Ethel might not have been blameless or consistent in her dealings in this difficult intercourse, but her kind heart, upright intention, and force of character, had influence far beyond her own perception. Indeed, she knew not that she had personal influence at all, but went on in her own straightforward humility.
CHAPTER XXIV.
"Enough of foresight sad, too much Of retrospect have I; And well for me, that I, sometimes, Can put those feelings by. There speaks the man we knew of yore, Well pleased, I hear them say; Such was he, in his lighter moods, Before our heads were gray. Buoyant he was in spirit, quick Of fancy, light of heart; And care, and time, and change have left Untouch'd his better part."--SOUTHEY.
Etheldred May and Meta Rivers were together in the drawing-room. The timepiece pointed towards ten o'clock, but the tea-things were on the table, prepared for a meal, the lamp shone with a sort of consciousness, and Ethel moved restlessly about, sometimes settling her tea equipage, sometimes putting away a stray book, or resorting by turns to her book, or to work a red and gold scroll on coarse canvas, on the other end of which Meta was employed.
"Nervous, Ethel?" said Meta, looking up with a merry provoking smile, knowing how much the word would displease.
"That is for you," retorted Ethel, preferring to carry the war into the enemy's quarters. "What, don't you know that prudent people say that your fate depends on her report?"
"At least," said Meta, laughing; "she is a living instance that every one is not eaten up, and we shall see if she fulfils Tom's prediction of being tattooed, or of having a slice out of the fattest part of her cheek."
"I know very well," said Ethel, "the worst she said it would be, the more you would go."
"Not quite that," said Meta, blushing, and looking down.
"Come, don't be deceitful!" said Ethel. "You know very well that you are still more bent on it than you were last year."
"To be sure I am!" said Meta, looking up with a sudden beamy flash of her dark eyes. "Norman and I know each other so much better now," she added, rather falteringly.
"Ay! I know you are ready to go through thick and thin, and that is why I give my consent and approbation. You are not to be stopped for nonsense."
"Not for nonsense, certainly," said Meta, "but"--and her voice became tremulous--"if Dr. May deliberately said it would be wrong, and that I should be an encumbrance and perplexity, I am making up my mind to the chance."
"But what would you do?" asked Ethel.
"I don't know. You should not ask such questions, Ethel."
"Well! it won't happen, so it is no use to talk about it," said Ethel. "Fancy my having made you cry."
"Very silly of me," said Meta, brightening and laughing, but sighing. "I am only afraid Mrs. Arnott may think me individually unfit for the kind of life, as if I could not do what other women can. Do I look so?"
"You look as if you were meant to be put under a glass case!" said Ethel, surveying the little elegant figure, whose great characteristic was a look of exquisite finish, not only in the features and colouring, the turn of the head, and the shape of the small rosy-tipped fingers, but in everything she wore, from the braids of black silk hair, to the little shoe on her foot, and even in the very lightness and gaiety of her movements.
"Oh, Ethel!" cried Meta, springing up in dismay, and looking at herself in the glass. "What is the matter with me? Do tell me!"
"You'll never get rid of it," said Ethel, "unless you get yourself tattooed! Even separation from Bellairs hasn't answered. And, after all, I don't think it would be any satisfaction to Norman or papa. I assure you, Meta, whatever you may think of it, it is not so much bother to be prettier than needful, as it is to be uglier than needful."
"What is needful?" said Meta, much amused.
"I suppose to be like Mary, so that nobody should take notice of one, but that one's own people may have the satisfaction of saying, 'she is pleasing,' or 'she is in good looks.' I think Gertrude will come to that. That's one comfort."
"That is your own case, Ethel. I have heard those very things said of you."
"Of my hatchet face!" said Ethel contemptuously. "Some one must have been desperately bent on flattering the Member's family."
"I could repeat more," said Meta, "if I were to go back to the Commemoration, and to the day you went home."
Ethel crimsoned, and made a sign with her hand, exclaiming, "Hark!"
"It went past."
"It was the omnibus. She must be walking down!" Ethel breathed short, and wandered aimlessly about; Meta put her arm round her waist.
