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Lance so much, that choking added to the redness of his visage, as,
while buttering the muffins, he tried to exercise some sculpture on
the ill-shaped lump.
To a Londoner, however, all country fare was fresh, pure, and
delicious, more especially when dispensed by one who, for all her
disdain of the poetry of life, could not but be in herself a satisfaction
to the artist's eye. He could not help a little start of amazement; and
as he paused while Cherry made her slow way into the other room,
he could not refrain from whispering to Felix that he had always
thought the portraits Edgar brought from home a little too ideal, but
that he perceived that they did not do justice to the reality; and
Felix, with a little curl of his mouth, and rub of his hands, asked
whether Mr. Renville had seen his other twin sister. 'Yes; she was
extremely handsome, but somehow her style did not explain that
classical beauty in the same manner.'
To look at Wilmet and Stella, and to talk to Felix and Geraldine, was
no despicable pleasure. Felix's powers of conversation were a good
deal cultivated by the clients of the reading-room, who had always
gossiped with Mr. Froggatt as now with him; and Geraldine had
native wit and liveliness, that were sure to flash out whenever the
first chill of shyness was taken off, as it easily was when her brother
was there to take the lead.
But Cherry was not prepared for that proposal of Felix's that she
should show her drawings to the guest. Poor man, he must be so
much used to the sight of young-lady drawings; and of late Cherry
had been in the depths of despair about hers, with all their defects,
that she knew not how to remedy, glaring full upon her. She would
have protested, but Lance had handed out the portfolio; and
fluttering, nervous, eager, she must conquer her silly sense of being
'all in a twitter.'
Those two or three fanciful groups—his 'Ah, very pretty!' was just
courteous and almost weary. But then came an endeavour to
produce Lance as the faithful little acolyte in the Silver Store. Mr.
Renville looked at that much more attentively, smiled as he nodded
at her model, and praised the accuracy of the drawing of the hand.
From that moment his manner of looking was altogether different.
He criticised so hard that Wilmet was in pain, and thought poor
Cherry would be annihilated; but Cherry, on the other hand, was
drinking in every word, asking questions, explaining difficulties, and
Mr. Renville evidently extremely interested, seeing and hearing
nothing but the sketches and the lame girl.
'Who had been her teacher?'
'Edgar.'
'No one else? Only your brother?' in great surprise. 'I don't know
when I have seen such accuracy even in the school of art.'
'Edgar is so particular about that.'
'Well, if I could only get him to learn his own lesson!'
'I have so little to copy,' said Cherry. 'I have nothing to distract me.'
It was little enough; a few second-hand studies of his; a cast that
Felix had given her off an Italian boy's board, which came
opportunely on her birthday; and her living models when she could
catch them, generally surreptitiously. But upon her small materials
she had worked perseveringly, going back to the same subject
whenever she gained a new light, profiting by every hint, till the
result was an evident amazement to the artist; and as he
emphatically said, pointing to an outline caught from John Harewood
as he was reading last summer, 'This is not talent, it is genius! You
ought to give yourself advantages, Miss Underwood.'
Cherry smiled rather sadly. 'It is quite enough that Edgar should
have them,' she said.
'Ah! if he would only take half the pains with his drawing that he
seems to have inculcated upon you!'
It was a disappointment. She had much rather have heard Edgar's
genius praised than her own, which, be it what it might, she had
come to believe must, for want of cultivation, be limited to the
supply of Christmas cards and unsatisfactory illuminations.
But when the sisters had gone to bed, Mr. Renville had much more
to say. He had sought Felix out a good deal for the purpose of
talking over Edgar, He said that the young man's talent was of a
graceful, fantastic, ingenious description, such as with application
would be available for prosperity if not for eminence; but application
Edgar had never perseveringly given, since he had first found
himself surpassed in the higher efforts of art. His powers were too
versatile for his own good, and he dabbled in everything that was
not his proper occupation—concerts, amateur theatricals, periodical
literature and journalism, comic sketches. His doings were not all
wholly unremunerative; but though he viewed them as mines of
wealth, they were really lures into a shifty uncertain life, and
distractions from steady consistent labour. His fine voice, his brilliant
wit, and engaging manner, made him a star in the lively society on
the outskirts of art; and he was expensive, careless, and irregular in
his hours to a degree that sorely tried the good man, a precisian in
his domestic customs. He and his little German wife, however, loved
the lad, as everybody did love him who came under the influence of
his sunshiny grace and sweetness of temper—the unselfish manner
inherited from one whose unselfishness was real; and used as they
were to the freedom of artist life, their allowances were liberal; but
of late there had been a recklessness and want of purpose about his
ways which both grieved and alarmed them: he was more unsettled
than ever, seemed to have lost all interest in his studies at the
Academy, was getting into a set that had degenerated from
permissible eccentricity into something very like lawlessness, and
even while an undesirable inmate, had vexed his kind friend and
master by proposing to remove from under his roof, and set up with
a chosen comrade of his own.
Committed to his charge, as Edgar Underwood had been by the
elder brother, the kind little artist felt it his duty not to let him go
without an intimation to his family, though well aware that a father
could have little control in such a case, how much less a brother only
by two years the elder?
All that Felix could hope was, that since this state of dreary
recklessness was so evidently the effect of disappointment, it might
pass with the force of the shock. He himself had experiences of the
irksomeness of the dull round of ordinary occupation when the heart
was rent by a sudden shock; and though he had forced himself on
under the load that had so nearly crushed him, he could perfectly
understand the less chastened, more impetuous nature, under less
pressure of necessity, breaking into aberrations under a far more
astounding blow of desertion. So he hoped. But what could he do?
He knew but too well the cool manner in which Edgar turned over
his remonstrances as those of the would-be heavy father. He could
only thank Mr. Renville, promise to write to Edgar, and entreat him
not to remove from the roof which was so great a safeguard against
the worst forms of temptation, advise him perhaps to study abroad
for a time to pacify the restlessness of his disappointment—at any
rate, if he could do nothing else, not let the brother whom he still
loved best of all drift away without feeling that there were those
who grieved and strove for him.
It was not only of Edgar that Mr. Renville spoke, however. He was so
much impressed with Geraldine's drawings, that he argued that she
should have a quarter's study in the South Kensington Museum,
undertaking, as one of the masters, to facilitate her coming and
going, so that she should not be involved in any scrambles, and
declaring that she only needed a few opportunities of study to
render her talent really excellent and profitable.
Felix declared her going to be simply impossible; but either Mr.
