Olive Part 30

"I thought you would be--I came to surprise you. My dear Miss Vanbrugh, have you really forgotten me? Then allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Christal Manners."

Miss Meliora looked as if she could have sunk into the earth! Year after year, from the sum left in the bank, she had paid the school-bill of her self-a.s.sumed charge; but that was all. After-thoughts, and a few prudish hints given by good-natured friends, had made her feel both ashamed and frightened at having taken such a doubtful _protegee_. Whenever she chanced to think of Christal's growing up, and coming back a woman, she drove the subject from her mind in absolute alarm. Now the very thing she dreaded had come upon her. Here was the desolate child returned, a stylish young woman, with no home in the world but that of her sole friend and protectress.

Poor Miss Vanbrugh was quite overwhelmed. She sank on a chair, "Dear me!

I am so frightened--that is, so startled. Oh, Miss Rothesay, what shall I do?" and she looked appealingly to Olive.

But between her and Miss Rothesay glided the young stranger. The bright colour paled from Christa's face--her smile pa.s.sed into a frown.

"Then you are not glad to see me--you, the sole friend I have in the world, whom I have travelled a thousand miles to meet--travelled alone and unprotected--you are not glad to see me? I will turn and go back again--I will leave the house--I will--I"----

Her rapid speech ended in a burst of tears. Poor Meliora felt like a guilty thing. "Miss Manners--Christal--my poor child! I didn't mean that! Don't cry--don't cry! I am very glad to see you--so are we all--are we not, Olive?"

Olive was almost as much puzzled as herself. She had a pa.s.sing recollection of the death of Mrs. Manners, and of the child's being sent to school; but since then she had heard no more of her. She could hardly believe that the elegant creature before her was the little ragged imp of a child whom she had once seen staring idly down the river. However, she asked no questions, but helped to soothe the girl, and to restore, as far as possible, peace and composure to the household.

They all spent the evening together without any reference to the past.

Only once, Christal--in relating how, as soon as ever her term of education expired, she had almost compelled her governess to let her come to England, and to Miss Vanbrugh,--said, in her proud way,

"It was not to ask a maintenance--for you know my parents left me independent; but I wanted to see you because I believed that, besides taking charge of my fortune, you had been kind to me when a child. How, or in what way, I cannot clearly remember; for I think," she added, laughing, "that I must have been a very stupid little girl: all seems so dim to me until I went to school. Can you enlighten me, Miss Vanbrugh?"

"Another time, another time, my dear," said the painter's sister, growing very much confused.

"Well! I thank you all the same,'and you shall not find me ungrateful,"

said the young lady, kissing Miss Meliora's hand, and speaking in a tone of real feeling, which would have moved any woman. It quite overpowered Miss Van-brugh--the softest-hearted little woman in the world. She embraced her _protegee_, declaring that she would never part with her.

"But," she added, with a sudden thought, a thought of intense alarm, "what will Michael say?"

"Do not think of that to-night," interposed Olive. "Miss Manners is tired; let us get her to bed quickly, and we will see what morning brings."

The advice was followed, and Christal disappeared; not, however, without lavis.h.i.+ng on Mrs. and Miss Rothesay a thousand gracious thanks and apologies, with an air and deportment that did infinite honour to the polite instruction of her _pension_.

Mrs. Rothesay, confused with all that had happened, did not ask many questions, but only said as she retired,

"I don't quite like her, Olive--I don't like the tone of her voice; and yet there was something that struck me in the touch of her hand--which is so different in different people."

"Hers is a very pretty hand, mamma. It is quite cla.s.sic in shape--like poor papa's--which I remember so well!"

"There never was such a beautiful hand as your papa's. He said it descended in the Rothesay family. You have it, you know, my child,"

observed Mrs. Rothesay. She sighed, but softly; for, after all these years, the widow and the fatherless had learned to speak of their loss without pain, though with tender remembrance.

Thinking of him and of her mother, Olive thought, likewise, how much happier was her own lot than that of the orphan-girl, who, by her own confession, had never known what it was to remember the love of the dead, or to rejoice in the love of the living. And her heart was moved with the pity--nay, even tenderness, for Christal Manners.

When she had a.s.sisted her mother to bed--as she always did--Olive, in pa.s.sing down stairs, moved by some feeling of interest, listened at the door of the young stranger. She was apparently walking up and down her room with a quick, hurried step. Olive knocked.

"Are you quite comfortable?--do you want anything?"

"Who's there? Oh! come in, Miss Rothesay."

Olive entered, and found, to her surprise, that the candle was extinguished.

"I thought I heard you moving about, Miss Manners."

"So I was. I felt restless and could not sleep. I am very tired with my journey, I suppose, and the room is strange to me. Come here--give me your hand."

"You are not afraid, my dear child?" said Olive, remembering that she was, indeed, little more than a child, though she looked so womanly.

"You are not frightening yourself in this gloomy old house, nor thinking of ghosts and goblins?"

"No--no! I was thinking, if I must tell the truth," said the girl, with something very like a suppressed sob--"I was thinking of you and your mother, as I saw you standing when I first came in. No one ever clasped me so, or ever will! Not that I have any one to blame; my father and mother died; they could not help dying. But if they had just brought me into the world and left me, as I have heard some parents have done, then I should cry out, 'Wicked parents! if I grow up heartless, because I have no one to love me; and vile, because I have none to guide me,--my sin be upon your head!'"

She said these words with vehement pa.s.sion. But Olive answered calmy, "Hush, Christal!--let me call you Christal; for I am much older than you. Lie down and rest. Be loving, and you will never want for love; be humble, and you will never want for guiding. You have good friends here, who will care for you very much, I doubt not. Be content, my poor, tired child!"