"I did not think this would be so much to you," she said.
"Oh, Meta, it seems like dear mamma coming to see how we have been going on. And then papa! I wish I had gone up to the station with him."
"He has Richard."
"Ay, but I am afraid Margaret is listening and will be restless, and have a palpitation; and I can't go and see, or I shall disturb her. Oh, I wish it were over."
Meta stroked her, and soothed her, and assured her that all would do well, and presently they heard the click of the door. Ethel flew into the hall, where she stopped short, her heart beating high at the sound of overpoweringly familiar accents.
She was almost relieved by detecting otherwise little resemblance; the height was nearly the same, but there was not the plump softness of outline. Mrs. Arnott was small, thin, brisk and active, with a vivacious countenance, once evidently very fair and pretty, but aged and worn by toil, not trouble, for the furrows were the traces of smiles around her merry mouth, and beautiful blue eyes, that had a tendency lo laugh and cry both at once. Dr. May who had led her into the light, seemed to be looking her all over, while Richard was taking the wraps from her, and Ethel tried to encourage herself to go forward.
"Ay!" said the doctor, kissing her. "I see you, Flora, now. I have found you again."
"I found you as soon as I heard your voice, Richard," said she. "And now for the bairnies."
"Here is one, but there is but a poor show forthcoming to-night. Do you know her?"
There was an unspeakable joy in being pressed in Aunt Flora's arms, like a returning beam from the sunshine of seven years ago.
"This must be Ethel! My dear, how you tower above me--you that I left in arms! And," as she advanced into the drawing-room--"why, surely this is not Margaret!"
"A Margaret--not the Margaret. I wish I were," said Meta, as Mrs. Arnott stood with an arm on her shoulder, in the midst of an embrace, Dr. May enjoying her perplexity and Meta's blushes. "See, Flora, these black locks never belonged to Calton Hill daisies, yet a daisy of my own she is. Can't you guess?"
"Miss Rivers!" exclaimed Mrs. Arnott; and though she kissed her cordially, Meta suspected a little doubt and disappointment.
"Yes," said Dr. May. "We change Mary for this little woman as Flora's lady-in-waiting, when she and her husband go out yachting and shooling."
"Flora and her husband! There's a marvellous sound! Where are they?"
"They are staying at Eccleswood Castle," said Ethel; "and Mary with them. They would have been at home to receive you, but your note yesterday took us all by surprise. Norman is away too, at a college meeting."
"And Margaret--my Margaret! Does not she come downstairs?"
"Ah! poor dear," said Dr. May, "she has not been in this room since that sultry day in July."
"The eighteenth," said Richard; the precision of the date marking but too well the consciousness that it was an epoch.
"We can keep her quieter upstairs," said Dr. May; "but you must not see her to-night. She will enjoy you very much to-morrow; but excitement at night always does her harm, so we put her to bed, and told her to think about no one."
Mrs. Arnott looked at him as if longing, but dreading, to ask further, and allowed her nephew and niece to seat her at the table, and attend to her wants, before she spoke again. "Then the babies."
"We don't keep babies, Gertrude would tell you," said Dr. May. "There are three great creatures, who
m Ethel barbarously ordered off to bed. Ethel is master here, you must know, Flora--we all mind what she says."
"Oh, papa," pleaded Ethel, distressed, "you know it was because I thought numbers might be oppressive."
"I never dispute," said Dr. May. "We bow to a beneficial despotism, and never rebel, do we, Meta?"
Seeing that Ethel took the imputation to heart, Meta rejoined, "You are making Mrs. Arnott think her the strong-minded woman of the family, who winds up the clock and cuts the bread."
"No; that she makes you do, when the boys are away."
"Of course," said Ethel, "I can't be vituperated about hunches of bread. I have quite enough to bear on the score of tea."
"Your tea is very good," said Richard.
"See how they propitiate her," maliciously observed the doctor.
"Not at all; it is Richard standing up for his pupil," said Ethel. "It is all very well now, with people who know the capacities of mortal tea; but the boys expect it to last from seven o'clock to ten, through an unlimited number of cups, till I have announced that a teapot must be carved on my tombstone, with an epitaph, 'Died of unreasonable requirements.'"