Renville or Edgar did not let the matter rest there, for a warm
invitation arrived from the family in Kensington Palace Gardens,
backed by many promises of tender care from Marilda. It seemed to
be absolutely throwing away opportunities for Cherry to refuse to
avail herself of such an opening; and though she was in exceeding
trepidation, she had enough of the sacred fire to long to perfect her
art, justified by the wish to render it substantially beneficial. And
then Felix could not help thinking that the presence of his favourite
sister might be a wholesome check to Edgar in one direction, and
incentive in another, at this critical time, and this was no small
weight in his balance. While Cherry, on the one hand, dreaded going
out into the world with the nervous dismay of an invalid, who had
never been anywhere but to St. Faith's; and on the other, felt this
opportunity for herself almost an injustice to Lance, with all his
yearnings.
She was to go immediately after Easter; and whether by Edgar's
suggestion or not, Marilda imperiously begged that Lance might
bring her up to London, and stay as long as he could be spared. It
was impossible to give him longer than from Saturday till the last
train on Monday, for Felix had reporting business on hand, and must
be out on Tuesday, and did not perhaps regret that things had so
settled themselves.
Lance's overflowing enjoyment somewhat solaced Geraldine's alarm
on the way up; he was so careful of her, and so proud of the charge;
and after his wistful glance at Minsterham, the novelty was so
delightful to him. His journey with John Harewood reckoned for
nothing, for he had then been far too unwell to look about, and it
had besides been on a different line; but now everything was
wonderful, and his exclamations almost embarrassed Cherry, she
thought they must so astonish their fellow-travellers. Even the
hideousness of the suburbs seemed to fascinate him—there was
something in the sense of the multitude that filled him with
excitement. 'It is getting to the heart, Cherry,' he said, 'where the
circulation is quickest.'
'Into the world—the vortex, I should call it,' returned Cherry thinking
of drops being attracted by the eddy, and sucked into the whirlpool;
but Lance was gone wild at the glimpse of a huge gasometer, and
did not heed.
Edgar's dainty beard and moustache were the first things that met
their eyes upon the platform; his strong arms helped Cherry out, and
in a wonderfully short time seated her beside Alda in a great
luxurious carriage.
To her disappointment, however, the two back seats remained
vacant.
'No, no,' said Edgar, his white teeth gleaming in a smile; 'we must
make the most of our time, Lancey boy. What do you say to walking
by Westminster—then we'll get something to eat—and you shall
know what Don Giovanni is like before you are many hours older, my
boy?'
Cherry's last view of Lance was with a look of dancing ecstasy all
over his person.
'Don Giovanni is the opera, isn't it?' she said in bewilderment.
'Of course; what did you think?'
'But I thought that was dreadfully dear.'
'Oh! Edgar can always get tickets for anything. You must not bring
out Wilmet's frugalities here, Cherry. Dear old Wilmet, how does she
bear this long waiting?'
Alda was really interested in home tidings, and pleased to point out
matters of interest, so that Cherry was fairly happy, till the awe of
the great handsome house, alone in its gravelled garden, fell on her.
But when once up the stately stone steps, she was kindly,
solicitously, welcomed by Marilda and her mother. The reception-
rooms (as Mrs. Underwood called them) were all on the ground
floor; and Cherry had only to mount one easy flight of broad steps
to reach the former school-room, with two little bed-rooms opening
into it—one assigned to her, the other to Marilda's old nurse, who
had been kept on with little or nothing to do, and was delighted to
devote herself to the lame young lady.
She took charge of Geraldine's toilette for the late dinner, so
tremendous to the imagination used to the little back-room at home,
but which turned out after all more tedious than formidable. In
truth, Cherry was very tired, and Alda quite kindly advised her to go
to bed. She wanted to sit up and wait for her brothers, but was
laughed at, and finally was deposited in her very pretty pink bed,
where, however, the strangeness of all things allowed her very little
sleep. Quiet as the place was, she thought something seemed to be
going on all night; and at some semi-light hour in the morning she
bounded up as if at a shot, for there really was a step, and a knock,
and her door opening.
'Cherry, are you awake?'
'O Lance! what is the matter?'
'Matter! nothing—only I'm going out to look about me, and I thought
I'd leave word with you and see how you were.'
'Out! Why, didn't I hear the clock strike five?'
'Ay. Have you been awake?'
'A good deal. Have you?'
'As if anybody could sleep after that! I've gone it all over and over. I
see there's a piano in this outer room. I'll just show you.'
'O Lance!—now—and Sunday!'
'I forgot. But it is so awful, Cherry: it made one feel more than a
hundred sermons;' and the far-away look came into his eyes; as in
rapid words he sketched the story, described the scenes, dwelt with
passionate fervour on the music, all with an intensity of feeling
resulting in a great sense of awe. His excitement seemed to her so
great that she begged him to go back to bed for the hours that yet
remained before breakfast.
'I couldn't, I tell you, Cherry.'
'But you'll have such a head-ache.'
'Time enough for that when I get home. I don't know what to do
with myself, I tell you; I must get into a church somewhere, or I
can't bear it.'
'You'll lose your way.'
'I've got the map of London. If I can I shall get to St. Matthew's;
and so I thought I had better tell you, in case I wasn't back to
breakfast. Edgar showed me your room.'
'Is Edgar sleeping here?'
'No; he went to Renville's when he'd put me in. I'll be back anyway
by the time Robin and Angel come, but I can't stay quiet. Nobody
ever gave me any notion what this place is. It makes one feel I don't
know how, only just to see the people—streaming, streaming,
streaming, just like a river! And then that wonderful—most
wonderful music!'
The boy was gone, and Cherry felt as if his fate were sealed—the
drop gone to join the other drops, and to swirl away!
Edgar was rather amazed and disconcerted, when on coming in
about ten o'clock he found that he had vanished. He had meant to
take him to any ecclesiastical wonder that he wished; but he
laughed at Cherry's fears of the boy losing himself. 'He is a born
gamin,' he said—'takes to London streets as a native element. But
Felix is right, he must not have too much of it. I was heartily glad
when it was over last night, and durst not keep him for the ballet,
though I much wanted to see what he would say to it; but he was
worked up to such a pitch I didn't know what would come next, and
I'm sure his remarks taught me more about Don Giovanni than ever
I saw before. He was in such a state when he came out that I hardly
knew what to do with him. I should have given him a glass of ale
but he wouldn't hear of that, so I could only let him have his will—a
great cup of coffee—and send him to bed. I knew he wouldn't sleep.'
Lance did appear at the moment of luncheon, when Robina and
Angela arrived to spend the rest of the day. He had not reached St
Matthew's; but he had found a church open early for a grand choral
Celebration, and this not being customary at Minsterham, had been
almost overwhelming to a nature like his. It had lasted so long, that
the bell rang for matins before the congregation had left the church;
and Lance had stayed on, and heard a service far exceeding in
warmth and splendour that of his sober old cathedral, and such a
soul-stirring sermon as was utterly unlike the steady-going
discourses of his canons.
