Aunt Judith Part 10

After tea Miss Latimer called her into the cosy study, and bidding her seat herself snugly, she said: "Aunt Debby requires Nellie's a.s.sistance for a short time at present, so you will have to endure an old maid's company meanwhile; but before we settle ourselves to enjoy a nice, cosy chat, I wish you to accept a Christmas gift from me. It is my latest work, and I only received the first copies yesterday. I have written your name on the t.i.tle-page, and I think, dear, you will value the little volume for my sake." As she spoke Aunt Judith handed a small book, beautifully bound in blue and gold, to her young visitor, who received it at first in speechless silence. She looked at the pretty volume--the elegant binding and clear, bold type; then with a great cry flung herself down by Miss Latimer's side and sobbed out, "Oh, I love you so, you are so kind to me; and it is so hard to say good-bye."

Aunt Judith seemed amazed. "I do not understand you, child," she said simply. "What do you mean? Try to calm yourself and explain, dear."

Then between sobs the story of a child's grief was laid before Miss Latimer, and told with such a depth of pathos that the listener's soft womanly heart ached in response to the plaintive tale.

"And your mother does not know you are here to-day, Winnie?" she inquired when the sad little voice had ceased. "You had no permission from her to come?"

The girl shook her head. "I suppose I am very disobedient," was the simple answer; "but, Aunt Judith, the temptation was too hard to resist. I felt I must see you all again, even though it was only to say good-bye."

Miss Latimer sighed. "You must not come any more, dear, never after to-night--at least not until your mother gives her full, free consent.

You think all this very hard, little Winnie, but you do not know how deeply I feel about it also. You had stolen into my heart, child, and I was beginning to find your love very sweet and precious--not that I shall love you less or cease to care for you, but all this pleasant social intercourse must end now. Nay, do not grieve so, darling. It is all very dark and perplexing to you at present perhaps; but rest a.s.sured G.o.d has some beautiful lessons for us to learn--lessons that will give us a glimpse of, and may yet prove as stepping-stones to, that higher life which is the only life worth living."

Winnie sighed despairingly. "Aunt Judith," she said, raising a pair of wet eyes full of a child's agony to the listener's face, "I shall never be good now. You do not know the pleasure it has been to me to come here, or the strange thoughts that fill my heart when I see how happy you all are in this dear little home. Somehow G.o.d seems very near here, Aunt Judith, and the Christ-life you talk about so beautiful, I go away determined to try to lead it too--to be good, brave, and true.

But that is all over now; for oh! no one in my home speaks of G.o.d and heaven, or talks softly of Jesus and his love, and I can't be good if none will stretch out a helping hand and show me the way."

Miss Latimer drew the little quivering figure closer in her embrace as she answered, "Don't say that, child, don't say that. A human friend often leads astray--G.o.d never. We must not rest our entire confidence on human guides, or lean altogether on earthly props, but, holding out our hands to the great Father above, with all the simplicity of little children, leave ourselves unreservedly in his keeping. Sometimes the way is dark--so dark, dear" (and the gentle voice faltered for a moment), "sometimes the path proves rugged and steep; but, little Winnie,--

'The easy path in the lowlands hath little of grand or new, But a toilsome ascent leads on to a wide and glorious view; Peopled and warm is the valley, lonely and chill the height, But the peak that is nearer the storm cloud is nearer the stars of light.'

And so, dear, in the time of shadow rest in the hollow of G.o.d's hand, and Christ himself will help you to lead his own perfect life."

The conversation at this point being interrupted by the arrival of d.i.c.k, Miss Latimer found no opportunity of renewing it that evening; but while Winnie, who had once more dashed the tears from her eyes with a child's abandonment of grief, was busily engaged with Miss Deborah and Nellie, she drew the boy aside, and with his aid was able to gather together the scattered threads of his sister's disconnected story.

d.i.c.k could not very well understand how, but there was something about Aunt Judith which seemed to inspire confidence; and although Miss Latimer with delicate tact retrained from asking more than was absolutely necessary, the boy found himself laying bare his heart quite unintentionally, and ended by confessing his determination to run away to sea. "I must go," he finished doggedly; "I can't stand this kind of life any longer, and--I won't."

Miss Latimer looked very grave.

"I have no right to interfere, d.i.c.k," she said quietly, "and perhaps I should scarcely have listened to your story; but from what has been told me and my own eyes have seen, I thought Winnie's brother one who would scorn to do a cowardly, dishonourable action."

The boy looked amazed at the strong, emphatic language; while Aunt Judith, nothing daunted, continued,--

"Yes, it is perfectly true, d.i.c.k. You see I do not fear to speak as I think, and such a course as you purpose pursuing seems to me both mean and sinful. Running away--stealing out of your father's house like a thief in the night; try to picture it fully, clearly to yourself, and then let me hear your verdict once again. You talk of always having longed for a sailor's life; you speak about the great attraction of the sea. Well, that in itself is good; but why go forth to it in the way you are contemplating? Have you ever spoken to your father on the subject?"

"Never," replied d.i.c.k; "but my step-mother and sisters knew all about it."

"And what was their verdict?"

"Laughter, and the information that I was too great a stupid to be a sailor." The boy's tones were very bitter.

Miss Latimer scanned the honest, open face, and replied,--

"Well, d.i.c.k, we hardly know each other yet, and it may be you will denounce me as an interfering old maid; but if I may proffer my advice, I would say, Lay your heart bare before your father, tell him simply what your desire is; and if after that he says 'Go,' then G.o.d's blessing follow you, my dear boy."

