Deerbrook Part 10

It was impossible to seem not to hear. Mr Enderby was obliged to go: but he left his hat behind him, as a sort of pledge that he meant to limit himself to the single turn proposed.

For various reasons, the young ladies were all disinclined to speak after he had left them. Miss Young was the first to move. She rose to go to her desk for something,--the desk in which Margaret kept the books she used in this place. Ever on the watch to save Maria the trouble of moving about, which was actual pain to her, Margaret flew to see if she could not fetch what was wanted: but Miss Young was already looking into the desk. Her eye caught the pretty new little volume which lay there.

She took it up, found it was a volume of Tieck, and saw on the fly-leaf, in the well-known handwriting, "From PE." One warm beam of hope shot through her heart:--how could it be otherwise,--the book lying in her desk, and thus addressed? But it was only one moment's joy. The next instant's reflection, and the sight of Margaret's German exercise, on which the book had lain, revealed the real case to her. In sickness of heart, she would, upon impulse, have put back the book, and concealed the incident: but she was not sure but that Margaret had seen the volume, and she _was_ sure of what her own duty was. With a smile and a steady voice she held out the book to Margaret, and said:

"Here is something for you, Margaret, which looks a little like one of the hidden, and gentle, and mysterious tokens Mr Enderby has been talking about. Here it is, lying among your books; and I think it was not with them when you last left your seat."

Margaret blushed with an emotion which seemed to the one who knew her best to be too strong to be mere surprise. She looked doubtful for a moment about the book being meant for her. Its German aspect was conclusive against its being designed for Hester: but Miss Young,--was it certain that the volume was not hers? She asked this; but Maria replied, as her head was bent over her desk:

"There is no doubt about it. I am sure. It is n.o.body's but yours."

Some one proposed to resume the reading. The 'Hymn to Heavenly Beauty'

was finished, but no remark followed. Each was thinking of something else. More common subjects suited their present mood better. It was urged upon Hester that she should be one of the daily party; and, her lonely fancies being for the hour dispersed, she agreed.

"But," she observed, "other people's visits alter the case entirely. I do not see how study is to go on if any one may come in from either house, as Mr Enderby did to-day. It is depriving Miss Young of her leisure, too, and making use of her apartment in a way that she may well object to."

"I am here, out of school hours, only upon sufferance," replied Miss Young. "I never call the room mine without this explanation."

"Besides," said Margaret, "it is a mere accident Mr Enderby's coming in to-day. If he makes a habit of it, we have only to tell him that we want our time to ourselves."

Miss Young knew better. She made no reply; but she felt in her inmost soul that her new-born pleasures were, from this moment, to be turned into pains. She knew Mr Enderby; and knowing him, foresaw that she was to be a witness of his wooings of another, whom she had just begun to take to her heart. This was to be her fate if she was strong enough for it,--strong enough to be generous in allowing to Margaret opportunities which could not without her be enjoyed, of fixing the heart of one whom she could not p.r.o.nounce to have been faulty towards herself. His conversation today had gone far to make her suppose him blameless, and herself alone in fault; so complete had seemed his unconsciousness with regard to her. Her duty then was clearly to give them up to each other, with such spirit of self-sacrifice as she might be capable of. If not strong enough for this, the alternative was a daily painful retreat to her lodging, whence she might look out on the heaps of cinders in the farrier's yard, her spirit abased the while with the experience of her own weakness. Neither alternative was very cheering.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

FAMILY CONFIDENCE.

"When do you leave us, Philip?" inquired Mrs Rowland, putting her arm within her brother's, and marching him up the gravel-walk.

"Do you wish me to go?" replied he, laughing. "Is this what you were so anxious to say?"

"Why, we understood, six weeks since, that you meant to leave Deerbrook in a fortnight: that is all."

"So I did: but my mother is kind enough to be pleased that I am staying longer; and since I am equally pleased myself, it is all very well. I rather think, too, that the children consider Uncle Philip a good boy, who deserves a holiday."

"My mother! Oh, she always supposes everything right that you do; and that is the reason why Mr Rowland and I--"

"The reason why Rowland and I agree so well," interrupted the brother.

"Yes, that is one reason, among many. Rowland's wish is to see the old lady happy; and she is naturally happiest when she has both her children with her; and for every merry hour of hers, your good husband looks the more kindly upon me."