He had never even missed his breakfast, and yet seemed not to care
for the meal before him, though he ate what was put on his plate;
and he had that look of being all brow, eyes, and nose, that had
often recurred ever since his illness; but he would not allow that he
was tired; and so far from being able to sit still, wanted his little
sisters to walk with him in Kensington Gardens, and Robina being a
discreet person, and knowing her way, there was no reason against
this; and off they went, all three supremely happy, and Cherry
feeling a certain hopefulness that Robina's steady good sense would
be a counterpoise to other influences and excitements. But Lance
had not come to any state for sober sense. Under the trees of
Kensington Gardens, the influence of the brilliant spring beauty, and
the gay cheerful vivacity of the holiday crowd, still acted on his
eager self; and he used his sisters as audience for all his impressions
as to Don Giovanni, till he had driven Angela almost as wild as
himself with his vivid descriptions—and to be sure, he treated it as a
sort of religious exercise. Indeed, the sensation he seemed chiefly to
have carried off with him, was that London had been maligned; he
had always supposed it to be a Vanity Fair, where one's religion
would be in extreme peril; and behold, he had found religion there
like everything else—more quickening, more inspiriting, more
exquisitely beautiful and satisfying in its ministrations, than anything
that he could have conceived! Nor did the late Evening Service with
which his day finished—with all its accessories of light and music,
and another sermon from a celebrated preacher—lessen this
impression, which made St Oswald's by comparison so utterly flat,
dead, and unprofitable.
Robina could not help saying to Cherry, with that old-womanish air
of wisdom that belonged to her sometimes, 'I do wish we hadn't
taken Lance to such a nice church. He knows less what London
really is now than he did before.'
Dear little Robin! as if she knew what London really was! And Cherry
was too anxious an elder sister to give her much comfort, except by
saying, 'It is fair that he should know the truth of what is to be
found there, Bobbie. You see he is only getting good out of it in his
own mind.'
'Yes, that's true; only he will make himself ill.'
This had come to be Edgar's fear as well as Cherry's, when they
found that Lance had slept quite as little the second night as the
first, though he brought down those great lustrous blue eyes of his
quite as wide open and full of zest in the morning. It made Edgar
cautious in his choice of sights for the Monday; but one so long
habituated to London, and regarding with contempt its stock lions,
could not estimate what they were to a lad at once so susceptible
and so unsophisticated, and his diversion at Lance's raptures passed
into anxiety, not unmingled with tedium, and almost disdain, at
anything so very countrified; but his real care and good nature never
flagged till he had safely, and to his positive relief, seen his little
brother off for Bexley by the five o'clock train, to work off his
intoxication at home, among his proper guardians.
'I am sure,' he said to Geraldine, 'if I had had any notion that his
brain had continued so ticklish, I would never have had him on my
hands. The difference between lionizing him and old Blunderbore!
why it was—not exactly fire and water, but Ariel and Gonzalo. Shut
the two up in the same shop! It is ridiculous! No, no, Lance must
vegetate down there till his brains have cooled down from that
unlucky stroke; but after that, you'll see, nothing will keep him down
in Felix's hole; 'tisn't in the nature of things that he should be buried
there. I've given him the violin I got at Liège, so he won't be quite
wasting his time.'
There was rest—at least, for the present—in Edgar's acquiescence in
Lance's vegetation, except so far as it gave food for present anxiety,
by showing how the boy's excitability had alarmed him; and Cherry
anxiously watched for reports from home. Felix and she herself were
the chief letter-writers in the family, and he kept her daily supplied
with tidings. His first account—written at intervals at the reporter's
table at Minsterham—bore that Lance had come all right, and
seemed to have enjoyed himself much. So he had kept up for one
day; but on the third came the inevitable tidings, 'Poor Lance is in
bed, with headache in its worst shape. Wilmet has been obliged to
stay at home to attend to him. It must have been coming on
yesterday, for he seems to have talked more than enough, and made
more blunders than can be remedied in a day. I suppose Edgar
would have laughed if I had cautioned him; but I would about as
soon have put the boy to stand on the Equator as have taken him to
that opera.'
The days of pleasure seemed to have a heavy price; it was not till
Saturday that Felix reported Lance as in his place as usual, but still
looking ill, quiet, and subdued. 'I am afraid,' proceeded the letter,
'that it has been a very fascinating glimpse he has had of Edgar's
way of life, and that F. and U.'s house is more against the grain to
him. I doubt whether it be suited to him; but the other course seems
over-perilous. I wonder whether fathers have the power of insight
and judgment that I need so much. However, for the present, health
speaks plainly that home is the only place for him; and I can with a
free conscience enjoy his bright face and service of good will. To
have you and him both out of the way was severe; but if it were not
for his good, it is for yours.'
Yes, Geraldine trusted it was for her good. When Thomas
Underwood went to the City in the morning she was always set
down at the Renvilles', whence the transit to the Museum was so
short, that she could make it either with her brother's arm or the
master's. It was not thought fit for her to work all day, so Mrs. Sturt
(the old nurse) always came to meet and take her home to
luncheon; after which she either went out with Mrs. Underwood and
Marilda, or was carried about by her brother, in which case her
conveyance was always defrayed at the door with so little knowledge
on her part, that Edgar accused her of supposing Cousin Thomas to
keep innumerable very seedy equipages always in waiting on her
steps.
It was great enjoyment—real instruction of the best sort in that
which was most congenial to her, putting the crown on her long
lonely perseverance, and giving a daily sense of progress and
achievement, was delightful. She had no notion of rivalry; but when
she perceived that she was excelling, that commendation almost
always attended her attempts, and that in any competition she
always came near the mark and was sometimes foremost, she was
conscious of a startling sense of triumph; and Edgar was full of
exultation. If his own studies at the Royal Academy had been
fulfilling all his golden dreams, he could not have been half so
uplifted as he was by Cherry's chances of a medal; while, if he had
only acted on a quarter of the sensible advice he gave her, he would
already have been far advanced in his profession.
If he had been imprudent in Lancelot's case, he showed much
tender good judgment in his selection on Cherry's behalf of
exhibitions and rehearsals—never overdoing her, and using all his
grace and dexterity to obviate her fatigue and prevent
embarrassments from her lameness, till she began to take courage
and feel at ease.
Alda never went with them. She said Cherry's pace would be the
death of her, and she knew it all by heart. Yet, go where they would,
there generally appeared, soon after four o'clock, a tall, handsome,
black-moustached figure, seldom uttering more than 'Good-morning!'
and 'All well at home?' and then content to stalk beside them,
perfectly indifferent to their object, but always ready to give an arm
to Cherry, or to find a cab.
