Frederica and her Guardians Part 36

Frederica hesitated, but only a moment.

"You were reading," said she.

"I was waiting for you, and now we must hasten, for the best of the afternoon is pa.s.sing."

They did not meet the carriage, though they went a long way round, hoping to do so. Frederica was not sorry: she never forgot that walk home in the twilight. As it grew dark she put her hand into that of her friend, as simply as a little child might have done, and for a while she had most of the talk to herself. She told him more than she had ever told any one before about their mother, and their old home and their way of life; and sometimes he smiled, and sometimes he was deeply touched, as she dwelt with quite unconscious pathos on some of the incidents of those days. Her face clouded as they drew near the house.

"I am almost afraid to go in," said she.

"Lest you should be naughty again? No, you will not," said her friend.

"See, I will give you something to prevent it: 'Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.'"

"Thank you," said Frederica, without looking up. "A month is a long time, two months perhaps."

"But it will soon pa.s.s, and summer will soon be here, and who knows what summer may bring?"

"And this afternoon has not been so bad," said Frederica.

No time after that was so very bad. Frederica kept herself conscientiously busy for one thing, and she kept Tessie busy also.

Their friends made pleasures for them. They had walks with Captain Clare which were always delightful, and drives with their sister Cecilia, and one day they went with them to visit their brothers, whose school was not so very far away, and this they enjoyed wonderfully.

Frederica, who had had few letters in the course of her life, took great delight in those of her brother Edgar. Besides bringing good news of her sister's health and happiness, they were full of interest for other reasons, and they never failed to contain just a word or two to remind the sisters at home that all were alike safe in the best keeping.

And better than all other helps towards patience and content was the young girl's trust in Him who had brought them to a safe place. On Him she was learning to rest more lovingly every day. She suffered a good deal at first; but peace came and stayed, not quite the perfect peace promised to them whose trust is entire and full, but even that came later.

Tessie watched her sister narrowly, and expressed her opinion of her way of taking it all by little shrugs and laughing protests, in which Frederica sometimes fancied there was a contemptuous echo. But Tessie was subdued at last by her sister's never-failing gentleness and sweetness, and showed it by devotion to her duties, and by deference to her sister's wishes in little things.

The time of Selina's absence extended beyond what was first planned.

But this was not so great a trial as it seemed beforehand Spring pa.s.sed into summer before a word was said of their going home, and the time came to leave hot and dusty London, and to return to Eastwood Park again, and the sisters went gladly, though they had no thought of the joyful surprise awaiting them there.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

If Eastwood had been beautiful to the eyes of the sisters when seen under Christmas skies, what was it now in the prime of summer? The pony carriage awaited them at the station, and in it they drove to the Park the nearest way through the loveliest lanes, in the hedges of which Tessie counted nearly a score of different green growing things besides honeysuckle and foxgloves and bluebells and many a flower that she could not name. How wide and still the Park was, with only green gra.s.s and great trees to see at first, and by-and-by shrubbery, and then flowers, and then the house itself came in sight. There were open doors and windows, and people coming and going over the lawn, and Grandmamma Bentham sitting in a garden chair, in full sight of the gate.

Some one was coming to meet them, as the carriage stopped at the east gate, and they came in. Some one! There were many people. Colonel Bentham was there, and Captain Clare, and Everard, and their brothers Charlie and Hubert. But "some one" was Selina, not led by Miss Agnace, as might have seemed natural, not led by any one, though Everard Bentham walked at a little distance from her, regarding her with the strangest wondering smile upon his face. Their brother Edgar was there too, a little in advance of the rest. But Selina walked alone, and came forward to them, holding her hand a little out before her, as she always used to do, walking softly and slowly to the very gate, for Frederica stood still and waited. Tessie waited too a moment, and then sprang forward with a cry.

"Selina! Do you see me? Oh! Fred. Oh! mama! mama?"

And then she clasped and kissed her, clinging to her, and sobbing wildly, moved as no one had ever seen the sharp little Tessie moved before.

"Gently, Tessie love," said her guardian, putting his arms about her, and drawing her aside from the rest. Frederica stood still and white at the gate, so still and white that her brother Edgar drawing near looked anxiously at her. But she only looked at Selina, who paused at a little distance.