She spoke very softly; for the darkness quite obliterated the vision of that stylish damsel who had exhibited her airs and graces in the drawing-room. As she sat by Christal's bedside, Olive only felt the presence of a desolate orphan.

She said in her heart, "Please G.o.d, I will do her all the good that lies in my feeble power. Who knows but that, in some way or other, I may comfort and help this child!" So she stooped down and kissed Christal on the forehead, a tenderness that the girl pa.s.sionately returned. Then Olive went and lay down by her blind mother's side, with a quiet and a happy heart.

CHAPTER XXV.

In a week's time Christal Manners was fairly domiciled at Woodford Cottage. In what capacity it would be hard to say--certainly not as Miss Vanbrugh's _protegee_--for she a.s.sumed toward the little old maid a most benignant air of superiority. Mr. Vanbrugh she privately christened "the old Ogre," and kept as much out of his way as possible. This was not difficult, for the artist was too much wrapped up in himself to meddle with any domestic affairs. He seemed to be under some mystification that the lively French girl was a guest of Miss Rothesay's, and his sister ventured not to break this delusion. Christal's surname created no suspicions; the very name of his former model, Celia Manners, had long since pa.s.sed from his memory.

So the young visitor made herself quite at home--amused the whole household with her vivacity, clinging especially to the Rothesay portion of the establishment. She served Olive as general a.s.sistant in her studio, model included--or, at least, as lay figure: for she was too strictly fas.h.i.+onable to be graceful in form, and not quite beautiful enough in face to attract an artist's notice. But she did very well; and she amused Mrs. Rothesay all the while with her gay French songs, so that Olive was glad to have her near.

The day after Christal's arrival, Miss Vanbrugh had summoned her chief state-councillor, Olive Rothesay, to talk over the matter. Then and there, Meliora unfolded all she knew and all she guessed of the girl's history. How much of this was to be communicated to Christal she wished Olive to decide: and Olive, remembering what had pa.s.sed between them on the first night of her coming, advised that, unless Christal herself imperatively demanded to know, there should be maintained on the subject a kindly silence.

"Her parents are dead, of that she is persuaded," Olive urged. "Whoever they were, they have carefully provided for her. If they erred or suffered, let neither their sin nor their sorrow go down to their child."

"It shall be so," said the good Meliora. And since Christal asked no further questions--and, indeed, her lively nature seemed unable to receive any impressions save of the present--the subject was not again referred to.

But the time came when the little household must be broken up. Mr.

Vanbrugh announced that in one fortnight he must leave Woodford Cottage, on his journey to Rome. He never thought of such mundane matters as letting the house, or disposing of the furniture; he left all those things to his active little sister, who was busy from morning till night--ay, often again from night till morning. When Michael commanded anything, it must be done, if within human possibility; and there never was any one to do it but Meliora. She did it, always;--how, he never asked or thought. He was so accustomed to her ministrations that he no more noticed them than he did the daylight. Had the light suddenly gone--then--Michael Vanbrugh would have known what it once had been.

Ere the prescribed time had quite expired, Miss Vanbrugh announced that all was arranged for their leaving Woodford Cottage. Her brother had nothing to do but to pack up his easels and his pictures; and this duty was quite absorbing enough to one who had no existence beyond his painting-room.

There was one insuperable difficulty, which perplexed Meliora. What was to be done with Christal Manners? She troubled herself about the matter night and day. At last she hinted something of it to the girl herself.

And 'Miss Manners at once decided the question by saying, "I will not go to Rome."

She was of a strange disposition, as they had already found out. With all her volatile gaiety, when she chose to say, "I will!" she was as firm as a rock. No persuasions--no commands--could move her. In this case none were tried. Her fortunes seemed to arrange themselves; for Mrs.

Fludyer, coming in one day to make the final arrangements for the Rothesays' arrival at Farnwood, took a vehement liking to the young French lady, as Miss Manners was generally considered, and requested that Mrs. Rothesay would bring her down to Farnwood, Olive demurred a little, lest the intrusion of a constant inmate might burden her mother: but the plan was at last decided upon--Christal's own entreaties having no small influence in turning the scale.

Thus, all things settled, there came the final parting of the two little families who for so many years had lived together in peace and harmony.

The Rothesays were to leave one day, the Vanbrughs the next. Olive and Meliora were both very busy--too busy to have time for regrets. They did not meet until evening, when Olive saw Miss Vanbrugh quietly and sorrowfully watering her flowers, with a sort of mechanical interest--the interest of a mother, who meekly goes on arranging all things for the comfort and adornment of the child from whom she is about to separate. It made Olive sad; she went into the garden, and joined Meliora.

"Let me help you, dear Miss Vanbrugh. Why should you tire yourself thus, after all the fatigues of the day?"

Meliora looked up.--"Ah! true, true! I shall never do this any more, I know. But the poor flowers must not suffer; I'll take care of them while I can. Those dahlias, that I have watched all the year, want watering every night, and will do for a month to come. A month! Oh! Miss Rothesay, I am very foolish, I know, but it almost breaks my heart to say good-bye to my poor little garden!"

Her voice faltered, and at last her tears began to fall--not bitterly, but in a quiet, gentle way, like the dropping of evening rain. However, she soon recovered herself, and began to talk of her brother and of Rome. She was quite sure that there his genius would find due recognition, and that he would rival the old masters in honour and prosperity. She was content to go with him, she said; perhaps the warm climate would suit her better than England, now that she was growing--not exactly old, for she was much younger than Michael, and he had half a lifetime of fame before him--but still, older than she had been. The language would be a trouble; but then she was already beginning to learn it, and she had always been used to accommodate herself to everything. She was quite certain that this plan of Michael's would turn out for the good of both.