'Dogged by Montezuma's ghost!' Edgar would mutter when the
inevitable black head came towering into view; and even Cherry
sometimes felt the silent haunting rather a bore. Edgar and
Ferdinand were both good company alone, but together she knew
not what to do with them; since her sole common subject of interest
to Ferdinand, church details, provoked Edgar's sarcasm; and though
Edgar had enough to say on a thousand other points, Fernan was
totally silent on all, except horses, of which on her side she knew
nothing. Nevertheless, for very pity, he was always allowed to know
their designs; and Cherry delivered messages between him and
Alda, and marvelled at her never finding it possible to avail herself of
such chances of meeting.
Indeed, it puzzled Cherry why Ferdinand should be banished from
the house, since Marilda took pains to mark her friendly feeling
towards him as Alda's betrothed; and the resentment of her parents
appeared to be inactive; but Alda declared that any advance on his
side would provoke great wrath, and that open intercourse was
impossible; and it could only be supposed that she was the best
judge.
However, to Cherry herself, Alda was far kinder than at home—
perhaps because her own ground was too secure to leave room for
jealousy; and she viewed her sister as guest rather than rival. During
the first shyness and awe, she was a kind helper, full of tact, which
parried the rather obtrusive patronage of her so-called aunt; she
provided books, quietly ameliorated matters of dress, and threw in
judicious hints and encouragements, so that Cherry's warm heart
beat gratefully, and she thought she had never known how nice Alda
could be in her proper element.
As to Marilda, she was thoroughly good-natured, perhaps rather
teasing, and tyrannical as to what she thought for Cherry's good,
and very careful that she should not be neglected; but there did not
seem to be much in common between them, they never could get
on in a tête à tête; and Cherry, who had heard vast statements from
her brothers about Marilda's original forms of goodness, was
disappointed to find her life so entirely that of a common-place
young lady. She was clumsy, over-dressed, and of a coarse
complexion; and though she sometimes said odd things, they were
remarkable not for wit but for frankness. It seemed as though the
world had been too much for Marilda's better self, and as if she were
becoming the purse-proud heiress who fancied wealth could atone
for want of refinement or of delicacy towards people's feelings.
It was with the master of the house that Cherry got on best. At first
he treated her like a frail china cup that a touch might break, but
gradually he discovered in her resemblances to all manner of past
Underwoods, talked to her about her parents in their youth,
expressed endless wonder how 'that lad Felix made it out,' and by-
and-by found that a few questions about the day's doings would
draw forth a delightfully fresh, simple, and amusing narrative, given
with animated lips, and eyes that charmed him. He became very
fond of little Geraldine, and accepted her as his special evening
companion when his wife took the other two girls into society. She
could talk, read the paper, or play at cribbage; and was so much
pleased to be of use, that she became as much at ease and
therefore as amusing as with old Froggy himself.
She had been assured of exemption from parties, but she found that
the sumptuous luncheon was a popular institution, and that radiant
ladies, lounging men, riding parties brought home by Alda, and stout
matrons on a cruise of morning calls, were always dropping in. It
was diverting to sit quietly by and listen to the characteristic
confidences of the city dames, to the dashing nonsense of the girls,
and the languid affectations of the young men; and capital material
was furnished for the long letters that amused the breakfast-table at
home—journals, half full of beautiful description, half full of fun and
drollery. Those gay dames and demoiselles little thought what a pair
of keen grey eyes were watching them, as they passed, almost
unheeded, the little sober-hued person whom they never fairly
understood to be the sister of the beautiful Alda.
Of the school establishment at Brompton Cherry saw something. She
was invited to drink tea there, for the sake of talking over Angela;
the two heads of the establishment being very glad to get an elder
sister to discuss that puzzling personage with. Of Robina, since the
catastrophe eighteen months ago, they had nothing but good to say;
she had really lived it down, so far as to have proved that if she had
erred, it was only in judgment; but with Angela they still knew not
what to do.
She had come back subdued and with better impulses, and these
had carried her on up to Easter, giving such satisfaction to the Vicar,
that he had sanctioned her Confirmation; but immediately after the
holidays, the wild spirit had broken out again. She neither learnt nor
tried to learn, attended to nothing but music, and showed up
exercises and dictation flagrantly ill-spelt, and not unfrequently
making fun of the whole subject. As a reward for her weeks of
propriety, she had been promoted to the German class; but she had
openly declared that she hated German, and saw no use in it, and
she would not attempt anything but an occasional caricature of
pronunciation. Everybody liked her—even those whom she most
disrespectfully provoked; and she was like a kind of tame monkey to
the school, turning her very punishments into absurdity. She would
lighten solitary confinement by fantastically decorating the chairs
and tables. If shut up in the dark, her clear shrill voice would
convulse all the household with Lance's whole repertory of comic
songs, the favourite being Thackeray's 'Little Billee,' which she
always sang as if she expected to be rescued by the sight of 'Admiral
Nelson, K.C.B.,' if not made 'Captain of a Seventy-three!' and even
impositions she always managed to make ludicrous, by comments,
translations, or illustrations, bringing them up with a certain
irresistible innocence and simplicity of countenance. What was to be
done? No, they did not want her to be taken away; she was a bright
dear girl, with a great deal of good in her—very warm-hearted, and
certainly devout; and Miss Fennimore confessed that she should be
very sorry to part with her, or to confess herself beaten in the
struggle. 'Your name is Geraldine?' she asked, suddenly; 'are you
Irish?'
'My grandmother was.'
'That accounts for it!'
'She must have absorbed all the Irish nature in the family, then,' said
Cherry, laughing.
'Perhaps. But it throws a light on it. I don't know which is the most
curious subject, national or family character.'
Of course Cherry was set to talk to Angela—an operation that she
hated almost as much as Felix did; and the result of which attempt
was this, 'Now don't—don't, Cherry!'—hugging her round the neck;
'you never were made for scolding, and it is no use spoiling your
own pleasure and mine! Leave it to Wilmet; she does it with dignity,
you know!'
'But, Angel, I do really want to understand why you are so set
against German?'
'It's a nasty crack-jaw language, that all the infidels write their books
in.'
'I only wish they did!' murmured Cherry.
'And it's the Protestant language, too; and that's worse,' persisted
Angela. 'No, I won't learn it on principle.'
'I thought principle was to do what one was told.'
'That depends. Now, German will never be of use to me; I'm not
going to be a governess, and I sha'n't qualify myself for it!'
'Yes, Angel, I know what you mean; but isn't obedience the
qualification you must learn—if you are to come to the other thing?'
'I shall learn it fast enough when the time comes. Don't you know,
Cherry, a republic is much better preparation for despotism than one
of your shilly-shally rational limited monarchies?'
'That may be true,' said Cherry; 'but you know I think the rational
loyalty the most wholesome training.'
