A Young Mutineer Part 16

"No, it's awfully crooked."

For the next half-hour Babs labored hard, and Judy superintended, giving sharp criticisms and ordering the arrangements of the chamber with much peremptoriness.

"Now we must have flowers," she exclaimed. "You must go out to the garden, and pick all the violets you can get."

"But it's very late to go out," said Babs, "and Miss Mills will be angry."

"As if that mattered! Who cares who is angry when Hilda is coming? The worst Miss Mills can do is to punish you, and you won't mind that when you think about Hilda. I know where there are violets, white and blue, on that south bank after you pa.s.s the shrubbery; you know the bank where the bees burrow, and where we catch ladybirds in the summer; run, Babs, do run at once and pick all you can find."

Judy's room was decorated to perfection. Judy herself lay in her white bed, with pink roses on her cheeks, and eyes like two faintly shining stars, and smiles coming and going on her lips, and eager words dropping now and then from her impatient little tongue.

"What is the hour now, Aunt Marjorie? Is it really only half-past nine?"

"It is five-and-twenty to ten, Judy, and Miss Mills has gone in the fly to the station, and your Hilda will be back, if the train is punctual, by ten o'clock. How wonderfully well you look, my darling. I did right after all to let you sit up in bed to wait for your dear sister."

"Yes, I am quite well, only--I hope Jasper won't come too."

"Oh, fie! my pet. You know you ought not to say that treasonable sort of thing--Jasper is Jasper, one of the family, and we must welcome him as such--but between ourselves, just for no one else to hear in all the wide world, I do hope also that our dear little Hilda will come here by herself."

Judy threw her thin arms round Aunt Marjorie's neck and gave her a silent hug.

"I'll never breathe what you said," she whispered back in her emphatic voice.

Babs slept peacefully in her cot at the other end of the room. The white and blue violets lay in a tiny bowl on the little table by Judy's bed.

The rumble of wheels was heard in the avenue. Aunt Marjorie started to her feet, and the color flew from Judy's face.

"It cannot be Hilda yet," exclaimed the aunt. "No, of course, it is the doctor. He will say that you are better to-night, Judy."

The medical man entered the room, felt the pulse of his little patient, looked into her eyes, and gave utterance to a few cheerful words.

"The child is much better, isn't she?" asked Aunt Marjorie, following him out of the room.

"Hum! I am not so sure; her pulse is weak and quick, and for some reason she is extremely excited. What is she sitting up in bed for? she ought to have been in the land of dreams a long time ago."

"Don't you know, Dr. Harvey; didn't we tell you, my niece, Mrs.

Quentyns, is expected to-night? and Judy is sitting up to see her."

"Suspense is very bad for my little patient. What time is Mrs. Quentyns expected to arrive?"

"About ten. Judy is especially attached to her sister, and if I had insisted on her trying to go to sleep, she would have tossed about and worked herself into a fever."

"She is very nearly in one now, and I don't particularly like the look of excitement in her eyes. I hope Mrs. Quentyns will be punctual. As soon as ever she comes, the child must settle to sleep. Give her a dose of that bromide mixture immediately after. I'll come and see her the first thing in the morning."

CHAPTER XI.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

But she is far away Now; nor the hours of night, grown h.o.a.r, Bring, yet to me, long gazing, from the door, The wind-stirred robe of roseate gray, And rose-cream of the hour that leads the day, When we shall meet once more.

--D. G. ROSSETTI.

Hilda Quentyns, Judy's idol, was not the strongest of characters. She was very sweet and amiable, intensely true and affectionate to those to whom she gave her heart, but she was somewhat timorous and somewhat easily led.

Long ago, when Babs was a baby, Hilda's mother had died. Since then Judy had been her special care.

Now with trembling hands she packed her portmanteau, gave the young cook and parlor-maid directions what to do in her absence, and then sitting down before her davenport, prepared to write an explanatory letter to her husband.

She thought it quite probable that Jasper would be angry with her for rushing off like this, but for once she intended to brave his displeasure.

In her heart of hearts she knew exactly the state Judy was in. The ardent soul was wearing out the delicate little frame. That suffering which Judy would not speak of, which she was too brave to show sign or whisper of, was making her body ill. If Hilda went to her darling, the suffering would cease. Love would shine all round Judy's starved heart, and she would soon be well and strong again.

"Yes, it is my manifest duty to go to her," whispered the wife to herself. "I will go to Little Staunton and nurse her for a few days, and when she is better she must come to London and live with me. Jasper won't like it--I know he won't like it, but he has really nothing to complain of, for I told him from the very first what Judy was to me.

Yes, I must go, but I wish--I do wish that the train for Little Staunton left Waterloo at six instead of seven. I should be well on my journey before Jasper came back. Oh, Jasper, my darling, why do I say words of this sort, as if I were--as if I could be--afraid of you!"

Hilda dipped her pen into the ink and wrote the first words of her letter.

"MY DEAREST HUSBAND:

"When you read this you will be surprised--"

A rather crooked dash of her pen finished this sentence--she was startled by a quick double knock at the front door. A moment later Susan, the neat maidservant, brought in a telegram on a salver.

"The boy is waiting to know if there is any answer," she said.

Hilda tore open the yellow envelope; her eyes rested on the following words:

"Rivers will dine with us. Have everything nice, and expect me home at 6.30.

"JASPER."

Mrs. Quentyns' first sensation was one of relief.

"It is all right," she exclaimed, looking up at the servant, who was startled at her mistress's pale cheeks. "I thought my little sister, Miss Judy, was worse, but the telegram is from your master, Susan. Tell the boy there is no answer, and send cook to me without a moment's delay."

Susan left the room, and Hilda slipped the telegram into her pocket. She still felt only a sense of relief, and the first faint qualms as to what Jasper would think of her sudden departure had not begun to visit her. A knock was heard at the drawing-room door.

"Come in, come in," said the young mistress. "Oh, cook," exclaimed Hilda, "I have just had a telegram from your master. He is bringing a gentleman home to dine. A rather particular gentleman, and we want a specially nice dinner. I--I forget what I ordered this morning."

The fat cook bestowed a pitying glance upon Hilda.

"The boiled chicken was to be frica.s.seed, mum," she said, "and you ordered me to open one of the tins of oxtail soup; there were to be apple fritters afterward, and a cheese savory--that is all."

"Yes, yes," said Hilda, putting her hand to her head, "that dinner would have done very well for Mr. Quentyns and me, but we must make some alterations now. You had better run round to the fishmonger's, cook, and go to the butcher's, and order----"

Hilda rushed to her davenport, scribbled some hasty directions on a piece of paper, and handed them to the servant.