Heriot's Choice Part 30

Mildred thought of the harmless kicks on the beck gravel, and the irritability in the porch, and could not forbear a smile. She could not imagine Roy's wrath could be very alarming, especially as Olive owned her father had been very lenient to him, and had promised to give the subject his full consideration. In this case, Olive's interference had really worked good; but Roy's manhood had taken fire at the notion of being watched and talked over; his father's mild hints of moral weakness and dilatoriness had affronted him; and though secretly relieved, the difficulty of revelation had been spared him, he had held his head higher, and had crushed his sister by a tirade against feminine impertinence and interference; and, what hurt her most, had declared his intention of never confiding in such a 'meddlesome Matty again.'

Mildred was thankful the darkness hid her look of amus.e.m.e.nt at this portion of Olive's lugubrious story, though the girl herself was too weak and cowed to see the ludicrous side of anything; and her voice changed into the old hopeless key as she spoke of Richard's look of withering scorn.

'He was almost too angry to speak to me, Aunt Milly. He said he never would trust me again. I had better not know what he thought of me. I had injured him beyond reparation. I don't know what he meant by that, but Roy told me that he would not have had his father troubled for the world; he could manage his own concerns, spiritual as well as temporal, for himself. And then he sneered; but oh, Aunt Milly, he looked so white and ill. I am sure now that for some reason he did not want papa to know; perhaps things were not so bad as I thought, or he is trying to feel better about it all. Do you think I have done wrong, Aunt Milly?'

And Olive wrung her hands in genuine distress and burst into fresh tears, and sobbed out that she had done for herself now; no one would believe she had said it for the best; even Rex was angry with her--and Cardie, she was sure Cardie would never forgive her.

'Yes, when this has blown over, and he and his father have come to a full understanding. I have better faith in Cardie's good heart than that.'

But Mildred felt more uneasy than her cheerful words implied. She had seen from the first that Richard had persistently misunderstood his sister; this fresh interference on her part, as he would term it, touching on a very sore place, would gall and irritate him beyond endurance. He had no conception of the amount of unselfish affection that was already lavished upon him; in fact he thought Olive provokingly cold and undemonstrative, and chafed at her want of finer feelings. It needed some sort of shock or revelation to enable him to read his sister's character in a truer light, and any kind of one-sided reconciliation would be a very warped and patched affair.

Mildred's clear-sightedness was fully alive to these difficulties; but it was expedient to comfort Olive, who had relapsed into her former state of agitation. There was clearly no wrong in the case; want of tact and mistaken kindness were the heaviest sins to be laid to poor Olive's charge; yet Mildred now found her incoherently accusing herself of wholesale want of principle, of duty, and declaring that she was unworthy of any one's affections.

'I shall call you naughty for the first time, Olive, if I hear any more of this,' interrupted her aunt; and by infusing a little judicious firmness into her voice, and by dint of management, though not without difficulty, and representing that she herself was in need of rest, she succeeded in persuading the worn-out girl to seek some repose.

Unwilling to trust her out of her sight, she made her share her own bed; nor did she relax her vigil until the swollen eyelids had closed in refres.h.i.+ng sleep, and the sobbing breaths were drawn more evenly. Once, at an uneasy movement, she started from the doze into which she had fallen, and put aside the long dark hair with a fondling hand; the moon was then s.h.i.+ning from behind the hill, and the beams shone full through the uncurtained windows; the girl's hands were crossed upon her breast, folded over the tiny silver cross she always wore, a half-smile playing on her lips--

'Cardie is always a good boy, mamma,' she muttered, drowsily, at Mildred's disturbing touch. Olive was dreaming of her mother.

CHAPTER XIII

A YOUTHFUL DRACO AND SOLON

'But thoughtless words may bear a sting Where malice hath no place, May wake to pain some secret sting Beyond thy power to trace.

When quivering lips, and flus.h.i.+ng cheek, The spirit's agony bespeak, Then, though thou deem thy brother weak, Yet soothe his soul to peace.'--S. A. Storrs.

Things certainly seemed at sixes and sevens, as Roy phrased it, the next morning. The severe emotions of the previous night had resulted in Olive's case in a miserable sick headache, which would not permit her to raise her head from the pillow. Mildred, who had rightly interpreted the meaning of the wistful glance that followed her to the door, had resolved to take the first opportunity of speaking to her nephews separately, and endeavouring to soften their aggrieved feelings towards their sister; by a species of good fortune she met Roy coming out of his father's room.

Roy had slept off his mighty mood, and kicked away his sullenness, and an hour of Polly's suns.h.i.+ny influence had restored him to good humour; and though his brow clouded a little at his aunt's first words, and he broke into a bar of careless whistling in a low and displeased key at the notion of her meditation, yet his better feelings were soon wrought upon by a hint of Olive's sufferings, and he consented, though a little condescendingly, to be the bearer of his own emba.s.sage of peace.

Olive's heavy eyes filled up with tears when she saw him.

'Dear Rex, this is so kind.'

