Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 27

Christie tried to say how glad she would be to go even now. Mrs Lee shook her head.

"You are not strong, and you are very young. It would be wrong to take you I know not where. It may be a long time before we return here. We may never return." She was silent for a moment, and then continued:

"Yes, it would be wrong to take you so far from your home to share our uncertain fortunes. If you were but as strong as you are faithful and patient! But it cannot be."

Christie ceased to struggle with her tears now, but they fell very quietly.

"As for wages," said Mrs Lee, lifting the lid of Christie's work-box and dropping in it a little purse, "money could never cancel the debt I owe you. I am content to owe it, Christie. I know you will not grudge your loving service to my darlings.

"And I owe you more than that," she added, after a pause. "Christie, when the time comes when all these chafings and changes shall be over, when seeing the reason of them we shall bless G.o.d for them, we shall be friends then, I humbly hope. And you must tell your sister--no, you could never tell her. I wish I had seen your friend, John Nesbitt, when he was here; but I will write. And Christie, my brave girl, look up.

See what I have for you."

Something glistened in the light, and Christie received into her hand a locket, hung by a black ribbon. Upon being opened, there was a face--a lovely child's face--"little Harry!"

Yes, it was little Harry's face, copied from a miniature taken about the time when she first saw him. On the other side, encircled by a ring of the baby's golden hair, was written, in fair characters, by the mother's hand:

"To Christie. From the children."

"And now, Christie," said Mrs Lee, when the tears that would come at the sight of the picture had been wiped away, "our good-bye to-morrow must be a brief and quiet one. To-night I must say, 'G.o.d bless you.'

Don't let the world spoil you as you grow older. You won't, I know.

You have a talisman against its power. May G.o.d make you a blessing to many, as He has made you a blessing to me! Good-bye, my dear child. If we never meet on earth, I humbly hope we may meet in heaven!"

It was not like a parting between mistress and maid. Mrs Lee kissed her earnestly, while her tears fell on her face, and when Christie said "Good-bye," she clung to her as she had not clung even to Effie. It was like the farewell of sisters who know that they must meet death before they look on each other's faces again.

Not one of the many grateful thoughts which filled Christie's heart had she the power to utter. But they were not needed. After so many months of loving service--after so many nights of anxious watching, shared so gladly for the love she bore to her and her little ones--words could have been of little value.

The "good-bye" in the morning was brief and quiet, as Mrs Lee had wished--so brief that not till the carriage that took them away had disappeared, did Christie realise that they were gone; and the walls of the deserted nursery echoed to many a bitter sob ere she bade farewell to the place where she had pa.s.sed so many changeful hours.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

CHRISTIE'S NEW HOME.

It was a very lovely scene, and all the lovelier for the light of a fair summer morning upon it. There was a broad, sunny lawn, with a margin of shade, and just one ma.s.s of flitting shadows beneath the locust-tree near the gate. Beyond, there were glimpses of winding walks and of brilliant garden-flowers, and farther on, the waving boughs of trees, and more flitting shadows; the cedar hedge hid the rest. The house that stood beyond the sunny lawn was like a house in a picture--with a porch in front, and galleries at the sides, and over the railings and round the pillars twined flowering shrubs and a vine, with dark shining leaves. A flight of stone steps led up to the open porch, and on the uppermost one sat a young girl, reading. One hand rested on her book, while the other slowly wound and unwound the ribbon of a child's hat that lay beside her. Her head was bent low over her book, and Christie could not see her face for the long, bright curls that shaded it. So intent was she on her reading that she did not hear the sound of footsteps; and Christie stood admiring the pretty picture which the young girl and the flowers and the drooping vine-leaves made, without caring to speak.

She might have stood long enough before the young reader would have stirred, had not some one advanced from the other side.

"Miss Gertrude, the carriage will be round in ten minutes."

"Yes, I know," said the young girl, without raising her eyes. "I am quite ready to go."

"But Master Clement is going; and nurse is busy, and he won't let me dress him; and if you please, Miss Gertrude, Mrs Seaton begs that you will come and coax him, and try to get him away without waking his brother."

The young lady rose, shutting her book with an impatient gesture; and then she saw Christie.

"Good morning," she said. "Do you wish to see any one?"

"I wish to see Mrs Seaton. Mrs Lee sent me," said Christie.

"Oh, the new nurse for Clement. I dare say he won't go into town to-day, Martha. It was only to get him out of the way--the young tyrant. Show this girl to Mrs Seaton's room. She wished to see her as soon as she came." And then she sat down and took up her book again.

"If you please, Miss Gertrude, Mrs Seaton wishes to see you at once.

Perhaps you will be so obliging as to go up-stairs with her. Master Clement has kept me so long that I fear I shall not have the things ready to send with Peter."

Miss Gertrude rose, but with not the best grace in the world, and Christie followed her into the house and up-stairs. At the first landing a door opened, and a little boy, half-dressed, rushed out.

"Tudie, let me go with you; I want to go."

"Naughty boys who won't let Mattie dress them mustn't expect to be taken anywhere. You are not to come with me. You will wake Claude."

"Oh, Claude's awake, and crying to be dressed. Let me go with you,"

pleaded the child.

"No; you are not to come. Remember, I tell you so; and I am not Mattie, to be trifled with."

Miss Gertrude spoke very gravely. Her brother, a spirited little lad of five or six years of age, looked up into her face with defiance in his eyes. Then he gave a glance down the long hall, as if meditating a rush in that direction; but he thought better of it.

"I'll be good, Tudie. I won't make a noise," said he.

"Stay where you are," said Miss Gertrude, decidedly. She led the way down the long hall, then up a flight of steps, and opened the door of a large room. It seemed quite dark at first, but soon Christie was able to distinguish the different things in it. The furniture of the room was covered with green stuff, and there was on the floor a soft green carpet, with bright flowers scattered over it. The curtains on the windows and on the bed were of white muslin, but the hangings above were green. The paper on the walls was white, with a border of brown acorns and green oak-leaves. It was a very pretty room; and the coolness and the softened light made it seem altogether delightful to Christie after her long, dusty walk.

On the bed was a lady, dressed for an outdoor walk, but her hands were pressed over her eyes as though she were in pain. A little boy lay tossing fretfully on the sofa, but his peevish cry ceased for a moment as they entered the room. Miss Gertrude seated herself beside him, and said, without approaching the bed--

"Here is the young girl that Mrs Lee sent."

The lady took her hand from her eyes, and raised herself up. Seating herself in a large chair by the bed, she beckoned to Christie to come towards her.

"You came from Mrs Lee, did you?" said she.

Christie came forward. The lady observed her for a moment.

"Mrs Lee told me you were young, and not very strong," said she; "but I had no idea you were quite such a child."

"I am past fifteen," said Christie.

"And do you mean to tell me that Mrs Lee trusted her children to you-- that infant too--through all her illness?"

"Mrs Greenly was in the house nearly all the winter, and she was in the nursery very often. That was all the help I had," said Christie, with a slight change of colour.

"And was it you who took care of little Harry, and who was with him when he died?"

The remembrance of that sorrowful time was too vivid for Christie to bear this allusion to it unmoved. She grew quite pale, and took one step forward towards a little table, and laid her hand upon it. Miss Gertrude, who had been watching her with great interest, rose and brought forward a chair, looking towards her mother, without speaking.

"You look tired," said Mrs Seaton. "Did you walk? Sit down and rest."

Christie gladly obeyed.

"Mrs Lee speaks very highly of you--very highly indeed. You must have been very useful to her; and I dare say she was very kind to you."