'Yes, I know. Family life suits you; but I must have the—the real
religious life or none. I don't like secularity.'
'O Angel, you are much worse with these fine words that deceive
you, when you are really and truly only a naughty idle child!'
'That's true, Cherry; and yet it is not true,' said Angela, thoughtfully.
'I am a naughty idle child, and yet I am more.'
'How is it—after this Confirmation and all?'
'Ah!' said Angel, frankly. 'I thought it would have done me good and
made me different; but instead there's just one anticipation gone,
and nothing to look to.'
'Not your own possible future?' (Cherry knew of it, though not
Wilmet.)
'That's such a dreadful way off! No, if you all will keep me in the
world, I must have my fun! Come, Cherry, don't look so horribly
vexed! I'll tell you what, if you'll cheer up, I won't have another
flare-up with old Fen as long as you are here to be bullied about it!'
And she kept her word so faithfully, that the two ladies thought that
charming little elder sister had had a great effect upon their
troublesome charge.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TRANSMUTATION.

'Affection follows Fortune's wheels,

And soon is shaken from her heels;
For, following beauty or estate,
Her loving soon is turned to hate.'
Sir Walter Raleigh.

'Do you remember,' wrote Cherry, 'poor Fernan's old rival in the Life
Guards, Sir Adrian Vanderkist? I have seen him! He descended upon
us at luncheon-time in all his glory; and Mrs. Underwood was like
Eve entertaining the Angel. I hope that is not profane! it is only
Paradise Lost. I don't comprehend her delight, for he is only the
grandson of a man who made a great fortune by inventing some
metal to look like silver. Though he must have been Dutch, this
youth is not the conventional Dutchman in seven knickerbockers
perched on a barrel, but is small and insignificant, in spite of his
magnificent get-up. Never did Fernan, in his most bejewelled days,
equal that studious exquisiteness; and I could pity the baronet for
having had a rival with black moustaches that curl of their own
accord; but pity evaporates when I find that he has got Brown
Murad, and hear Mrs. Underwood's gratitude for his promise of
tickets for somebody's concert. I wonder whether he is thinking
about Marilda?
'April 15th. Two great events begin to loom. One is our soirée
musicale, for which the cards are actually being written; and Edgar
and Alda are debating the programme. I am to have a quiet corner
out of sight, and use my eyes and ears. How I wish you and Lance
could send up yours!
'The other is a great function at St. Matthew's, on the opening of the
new infant-schools, on Whit Tuesday. Clement is coming down for it;
and Robin, Angel, and I are to go with Cousin Tom to his office,
where Clem will meet and take charge of us. It certainly is a fine
thing to come to London, and see the world; though the nicest part
of the world to me is that odd little room of Mrs. Renville's where
people are so entertaining, and one catches glimpses of great
luminaries in their moments of unbending and good nature.......
'May 3rd. Where shall I begin the story of our soirée? I will pass over
the misery of serving as a corpus vile, for Alda and Mrs. Sturt to try
experiments on with scraps of head-gear and jewellery, and merely
state that I had the white alpaca with blue velvet edges, and blue
beads round my head and neck; and then they did not very much
mind the sight of me; and Edgar even said I looked a tidy little thing
enough. He and Marilda disposed of me in a nice little nook in the
recess of a window, more than half hidden by a curtain, and capital
for seeing and hearing, nearly as good as my old perch in the organ
gallery. Alda looked beautiful—such lovely rosy clouds of soft
gauziness, and wreaths of wild roses! She has put an end to the
habit of dressing like Marilda, to their mutual benefit; but, oh, if I
could see old W.W. in such garb! Doesn't she look disgusted? But
who knows what John may put her into?
'Oh, the things people wear! (then followed some pen-and-ink
outlines,) and the colours and the festoonings! I trust that in some
stratum of society somewhere there is more notion of the beautiful.
If the world is all like this, I can't tell why it should be so dangerous;
for, as far as I can see, it consists in conjugating the verb to bore.
'However, there was the music, and that was compensation. (A
critical account ensued then.) Private. Poor Edgar was quite upset
when one of the ladies varied from the programme by singing Alice's
favourite old "Sands of Dee." I saw him frowning and biting the end
of his moustache, as if he could hardly bear it; but, as you may
guess, he was the more funny and lively when he came to me,
teasing me about that Sir Adrian, whom he calls a specimen of the
transmutation of metals—Dutch slime made shiny, and threatening
me with who or what would be transmuted next; but I think Marilda
has more principle.
'Afterwards I had a great treat, for Edgar spied Mr. Grinstead, whom
we had never expected, though he had a card, as he does not care
for music; and Cousin Tom only knows him through having bought
his lovely group of Una and the Lion. I had met him at the Renvilles';
and Edgar brought him to my corner, where he leant against the
window-shutter, and talked most pleasantly, only he would go on all
through the songs; but one could excuse a great deal to a man who
knew Thorwaldsen, and has seen Canova; and he told me so much
that I wanted to hear, that it was a perfect feast. When he found I
had never seen the Leonardo at Morecombe House, he caught Mrs.
Underwood, and arranged to take us there at four o'clock on
Wednesday. Fancy seeing a Leonardo! and with him to explain it!
Mrs. Underwood was quite in a rapture, because she wants to see a
cabinet that Lady Morecombe gave £150 for; but I thought it very
nasty of Sir Adrian to say that he knew Lord Morecombe very well,
and could take her there any day, to which Alda answered that she
hated show houses.'
(Enclosed from Edgar.)
'The fact is, that the Cherry is a brilliant success. She is our one
native genius for conversation; and I will say for the Pursuivant that
it has kept her up to the day. At Renville's she is the life of
everything; and even here the ocean of dullness cannot so entirely
asphyxiate her but that she sparkles up through it; and luckily Alda
has not so perceived it as to begin the extinguishing process—
indeed, she has affairs of her own to look to. As to Grinstead—it is a
case of captivation. Don't be afraid, or the reverse: he is a confirmed
old bachelor, bald and spectacled. Renville showed him her sketch of
his Una, and he said nothing had ever so hit off the soul. He met her
at their house; and she, not knowing who he was, was not
encumbered with any awe of greatness, but chattered like her own
little self, till he was taken with her freshness and cleverness, came
here on purpose to meet her, and is to show her the Morecombe
gallery. A fine chance! Altogether, the little maid has so many
feathers in her cap, that she wouldn't know where to stick them, if—
poor little dear!—she ever found them out, and didn't think every
attention pure pity to her lame foot.'

The next was the day of the festival at St. Matthew's. Mr. Underwood
graciously consented to use a carriage large enough to transport
Cherry and both her little sisters to his office, at the door of which
there appeared, however, not Clement, but Ferdinand Travis. The
organist had been suddenly taken ill, and Clement was supplying his
place; so Ferdinand, whose firm had taken a Whitsun holiday, was
the substitute, in the vain hope that Alda would have been of the
party.
