Frederica and her Guardians Part 30

"I have heard nothing, and I can do nothing. Why have you come to-day?

Is it because of some new unhappiness? Madame Ascot is with you, I hear. Are you unhappy, my child?"

Frederica paused a moment before she answered.

"Mama is gone, and papa, and sometimes we are afraid. But I did not come because of Madame. I thought that you had forgotten us, and I came to see. I am not afraid now that you are getting well."

"Ah! we will trust so. And have you nothing to tell me?--no trouble to be helped through?"

"No," said Frederica thoughtfully. "I will wait till you are quite well again, and then I will tell you all. And will you tell Babette that we may come upstairs--Selina and I? I may bring Selina, may I not?"

"By all means, and I will warn Babette, you may be sure. Must you go how?"

"It is growing dark, I think. Yes, I must go. So good night, Cousin Cyprien."

"Are you alone? My child, it is not well for you to be alone in the street at this hour."

"It was not dark when I came. It is only a little way. I am not afraid."

"Well, be sure and come again. Good night, my child."

"I will see Miss Vane safely home, I have something to say to her," said a voice from the darkness. Frederica with great difficulty suppressed a cry as Mr Jerome stepped forward.

"Is it you, my brother? Ah, well, she need not be in haste, though it is growing dark. You will see her safely home."

But Frederica bent hastily over Mr St. Cyr's hand.

"Good night, Cousin Cyprien. I do not fear the dark," said she; "but I do fear Mr Jerome," added she, in an undertone, as she sprang out of the room and down the stairs. She sped along the street like one pursued by an enemy. But Mr Jerome did not follow her across the threshold. He lingered a moment, looking out after her, and then went up through the darkness to his brother's room.

"And so Theresa St. Hubert is gone!" said Mr St. Cyr, as he entered the room, which was no longer dark.

"Yes," said his brother; "she is gone, and so is her husband."

"Dead! His daughter does not know."

"No. Why tell her sooner than needful? He, at least, is no loss to his children."

"And yet they loved him, and they ought to know."

"They will be told when the right time comes."

"There will be much to do. There are many doc.u.ments relating to their affairs that must be looked over and arranged, and I have still so little strength."

"My strength is yours in their cause;" said Mr Jerome.

"Brother," said Mr St. Cyr, "why did you not tell me of poor Theresa's death?"

"Did I not tell you? Did not Sister Agnace? You were too ill at that time to be told, I suppose. Or you have forgotten. Your memory fails you at times, I fear, my brother."

"It may be," said Mr St. Cyr, after a moment's thought. "And yet I think I should not have forgotten this."

"There is no time to be lost in the settlement of their affairs, you must see," said Jerome.

"No, certainly."

"There must be guardians appointed."

"They are appointed."

"In your illness, having to act for them, I examined such papers relating to their affairs as I had access to. I found none having reference to what was to follow the death of their mother. None entire, I mean. Was there not to be some change? some new choice? I found some torn morsels of paper, a cancelled instrument of some sort. It is quite as well. The court will be happier in the selection of guardians than that unhappy woman was."

"There are guardians appointed!" repeated Mr St. Cyr.

"You have forgotten. Your illness has impaired your memory. There was to be a change of names. The former appointment was set aside. You yourself must have had some knowledge of it. You have forgotten."

Mr St. Cyr looked at his brother with a strange emotion visible in his face.

"My brother, you are not glad of my weakness, are you? Have patience with me. I _am_ weak."

"That is easily seen. Yes, I will be gentle with you, but I must be faithful too: your weakness shall be helped and shielded by my strength."

"Yes, but not to-night. I am tired to-night," said Mr St. Cyr, leaning back wearily in his chair.

"You shall not be troubled. See, I have thought of the men whose names are written here, and at an early day I shall see the judges as to their legal appointment. And you shall not be troubled. If you are not satisfied with my suggestions, of course you are at liberty to make what change in the names you please."

"But their mother, by my advice, appointed their guardians in the manner prescribed by Mr St. Hubert's will; and nothing can supersede that appointment, you are aware."

"If any trace of such an instrument is to be found," said Mr Jerome.

"It is to be hoped it is to be found, or it may go badly with some of us," said Mr St. Cyr gravely.

"As to that I cannot say. But the court, under your direction and mine, can do all that is necessary, without reference to doc.u.ments of doubtful justice."

"The appointment must stand as it is," said Mr St. Cyr impatiently.

"It is time you were retiring, is it not? You seem tired. Shall I help you?"

"Thanks, I am not inclined to go yet."

"Still I think you had better go. I shall speak to Babette, shall I not?"

There was no reply; and he left the room. Listening intently to his receding footsteps, Mr St. Cyr rose with difficulty, and holding by the furniture, crossed the room to the cabinet in which Frederica, on her first visit, had seen so many beautiful and curious things. From a hidden compartment in one of its sides, he drew forth several papers, and looked eagerly and attentively over them. He had only time to replace them and return to his seat, before his brother came in again.

"Your fire is bright in yon chamber. My brother, I entreat you to allow me to a.s.sist you thither, before I leave. I cannot divest myself of a feeling of responsibility with regard to that foolish young girl lingering in the street at this unseemly hour. I must see that she is safe at home. And I must hasten."

"Thanks," said Mr St. Cyr, rising meekly. "You are most kind, but pray do not stay. Babette can do all that is necessary for me. I fancy myself better to-night."

"Better," repeated his brother, as he went down the stairs. "I do not see it. For the present it is not necessary that you should be better.

I can do your work for you, better than you can do it yourself. I have succeeded beyond hope--unless indeed, by some unimaginable chance, there should exist such an instrument as Cyprien a.s.serts. Even then something might be done to put matters right, should I, and not Cyprien, guide them. We shall see."