak with becoming +warmth. Still--" + +"I think, Madam, I was as warm as you would have wished me," said +Phoebe, drily. + +"Oh, of course, there is a limit, my dear," said Mrs Latrobe, bridling. +"Well, I am so glad that it is settled. 'Tis just what I was wishing +for you." + +"I fear, Madam, you misconceive me," said Phoebe, looking up, "and 'tis +settled the other way from what you wished." + +"Child, what can you mean?" asked Mrs Latrobe, with sudden sharpness. +"You never can have refused such an excellent offer? What did you say +to Mr Welles?" + +"I sent him away, and told him never to come near me again." Phoebe +spoke with warmth enough now. + +"Phoebe, you must be a lunatic!" burst from her mother. "I could not +have believed you would be guilty of such supreme, unpardonable folly!" + +"Sure," said Phoebe, looking up, "you would never have had me marry a +man whom I despised in my heart?" + +"Despised! I protest, Phoebe, you are worse and worse. What do you +mean by saying you despise Mr Welles? A man of excellent manners and +faultless taste, of good family, with an estate of three thousand a +year, and admirable prospects when his old uncle dies, who is nearly +seventy now--why, Phoebe, you must be a perfect fool! I am amazed at +you beyond words." + +There was a light in Phoebe's eyes which was beyond Mrs Latrobe's +comprehension. + +"Mother!" came from the girl's lips, with a soft intonation--"Father +would not have asked me to do that!" + +"Really, my dear, if you expect that I am to rule myself by your +father's notions, you expect a great deal too much. He was not a man of +the world at all--" + +"He was not!" + +"Not in the least!--and he had not the faintest idea what would be +required of you when you came to your present position. Don't quote +him, I beg of you!--Well, really, Phoebe--I don't know what to do now. +I wish I had known of it! Still I don't see, if he were determined to +speak to you, how I could have prevented you from making such a goose of +yourself. I do wish he had asked me! I should have accepted him at +once for you, and not given you the chance to refuse. What did you say +to him? Is it quite hopeless to try and win him back?" + +"Quite," said Phoebe, shortly. + +"But I want to know exactly what you said." + +"I told him I believed he wanted the estate, and not me; and that after +behaving to my cousin as he did, he did not need to expect to get either +it or me." + +"Phoebe! what preposterous folly!" said Mrs Latrobe. "Well, child, you +are a fool--that's as plain as a pikestaff; but--" + +"You're a fool!" came in a screech from the parrot's cage, followed by a +burst of laughter. + +"But 'tis no use crying over spilt milk. If we have lost Mr Welles, we +have lost him; and we must try for some one else. Oh dear, how hot it +is! Phoebe, I wonder when you will have any sense. I do beseech you, +my dear, never to play the same game with anyone else." + +"I hope, Mother," said Phoebe, gravely, "that I shall never have +occasion." + +"What a lot of geese!" said the parrot. + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE. + +ENDS IN THE MAIDENS' LODGE. + + "Mother, Mother, up in Heaven, + Stand up on the jasper sea, + And be witness I have given + All the gifts required of me." + + _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_. + +"Before these young gentlewomen come, Rhoda, I want a word with you." + +"Yes, Madam." + +"I am sure, my dear, that you have too much wit to object to what I am +about to say." + +Rhoda had learned to dread this beginning, as it was generally the +prelude to something disagreeable. But she was learning, also, to +submit to disagreeable things. She only said, meekly, "Yes, Madam." + +"I suppose, my dear, you will have felt, like a maid of some parts and +spirit as you are, that your dwelling any longer with me and Phoebe in +this house would not be proper." + +"Not be proper!" Rhoda's cheek blanched. She had never recognised +anything of the kind. Was she not only to lose her fortune, but to be +turned out of her home? When would her calamities come to an end? "Not +proper, Aunt Anne!--why not?" + +This was not altogether an easy question to answer with any reason but +the real one, which last must not be told to Rhoda. Mrs Latrobe put on +an air of injured astonishment. + +"My dear!--sure, you would not have me tell you that? No, no!