Darkness and Daylight Part 7

"There, I've made a fool of myself," he thought, as he saw the forehead tie itself up in knots, and the corners of the mouth twitch with merriment.

"By that last speech you've proved how YOUNG and romantic you are," answered Richard. "Winter and spring go not well together.

Edith Hastings will never be my wife. But she shall come to Collingwood. I will return with you and bring her back myself."

Ringing the bell for Victor, he bade him see that breakfast was served at once, saying that he was going with his friend to Albany.

"Without ME?" asked Victor in much surprise, and Richard replied,

"Yes, without you," adding in an aside to Arthur, "Victor is so much accustomed to waiting upon me that he thinks himself necessary to every movement, but I'd rather travel alone with Edith, she'll do as well as Victor, and I have a fancy to keep my movements a secret, at least until the child is fairly in the house. It will be a surprise to Mrs. Atherton; I'll have John drive us to the next station, and meet me there to-morrow,"

So saying, he excused himself for a few moments and groped his way up stairs to make some necessary changes in his dress. For several minutes Arthur was alone, and free to congratulate himself upon his escape from detection.

"In my dread of recognition I undoubtedly aggravated its chances,"

he thought. "Of course this Mr. Harrington did not observe me closely. It was night, and he was almost blind, even then. My voice and manner are all that can betray me, and as he is apparently satisfied on that point, I have nothing further to apprehend from him."

Arthur liked to feel well--disagreeable reflections did not suit his temperament, and having thus dismissed from his mind the only thing annoying him at the present, he began to examine the books arrayed so carefully upon the shelves, whistling to himself as he did so, and p.r.o.nouncing Arthur St. Claire a pretty good fellow after all, if he had a secret of which most people would not approve. He had just reached this conclusion when Richard reappeared, and breakfast was soon after announced by the valet, Victor. That being over, there was not a moment to be lost if they would reach the cars in time for the next train, and bidding his father a kind adieu, Richard went with Arthur to the carriage, and was driven to the depot of the adjoining town. More than one pa.s.senger turned their heads to look at the strangers as they came in, the elder led by the younger, who yet managed so skillfully that but few guessed how great a calamity had befallen the man with the dark hair, and black, glittering eyes. Arthur took a great pride in ministering to the wants of his companion, and in all he did there was a delicacy and tenderness which touched a chord almost fraternal in the heart of the blind man, who, as the day wore on, found himself drawn more and more toward his new acquaintance.

"I believe even I might be happy if both you and Edith could live with me," he said, at last, when Albany was reached, and they were ascending the steps to the Delevan.

"Poor little Edith," rejoined Arthur, "I wonder if she has been very lonely? Shall we go to her at once?"

"Yes," answered Richard, and leaning on Arthur's arm, he proceeded to the door of Edith's room.

CHAPTER VIII.

RICHARD AND EDITH.

"Oh, Mr. Arthur, you did come back," and forgetting, in her great joy, that Arthur was a gentleman, and she a waiting-maid, Edith wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him twice ere he well knew what she was doing.

For an instant the haughty young man felt a flush of insulted dignity, but it quickly vanished when he saw the tall form of Richard bending over the little girl and heard him saying to her,

"Have you no welcoming kiss for me?"

"Yes, forty hundred, if you like," and in her delight Edith danced about the room like one insane.

Thrusting the locket slily into Arthur's hand, she whispered,

"I slept with her last night, and dreamed it was not the first time either. Will you ask her when you see her if she ever knew me?"

"Yes, yes," he answered, making a gesture for her to stop as Richard was about to speak.

"Edith, said Richard, winding his arm around her, "Edith, I have come to take you home--to take you to Collingwood to live with me.

Do you wish to go?"

"Ain't there ghosts at Collingwood?" asked Edith, who, now that what she most desired was just within her reach, began like every human being to see goblins in the path. "Ain't there ghosts, at Collingwood?--a little boy with golden curls, and must I sleep in the chamber with him?"

"Poor child," said Richard, "You too, have heard that idle tale.

Shall I tell you of the boy with golden hair?" and holding her so close to him that he could feel the beating of her heart and hear her soft, low breathing, he told her all there was to tell of his half-brother Charlie, who died just one day after his young mother, and was buried in the same coffin.

They could not return to Collingwood that night, and the evening was spent in the private parlor which Arthur engaged for himself and his blind friend. It was strange how fast they grew to liking each other, and it was a pleasant sight to look at them as they sat there in the warm firelight which the lateness of the season made necessary to their comfort--the one softened and toned down by affliction and the daily cross he was compelled to bear, the other in the first flush of youth when the world lay all bright before him and he had naught to do but enter the Elysian fields and pluck the fairest flowers.