"Frederica," she said, "I can see you."

Then Frederica awoke out of her dream; but before she sprang forward to clasp her sister, she turned and kissed the hand her brother had laid on her shoulder. She did not cry out as Tessie had done, nor speak a word, but she held her sister's hand firmly as they walked towards the house, looking at her with eyes in which the wonder hardly left room for the pleasure to appear.

The meeting had not happened just as their elder brother had desired and planned. He had meant to prepare his sisters for the happy change in Selina, but perhaps it happened just as well. They were left very much to themselves for the rest of the day; and as their way was at such times, they talked in their mother tongue fast and eagerly. That is, Tessie and the little brothers talked, and Selina also, who had much to tell them, though she told it in few words. The beginning and the end of all was her brother Edgar's kindness to her during the time she had been away.

As to how it all came about--how through the wonderful skill, and unfailing gentle care of her brother's friend, and of her brother as well, the blessed gift of sight was restored to her, need not be told here. The sweet blue eyes looked just as they had always looked, but there was light in them now. Her face was changed. It was not so peaceful and serener--it could hardly be brighter than it used to be.

But it had an expectant look, and its expression varied every moment.

Her constant movements towards this and that, in her attempts at a nearer acquaintance with things which she had hitherto only known by touch or by sound, gave her an air of restlessness not at all like Selina, and for a little while Frederica watched her doubtfully. But when Edgar came among them, hus.h.i.+ng the eager buzz of talk, and saying gently to Selina that she had seen enough for one day, the old look came back, sweet and serene, and she lay down at his bidding, with closed eyes and a smile on her lips that rea.s.sured her sisters. And then Edgar said in response to the brightening of Frederica's face,--

"Yes, it is a new world to her. But she has had the best things all along--the peace and the joy--and she is not going to lose them because she can see. I think you may let yourself be glad for her."

"Yes, I am glad! for her," said Frederica gravely, "very glad, I think; or I shall be glad by-and-by."

"Are you sure you are glad now?" said Captain Clare to her when a few days had pa.s.sed, and they had in some measure become accustomed to the knowledge that Selina could see; "because I do not think you always look very glad."

"I am glad for Selina, I am glad for us all: But then, you see, I do not quite know what I am going to do with myself and my life now," said she gravely. "I have it all to plan over again, now that Selina will not need me to take care of her."

"You need not be afraid, I think," said her friend. "Your work will come to you; and indeed, your sister needs you as much as ever. She does not seem to be able to do without you."

"She likes to look at me, because I am like mama, she says. She has not forgotten mama all these years since she was a little child. And I am to teach her all I know; and that will not take me long," added she, laughing. "And besides, she has been learning all the time, though not with her eyes. Oh, yes! I am glad!"

In the midst of their rejoicing Mr St. Cyr came to Eastwood Park; and if Frederica had had her choice of all the pleasant things that might happen to them, she would certainly have chosen this. It was almost like being at home again, and having the old times back. Not but that they were all quite content at Eastwood; but their old friend, who had also been their mother's friend, was very welcome and dear. They had some things to say to him that it would not have been easy to say to any one else; and his odd ways with them, sometimes merry and sometimes grave, always old-fas.h.i.+oned and friendly, had a wonderful charm for them all, and even for those who were looking on.

Frederica no longer doubted her joy over her sister when she presented her to Mr St. Cyr. Her tears fell, it is true, in a sudden shower, as she said to him, "If mama had only known!" But her tears were soon dry; and in his society, responding to his quaint ways and speeches, she grew more talkative and merry than ever her English friends had seen her before. She was more like the Fred who used to drive "Jack and Jill,"

and amuse the children in Miss Robina's orchard, than like the grave little monitress of her brothers and Tessie, inclined to be careful and troubled about many things.

Mr St. Cyr stayed at Eastwood till the summer days began to grow short, and then he went away, not to Canada, but to some mild climate, for another winter, till his health should be more firmly re-established.

It was quite as well, for the peace of mind of the young people, that he should have so decided; for they might have longed to return with him, had he been going home.