--your own +good parts, I am certain, must have assured you. Now, Rhoda, I wish, so +far as is possible, to spare you all mortification. If you consider +that it would be easier to you to support your altered fortunes +elsewhere, I am very willing to put myself to some trouble to obtain for +you a suitable service; or if, on the other hand, you have not this +sensibility, then my Lady Betty's cottage is at your disposal when she +leaves it. The time that these young gentlewomen are here will be +enough to think over the matter. When they go, I shall expect your +answer." + +Had Phoebe wished to tell out to Rhoda a recompense of distress +equivalent to every annoyance which she had ever received from her, she +could have wished for no revenge superior to that of this moment. For +her, who had all her life, until lately, looked forward to dispensing +her favours as the Queen of Cressingham, to be offered apartments in the +Maidens' Lodge as an indigent gentlewoman, was in her eyes about the +last insult and degradation which could be inflicted on her. She went +white and red by turns; she took up the hem of her apron, and began to +plait it in folds, with as much diligence as though it had been a matter +of serious importance that there should be a given number of plaits to +an inch, and all of the same width to a thread. Still she did not +speak. + +Mrs Latrobe required no words to inform her of what was passing in +Rhoda's mind. But she forestalled any words which might have come, by +an affectation of misunderstanding her. + +"You see, my dear Rhoda," she said, in a would-be affectionate tone, "I +am bound to do all I can for my only sister's only child. I would not +do you so much injury as to suppose you insensible to the kindness I +have shown you. Indeed, if you had been something younger, and had +wished to learn any trade, I would willingly have paid the premium with +you. And 'tis no slight matter, I can assure you. Eighty pounds would +have been the least for which I could have put you with a milliner or +mantua-maker, to learn her trade. But, however, 'tis no good talking of +that, for you are a good nine years too old. So there is nothing before +you but service, without you marry, or to take my Lady Betty's house. +Now, my dear, you may go and divert yourself; we will not talk of this +matter again till the young gentlewomen have ended their visit." + +And with a nod of dismissal, Mrs Latrobe rose and passed out of the +room, evidently considering her duties exceeded by her merits, and +leaving Rhoda too stunned for words. + +Trade, indeed! If there could be a deeper depth than the Maidens' +Lodge, it was trade, in Rhoda's eyes. Domestic service was incomparably +more respectable and honourable. As to matrimony, which her aunt had, +as it were, flung into the scales as she passed, Rhoda's heart was still +too sore to think of it. + +An hour later brought Betty and Molly. + +"How do you, Rhoda, dear?" inquired the former, kindly. + +"Well!--got over it, Red Currants?" interrogated Molly. + +"Over what, I beg?" said Rhoda, rather haughtily. + +Molly sang her answer:-- + + "`I lost my looks, I lost my health, + I lost my wit--my love kept true; + But one fine day I lost my wealth, + And, presto! off my lover flew.' + +"Isn't that about it, old Tadpole?" + +"Your's hasn't," retorted Rhoda, carrying the attack into the enemy's +country. + +"No; I haven't lost my wealth yet," said Molly, gravely for her. + +"Who told you?" whispered Phoebe. + +"O Gemini! isn't that a good jest?" responded Molly, not at all in a +whisper. "`Who told me?'--just as if three hundred and sixty-five +people hadn't told me. Told me more jokes than one, too, Mrs Phoebe +Latrobe; told me how _you_ sent off Master Marcus with all the starch +washed out of him. Got-up Marcus in the rough dry--O Gemini!" and Molly +almost shrieked with laughter. "Poor wretch! Hasn't had the heart to +powder himself since. And she told him to his face he wanted the +guineas.