almost fancy I was an Osbert--and I feel certain some of them have been very unhappy. I do feel sosorry for I don't know whom! If the ghost appeared I really think Ishould have courage to ask if I could do anything for him--poor ghost."
But nothing appeared, no sound broke the perfect stillness, save a lowrustling wail from the wind as it came round the corner. And themoonlight faded again, and Claudia turning from the window saw that theroom was almost perfectly dark, and for the first time a slight feelingof fear came over her. She hurried to the door, and was glad to see asshe opened it that the light from the large landing shone faintly up thestairs. And in another moment she had run down, and was smiling at herown trepidations in the cheerful security of her own room.
"I am not so _very_ brave after all," she said to herself.
And as might have been expected, her dreams that night were rathertroubled. They seemed full of Charlotte Waldron and Herr Marklestatter,but the German teacher had the face of Charlotte's father, whom Claudiahad seen but once and for a moment only, the evening he came out toSilverthorns on business, and he seemed to be begging Claudia to do ornot to do something. And just as she was consenting, and Mr Waldronwas saying, "It is all for the poor ghost's sake, you know," she heardwhat she fancied in her dream to be a sudden cry of distress, andstarting up in bed, found that the wind had got up, and was howlinground the house, and that her door had blown open with a loud noise.
Still, though the next morning was dreary and stormy in the extreme,Claudia looked and felt better than for some time past.
"You don't look as if ghosts or anything else had been troubling you,"said Lady Mildred; "but it is far too stormy for Kelpie this morning.You must have the brougham."
And Claudia, while she thanked her, smiled to herself as she wonderedwhat her aunt would have said to her visit to the tower room the nightbefore.
CHAPTER TEN.
JERRY'S APPEAL.
It was now very near Christmas, which promised this year to be whatpeople are fond of calling "an old-fashioned" one. Snow had alreadyfallen, though not to any great extent, though the weather-wise wereprophesying that there was already more to come.
Charlotte Waldron was working harder at her lessons than she had everyet done, and with a sort of feverish eagerness and absorption that wasnew to her. She tried to some extent to conceal her intense anxietyfrom her mother, perhaps because she felt instinctively that MrsWaldron would have told her that she was allowing the spirit of ambitionand emulation to carry her too far, especially if the whole of hermotives had been confessed. She would not allow herself to acknowledgethem; she would have been indignant with any one who had put them intowords and faced her with their unloveliness. And as "none are so blindas those who won't see," she remained self-deceived, and in a senseself-satisfied.
Jerry, as usual, was her chief and indeed at this time her onlyconfidant. And even to him she did not say very much, but what she didsay startled and impressed the sensitive, sympathising nature of the boyfar more than Charlotte had any idea of.
"Jerry," she repeated more than once, "if I don't get the German prize Ishall go out of my mind. Oh, I don't know what I shall do! I justcan't bear to think of it. It does not seem fair, does it, that I, whohave been working steadily all these years, doing my best, my very best,should suddenly be set aside by a stranger, to whom the work is fareasier than to me?--a girl who is far cleverer than I, who, for all Iknow--she never tells us anything--may have learnt her German in Germanyand her French in France. That isn't fair competition. If it had beenGueda now, or one of the girls who have learnt as I have done, with nogreater advantages, I might have felt it in a way, but I should haveknown it was fair. And now it just isn't."
"No," Jerry agreed, "it isn't. But oh, Charlotte, it does make me sounhappy when you speak like that."
"I'm very sorry," said Charlotte penitently. "I'll try not; but you seeI've no one else to speak to. I told you I had left off talking tomamma about it all--and--there is just no one but you I can speak to."
"No, don't leave off speaking to me," said Jerry; "I should know youwere thinking of it all the same. Charlotte," he went on after a littlepause, "do you think the girl herself thinks it fair? You have saidsometimes that you thought she was _really_ a nice girl."
"I can't make her out," Charlotte replied. "She seems nice, only she isdreadfully reserved. As for whether she thinks it fair or not, I don'tfancy she thinks about it in that way at all. I'm not sure that shereally knows how clever she is. She does not seem conceited. But Isuppose she wants very much to get the prize. The truth is, she shouldnot be in the class or in any class; she should be by herself."
"I wonder the teachers don't see it," said Jerry.
"Oh, they don't care like that. They can't make such particulardistinctions. It's only me it really matters to," said Charlottehopelessly. "I suppose everything's unfair in this world. I don't seehow one is to help getting to have horrid feelings. What _can_ itmatter to her, so spoilt and rich and beautiful--what can one littleschool prize matter to her as it does to me?" and she groaneddespairingly.
Jerry was silent for a few minutes; then he spoke again.
"Charlotte," he said, "are you _sure_ you won't get it? It would be allthe more of a triumph if you did win it over her."
"But I know I can't," she said. "Of course I shall do my best; I shouldneed to do that any way. Some of the girls are really very good Germanscholars. But she is more than good; she really writes it almostperfectly. Oh, no, I have no chance--the notes for the composition weregiven out last week. I have begun it, but I almost think I shall spilla bottle of ink over it, or let it catch fire accidentally at the lastminute."