"Of course; all that is a matter of course; though you are not aware, perhaps, of the fatigue it is to my mother to have any one with her too long a time. She will not tell _you_; but you have no idea how low she is for some time after you go away, if you have stayed more than a few days, from exhaustion--from pure exhaustion. Ah! you do not perceive it, because the excitement keeps her up while you are here; and she naturally makes an effort, you know. But if you were to see her as we do after you are gone;--you cannot think how it sets the Greys talking about her low spirits."

"Poor soul! I wish I could be always with her. I will try whether I cannot; for some time to come, at least. But, sister, how does it happen that neither you nor Rowland ever told me this before?"

"Oh, we would not distress you unnecessarily. We knew it was an unavoidable evil. You cannot always be here, and you must--"

"Yes, I must sometimes come: that is an unavoidable evil; and always will be, sister, while I have a good old mother living here."

"My dear Philip, how you do misunderstand one! I never heard anything so odd."

"Why odd? Have you not been giving me to understand, all this time, that you do not wish to have me here,--that you want me to go away? If not this, I do not know what you have been talking about."

"What an idea! My only brother! What can you be thinking of? Why upon earth should I wish you anywhere else?"

"That you may manage my mother and her affairs all your own way, I imagine."

Mrs Rowland had nothing to oppose to this plain speech but exclamations. When she had exhausted all she could muster, she avowed that the only consideration which could reconcile her to the sacrifice of her dear brother's society was anxiety for his happiness.

"Then, supposing I am happiest here, we are all satisfied." And Uncle Philip would have made a diversion from the path to give George his favourite swing, quite up to the second branch of the great pear-tree.

"Pray let George swing himself for once, brother. Hold your tongue, George! You are a very troublesome boy, and your uncle and I are busy.

It is about your own affairs, brother, that I want to open my mind to you. As for your always remaining here, as you kindly hinted just now--"

"I did not mean to hint," said Philip; "I thought I had spoken quite plainly."

"Well, well. We all know how to appreciate the kindness of your intentions, I am sure: but your happiness must not be sacrificed to the good of any of us here. We can take care of one another: but, as it is impossible that you should find a companion for life here, and as it is time you were thinking of settling, we must not be selfish, and detain you among us when you should be creating an interest elsewhere. Mr Rowland and I are extremely anxious to see you happily married, brother; and indeed we feel it is time you were thinking about it."

"I am glad of that, sister. I am somewhat of the same opinion myself."

"I rejoice to hear it," replied the lady, in a rather uneasy tone. "We have been delighted to hear of these frequent visits of yours to the Buchanans'. There is a strong attraction there, I fancy, Philip."

"Joe Buchanan is the attraction to me there. If you mean Caroline, she has been engaged these three years to her brother's friend, Annesley."

"You do not say so! But you did not know it?"

"I have known it these two years, under the seal of secrecy. Ah!

sister, I have had many an hour's amus.e.m.e.nt at your schemes on my behalf about Caroline Buchanan."

"I have been quite out, I see. When do you go to the Bruces', to make the visit you were disappointed of at Christmas?"

"When they return from the Continent, where they are gone for three years. Miss Mary is out of reach for three years, sister."

"Out of reach! You speak as if Paris,--or Rome, if you will,--was in Australia. And even in Australia one can hardly speak of people being out of reach."

"If one wishes to overtake them," said Mr Enderby: "whereas, I can wait very well for the Bruces till they come home again. Now, no more, sister! I cannot stand and hear the young ladies of my acquaintance catalogued as a speculation for my advantage. I could not look them in the face again after having permitted it."

"There is somebody in the schoolroom, I declare!" cried the lady, as if astonished. And she stood looking from afar at the summer-house, in which three heads were distinctly visible.

"Were you not aware of that before? Did you suppose I was asleep there, or writing poetry all alone, or what? The Miss Ibbotsons are there, and Miss Young."

"You remind me," said the lady, "of something that I declared to Mr Rowland that I would speak to you about. My dear brother, you should have some compa.s.sion on the young ladies you fall in with."

"I thought your great anxiety just now was that the young ladies should have compa.s.sion upon me."

"One, Philip; the right one. But you really have no mercy. You are too modest to be aware of the mischief you may be doing. But let me entreat you not to turn the head of a girl whom you cannot possibly think seriously of."

"Whom do you mean?"