--Oh how jolly! Wouldn't I have given a pretty penny to see his +face! Phoebe, you're tip-top." + +"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Rhoda, with something of +her old sharp manner. + +"Talking about your true and constant lover, my charmer," said Molly. +"His heart was broken to bits by losing--your money; so he picked up the +pieces, and pasted them together, and offered the pretty little thing to +your cousin, as the nearest person to you. But she, O cruel creature! +instead of giving him an etiquet of admission to her heart, what does +she but come down on the wretch's corns with a blunderbuss, and crush +his poor pasted heart into dust. Really--" + +"Molly, my dear!" said Betty, laughing. "Does a man's heart lie in his +corns?" + +"If you wish to know, Mrs Betty Delawarr, the conclusions to which I +have come on that subject," replied Molly, in her gravest mock manner, +"they are these. Most men haven't any hearts. They have pretty little +ornaments, made of French paste, which do instead. They get smashed +about once in six months, then they are pasted up, and nobody ever knows +the difference. There isn't much, when 'tis nicely done." + +"Pray, Molly, how many women have hearts?" + +"Not one among 'em, present company excepted." + +"Oh, Molly, Molly!" said Betty, still laughing. "I thank you, in the +name of present company," added Rhoda; but there was a glitter in her +eyes which was not mirth. + +"Now, Red Gooseberries (rather sour just now), you listen to me," said +Molly. "If you have got a heart (leave that to you!) don't you let it +waste away for that piece of flummery. There's Osmund Derwent breaking +his for you, and I believe he has one. Take him--you'll never do +better; and if I tell you lies for the rest of my life, I've spoken +truth this time.--Now, Fib, aren't you going to show such distinguished +visitors into the parlour?" + +"Oh, I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Phoebe; "I was listening to you." + +"Madam, I thank you for the compliment," and, with a low courtesy, Molly +gave her sister a push before her into the presence of Mrs Latrobe. + +"Phoebe, come here!" cried Rhoda, in a hoarse whisper, drawing her +cousin aside into one of the deep recessed windows of the old hall, once +the refectory of the Abbey. "Tell me, did Marcus Welles offer to you?" + +"Yes," said Phoebe, and said no more. "And you refused him?" + +"Why, Rhoda, dear! Yes, of course." + +"Not for my sake, I hope. Phoebe, I would not marry him now, if he came +with his hat full of diamonds." + +"Make your mind easy, dear. I never would have done." + +"Do you know, Phoebe, Aunt Anne has offered to put me in the Maidens' +Lodge?" + +"She talked of it," said Phoebe, pitifully. + +"I am not going there," responded Rhoda, in a decisive tone. "I'll go +to service first. Perhaps, I can come down so much, away from here; but +to do it here, where I thought to be mistress!--no, I could not stand +that, Phoebe." + +"I am sorry you have to stand any of it, dear Rhoda." + +"You are a good little thing, Fib; I could not bear you to pity me if +you were not. If Aunt Anne had but half your--" + +"Phoebe, where are you? Really, my dear, I am quite shocked at your +negligence! Carry the young gentlewomen up to their chambers, and let +Rhoda wait on them. I take it extreme ill you should have left them so +long. Do, my dear, remember your position!" + +Remember her position! Phoebe was beginning to wish heartily that she +might now and then be permitted to forget it. + +The four girls went upstairs together. + +"I say, Fib, did you ever shoot a waterfall in a coble?" inquired Molly. + +Phoebe felt safe in a negative. + +"Because I've heard folks say who have, that 'tis infinitely pleasant, +when you come alive out of it; but then, you see, there's a little doubt +about that." + +"I don't understand you, Mrs Molly." + +"No, my dear, very like you don't. Well, you'll find out when you've +shot 'em. You're only a passenger; no blame to you if you don't come +out alive." + +"Who's rowing, Molly?" asked Rhoda. + +"Somebody that isn't used to handling the oars," said Molly. "And if +she don't get a hole stove in--Glad 'tis no concern of mine!" + +"How does Gatty now?" asked Rhoda. + +"O she is very well, I thank you," replied Betty. + +"Is she promised yet?" + +"Dear, no," said Betty, in a pitying tone. + +"Rank cruelty, only to think on it," said Molly. "She'll just come in, +as pat as vinegar to lettuce, to keep you company in the Maidens' Lodge, +my beloved Rhoda." + +Rhoda's lip trembled slightly, but she asked, quietly enough-- + +"Which is the vinegar?" + +Molly stood for a moment with her head on one side, contemplating Rhoda. + +"Been putting sugar to it, Fib, haven't you? Well, 'tis mighty good +stuff to cure a cough." + +"Phoebe," said her mother that evening, when prayers were over, "I wish +to speak with you in my chamber before you go to yours." + +Phoebe obeyed the order with a mixture of wonder and trepidation. + +"My dear, I have good news for you. I have chosen your husband." + +"Mother!" + +"Pray, why not, my dear? 