'No,' said Angela; 'they are going to ride. And, O Fernan! I am sure I
saw Brown Murad com—'
There she stopped short, either aghast at a sort of spasm that
crossed Ferdinand's countenance, or diverted by the full current of
life in Holborn; and he, recovering, began to point out whatever
could interest Cherry. He had a great deal to tell about St.
Matthew's, where he knew his way as well as Clement himself, and
piloted his charge in good time to the very place their brother had
indicated for them.
The service was most beautiful, and full of life; and then ensued a
procession to, and benediction of, the new school and nursery for
the little ones. Afterwards came the new experience of luncheon for
the large motley party in the refectory of the clergy-house—new at
least to Cherry, for her sisters were not unfamiliar there; Robina had
a dear friend's little brother among the choristers, and Angela was
chattering to a curate or two. Clement was happy in meeting with
old comrades; and Cherry was glad that she was saved from being a
burthen by Ferdinand's devotion, and quite accepted his assurance
that it was a great delight to him.
Then followed a feast for the school-children and the aged; but the
atmosphere soon became too much for Cherry, and she thankfully
accepted Ferdinand's proposal of showing her the church in detail. It
was only on the other side of the quadrangle; and there was a great
charm in the lofty, cool, quiet building, where she could dwell
thoroughly on every decoration, permanent or temporary, and in full
sympathy with her companion, who went so fully and deeply into all
these subjects, as to lead her on, and open new meanings to her. At
last they sat down in a sort of cloister that ran round the court, to
wait for the rest.
'Do you know,' said Geraldine, 'this place gives me a sense of life
and vigour. Our own seems to me, in comparison, a sort of sleeping,
or rather a mechanically acting, body, wanting a spirit and soul to be
breathed into it and make it effective.'
'You have never told me about your new curate,' said Ferdinand; and
indeed, by tacit consent, they had avoided the subject in Edgar's
presence.
'Mr. Flowerdew? Oh, he is very good, very gentle, and kind; but he is
a depressed elderly man, with all the energy disappointed and worn
out of him. His wife is dead; and he has two or three children, out,
settled, and fighting their way; and there he is alone, still an
assistant curate, tumbled about in secondary positions too long to
care for any more than just doing his duty without any life or spring.'
'Do you see much of him?' said Ferdinand, surprised by this intimate
knowledge.
'Yes. He makes the sick his special care, and he thinks me one; so
he comes sometimes, and sits half an hour when I am painting,
without saying a word. I think it is cheerful for him, in his way,' said
Cherry, with a merry laugh. 'And he is very musical; so the boys like
that. But do you know, Ferdinand, when I look at him, I do feel
thankful that my own dear father had not the long weary wear and
tear to change him. That man is older than he would be even now.'
'Of course it must be good,' said Ferdinand. 'And is there no chance
of Mr. Bevan coming back?'
'He wants another summer at the baths. The absence of the head
paralyses everything so. I always feel, when I go back from St.
Faith's, as if we had the framework, and of course the real
essentials; but we have to do all the work of bringing it home to
ourselves.'
'I know what you mean,' said Ferdinand; 'though Bexley must be
more to me than any other place, this one is the great help and
compensation to me. How I wish Alda were near it!'
'Has she ever been here?'
'Once or twice; but only under its shadow does one enter into the
real life. Some day perhaps—'
Geraldine could not imagine the day of Alda's entering into the real
life of St. Matthew's; but she could only say, 'Of course there is a
vast difference between only coming as an outsider, and being one
of the congregation.'
'Immense; though I never found it out till I came to live here; and
so it would be with her. After all, were she but near, or I could see
her freely, I should enjoy my present life very much.'
'I'll tell you what I should do in your place,' said Cherry. 'I would go
straight to Mr. Underwood, and ask his leave to visit her; and I don't
believe he would make any objection.'
'No. Alda forbids that,' he answered, decidedly; 'and she can be the
only judge.' Cherry felt small. But presently he added, 'I wish I could
be rid of the doubt whether the present state of things is not
burdensome to her. Perhaps I ought to to have freed her at once; I
could have worked for her without binding her.'
'Nothing but affection really binds,' said Cherry, in some difficulty for
her answer.
'No; I might have trusted to that, but I thought the release would
cost her as much as myself; and she was at home then!' and he
suppressed a heavy sigh.
'She said it would be easier to meet you in London,' said Cherry; 'but
I don't think it is.'
'And absence leaves room for imaginations,' he said. 'And I have
nothing tangible to set against what I hear—ay, and see.'
'What?' the word was out of Cherry's mouth before she could check
it.
'You can cast it out of my mind, perhaps,' he said. 'Do you ever see
a fellow of the name of Vanderkist?'
Cherry could not help starting. And his black brows bent, and his
face became stern, so that she was fain to cry, 'Oh, but it's Marilda!'
'Impossible!' he said, with what she thought a terrible smile at her
simplicity. 'I tell you, I saw his first look at her—at my Alda!' Some
ruthless Spanish ancestor must have looked out of the deep glow of
his eyes, as he added, 'I hear he has betted that she, as well as
whatever I used to prize, shall be his before the end of the season.'
'Let him!' said Cherry, proudly. 'Alda can't help that. She can't hinder
his coming to the house.'
'I know,' he said. 'Do not suppose that I doubt her. I trust her
entirely; but I am foolish enough to long for the assurance that there
is no cause for the rumour that she encourages him.'
Under such eyes of dark fire, it was well that Cherry could sincerely
answer, 'Oh no! Every one does come round her; but she does not
let him do so a bit more than other people.'
'You entirely believe that I may dismiss this as a base groundless
suspicion?'
'I do!' she said, with all her heart. 'We all know that Alda is used to
admiration; it comes to her as naturally as pity and help to me, and
makes no impression on her. Mrs. Underwood likes to have him as a
fashionable guest, that's all. Oh, Alda could never be so wicked!'
'You are right, Geraldine. Thank you,' he said, just as Clement and
the younger ones came in search of them, with Fred Somers, erst
fellow-chorister, now fellow-Cantab—a little wiry merry fellow, the
very antipodes to his bosom friend.
All wanted to stay for seven o'clock Evensong; but Robina was clear
that it was impossible, since the ladies were dispersing, and they
had no invitation to the clergy-house. Angela wildly asked if Clement
could not take them to the Tower, or St Paul's; Cherry could sit in a
seat while they went round.
'Sit in a seat!' cried Robina. 'She is tired already. Clement, do go and
call a cab.'
'Could you not go to Mrs. Kedge's, Cherry?' asked Clement. 'I want
you to hear our Pentecost Hymns.'