'I am sorry your head is so bad, Livy,' was the evasive answer, in a sort of good-natured growl. Roy thought it would not do to be too amiable at first. '"You do look precious bad to be sure," as the hangman said to the gentleman he afterwards throttled. Take my advice, Livy,'

seating himself astride the rocking-chair, and speaking confidentially, 'medlars, spelt with either vowel, are very rotten things, and though I would not joke for worlds on such an occasion, it behoves us to stick to our national proverbs, and, as you know as well as I, a burnt child dreads the fire.'

'I will try to remember, Rex; I will, indeed; but please make Cardie think I meant it for the best.'

'It was the worst possible best,' replied Roy, gravely, 'and shows what weak understandings you women have--part of the present company excepted, Aunt Milly. "Age before honesty," and all that sort of thing, you know.'

'You incorrigible boy, how dare you be so rude?'

'Don't distress the patient, Aunt Milly. What a weak-eyed sufferer you look, Livy--regularly down in the doleful doldrums. You must have a strong dose of Polly to cheer you up--a grain of quicksilver for every scruple.'

Olive smiled faintly. 'Oh, Rex, you dear old fellow, are you sure you forgive me?'

'Very much, thank you,' returned Roy, with a low bow from the rocking-chair. 'And shall be much obliged by your not mentioning it again.'

'Only one word, just----'

'Hush,' in a stentorian whisper, 'on your peril not an utterance--not the ghostly semblance of a word. Aunt Milly, is repentance always such a painful and distressing disorder? Like the immortal Rosa Dartle, "I only ask for information." I will draw up a diagnosis of the symptoms for the benefit of all the meddlesome Matties of futurity--No, you are right, Livy,' as a sigh from Olive reached him; 'she was not a nice character in polite fiction, wasn't Matty--and then show it to Dr. John. Let me see; symptoms, weak eyes and reddish lids, a pallid exterior, with black lines and circles under the eyes, not according to Euclid--or c.o.c.ker--a tendency to laugh nervously at the words of wisdom, which, the conscience reprobating, results in an imbecile grin.'

'Oh, Rex, do--please don't--my head does ache so--and I don't want to laugh.'

'All hysteria, and a fresh attack of scruples--that quicksilver must be administered without delay, I see--hot and cold fits--aguish symptoms, and a tendency to incoherence and extravagance, not to say lightheadedness--nausea, excited by the very thought of Dr. Murray--and a restless desire to misplace words--"do--please don't," being a fair sample. I declare, Livy, the disease is as novel as it is interesting.'

Mildred left Olive cheered in spite of herself, but with a fresh access of pain, and went in search of Richard.

He was sitting at the little table writing. He looked up rather moodily as his aunt entered.

'Breakfast seems late this morning, Aunt Milly. Where is Rex?'

'I left him in Olive's room, my dear;' and as Richard frowned, 'Olive has been making herself ill with crying, and has a dreadful headache, and Roy was kind enough to go and cheer her up.'

No answer, only the scratching of the quill pen rapidly traversing the paper.

Mildred stood irresolute for a moment and watched him; there was no softening of the fine young face. Chriss was right when she said Richard's lips closed as though they were iron.

'I was sorry to hear what an uncomfortable evening you all had last night, Richard. I should hardly have enjoyed myself, if I had known how things were at home.'

'Ignorance is bliss, sometimes. I am glad you had a pleasant evening, Aunt Milly. I was sorry I could not meet you. I told Rex to go.'

'I found Rex kicking up his heels in the porch instead. Never mind,' as Richard looked annoyed. 'Dr. Heriot brought me home. But, Richard, dear, I am more sorry than I can say about this sad misunderstanding between you and Olive.'

'Aunt Milly, excuse me, but the less said about that the better.'

'Poor girl! I know how her interference has offended you; it was ill-judged, but, indeed, it was well meant. You have no conception, Richard, how dearly Olive loves you.'

The pen remained poised above the paper a moment, and then, in spite of his effort, the pent-up storm burst forth.

'Interference! unwarrantable impertinence! How dare she betray me to my father?'

'Betray you, Richard?'

'The very thing I was sparing him! The thing of all others I would not have had him know for worlds! How did she know? What right had she to guess my most private feelings! It is past all forbearance; it is enough to disgust one.'

'It is hard to bear, certainly; but, Richard, the fault is after all a trifling one; the worst construction one can put on it is error of judgment and a simple want of tact; she had no idea she was harming you.'

'Harming me!' still more stormily; 'I shall never get over it. I have lost caste in my father's opinion; how will he be ever able to trust me now? If she had but given me warning of her intention, I should not be in this position. All these months of labour gone for nothing.

Questioned, treated as a child--but, were he twenty times my father, I should refuse to be catechised;' and Richard took up his pen again, and went on writing, but not before Mildred had seen positive tears of mortification had sprung to his eyes. They made her feel softer to him--such a lad, too--and motherless--and yet so hard and impracticable--mannish, indeed!'

She stooped over him, even venturing to lay a hand on his shoulder.

'Dear Cardie, if you feel she has injured you so seriously, there is all the greater need of forgiveness. You cannot refuse it to one so truly humble. She is already heart-broken at the thought she may have caused mischief.'