'Tis an ingenious young man, reasonable +handsome, and very suitable for age and conditions. I have not yet +broke the matter to him, but I cannot doubt of a favourable answer, for +he hath no fortune to speak of, and is like to be the more manageable, +seeing all the money will come from you. You met with him, I believe, +at Delawarr Court. His name is Derwent. I shall not write to him while +these young gentlewomen are here, but directly they are gone: yet I wish +to give you time to become used to it, and I name it thus early." + +Phoebe felt any reply impossible. + +"Good-night, my dear. I am sure you will like Mr Dement." + +Phoebe went back along the gallery like one walking in a dream. How was +this tangled skein ever to be unravelled? Had she any right to speak? +had she any to keep silence? And a cry of "Teach me to do _Thy_ will!" +went up beyond the stars. "I don't know what is right," said Phoebe, +plaintively, to her own heart. "Lord, Thou knowest! Make Thy way plain +before my face," It seemed to her that, knowing what she did, there +would be one thing more terrible than a refusal from Mr Derwent, and +that would be acceptance. It seemed impossible to pray for either. She +could only put the case into God's hands, with the entreaty of Hezekiah: +"O Lord, I am oppressed: undertake for me." + +It did not make the matter any easier that, a few days later, Rhoda said +suddenly, when she and Phoebe were alone, "Do you remember that Mr +Derwent who was at Delawarr Court?" + +"Yes," said Phoebe, and said no more. + +"Betty tells me she thought he had a liking for me." + +Phoebe was silent. Would the actual question come? + +"I wonder if it was true," said Rhoda. + +Still Phoebe went on knitting in silence, with downcast eyes. + +"I almost begin, Phoebe, to wish it had been, do you know? I liked him +very well. And--I want somebody to care for _me_." + +"Yes, poor dear," said Phoebe, rising hurriedly. "Excuse me, I must +fetch more wool." + +And she did not seem to hear Rhoda call after her-- + +"Why, Phoebe, here's your wool--a whole ball!" + +"Pretty kettle of fish!" screamed the parrot. + +Betty and Molly had gone home. Mr Onslow had read prayers, the +servants were filing out of the room, and Rhoda was lighting the +candles. + +"Well, my dear," asked Mrs Latrobe, looking up rather suddenly, "is +your decision taken?" + +"It is, Madam," readily answered her niece. + +"So much the better. What is it, my dear?" + +"I should prefer to go to service, if you please, Madam." + +"You would!" Mrs Latrobe's tone showed surprise. "Very well: I +promised you your choice. As lady's woman, I suppose?" + +"If you please, Madam." + +"Certainly, my dear. It shall be as you wish. Then to-morrow I will +begin to look out for you. I should think I shall hear of a place in a +week or two." + +Rhoda made no answer, but took up her candle, and departed with merely, +"Good-night, Madam." + +But as Phoebe went upstairs behind her, she noted Rhoda's bowed head, +her hand tightly grasping the banisters, her drowning, farewell look at +the family portraits, as she passed them on her way up the corridor. At +length she paused before three which hung together. + +In the midst stood their grandmother, a handsome, haughty figure, taken +at about the age of thirty; and on either side a daughter, at about +eighteen years of age. Rhoda lifted her light first to Madam's face. +She said nothing to indicate her thoughts there, but passed on, and +paused for another minute before the pretty, sparkling face of Anne +Latrobe. Then she came back, and raised the light, for a longer time +than either, to the pale, regular, unexpressive features of Catherine +Peveril. Phoebe waited for her to speak. It came at last. + +"I never knew her," said Rhoda, in a choked voice. "I wonder if _they_ +know what is happening on earth." + +"I should not think so," answered Phoebe, softly. + +"Well,--I hope not!" + +The hand which held the lifted light came down, and Rhoda passed into +her own room, and at once knelt