"So you think it ought to go?" sighed Marian.
"I should say so," said Mrs. Lyddell, "but you may decide for yourself."
Marian covered her face with her hands, and considered. The dentist returned; she laid back her head and opened her mouth, and the tooth was drawn. Caroline and Lionel escaped more easily, and they left the dentist's. Mrs. Lyddell said something in commendation of Marian's courage, and asked if she would like to see the Cathedral, an offer which she gladly accepted, expecting to go to the service, as the bells now began to ring; but she was disappointed, for Mrs. Lyddell said, "Ah! I had forgotten the hour. We must do our commissions first, and be at the Cathedral before the doors are shut." Marian did not venture to express her wishes, but she thought of the days when attending the Cathedral service had been the crowning pleasure of a drive to Exeter, and in dwelling on the recollection, she spent the attention which Mrs. Lyddell expected her to bestow on her new bonnet.
Their business did not occupy them very long, and they entered the Cathedral before the anthem was over; but Marian felt that it was not fitting to loiter about the nave while worship was going on within the choir; and the uncomfortable feeling occupied her so much, that she could hardly look at the fair clustered columns and graceful arches, and seemed scarcely to know or care for the gallant William Longsword, when led to the side of his mail-clad, cross-legged effigy. The deep notes of the organ, which delighted Caroline, gave her a sense of shame; and even when the service was over, and they entered the choir, these thoughts had not so passed away as to enable her to give full admiration to the exquisite leafy capitals and taper arcades of the Lady Chapel. Perhaps, too, there was a little perverseness in her inability to think that this Cathedral surpassed that of Exeter.
She thanked Mrs. Lyddell rather stiffly, as she thought to herself, "I did not reckon upon this!" and they set out on their homeward drive. Caroline looked thoughtful, and did not say much, Lionel fell asleep, and Mrs. Lyddell, after a few not very successful attempts at talking to Marian, took out her bills, and began to look over them and to reckon. Marian sat looking out of the window, lost in a vision of the hills, woods, and streams of Fern Torr, which lasted till they had reached home.
Such an expedition was so uncommon an event in the lives of the inhabitants of the schoolroom, that those who stayed at home were as excited about it as those who went, and a full and particular account was expected of all they had seen and all they had done. Caroline and Lionel both seemed to think Marian a perfect miracle of courage in voluntarily consenting to lose a tooth.
"And I am sure," said Caroline as they sat at tea, "I cannot now understand what made you have it done."
"To oblige a countryman," said Marian laughing.
"Well, but what was your real reason?" persisted Caroline.
"Mrs. Lyddell thought it best, and so did the dentist," said Marian.
"O," said Caroline, "he only said so because it was his trade."
"Then how could Mrs. Lyddell depend on him?" said Marian, gravely.
"Dentists never are to be depended on," said Caroline; "they only try to fill their own pockets like other people."
"You forget," said Lionel, "Devonshire men are not like other people."
"O yes, I beg their pardon," said Caroline, while every one laughed except Gerald; who thought the praise only their due.
"But why did you have it done?" said Clara, returning to the charge; "I am sure I never would."
"Yes, but Marian is not you," said Lionel.
"You would have disobeyed no one," said Caroline.
"I do not know," said Marian, thinking of one whom she would have disobeyed by showing weakness.
"Then did you think it wrong not to have that tooth drawn?" said Caroline.
"I do not know."
"Did you think it right to have it done?"
"I do not know, unless that I did not like it."
"Do you mean to say that not liking a thing makes it right?" exclaimed Clara.
"Very often," said Marian.
"Miss Morley, now is not that Popish?" cried Clara.
"Perhaps your cousin can explain herself," said Miss Morley.
"Yes, do," said Caroline, "you must tell us what you mean."
"I don't know," was Marian's first answer; but while uttering the reply, the real reason arranged itself in words; and finding she must speak clearly, she said, "Self-denial is always best, and in a doubtful case, the most disagreeable is always the safest."
Miss Morley said that Marian was right in many instances, but that this was not a universal rule, and so the conversation ended.
Chapter VI.
"O Brignal banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen."
ROKEBY.
Winter came, and with it the time fixed for that farewell visit from Edmund Arundel, to which Marian and Gerald had long looked forward. Marian was becoming very anxious for it on Gerald's account, for she was beginning to feel that he was not quite the same child as when he first arrived at Oakworthy. He was less under control, less readily obedient to Miss Morley, less inclined to quote Edmund upon all occasions, more sensible of his own consequence, and more apt to visit that forbidden ground, the stables.
She longed for Edmund's coming, trusting to him to set everything right, and to explain to her the marvels of this strange new world.
Several gentlemen were staying in the house, and there was to be a dinner party on the day when he was expected, so that she thought the best chance of seeing him would be to stay in the garden with Gerald, while the others took their walk, so that she might be at hand on his arrival. Clara, though by no means wanted, chose to stay also, and the two girls walked up and down the terrace together.
"It is so very odd," said Clara "that you should care about such a great old cousin."
"He is only twenty-four," answered Marian.
"But he must have been grown up ever since you remember."