It was late when they separated, but at a comparatively early hour the next morning they a.s.sembled again, this time to bid good-by, for their paths hereafter lay in different directions.

"You must write to me, little metaphysics," said Arthur, as with hat and shawl in hand he stood in the depot on the east side of the Hudson.

"Yes," rejoined Richard, "she is to be my private amanuensis, and shall let you know of our welfare, and now, I suppose, we must go."

It was a very pleasant ride to Edith, pleasanter than when she came with Arthur, but a slight headache made her drowsy, and leaning on Richard's arm she fell asleep, nor woke until West Shannondale was reached. The carriage was in waiting for them, and Victor sat inside. He had come ostensibly to meet his master, but really to see the kind of specimen he was bringing to the aristocratic halls of Collingwood.

Long and earnest had been the discussion there concerning the little lady; Mrs. Matson, the housekeeper, sneering rather contemptuously at one who heretofore had been a servant at Brier Hill. Victor, on the contrary, stood ready to espouse her cause, thinking within himself how he would teach her many points of etiquette of which he knew she must necessarily be ignorant; but firstly he would, to use his own expression, "see what kind of metal she was made of."

Accordingly his first act at the depot was to tread upon her toes, pretending he did not see her, but Edith knew he did it purposely, and while her black eyes blazed with anger, she exclaimed,

"You wretch, how dare you be so rude?"

a.s.sisting Richard into the carriage, Victor was about to turn away, leaving Edith to take care of herself, when with all the air of a queen, she said to him,

"Help me in, sir. Don't you know your business!"

"Pardonnez, moi," returned Victor, speaking in his mother tongue, and bowing low to the indignant child, whom he helped to a seat by Richard.

An hour's drive brought them to the gate of Collingwood, and Edith was certainly pardonable if she did cast a glance of exultation in the direction of Brier Hill, as they wound up the gravelled road and through the handsome grounds of what henceforth was to be her home.

"I guess Mrs. Atherton will be sorry she acted so," she thought, and she was even revolving the expediency of putting on airs and not speaking to her former mistress, when the carriage stopped and Victor appeared at the window all attention, and asking if he should "a.s.sist Miss Hastings to alight."

In the door Mrs. Matson was waiting to receive them, rubbing her gold-bowed spectacles and stroking her heavy silk with an air which would have awed a child less self-a.s.sured than Edith.

Nothing grand or elegant seemed strange or new to her. On the contrary she took to it naturally as if it were her native clement, and now as she stepped upon the marble floor of the lofty hall she involuntarily cut a pirouette, exclaiming, "Oh, but isn't this jolly! Seems as if I'd got back to Heaven. What a splendid room to sing in," and she began to warble a wild, impa.s.sioned air which made Richard pause and listen, wondering whence came the feeling which so affected him carrying him back to the hills of Germany.

Mrs. Matson looked shocked, Victor amused, while the sensible driver muttered to himself as he gathered up his reins, "That gal is just what Collingwood needs to keep it from being a dungeon."

Mrs. Matson had seen Edith at Brier Hill, but this did not prevent her from a close scrutiny as she conducted her to the large, handsome chamber, which Richard in his hasty directions of the previous morning had said was to be hers, and which, with its light, tasteful furniture, crimson curtains, and cheerful blazing fire seemed to the delighted child a second paradise. Clapping her hands she danced about the apartment, screaming, "It's the jolliest place I ever was in."

"What do you mean by that word JOLLY?" asked Mrs. Matson, with a great deal of dignity; but ere Edith could reply, Victor, who came up with the foreign chest, chimed in, "She means PRETTY, Madame Matson, and understands French, no doubt. Parley vous Francais?"

and he turned to Edith, who, while recognizing something familiar in the sound, felt sure he was making fun of her and answered back, "Parley voo fool! I'll tell Mr. Harrington how you tease me."

Laughing aloud at her reply, Victor put the chest in its place, made some remark concerning its quaint appearance, and bowed himself from the room, saying to her as he shut the door,

"Bon soir, Mademoiselle."

"I've heard that kind of talk before," thought Edith, as she began to brush her hair, preparatory to going down to supper, which Mrs.

Matson said was waiting.

At the table she met with the old man, who had seen her alight from the carriage, and had asked the mischievous Victor, "Who was the small biped Richard had brought home?"