"Oh, no, Charlotte, you won't do that--promise me you won't. Do,Charlotte!" Jerry entreated.
"Oh, well, I don't suppose I shall. I should not like not to show HerrMarklestatter I had done my best. He used to be so kind to me; he iskind to me still. Only," and again Charlotte sighed profoundly, "Ireally don't know how I shall bear the disappointment and themortification!"
Jerry did not sigh,--he was never very demonstrative,--but his face grewhard and stern, and he pressed his lips tightly together in a way thatwas usual with him when he was making up his mind to something.
For Jerry _was_ making up his mind to something, and for the next fewdays he was silently thinking it over wondering how he was to carry itout.
The predicted snow fell but slightly. But the frost continued andincreased. By the middle of December there was no talk among the boyson holiday afternoons but of skating. And one Tuesday evening, in theWaldrons' school-room there was great excitement about an expedition tocome off the following day, which was as usual a half-holiday.
"Can't you come, Charlotte?" asked Arthur. For Charlotte, "one sisterof her brothers," was, as was natural, a great adept at skating, andeven at less feminine recreations.
"I wish I could," she said. "I'd give anything to go; but I can't.It's this extra work for the end of the term that I must get on with."
It was the German composition. A glance at the expression of her facetold it to Jerry.
"It's out Gretham way, isn't it?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes," Arthur replied; "about half-a-mile past the first Silverthornslodge."
"I wish you'd take me, as Charlotte can't go," said Jerry.
The others looked at each other in surprise.
"You, Jerry!" they exclaimed. For the boy was of course debarred by hislameness from skating or any amusement of the kind, and he had oftenseemed to shrink from being a spectator of what he could not take partin, with a sensitiveness which his parents regretted.
"Yes, I. Why not?" he said. "Of course I would enjoy going more ifCharlotte were to be there too, but I meant that I could have her seatin the dog-cart. I don't take much room."
"Are you to have the dog-cart?" asked Charlotte. "That is a piece ofluck."
"Yes; papa has to send Sam out that way with some message or pa
pers orsomething, and he said we might get a lift. Of course we have to findour own way home, Jerry."
"I know that. I can quite walk one way," said the boy. "I needn't staylong if I get too cold."
"Very well. I'm sure you're welcome to come, as far as I'm concerned,"said Arthur. "You must be ready at one, sharp."
"I couldn't have gone in any case," said Charlotte. "We are to have anextra French lesson to-morrow--recitations, and it won't be over tilltwo."
"What a sell," observed Ted, "and on a half-holiday."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Charlotte.
"No, I dare say not," replied Ted. "You'll go off your head some fineday, Charlotte, or paralyse your brain or something, if you work andfuss at lessons like that."
"Well, I may be thankful that I shall have _one_ brother sane enough toact as my keeper, if working at one's lessons is what sends people outof their minds," said Charlotte cuttingly.
Ted looked at her, opened his mouth as if about to speak, but shut it upagain. He was no match for Charlotte in this kind of warfare, andindeed he was not quite sure if she were making fun of him or not. Allthe others burst out laughing, and Ted's discomfiture might have led tosome family discord had not Mrs Waldron at that moment entered theroom. Arthur, with the laudable intention of diverting the storm,turned to her.
"Jerry wants to go out to see the skating to-morrow, mother," he said."You don't mind his coming? We are to get a lift one way."
Mrs Waldron looked pleased.
"No, of course not. I am very glad for him to go," she said. And shepatted Jerry's head as she passed him, but the boy shrank away a littlefrom the caress.
"Mamma thinks I want to go to amuse myself," he thought. "Nobody reallycares about poor Charlotte except me."
It seemed colder than ever the next day, and there was a leaden look inthe sky which told of snow not very far from falling. But it wouldcertainly hold off till night, if not for another day or two, said Ted,who prided himself, and with some reason, on his weather wisdom.
"Wrap up well, Jerry," said his mother, as she saw the boys preparing tostart, "and don't be very late. I should like you all to be home forthe school-room tea. Perhaps I'll have it with you, as your father willnot be back till late for dinner. Charlotte will enjoy being alltogether at tea, as she will have no holiday scarcely."
"When will she be home, mamma?" asked Jerry.
"About half-past two. All her class are staying later to-day."
Mounted in the dog-cart among his brothers, Jerry set to work withcalculations which they little suspected.
"It will take us three-quarters of an hour to get to the pond," hethought. "_She_ will be leaving Miss Lloyd's about a quarter past two;say it takes her an hour to Silverthorns--she'll go slower than we inthis weather, I should think. Well, say only three-quarters--she'll benear the first lodge by three, and it will take me about ten minutesfrom the pond. So I can stay there till a quarter to three or so--quitelong enough; and I'll tell them all then that I don't want to staylonger. And if I _don't_ meet her I don't much care--I'll just go up tothe house and say I want to see Miss Meredon. I won't go home withouthaving done it, or done what I could, that is to say."
But all this preoccupation of mind did not render him a very livelycompanion.
"I can't think what Jerry comes for if he's so glum," grumbled Ted. AndArthur's warning "leave him alone" had to be several times repeated tosecure the drive to the skating-ground ending in peace.