Mrs. Arnott looked from one to the other, amused, observant, and perceiving that they were all under that form of shyness which brings up family wit to hide embarrassment or emotion.
"Is Harry one of these unreasonable boys?" she asked. "My dear Harry--I presume Ethel has not sent him to bed. Is there any hope of my seeing him?"
"Great hope," said Dr. May. "He has been in the Baltic fleet, a pretty little summer trip, from which we expect him to return any day. My old Lion! I am glad you had him for a little while, Flora.
"Dear fellow! his only fault was being homesick, and making me catch the infection."
"I am glad you did not put off your coming," said Dr. May gravely.
"You are in time for the consecration," said Richard.
"Ah! Cocksmoor! When will it take place?"
"On St. Andrew's Day. It is St. Andrew's Church, and the bishop fixed the day, otherwise it is a disappointment that Hector cannot be present."
"Hector?"
"Hector Ernescliffe--poor Alan's brother, whom we don't well know from ourselves."
"And you are curate, Ritchie?" said his aunt--"if I may still call you so. You are not a bit altered from the mouse you used to be."
"Church mouse to Cocksmoor," said Dr. May, "nearly as poor. We are to invest his patrimony in a parsonage as soon as our architect in ordinary can find time for it. Spencer--you remember him?"
"I remember how you and he used to be inseparable! And he has settled down, at last, by your side?"
"The two old doctors hope to bolster each other up till Mr. Tom comes down with modern science in full force. That boy will do great things--he has as clear a head as I ever knew."
"And more--" said Ethel.
"Ay, as sound a heart. I must find you his tutor's letter, Flora. They have had a row in his tutor's house at Eton, and our boys made a gallant stand for the right, Tom especially, guarding the little fellows in a way that does one good to hear of."
"'I must express my strong sense of gratitude for his truth, uprightness, and moral courage,'" quoted Meta.
"Ah, ha! you have learned it by heart! I know you copied it out for Norman, who has the best right to rejoice."
"You have a set of children to be proud of, Richard!" exclaimed Mrs. Arnott.
"To be surprised at--to be thankful for," said Dr. May, almost inarticulately.
To see her father so happy with Mrs. Arnott necessarily drew Ethel's heart towards her; and, when they had bidden him goodnight, the aunt instantly assumed a caressing confidence towards Ethel, particularly comfortable to one consciously backward and awkward, and making her feel as intimate as if the whole space of her rational life had not elapsed since their last meeting.
"Must you go, my dear?" said her aunt, detaining her over her fire. "I can't tell how to spare you. I want to hear of your dear father. He looks aged and thin, Ethel, and yet that sweet expression is the same as ever. Is he very anxious about poor Margaret?"
"Not exactly anxious," said Ethel mournfully--"there is not much room for that."
"My dear Ethel--you don't mean?--I thought--"
"I suppose we ought to have written more fully," said Ethel; "but it has been very gradual, and we never say it to ourselves. She is as bright, and happy, and comfortable as ever, in general, and, perhaps, may be so for a long time yet, but each attack weakens her."
"What kind of attack?"
"Faintness-sinking. It is suspended action of the heart. The injury to the spine deranged the system, and then the long suspense, and the shock-- It is not one thing more than another, but it must go on. Dr. Spencer will tell you. You won't ask papa too much about it?"
"No, indeed. And he bears it--"
"He bears everything. Strength comes up out of his great lovingness. But, oh! I sometimes long that he may never have any more sorrows."
"My poor child!" said Mrs. Arnott, putting her arm round her niece's waist.
Ethel rested her head on her shoulder. "Aunt Flora! Aunt Flora! If any words could tell what Margaret has been ever since we were left. Oh, don't make me talk or think of ourselves without her. It is wrong to wish. And when you see her, that dear face of hers will make you happy in the present. Then," added Ethel, not able to leave off with such a subject, "you have our Norman to see."
"Ah! Norman's project is too delightful to us; but I fear what it may be to your father."
"He gives dear Norman, as his most precious gift, the flower and pride of us all."