"Yes, but he is so kind. He used to carry us about and play with us when we were quite little children, and since I have been older he has made me almost a companion. He taught me to ride, and trained my bay pony, my beautiful Mayflower, and read with me, and helped me in my music and drawing."
"That is more than Elliot would do for us, if he could," said Clara. "It is very dull to have no one to care about our lessons, but to be shut up in the schoolroom for ever with poor unfortunate."
Marian did not choose to say how fully she assented to this complaint, but happiness had opened her heart, and she went on,--"I have had so many delightful walks with him through the beautiful wood full of rocks, and out upon the moor. O, Clara, you cannot think what it is to sit upon one of those rocks, all covered with moss and lichen, and the ferns growing in every cleft and cranny, and the beautiful little ivy-leafed campanula wreathing itself about the moss, and such a soft, free, delicious air blowing all around. And Edmund and I used to take out a book, and read and sketch so delightfully there!"
"Do you know, Marian," said Clara mysteriously, "I have heard some one say--I will not tell you who--that it is a wonder that Mr. Arundel is so fond of you, of Gerald, at least, for if it was not for him, he would have had Fern Torr, and have been Sir Edmund."
"But why should he not be fond of Gerald?"
"Really, Marian, you are a very funny person in some things," exclaimed Clara. "To think of your not being able to guess that!"
Here Mrs. Lyddell interrupted them by calling from the window to ask why they were staying in the garden?
"We were waiting to see Mr. Arundel, mamma," answered Clara.
"I think," said Mrs. Lyddell, "that as I am going out, it is not quite _the thing_ for you young ladies to wait to receive a gentleman in my absence. You had better overtake the others. Marian will see Mr. Arundel in the evening."
"How cross!" exclaimed Clara, as soon as they were out of hearing
. "Now we have to go along that horrid, stupid path that poor unfortunate is so fond of! If mamma had to go there herself, she would know what a nuisance it is!"
Marian was silent, because she was too much annoyed to speak properly of Mrs. Lyddell, whose interference seemed to her a needless piece of unkindness. At home she would have thought it strange not to hasten to greet cousin Edmund, and she feared he would think she neglected him, yet she could not, in Clara's presence, leave a message for him with her brother. Gerald begged her to remain, but she replied, with, a short, blunt "I can't," and set off with Clara, feeling provoked with everybody. In process of time she recovered candour enough to acknowledge to herself that Mrs. Lyddell was right as far as Clara was concerned, but the struggle kept her silent, her cousin thought her sulky, and the walk was not agreeable.
Gerald did not as usual attend her toilette, but as she passed along the passage on her way to the schoolroom, she heard sounds in the hall so like home that her heart bounded, Gerald's voice and Edmund's in reply! She could not help opening the door which separated the grand staircase from the schoolroom passage, the voice sounded plainer, she looked over the balusters, and saw--yes, actually saw Edmund, the top of his black head was just below her. Should she call? Should she run half-way down stairs, and just exchange one greeting unrestrainedly? But no; her heart beat so fast as to take away her breath, and that gave her time for recollection: Mrs. Lyddell might not think it proper, it would be meeting him in an underhand way, and that would never do!
Marian turned back, shut the door of communication, and in the next moment was in the schoolroom. When Gerald came up to tea, he was in the wildest spirit; making fun, romping with Lionel and John, and putting everything in such an uproar that it was quite a relief when the time came for going down to the drawing-room.
Now, Marian's great fear was that the gentlemen would be cruel enough to stay in the dining-room till after half-past nine, when she would be obliged to go to bed. She could hardly speak to anybody, she shrank away, as near the door as she dared, and half sprang up every time it opened, then sat down ashamed of herself, and disappointed to see only the servants with coffee and tea.
At last, the fatal time had all but come, when the black figures of the gentlemen entered one after the other, Marian scarcely venturing to look at them, and overpowered with a double access of fright and shyness, which chained her to her seat, and her eyes to the ground. But now--Edmund's hand was grasping hers, Edmund was by her side, his voice was saying, "Well, Marian, how are you?"
She looked up at him for one moment, then on the ground again, without speaking.
"Oakworthy has put no colour in your cheeks," said he. "Are you quite well?"
"Quite, thank you," said she, almost as shortly and coldly as if she had been answering Mrs. Lyddell.
"When did you hear from home?"
"Yesterday," said she, speaking more readily. "Agnes always writes once a week. When do you go there?"
"Next week, when I leave this place."
"You come from the Marchmonts, don't you?"
"Yes, Selina sends you her love, and all manner of kind messages. She hopes to see you in London after Easter."
"O dear! There is Mrs. Lyddell looking at me, and I see Caroline is gone! Good night, Edmund."
"So soon? I hoped to have seen more of you to-day; I came early on purpose."
"I thought so, but they would not let me stay at home."
"I understand. Don't squeeze up your lips and look woeful. I knew how it was. Good night."
Marian walked slowly up stairs, sighing as she went, and looked into Gerald's room. He was awake, and called out, "Well, Marian, are you not glad he has come?"