down to her prayers. Phoebe stood +irresolute, her heart beating like a hammer. An idea had occurred to +her which, if it could be carried into effect, would help Rhoda out of +all her trouble. But in order to be so, it was necessary that she +herself must commit--in her own eyes--an act of unparalleled audacity. +Could she do it? The minute seemed an hour. Phoebe heard her mother go +upstairs, and shut her door. A rapid prayer went to God for wisdom. +Her resolution grew stronger. She took up her candle, stole softly +downstairs, found the silver inkstand and the box of perfumed +letter-paper. There were only a few words written when Phoebe had done. + +"Sir,--If you were now to come hither. I thinke you wou'd win my cosen. +A verie few dayes may be too late. Forgive the liberty I take. + +"Yours to serve you, Phoebe Latrobe." + +The letter was folded and directed to "_Mr_. Osmund Derwent, Esquire." +And then, for one minute, human nature had its way, and Phoebe's head +was bowed over the folded note. There was no one to see her, and she +let her heart relieve itself in tears. Ay, there was One, who took note +of the self-abnegation which had been learned from Him. Phoebe knew +that Osmund Derwent did not love her. Yet was it the less hard on that +account to resign him to Rhoda? For time and circumstances might have +shown him the comparatively alloyed metal of the one, and the pure gold +of the other. He might have loved Phoebe, even yet, as matters stood +now. But Phoebe's love was true. She was ready to secure his happiness +at the cost of her own. It was not of that false, selfish kind which +seeks merely its own happiness in the beloved one, and will give him +leave to be happy only in its own way. Yet, after all, Phoebe was +human; and some very sorrowful tears were shed, for a few minutes, over +that gift laid on the altar. Though the drops were salt, they would not +tarnish the gold. + +It was but for a few minutes that Phoebe dared to remain there. She +wiped her eyes and forced back her tears. Then she went upstairs and +tapped at Betty's door. + +"There's that worriting Sue," she heard Betty say inside; and then the +door was opened. "Mrs Phoebe, my dear, I ask twenty pardons; I thought +'twas that Sukey,--she always comes a-worriting. What can I do for you, +my dear?" + +"I want you to get that letter off first thing in the morning, Betty." + +Betty turned the letter all ways, scanned the address, and inspected the +seal. + +"Mrs Phoebe, you'll not bear me malice, I hope. You know you're only +young, my dear. Are you quite certain you'll never be sorry for this +here letter?" + +"'Tis not what you think, Betty," said Phoebe with a smile on her pale +lips which had a good deal of sadness in it. "You are sorry for my +cousin, I know. 'Twill be a kind act towards her, Betty, if you will +send that letter." + +Betty looked into Phoebe's face so earnestly that she dropped her eyes. + +"I see," said Mrs Latrobe's maid. "I'm not quiet a blind bat, Mrs +Phoebe. The letter shall go, my dear. Make your mind easy." + +Yet Betty did not see all there was to be seen. + +"Why, Phoebe!" exclaimed Rhoda, when she got back to the bedroom, "where +have you been?" + +"Downstairs." + +"What had you to go down for? You forgot something, I suppose. But +what is the matter with your eyes?" + +"They burn a little to-night, dear," said Phoebe, quietly. + +The days went on, and there was no reply to Phoebe's audacious note, and +there was a reply to Mrs Latrobe's situation-hunting. She announced to +Rhoda on the ninth morning at breakfast that she had heard of an +excellent place for her. Lady Kitty Mainwaring the mother of Molly +Delawarr's future husband, was on the look-out for a "woman." She had +three daughters, the eldest of whom was the Kitty who had been at +Delawarr Court. Rhoda would have to wait on these young ladies, as well +as their mother. It was a most eligible situation. Mrs Latrobe, on +Rhoda's behalf, had accepted it at once. + +Rhoda sat playing with her tea-spoon, and making careful efforts to +balance it on the edge of her cup. + +"Do they know who wants it?" she asked, in a husky voice. + +"Of course, my dear! You did not look I should make any secret of it, +sure?" + +Rhoda's colour grew deeper. It was evident that she was engaged in a +most severe struggle with herself. She looked up at last. + +"Very