by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER VIII.--THE SACRED CUPBOARD.
Mr. Lovel told Gabrielle that the loss of the tankard and the letterswere but trifles. His daughter, however, by no means believed him; shenoticed the anxious look in his eyes and the little frown which camebetween his brows.
"Father's always like that when he's put out," she said. "Father's a manwho never yet lost his temper. He's much too big and too great and toogrand to stoop to anything small of that kind, but, all the same, I knowhe's put out. He's a wonderful man for sticking out for the rights ofthings, and if he thinks Rupert ought to inherit that old property inEngland he won't leave a stone unturned to get it for him. He would notfret; he would not think twice about it if it was not Rupert's right;but as it is I know he is put out, and I know the loss of the tankard isnot just a trifle. Who could put a false tankard in the place of thereal one? Who could have done it? I know what I'll do. I'll go up tomother's room again and have a good look round."
Mrs. Lovel was not a year dead, and Gabrielle never entered the roomwhich had known her loved presence and from which she had been carriedaway to her long rest without a feeling of pain. She was in manyrespects a matter-of-fact girl--not nearly as sensitive as Rupert, whowith all his strength had the tenderest heart; nor as little Peggy, whokept away from mother's room and never spoke of her without tearsfilling her eyes. To enter mother's room seemed impossible to bothRupert and Peggy, but Gabrielle found a certain sad pleasure in goingthere; and when she had shut the door now she looked around her with alittle sigh.
"I'll make it homelike, as if mother were here," she said to herself."I'll make it homelike, and then sit by the open window and try andbelieve that mother is really asleep on that sofa, where she has lainfor so many, many hours."
Her eyes brightened as this idea came to her, and she hastened to put itinto execution. She drew up the window-blinds and opened the prettybay-window, and let the soft delicious air of spring fill the apartment;then she took the white covers off the chairs and sofa, pulled the sofaforward into its accustomed position, and placed a couple of books onthe little table which always stood by its side. These few touchestransformed the large room; it lost its look of gloom and was once morebright and homelike. A wistaria in full bloom peeped in at the openwindow; the distant sounds of farm life were audible, and Gabrielleheard Peggy's little voice talking in endearing tones to the cross oldravens, Elijah and Grasper. She knelt by the open window and, pressingher cheeks on her hands, looked out.
"Oh, if only mother were on the sofa!" That was the cry which arose,almost to pain, in her lonely heart. "Peggy and Rupert and I have nomother, and now father and Rupert are going to England and I shall haveto do everything for Peggy. Peggy will lean on me; she always does--dearlittle Peg! but I shall have no one."
The thought of Rupert's so speedily leaving her recalled the tankard toGabrielle's memory. She got up and unlocked the cupboard, which wassituated at the back of her mother's bed. The cupboard was half-full ofheterogeneous matter--some treasures, some rubbish; numbers of oldphotographs; numbers of childish and discarded books. Some of theshelves were devoted to broken toys, to headless dolls, to playthingsworthless in themselves, but treasured for memory's sake by the mother.Tears filled Gabrielle's eyes, but she dashed them away and was about toinstitute a systematic search, when Rupert opened the door and came in.His ruddy, brightly colored, healthy face was pale; he did not seeGabrielle, who was partly hidden by the large bedstead. He entered theroom with soft, reverent footsteps, and walked across it as thoughafraid to make a sound.
Gabrielle started when she saw him; she knew that neither Rupert norPeggy ever came to the room. What did this visit mean? Why was thatcloud on Rupert's brow? From where she stood she could see without beingseen, and for a moment or two she hesitated to make a sound or to lether brother know she was near him. He walked straight across the room tothe open window, looked out as Gabrielle had looked out, then turning tothe sofa, laid one muscular brown hand with a reverent gesture on thepillow which his mother's head had pressed. The little home toucheswhich Gabrielle had given to the room were unnoticed by Rupert, for hehad never seen it in its shrouded and dismantled state. All his memoriescentered round that sofa with the flowering chintz cover; the littletable; the small chair, which was usually occupied by a boy or girl asthey looked into the face they loved and listened to the gentle wordsfrom the dearest of all lips. Rupert made no moan as Gabrielle had done,but he drew the little chair forward, and laying his head face downwardon the pillow, gave vent to an inward supplication. The boy was strongphysically and mentally, and the spiritual life which his mother hadfostered had already become part of his being. He spoke it in no words,but he lived it in his upright young life. To do honor to his mother'smemory, to reverence and love his mother's God, was his motto.
Gabrielle felt uncomfortable standing behind the bedstead. She coughed,made a slight movement, and Rupert looked up, with wet eyelashes.
"Gabrielle!" he said, with a start of extreme surprise.
"Yes, Rupert, I was in the room. I saw you come in. I was astonished,for I know you don't come here. I was so sorry to be in the way, andjust at first I made no sound."
"You are not a bit in the way," said Rupert, standing up and smiling ather. "I came now because there are going to be immense changes,and--somehow I could not help myself. I--I--wanted mother to know."
"Yes," said Gabrielle, going and standing by his side. "Do you think shedoes know, Rupert? Do you think God tells her?"
"I feel that she does," said Rupert. "But I can't talk about mother,Gabrielle; it is no use. What were you doing behind that bedstead?" headded in a lighter tone.
"I was looking for the tankard."
"What, the old Avonsyde tankard? But of course it is there. It wasalways kept in what we used to call the sacred cupboard."
"Yes; but it is gone," said Gabrielle. "It was there and it hasvanished; and what is more wonderful, Rupert, another tankard has beenput in its place--a tankard something like it in shape, but not made ofsilver and without the old motto."
"Nonsense!" said Rupert almost sharply. "We will both go and look in thecupboard, Gabrielle. The real tankard may be pushed far back out ofsight."
"No; it is too large for that," said Gabrielle. "But you shall come andsee with your own eyes."
She led the way, and the two began to explore the contents of thecupboard, the boy touching the sacred relics with almost more reverentfingers than the girl. The tankard, the real tankard, was certainlynowhere to be found.
"Father is put out about it," said Gabrielle. "I know it by his eyes andby that firm way he compresses his lips together. He won't get into apassion--you know he never does--but he is greatly put out. He says thetankard forms important evidence, and that its being lost is verydisastrous to your prospects."
"My prospects?" said Rupert. "Then father is not quite sure about mybeing the lawful heir?"
"Oh, Rupert, of course he is sure! But he must have evidence; he mustprove your descent. Rupert, dear, are you not delighted? Are you notexcited about all this?"
"No, Gabrielle. I shall never love Avonsyde as I love Belmont. It washere my mother lived and died."
Tears came into Gabrielle's eyes. She was touched by Rupert's rareallusion to his mother, but she also felt a sense of annoyance at whatshe termed his want of enthusiasm.
"If I were the heir----" she began.
"Yes, Gabrielle--if you were the heir?"
"I should be--oh, I cannot explain it all! But how my heart would beat;how I should rejoice!"
"I am glad too," said Rupert; "but I am not excited. I shall like to seeEurope, however; and I will promise to write you long letters and tellyou everything."