'Come to my rooms,' said Ferdinand. 'They are much nearer; and
you shall have tea and everything in no time.'
'Like greased lightning!' returned Angel, who always talked what she
supposed to be Yankee to Ferdinand. 'Oh, what fun! Do come,
Cherry!'
'Do come,' repeated Ferdinand, eagerly; 'it is only round the corner,
no crossing, and no stairs; and you shall have a good rest—much
better than jingling away in a cab.'
'Thank you;' and Cherry looked inquiringly at Robina, whose
discretion she viewed as little short of Wilmet's. 'Would Miss Fulmort
approve?'
'Yes,' said that wise little bird; 'we need only be in by ten. You had
much better, Cherry. You are quite as good as a brother—aren't you,
Fernan?'
In ten minutes more, Mr. Travis's landlady was aghast at the
procession pouring into her quiet ground-floor; while, after insisting
on Cherry's installation on a dingy lumpy bumpy sofa, their host
might be overheard giving orders for a sumptuous tea, though not
exactly with the genius of Wilmet or Lance.
He had cast his anxieties to the winds, and had never shown himself
so lively or so much at ease. To all it was a delightful frolic. Mr.
Somers was full of fun, and even Clement was gay—perhaps
because Whittingtonia had become a sort of native element to him,
or else because the oddity of the thing overcame him; and Angela
was in an ecstatic state, scarcely kept within bounds by her
morning's promise to be very good.
Those dingy bachelor's rooms, close upon the street, and redolent of
tobacco to the utmost degree, could seldom have re-echoed with
such girlish fun as while Angela roamed about, saucily remarking on
the pipes and smoking equipments—relics, not disused, of the Life
Guard days. So likewise was the beautiful little chased silver tea-pot,
which was committed to Robin's management. Indeed, there was a
large proportion of plate, massive and remarkable.
'Mexican taste,' said Ferdinand, handing a curious sugar-basin. 'It
belonged to my grandmother, and was turned over to me when I set
up for myself.'
'What's this on it? said Angel. 'I declare, 'tis the caldron the Mexicans
boiled people's hearts in.'
'For shame, Angel!' said Robin; 'the Aztecs were not cannibals.'
'I beg your pardon, Bobbie; I know we read about Cortes seeing
them cutting out people's hearts on their temples like the tower of
Babel, because I thought of Fernan.'
'Hush!' said Cherry, seeing that the horrid subject was displeasing.
'There's nothing witty in talking of horrors. Besides, is not this the
Spanish olla?'
'I believe it is,' answered Ferdinand. 'It is the Mendez bearing, and
as the Travises can boast of none, I followed my spoons.'
'With the dish,' said Mr. Somers; a joke that in their present mood
set them laughing.
'Nothing can be more suited to the circumstances,' said Cherry, 'as
the olla is the emblem of hospitality.'
'What are the three things up above?' asked Angel; 'turnips going to
be stewed?'
'Santiago's cockle-shells, the token of pilgrimage,' said Ferdinand.
'That's the best part of the coat.'
'Some day I'll work you a banner-screen, Fernan,' said Robina; 'but
that will be when you impale our Underwood rood.'
'And the pilgrim is brought to the cross,' said Angela, in one of her
grave moments of fanciful imagery.
The echo of her words, however, struck Cherry as conveying an
innuendo that the child did not mean. Crosses could hardly be
wanting to one who had Alda for his wife; but happily no one else
seemed to perceive it; and they drifted on from grave to gay, and
gay back to grave, till it was time to return to the festival Evensong.
Clement and his friends had to hurry away to the station directly
after. He would have put his three sisters into a cab, and sent it
home with them; but Ferdinand insisted on squeezing his long limbs
into durance and escorting them, to the tune of Angel's chatter and
the clatter of the windows. Cherry was the first set down; and she
went straight to the drawing-room, ready for interest and sympathy.
'How late you are!' said Alda.
'How did you come?' asked Marilda.
'In a cab. It is gone on with the little girls. We stayed for evening
service. The lights were so beautiful!'
'Just what boys and girls run after,' said Mr. Underwood. 'I like my
opera to be an opera, and my church to be a church.'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Underwood, 'staying out so late, and in the city. I
don't half like such doings.'
'What could you have done between services?' added Alda. 'Were
you at the clergy-house all day?'
'Of course they were,' said Mr. Underwood. 'Trust a curate to take
care of a pretty girl. High or low, they are all alike.'
'No,' said Cherry, in blushing indignation; 'we had tea at Mr. Travis's.'
'Indeed!' said Alda.
And Cherry knew the tone but too well; and under this plentiful
shower of cold water, perceiving her own fatigue, bade good night.
She was kindly bidden to send Nurse for wine, tea, or whatever she
needed; but she was still conscious of displeasure.
In the morning she was weary and dispirited, and for the first time
felt that there was no one to remark, as Felix or Wilmet would have
done, that she was flagging. Failing this, she prepared as usual to go
to her class; but before starting she encountered Mrs. Underwood.
'Geraldine,' said that lady, majestically, 'you are a talented young
person; but—you must excuse me—I cannot have such
independence under my roof. It is not comifo. Bless me, don't
tremble so; I don't mean anything. You meant no harm; only you
should have come home, you know, when your brother wasn't
there.'
'But he was!' gasped Geraldine, colouring.
'Why, wasn't it that young man Travis met you?'
'He met us, for Clement was hindered; but Clement was there, and
was with us all the time.'
'H'm! That ought to have been explained. Why didn't you tell your
sister? She is quite distressed.'
A summons from Mr. Underwood obliged Cherry to hurry away, her
heart throbbing, her head whirling, and no comfort but hard
squeezing the ivory back of Lord Gerald; and when she reached Mr.
Renville's, her hand was trembling so, that she could not have drawn
a line if the good haus-frau had not dosed her with the strong
coffee, which in true German fashion was always ready. Then the
absorbing interest of her art revived her; and she returned home,
cheered, and believing that the misunderstanding was cleared up.
Indeed, Mrs. Underwood was as good-natured as ever; and Alda
was chiefly employed in rejecting all the solicitations to accompany
the party to Morecombe House, and rebutting the remonstrances on
the incivility to Mr. Grinstead; to which Marilda had yielded, but
grumbling loudly at the bore of seeing pictures and taking no pains
to conceal that she was cross and angry with Cherry for having
brought it upon her.
Poor Cherry! Of the few parties of pleasure of her life, this was that
which most reminded her of the old woman of Servia! After having
Marilda's glum face opposite through the drive, she was indeed most
kindly welcomed by Mr. Grinstead; but how could she enjoy the
attention that was so great a kindness and honour, when every
pause before a picture was a manifest injury to her companions?