She rose as she spoke, and crossing the room joined the group chatting so pleasantly together, while d.i.c.k remained quietly in his seat. But there sprang up in the boy's heart that night a pure, holy feeling of respect, almost amounting to veneration, for all women who, like Miss Latimer, kept their garments white and unsullied in this evil world, and stood up so bravely in the cause of truth and right. He never forgot the soft, tender voice or the warm pressure of the hand as she reasoned with him; but thinking it all over in the still night-hush, he determined to win her approbation, and carve out for himself a n.o.ble life.

The evening pa.s.sed by very rapidly for both Winnie and d.i.c.k, and at length it was time to say good-bye.

Nellie and Miss Deborah, being still in ignorance as to the course events had taken, wondered at the child's low sob when Miss Latimer kissed her, and marvelled even more at her strange conduct in running down the garden path immediately after, without pausing to bid one and all her usual merry good-night. But the explanation was soon made; and then Aunt Debby's indignation blazed forth, while Nellie listened in simple amazement to the strange tale.

"The very idea, Judith!" gasped the good lady, shaking her head with such vehemence that all the little curls in front danced and coquetted with one another; "just as if we would contaminate the child, or were so very much her inferiors. Dear heart! I declare the news has given me quite a turn--it is so absurd."

"I think we had better drop the subject altogether, Debby," replied Miss Latimer. "Nellie, I know, will respect her aunts' wishes, and act as we think best.--Will you not, my child?"

"Of course, auntie," murmured Nellie faintly; "but I don't quite understand. Why could Winnie come here with full permission one day and be forbidden the next? I know," she continued bitterly--"at least it is not Ada Irvine's fault if I do not--that I am very much Winnie's inferior in many ways; but still Mrs. Blake knew all that before."

Here Nellie burst into tears, for she was only human, and wounded pride and vanity mingled with genuine grief at the loss of her friend.

"Comfort her yourself, Judith," muttered Aunt Debby, meditating a rapid exit to the kitchen. "If I begin, I shall be sure to be saying something spiteful and wicked, for my temper is at boiling-point just now," and with that the good lady disappeared to the humbler regions, there to vent her indignation in violent washing up of unoffending cups and saucers.

Meanwhile Nellie had her evening talk, but for once it failed to soothe her wounded feelings; and when she lay down on her soft warm bed, she carried with her bitter, angry thoughts which chased the slumber from her eyes and the rest from her heart. She could not understand why Mrs. Blake should put an end so suddenly to her intimacy with Winnie; and Aunt Judith either could not or would not throw one single ray of light on the subject. The whole story would leak out at school, and what a time would follow! Nellie writhed inwardly at the awful prospect, and wept bitterly, till at length, thoroughly worn out, she fell fast asleep, and the silent pa.s.sing hours ushered in the dawn of another new day.

CHAPTER XII.

"I ALWAYS SPEAK AS I THINK."

The Christmas holidays were over now, and once more governesses and pupils were busy giving and receiving instruction in Mrs. Elder's Select Establishment for Young Ladies. A few scholars still remained absent, reluctant perhaps to come back to hard work after three weeks'

ease and gaiety; and amongst the list of truants was the name of Winnifred Blake, whose blithe little face had been like a ray of sunlight in the dingy school-room. "Confined to the house through indisposition," Mrs. Elder explained to each anxious inquirer after the tiny favourite. "Nothing serious; only a cold caught during holiday-time." But the days pa.s.sed by, and still no Winnie appeared.

Nellie had never seen or heard of her since that night at Dingle Cottage when they had laughed so heartily together over poor Aunt Meg and her infirmities; and she felt the separation keenly. At first the other school-mates plied her with questions regarding Winnie's absence, all of which she was unable to answer or parry successfully; and so by degrees, and the help of Ada's sarcastic tongue, the secret oozed out, and Nellie's star paled accordingly. The poisoned shaft of carefully-veiled words struck home with new power: there was no Winnie to whom to turn for sympathy, and so the old cross had to be taken up again and carried day after day. Some of the girls sided sensibly with Nellie, and tried to make school-life pleasant to her; but they were unfortunately in the minority, and often got snubbed and censured by the others for their kindness.

One afternoon, however, as Nellie was wending her way home from school, a hand was laid on her shoulder, while an honest, kindly voice said suddenly in her ear, "Well, it is good to get a peep at you again, Nell. How are you?" and d.i.c.k's freckled face shone down on the rosy one by his side.

The girl looked up with a happy smile. "O d.i.c.k!" she gasped; and then it seemed as if words failed her, and she stood simply holding his hand, and gazing with such genuine happiness into his eyes that the boy laughed outright.

"What's up, Nell?" he inquired teasingly. "I declare such evident admiration makes me feel quite bashful."

Nellie gave a little soft smile. "Don't be a tease, d.i.c.k," she said; "I am only so pleased to see you and hear about Winnie."

d.i.c.k placed his hand on his heart and bowed. "The pleasure is mutual,"

he began; but receiving an energetic shake of the arm he continued, "Oh, Win will soon be all right. She's been croaking like a raven for the last fortnight or so, but is almost well now."

"When did she catch cold?"

d.i.c.k lowered his voice. "Coming home that night from Dingle Cottage.

We missed the 'bus--walked--and Win caught a chill."

"Was she very ill?"

"Oh no; but the doctor would not allow her to go out or even run from one room to the other, so she has been cooped up in the oak parlour all this time."

"Tell her I am very sorry, and she is to accept my dear love. Will you, d.i.c.k?" and Nellie looked pleadingly up in the boy's kindly face.

"That I shall" (with emphasis). "And, here, I may as well give you a piece of information, Nell. This is Wednesday--on Sat.u.r.day afternoon I sail for Calcutta."

Nellie stared. "What do you mean?" she cried in bewilderment.