good, Aunt Anne. I will go to Lady Kitty," she said. + +"My dear, I accepted the place. Of course you will go," returned Mrs +Latrobe, in a voice of some astonishment. + +Rhoda got out of the room at the earliest opportunity, and Phoebe +followed her as soon as she could. But she found her kneeling by her +bed, and stole away again. Was chastening working the peaceable fruit +of righteousness in Rhoda Peveril? + +Phoebe wandered out into the park, and bent her steps towards the ruins +of the old church. She sat down at the foot of Saint Ursula's image, +and tried to disentangle her bewildered thoughts. Had she made a +mistake in sending that letter, and did the Lord intend Rhoda to go to +Lady Kitty Mainwaring? Phoebe had been trying to lift her cousin out of +trouble. Was it God's plan to plunge Rhoda more deeply into it, in +order that she might learn her lesson the more thoroughly, and be the +more truly happy afterwards? If so, Phoebe had made a stupid blunder. +When would she learn that God did not need her bungling help? Yet, poor +Rhoda! How miserable she was likely to be! Phoebe buried her face in +her hands, and did not see that some one had come in by a ruined window, +and was standing close beside her on the grass. + +"Mrs Phoebe, I owe you thanks unutterable," said a voice that Phoebe +knew only too well. + +Phoebe sprang up. "Have you seen her, Mr Derwent?" + +"I have seen no one but you," said he, gravely. + +They walked up to the house together, but there Phoebe left him and +sought refuge in her bed-chamber. + +"Phoebe, my dear, are you here?" said Mrs Latrobe, entering the room +half an hour later. "Child, did you not hear me call? I could not +think where you were, and I wished to have you come down. Why, only +think!--all is changed about Rhoda, and she will not go to Lady Kitty. +I am a little chagrined, I confess, on your account, my dear; however, +it may be all for the best. 'Tis that same Mr Derwent I had heard of, +and thought to obtain for you. Well! I am very pleased for Rhoda; 'tis +quite as good, or better, than any thing she could expect; and I shall +easily meet with something else for you. So now, my dear Phoebe, when +she is married, and all settled--for of course, now, I shall let her +stay till she marries--then, child, the coast will be clear for you. By +the way, you did not care any thing for him, I suppose?--and if you had, +you would soon have got over it--all good girls do. Fetch me my +knotting, Phoebe--'tis above in my chamber; or, if you meet Rhoda, send +her." + +It was a subject of congratulation to Phoebe that one of Mrs Latrobe's +peculiarities was to ask questions, and assume, without waiting for it, +that the answer was according to her wishes. So she escaped a reply. + +But there was one thing yet for Phoebe to bear, even worse than this. + +"Phoebe, dear, dear Phoebe! I am so happy!" and Rhoda twined her arms +round her cousin, and hid her bright face on Phoebe's shoulder. "He +says he has loved me ever since we were at Delawarr. And I think I must +have loved him, just a little bit, without knowing it, or I could not +love him so much all at once now. I was trying very hard to make up my +mind to Lady Kitty's service--that seemed to be what God had ordered for +me; and I did ask Him, Phoebe, to give me patience, and make me willing +to do His will. And only think--all the while He was preparing this for +me! And I don't think, Phoebe, I should have cared for that--you know +what I mean--but for you--the patient, loving way you bore with me; and +I haven't been kind to you, Fib--you know I haven't. Then I dare say +the troubles I've had helped a little. And Mr Derwent says he should +not have dared to come but for a little letter that you writ him. I owe +you all my happiness--my dear, good little Fib!" + +Was it all pain she had to bear? Phoebe gave thanks that night. + +Ten years had passed since Madam Furnival's death, and over White-Ladies +was a cloudless summer day. In the park, under the care of a governess +and nurse, half a dozen children were playing; and under a spreading +tree on the lawn, with a book in her hand, sat a lady, whose likeness to +the children indicated her as their mother. In two of the cottages of +the Maidens' Lodge that evening, tea-parties were the order of the day. +In Number Four, Mrs Eleanor Darcy was entertaining Mrs Marcella Talbot +and Mrs Clarissa Vane. + +Mrs Marcella's health had somewhat improved of late, but her +disposition had not sustained a corresponding change. She was holding +forth now to her two listeners on matters public and private, to the +great satisfaction of Mrs Clarissa, but not altogether to that of Mrs +Eleanor. + +"Well, so far as such a poor creature as I am can take any pleasure in +any thing, I am glad to see Mrs Derwent back at White-Ladies. Mrs +Phoebe would never have kept up the place properly. She hasn't her poor +mother's spirit and working power--not a bit. The place would just have +gone to wreck if she had remained mistress there; and I cannot but think +she was sensible of it." + +"Well, for my part," put in Mrs Clarissa, "I feel absolutely certain +something must have come to light about Madam's will, you know--which +positively obliged Mrs Phoebe to give up everything to Madam Derwent. +'Tis monstrous to suppose that she would have done any such thing +without being obliged. I feel as sure as if I had _seen_ it." + +"O my dear!" came in a gently deprecating tone from Mrs Eleanor. + +"Oh, I am positive!" repeated Mrs Clarissa, whose mind possessed the +odd power of forcing conviction on itself by simple familiarity with an +idea. "Everything discovers so many symptoms of it. I cannot but be +infinitely certain. Down, Pug, down!" as Cupid's successor, which was +not a dog, but a very small monkey, endeavoured to jump into her lap. + +"Well, till I know the truth is otherwise, I shall give Mrs Phoebe +credit for all," observed Mrs Eleanor. + +"Indeed, I apprehend Clarissa has guessed rightly," said Mrs Marcella, +fanning herself. "'Tis so unlikely, you know, for any one to do such a +thing as this, without it were either an obligation or a trick to win +praise. And I can't think _that_,--'tis too much." + +"Nay, but surely there is some love and generosity left in the world," +urged Mrs Eleanor. + +"Oh, if you had had my experience, my dear," returned Mrs Marcella, +working her fan more vigorously, "you would know there were no such +things to be looked for in _this_ world. I've looked for gratitude, I +can assure you, till I am tired." + +"Gratitude for what?" inquired Mrs Darcy, rather pertinently. + +"Oh, for all the things one does for people, you know. They are never +thankful for them--not one bit." + +Mrs Darcy felt and looked rather puzzled. During the fifty years of +their acquaintance, she never could remember to have seen Marcella +Talbot do one disinterested kindness to any mortal being. + +"They take all you give them," pursued the last-named lady, "and then +they just go and slander you behind your back. Oh, 'tis a miserable +world, this!--full of malice, envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness, as +the Prayer-Book says." + +"The Prayer-Book does not exactly say that, I think," suggested Mrs +Eleanor; "it asks that we ourselves may be preserved from such evil +passions." + +"I am sure I wish people were preserved from them!" ejaculated Mrs +Clarissa. "The uncharitableness, and misunderstanding, and unkind words +that people will allow themselves to use! 'Tis perfectly heartrending +to hear." + +"Especially when one hears it of one's self," responded Mrs Eleanor a +little drily; adding, for she wished to give a turn to the conversation, +"Did you hear the news Dr Saunders was telling yesterday? The Czar of +Muscovy offers to treat with King George, but as Elector of Hanover +only." + +"What, he has come thus far, has he?" replied Mrs Marcella. "Why, 'tis +but five or six years since he was ready to marry his daughter to the +Pretender, could they but have come to terms. Sure, King George will +never accept of such a thing as that?" + +"I should think not, indeed!" added Mrs Clarissa. "Well, did he want a +bit of sugar, then?" + +Pug held out his paw, and very decidedly intimated that he did. + +"Mrs Leighton wants Pug; I shall give him to her," observed his +mistress. "'Tis not quite so modish to keep monkeys as it was: I shall +have a squirrel." + +"A bit more sugar?" asked Mrs Eleanor, addressing the monkey. "Poor +Pug!" + +Next door but one, in the cottage formerly occupied by Lady Betty +Morehurst, were also seated three ladies at tea. Presiding at the +table, in mourning dress, sat our old friend Phoebe. There was an +expression of placid content upon her lips, and