Things fell out much as Gervais had anticipated. He stood about theedge of the pond, with some other non-performing spectators, forthree-quarters of an hour or so patiently enough. It was a prettysight; notwithstanding his absorption in other things, he could not butown this to himself, and he felt pride in his tall, strong brothers, whowere among the most agile and graceful of the skaters present. And nowand then, when one or other of the three achieved some especiallydifficult or intricate feat, Jerry's pale face flushed with pleasure andexcitement.
"How I wish I were like them!" he said to himself, as some ofCharlotte's revilings against the unfairness of "fate" returned to hismind. And with the recollection returned also that of the real objectof his joining in the excursion. He looked at his watch, a prettylittle silver one which his father had given him a year ago, when he wasonly twelve years old, though his elder and stronger brothers had had towait till they were fifteen for theirs,--were there not somecompensations in your fate, Jerry?--and saw that it was fully half-pasttwo. Time enough yet, but he was really getting chilled with standingabout, and he was growing fidgety too. He had felt braver about it allin the distance, now he began to say to himself, how very much easier itwould be to speak to the girl in the road than to have to march up tothe house and ask for her formally, and he felt as if every moment waslessening the chance of his meeting her. Just then Arthur came skimmingby. Jerry made a sign to him, and Arthur, always kind and good-natured,especially to his youngest brother, wheeled round and pulled up.
"What is it, Jeremiah?" he said. "You look rather lugubrious--you'renot too cold, are you?"
"Yes," said Jerry, not noticing in his nervous eagerness to get away,Arthur's half-bantering tone, which he might otherwise have resented; "Iam horribly cold. I don't want to stay any longer. I just wanted totell you I was going, so that you'd know."
"All right," Arthur replied; "you're sure it won't be too far for you,and you don't mind going alone?"
"Of course not," said Jerry, already turning to go. But with an "I say,Jerry," Arthur wheeled back again. "It's looking awfully heavy overthere," he said, pointing to the slate-blue darkness of the sky towardsthe north; "they say it's sure to snow before night. Make the best ofyour way home. You know the shortest way--the footpath over the stilejust beyond the `Jolly Thrashers'?"
Jerry nodded. Truth to tell, he had but a vague idea of it, but hecould ask--and he must be off.
"Or," said Arthur, making Jerry nearly stamp with impatience, "perhaps,after all, you'd better keep to the high road. There's a strong chanceof your falling in with Sam--he won't have got back yet."
"All right, all right," Jerry called back, and then he set off at thenearest approach to a run his poor stiffened knee could achieve.
He looked at his watch as he ran--only twenty-five minutes to three!barely five minutes since he had signalled to Arthur! Jerry relaxed hisspeed--it was scarcely possible that Miss Meredon was near Silverthornsyet.
He walked on quietly, past the second entrance, and along what from acertain corner was called the Wortherham road, till he came to the firstSilverthorns lodge. Then he began to breathe more freely; "the girl,"as he always mentally dubbed her, could not enter the grounds nowwithout his seeing her. He looked at his watch for the third time--seventeen minutes to three. Just about the time he had planned. Sheshould be here soon if she had left Miss Lloyd's a little after two.
But he had been walking up and down the short stretch of road betweenthe so-called first lodge and the next corner fully twenty minutesbefore at last the sound of wheels reached him clearly through thefrosty air, though still at some distance. Hitherto he had not gonebeyond the corner--it would have made him feel more nervous somehow tolook all along the great bare road; but now he gathered up his courageand walked briskly on. He was still cold, and beginning to feel tiredtoo, but new vigour seemed to come to him when at last he was able todistinguish that the approaching vehicle was a pony-carriage, and theSilverthorns one no doubt; not that he knew it, or the pony, or thedriver by sight, but it was not very likely that any other would becoming that way just at that time.
Jerry stood by the side of the road, then he walked on a few steps, thenwaited again. The sound of the wheels drew nearer and nearer, and heheard too the tinkling of a bell on the pony's neck. Then hedistinguished that, as he expected, the carriage was driven by a lady,and then--it seemed to come up so fast, that in another moment it wouldhave passed him like a flash had he not resolutely stepped forward alittl
e on to the road, taking his cap off obtrusively as he did so.
"Miss--Miss Meredon," he said in his thin, clear boy's voice. "I begyour pardon."
The pony slackened its pace, the girl glanced forward to where Jerrystood, with a slightly bewildered, inquiring look on her face.
"Yes," she said. "Is there something wrong with the pony, or theharness, or anything?" forgetting that a mere passer-by stopping her outof good-nature to point out some little mishap would not have beenlikely to address her by name.
"No," said the boy--quite a child he seemed to her, forthirteen-year-old Gervais was small and slight; "oh no, it's nothinglike that. It's only that--you are Miss Meredon, aren't you?" Claudianodded. "I wanted to speak to you for a minute by yourself. I--Iforgot about _him_," he added in a lower tone, coming nearer her, sothat the groom behind should not overhear him, which small piece of goodbreeding at once satisfied the girl that the little fellow was a"gentleman." "I wouldn't keep you
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