If I were to carry my story over the next three years, I should have little more to say than this: they were happy and profitable years for them all. Selina learned all that Frederica could teach her, and some things besides. Sometimes they were in London, and at Christmas times and during the summer they were at beautiful Eastwood. They went through some of the prettiest parts of England with their brothers, to their great delight; and after a time their travels extended beyond England. They saw just what other travellers see, and enjoyed it more than most travellers do, being young and full of life, with no weight of care pressing upon them.

And after their travels were over they began seriously to consider and plan what their life-work was to be, and on which side of the sea it was to be done. Selina still spoke of the blind old people and little children whom she would like to gather into their old home, to care for and to teach. But her plans went farther than these now.

"For surely," said she, "if we were to tell our people about Jesus and all He has done for them, they would turn to Him rather than to those who bid them look to Mary and the Saints in time of need. It is because they do not know Him that they look to be saved in some other way, and I would like to teach them. It is at home that we ought to be, Miss Agnace, is it not?"

But Miss Agnace had little to say, knowing better than they all that would make it impossible for these young girls to influence directly any one among a people so docile in the hands of their spiritual guides.

"G.o.d will prepare your work for you," said Miss Agnace gravely. "It matters little where it is, so that it is done for Him. We must wait and see."

Selina's work came to her in an unexpected way, but by a sure token she knew it to be G.o.d-given work when it came. It was no new work. Ever since the happy Christmas-time when the blind girl went softly about the great house at Eastwood, and sat in the suns.h.i.+ne in Grandmamma Bentham's garden, she had been doing a good work for Everard Bentham. Her influence was exerted quite unconsciously. She did not know how much every gentle word of hers meant to him, how dear she became to him day by day. But when he left his father's house after that time, it was with a new resolve for the future--to the living of a new life, to a new end. Three years of earnest devotion to the duties of his profession, and to the still higher duties of a Christian gentleman, had placed him on different ground from that which he had occupied in the days when his father had suffered deep anxiety with regard to him. Edgar Vane had always loved him, now he respected and trusted him; and when he found courage to ask Selina to become his wife, neither her guardian nor her brother said him nay. Selina had no doubt then on which side of the sea her work was to lie.

All their friends were surprised when it came to be known that Captain Clare had persuaded Frederica to share a soldier's fortunes as his wife.

Not that it needed much persuasion. For though he was older and graver than she, one who might be thought little likely to take a young girl's fancy, Frederica knew his worth, and had long loved him, first as her brother's friend, and then as her own. Her husband took her to Canada for a time, where his regiment was stationed, and Tessie accompanied them. Selina and her husband also went with them for a summer holiday.

And so Selina saw her old home, as Edgar had foretold. It was she who, through the lifting morning mists, first caught sight of the city roofs and the cathedral towers, and the mountain beyond, beautiful with the level light of the sunrise on them. She saw her old home, and the two graves, and the faces of some people who had only been as names to her in the old days. She saw her home, and for a time she wished she had not seen it, but that she had allowed it still to stand in her memory as the sweetest and loveliest spot on earth, made beautiful in her thought by the remembrance of her mother and of all they had been to each other there.

For the old home was changed. The great warehouses pressed closer and closer upon it. The garden had been encroached upon, and the shadows of great chimneys and workshops darkened the lawn. It was very little like the home she had been remembering so lovely all these years. It was little like home to many of them now.

There were few people that they remembered well. They saw Miss Robina again, but her mother was dead, and so was Mistress Campbell. Madame Precoe was very friendly with them, in her unpleasant way. She smiled, and was polite, and spoke softly to them, but she never allowed them to forget that she believed them to have wandered far from the truth, and that days of darkness awaited them.

Father Jerome did not come to see them, but one day Frederica met him in the street. He had grown very old and bowed, and walked wearily, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, so that he did not see her when she pa.s.sed. For the moment she was glad, but afterwards she could not forget his face, nor the look it wore,--a look not peaceful, but silent--blank--unresponsive.

Mr St. Cyr was home by this time, and they saw him often. But he would not speak much about his brother.

"He is not happy," said he; "but that is a small matter. I pray G.o.d to give him His peace."