"O yes, very," returned Marian, in a tone of little gladness; "I hope you will be very happy with him."
"Why not you?"
"It will be all disappointment," she answered in a choking voice, as, sheltered by the darkness, she knelt down by Gerald's bed, and burst into tears. "It will all be like to-day."
"No, it shall not!" cried Gerald; "I will tell Edmund all about it, and he shall send them all to the right about! I can't think why you did not tell Mrs. Lyddell that you always stay at home for Edmund."
"Miss Arundel," said Saunders, at the door, "do you know that it is half an hour later than usual?"
The next morning Marian awoke with brighter spirits. It was possible that she might accomplish one walk with him, and Gerald was sure of being constantly at his side, which was the great point. At any rate, she could not be very unhappy while he was in the house.
She heard nothing of him all the morning, but, just as the schoolroom dinner was over, in came Mrs. Lyddell, and with her Edmund himself, to the great surprise of all the inhabitants. Marian looked very happy, but said very little, while there was some talk with Miss Morley, and then Edmund asked if she had no drawings to show him. She brought out her portfolio, and felt it like old times when he observed on her improved shading, or criticised the hardness of her distant hills, while Miss Morley wondered at his taste and science. It was delightful to find that she and Gerald were really to take a walk with him by themselves. She almost flew to fetch her walking dress, and soon the three were on their way together.
There was a great quantity of home news to be talked over, for Edmund had not heard half so often nor so minutely as Marian, and he had to be told how Charles Wortley got on at his new school, that Ranger had been lost for a day and a half, and many pieces of the same kind of intelligence, of which the most important was that Farmer Bright's widow had given up the hill farm, and his nephew wanted to take it, but Mr. Wortley hoped that this would not be allowed, as he was a dissenter.
"Indeed!" said Edmund; "I wonder Carter did not mention that."
"Had you heard this before?" said Marian; "I thought it news."
"Most of it is," said Edmund, "but not about the farm. The letting it is part of my business here, but I did not know of this man's dissent. Your correspondence has done good service."
"I am sure it is my great delight," said Marian; "I do not know what I should do without hearing from Agnes. I think I have learnt to prize her more since I have known other people."
"You don't find the Miss Lyddells quite as formidable as you expected though?" said Edmund; "the eldest has a nice open, countenance."
"We get on very well," said Marian. "Caroline is so good-tempered and clever, and Lionel is delightful."
"O, Edmund," interposed Gerald, "Lionel and I had such fun the other day. We caught the old donkey and blindfolded it with our handkerchiefs, and let it loose, and if you could but have seen how it kicked up its heels----"
They went on with the history of adventures of the same description, enjoying themselves exceedingly, and when Marian went in, she was much pleased to find how favourable an impression Edmund had made on her companions, although some of their commendations greatly surprised her; Miss Morley pronouncing that he had in the greatest degree an _air distingue_, and was a remarkably fashionable young man. Marian could endure the _air distingue_, but could hardly swallow the fashionable young man, an expression which only conveyed to her mind the idea of Elliot Lyddell and his moustached friends. However, she knew it was meant for high praise, and her present amiable fit was strong enough to prevent her from taking it as an insult.
The next day was Sunday, and she provokingly missed Edmund three times, in the walks to and from church, he being monopolized by "some stupid person," who had far less right to him than she had; but at last, when she had been completely worried and vexed with her succession of disappointments, and had come into what Lionel would have emphatically called "a state of mind," Edmund contrived to come to her before going in doors, and asked if she could not take a few turns with him on the terrace. She came gladly, and yet hardly with full delight, for the irritation of the continually recurring disappointments through the whole day, still had its influence on her spirits, and she did not at first speak. "Where is Gerald?" asked Edmund.
"I don't know; somewhere with the boys," said Marian, disconsolately.
"Well, why not?" said Edmund laughing.
"I don't know," said Marian.
"That is a meditative 'I don't know,' which conveys more than meets the ear."
"I don't know whether----; I mean I don't think it does Gerald any good."
"It?--what?"
"I don't know," repeated Marian in a tone which to any one else would have appeared sullen.
"I should like to arrive at your meaning, Marian. Are you not happy about Gerald!"
"I don't know," said Marian; but Edmund, convinced that all was not right, was resolved to penetrate these determined professions of ignorance.
"Is Gerald under Miss Morley?" he asked.
"Yes, during most of the day. They all say he is very good."
"And does not that satisfy you?"
"I don't know."
Edmund perceived that the subject of her brother was too near her heart to be easily approached, and resolved to change his tone.
"How have you been getting on?" he asked. "Does learning flourish under the present dynasty?"
"I don't know," replied Marian for the seventh time, but she did not as usual stop there, and continued, "they think one knows nothing unless one has learnt all manner of dates, and latitudes, and such things. Not one of them knew Orion when they saw him in the sky, and yet even Clara thought me dreadfully stupid because I could not find out on the globe the altitude of Beta in Serpentarius, at New Orleans, at three o'clock in the morning."
Edmund could not help laughing at her half-complaining, half-humorous tone, and this encouraged her to proceed.
The Two Guardians Page 8