a peaceful light in her +eyes, which showed that whatever else she might be, she was not unhappy. +On her left sat Mrs Jane Talbot, a little older looking, a little more +sharp and angular; and on the right, apparently unchanged beyond a +slight increase of infirmity, little Mrs Dorothy Jennings. + +"What a pure snug [nice] room have you here!" said Mrs Jane, looking +round. + +"'Tis very pleasant," said Phoebe, "and just what I like." + +"Now, my dear, do you really mean to say you like this--better than +White-Ladies?" + +"Indeed I do, Mrs Jane. It may seem a strange thing to you, but I +could never feel at home at the Abbey. It all seemed too big and grand +for a little thing like me." + +"Well! I don't know," responded Mrs Jane, in that tone which people +use when they make that assertion as the prelude to the declaration of a +very decisive opinion,--"_I_ don't know, but I reckon there's a pretty +deal about you that's big and grand, my dear; and I'm mightily mistaken +if Mr Derwent and Mrs Rhoda don't think the same." + +"My dear Jane!" said Mrs Dorothy, with a twinkle of fun in her eyes. +"Mr and Madam Derwent Furnival, if you please." + +"Oh, deary me!" ejaculated Mrs Jane. "Leave that stuff to you. She +can call herself Madam Peveril-Plantagenet, if she likes. Make no +difference to me. Mrs Rhoda she was, and Mrs Rhoda I shall call her +to the end of the chapter. Don't mean any disrespect, you know--quite +the contrary. Well, I'm sure I'm very glad to see her at White-Ladies; +but, Mrs Phoebe, if it could have been managed, I should have liked you +too." + +"Thank you, Mrs Jane, but you see it couldn't." + +"Well, I don't know. There was no need for you to come down to the +Maidens' Lodge, without you liked. Couldn't you have kept rooms in the +Abbey for yourself, and still have given all to your cousin?" + +"I'd rather have this," said Phoebe, with a smile. "I am more +independent, you see; and I have kept what my grandmother meant me to +have, so that, please God, I trust I shall never want, and can still +help my friends when they need it. I can walk in the park, and enjoy +the gardens, just as well as ever; and Rhoda will be glad to see me, I +know, any time when I want a chat with her." + +"I should think so, indeed!" cried Mrs Jane. "Most thankless woman in +the world if she wasn't." + +"Oh, don't say that! You know I could not have done anything else, +knowing what Madam intended, when things came to me." + +"You did the right thing, dear child," said Mrs Dorothy, quietly, "as +God's children should. He knew when to put the power in your hands. If +Madam Derwent had come to White-Ladies ten years ago, she wouldn't have +made as good use of it as she will now. She was not ready for it. And +I'm mistaken if you are not happier, Phoebe, in the Maidens' Lodge, than +you ever would have been if you had kept White-Ladies." + +"I am sure of that," said Phoebe. "Well, but she didn't need have come +down thus far!" reiterated Mrs Jane. + +"She is the servant of One who came down very far, dear Jane," gently +answered Mrs Dorothy, "that we through His poverty might be rich." + +"Well, it looks like it," replied Mrs Jane, with a little tell-tale +huskiness in her voice. "Mrs Phoebe, my dear, do you remember my +saying, when Madam died, to you and Mrs Rhoda, that I'd tell you ten +years after, which I was sorry for?" Phoebe smiled an affirmative. +"Well, I'm not over sorry for either of you; but, at any rate, not for +_you_." + +"The light has come back to thine eyes; dear child, and the peace," said +old Mrs Dorothy. "Ah, folks don't always know what is the hardest to +give up." + +And Phoebe, looking up with startled eyes, saw that Mrs Dorothy had +guessed her secret. She went to the fire for fresh water from the +kettle. Her face was as calm as usual when she returned. Softly she +said,-- + + "`Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre, + Il est a desirer; + Je n'ai plus rien a craindre, + Car Dieu est mon Berger.'" + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Maidens' Lodge, by Emily Sarah Holt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAIDENS' LODGE *** + +***** This file should be named 21235.txt or 21235.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/2/3/21235/ + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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