Mrs. Underwood indeed had occupation in peeping under holland
covers, estimating the value of carpets and curtains, and admiring
the gilt frames; but this did not hold out as long as the examination
of each favourite picture in detail; and what was worse, Marilda
plumped herself down in the first chair in each room, and sat poking
the floor with her parasol, the model of glum discontent. How could
the mind be free for the Madonna's celestial calm, or the smiling
verisimilitude of portraiture? how respond or linger, when the very
language of art was mere uninteresting jargon to impatient captives,
who thought her comprehension mere affectation? While to all other
discomforts must be added the sense of missing one of the best
opportunities of her life, and of ill responding to a gracious act of
condescension.
She came home tired to death, and with a bad headache, that no
one took the trouble to remark; and she dressed for dinner with a
sense that it mattered to no one how she felt.
Just as she was ready, Marilda came gravely in, sitting down in
preparation, Cherry felt, for something dreadful; but even her
imagination failed to depict the fact.
'Geraldine,' was the beginning, 'Alda wishes you to hear that she has
put an end to the engagement.'
Cherry absolutely screamed, 'Oh, oh, don't let her do that! It would
be so dreadful!'
Marilda looked severe. 'I don't suppose you thought what it was
coming to.'
'O! I have often been sorry to see things, but it seemed so atrocious
to think so.'
'Then you must have known you were doing wrong.'
'What—how—what have I done? I don't know what you mean!'
'Indeed! It is of no use to look frightened and innocent. Perhaps you
did not mean anything; but when it grew so marked, Alda could not
but feel it.'
'What? Does Alda mean that?' cried Cherry, starting up, scarlet with
horror.
'Now I see you understand. She is terribly hurt. She excuses it, for
she says you have been so petted all your life, that you don't know
the right bounds.'
'And can you really think this of me?' moaned she.
'It is just like every one when they have the chance—no one ever
means it,' said Marilda.
'Oh!' cried Cherry, as a fresh horror came across her, 'but if Alda
thinks ever so horridly of me, how can she doubt him? Oh, stop her,
stop her! Let me only tell her how he talked of her yesterday! His
whole soul is full of her. Oh, stop her, Marilda, do!'
'It is of no use,' said Marilda; 'she has sent her letter. She was
resolved to do nothing hastily, so she went this morning and saw the
little girls.'
'Oh, oh!' broke in Cherry, with another cry of pain. 'Those poor
children have not been brought into trouble again?'
'No; it was no doing of theirs; but when she perceived the exclusive
attention that—when she found,' hesitated Marilda, forgetting her
lesson, 'how you had been sitting in the cloister—in short, how it had
all gone on—she said it was the finishing stroke.'
'Oh!' a sigh or groan, as if stabbed; then with spirit, 'but why wasn't
she there herself? He only took me for want of her! He only speaks
to me because I am her sister. He was so unhappy—I was trying to
cheer him.'
'So you might think; but that's the way those things run on. There's
the gong!'
Cherry rose, but felt that sitting at table would end in faintness, and
Marilda went away in doubt, between pity and displeasure, whether
at contrition or affectation.
No sooner was the door shut, and Cherry alone, than a terrible
hysterical agony came on. There was personal sense of humiliation—
passionate anger, despair, for Ferdinand's sake—miserable loneliness
and desertion. She felt as if she were in a house full of enemies; and
had absolute difficulty in restraining screams for Felix to come and
take her home. The physical need of Wilmet or Sibby, to succour and
soothe her agitation and exhaustion, soon became so great as to
overpower the mental distress; but she would not call or ring; and
when Mrs. Sturt came, the kind woman made as if the headache
accounted for all.
She reported that Miss Alda likewise had gone to her room with a
headache; and Cherry saw no one but Mrs. Underwood, who looked
in to offer impossible remedies, and be civilly but stiffly
compassionate.
The stifled hysteria was much worse for Geraldine than free tears.
She had a weary night of wretched dream fancies, haunted by
Ferdinand's sombre face, convulsed with rage, and tormented by the
belief that she had done something so frightful as to put her out of
the pale of humanity; nor was it till long after daylight that she could
so collect her ideas as to certify herself that if she had done wrong,
it had at least been unwittingly; but even then she was in a misery
of shame, and of the most intense longing for her brother or sister
to defend and comfort her.
She managed to rise and dress; but she was far too unwell to
attempt the classes for the day. Alda spoke coldly; and she crept
away, to lie on the sofa in the old school-room, trusting that before
post-time her hand might grow steady enough to write an entreaty
to be taken home, and longing—oh! longing more every hour for
Edgar, and still he did not come! Marilda looked in, began to believe
her really ill, grew compassionate, asked how she treated such
attacks, deemed her penitent, and began to soothe her as if she was
a naughty baby. Then, in desperation, Cherry ventured to ask what
had been heard of him—Mr. Travis. He had been at the door—he had
taken no refusal—had forced an interview—he was gone. Alda was
in her own room, bolted in. Marilda had not seen her since.
Cherry shook from head to foot, and quivered with suppressed
strangling sobs, as the shame of such a requital for the sacrifice of
Ferdinand's whole career agonised her at one moment, and at
another she was terrified at the possible effect on that fervid nature.
Oh, that long, long piteous day! She never did write—never even felt
as if she could sit up to guide a pen. At last Alda came in, with a
strange awe-struck paleness about her face, as if she had gone
through something terrible; and in a tone that sounded unnatural,
said, 'Come, Cherry, don't give way so. I didn't mean to accuse you.
People don't always know what they are doing. I am thankful on my
own account.'
Cherry had longed for a kind word; but this sort of pardon was like
Alda's taking the advantage of her when Felix was not there to
protect her. Not naturally meek, she was too much shaken to control
a voice that sounded more like temper than sorrow. 'You have no
right to accuse me at all, as if I were a traitor!'
'Not a deliberate traitor, my dear,' said Alda, in a voice of candour;
'certainly not; but you don't know the advantage helplessness and
cleverness give over us poor beauties who show our best at first. I
blame no one for using their natural weapons.'
'Don't, Alda!' cried Cherry, with the sharpness of keen offence. 'You
may keep that speech for those you got it up for!'
'Well, if you are in such a mood as that, nobody can talk to you,'
said Alda, going away, and leaving her to a worse paroxysm of
misery than before, and an inexpressible sense of desolation,
passing into an almost frantic craving for Edgar, to make him take
her home.
Marilda gave a little relief by telling her that he was sent for; but
after long expectation, word came that he was not at home, nor did
his landlady know when he would return.
By this time it was too late to send a letter; and Cherry began to feel
ashamed of having so given way, and to think of exerting herself to
recover, if only to be in a condition to go home when Edgar should
be found; so she made an effort to remember the remedies with
which she was wont to be passively dosed by Wilmet, went to bed,
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