"But, Ethel, I am quite frightened at Miss Rivers's looks. Is it possible that--"
"Aunt Flora," broke in Ethel, "don't say a word against it. The choicest goods wear the best; and whatever woman can do, Meta Rivers can. Norman is a great tall fellow, as clever as possible, but perfectly feckless. If you had him there alone, he would be a bee without a queen."
"Well, but--"
"Listen," continued Ethel. "Meta is a concentration of spirit and energy, delights in practical matters, is twice the housewife I am, and does all like an accomplishment. Between them, they will make a noble missionary--"
"But she looks--"
"Hush," continued the niece. "You will think me domineering; but please don't give any judgment without seeing; for they look to you as an arbitrator, and casual words will weigh."
"Thank you, Ethel; perhaps you are right. When does he think of coming out?"
"When he is ordained--some time next year."
"Does she live with you?"
"I suppose she lives with Flora; but we always manage to get her when Norman is at home."
"You have told me nothing of Flora or Mary."
"I have little real to tell. Good old Mary! I dare say Harry talked to you plentifully of her. She is a--a nice old darling," said Ethel fondly. "We want her again very much, and did not quite bargain for the succession of smart visits that she has been paying."
"With Flora?"
"Yes. Unluckily George Rivers has taken an aversion to the Grange, and I have not seen Flora this whole year."
Ethel stopped short, and said that she must not keep Margaret expecting her. Perhaps her aunt guessed that she had touched the true chord of anxiety.
The morning brought a cheering account of Margaret; and Mrs. Arnott was to see her directly after breakfast. In the meantime, the firm limbs, blue eyes, and rosy face of Gertrude seemed a fair representation of the little bride's-maid, whom she remembered.
A very different niece did she find upstairs, though the smiling, overflowing eyes, and the fond, eager look of recognition, as if asking to be taken to her bosom, had in them all the familiarity of old tenderness. "Auntie! dear auntie! that you should have come back to me again!"
Mrs. Arnott fondly caressed her, but could not speak at first, for even her conversation with Ethel had not prepared her for so wasted and broken an appearance. Dr. May spoke briskly
of Margaret's having behaved very well and slept like a good child, told Margaret where he had to go that morning, and pointed out to Mrs. Arnott some relics of herself still remaining; but the nervous tremulousness of manner did not much comfort her, although Margaret answered cheerfully. Nothing was so effectual in composing the aunt as Aubrey's coming headlong in to announce the gig, and to explain to Margaret his last design for a cathedral--drawing plans being just now his favourite sport.
"Architecture is all our rage at present," said Margaret, as her father hurried away.
"I am so glad to have come in time for the consecration!" said Mrs. Arnott, following her niece's lead. "Is that a model of the church?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Margaret, lighting up. "Richard made it for me."
"May I show it to Aunt Flora?" said Aubrey.
"Bring it here, if you can lift it," said Margaret; and, Aunt Flora helping, the great cumbersome thing was placed beside her, whilst she smiled and welcomed it like a child, and began an eager exhibition. Was it not a beautiful little pierced spire?--that was an extravagance of Dr. Spencer's own. Papa said he could not ask Captain Gordon to sanction it--the model did it no justice, but it was so very beautiful in the rich creamy stone rising up on the moor, and the blue sky looking through, and it caught the sunset lights so beautifully. So animated was her description, that Mrs. Arnott could not help asking, "Why, my dear, when have you seen it?"
"Never," said Margaret, with her sweet smile. "I have never seen Cocksmoor; but Dr. Spencer and Meta are always sketching it for me, and Ethel would not let an effect pass without telling me. I shall hear how it strikes you next."
"I hope to see it by and by. What a comfortable deep porch! If we could build such churches in the colonies, Margaret!"
"See what little Meta will do for you! Yes, we had the porch deep for a shelter--that is copied from the west door of the minster, and is it not a fine high-pitched roof? John Taylor, who is to be clerk, could not understand its being open; he said, when he saw the timbers, that a man and his family might live up among them. They are noble oak beams; we would not have any sham--here, Aubrey, take off the roof, and auntie will see the shape."
The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations Page 82
