Frederica and her Guardians Part 33

"Jesus is there, we know," said Selina, "and that is enough."

"Yes, I suppose so. But still mama must have been glad to see papa coming in through the gate. But, as Tessie says, we cannot tell what heaven is like, or how it seems to them there."

"Jesus is there," repeated Selina, "and they are like Him. 'And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying;' and they shall go no more out. We know a little, Tessie dear, I think."

"But I cannot think of mama being quite happy without you, Lena. And has she forgotten us all, do you think?"

"She knows that I shall be coming by-and-by," said Selina, with a smile, wonderful for its sweet content. "Yes, and all of us--'to go no more out.' She will not think the time long, we may be sure of that. And I shall _see her face there_?"

"If mama could have known about Cecilia and Edgar, and how good they would be to us, before she went away."

"Papa knew," said Tessie, "and he will tell her."

"And, Fred love, mama was not afraid for us at the last," said Selina.

"She did not know that they would care for us and love us, but she knew that Jesus would; and I daresay He has told her about our brother and sister also."

"And we needn't fret about Madame Precoe or Father Jerome any more,"

said Tessie.

"No; but we will not speak of them _here_," said Selina gently; "and we need not be afraid of anything any more."

By-and-by there was a little movement among them, and then the others heard Selina say,--

"Tell me about it, so that I may know the place where they lie."

So one told her one thing, and one told her another, about the lonely spot where the two graves were side by side. Tessie told of the green turf and the lovely flowers that covered them, and of the budding trees, and the dark shadows which the evergreens made, and the many, many graves and white monuments that could be seen. And then Frederica told her of the far-away view, of the great level over which they could look to the river and the hills beyond. And they both said how peaceful the place was, and how fair and sweet, till Selina smiled, saying,--"_I_ think I can see it all now."

"And, please G.o.d, she shall see it yet as clearly as it lies before us all," said Edgar softly.

"Do you mean it, Edgar? Can such a thing be possible?" said Mrs Brandon in amaze.

"Please G.o.d, she may yet see," said the young man gravely.

"Ah I do not disturb the sweet quiet of her heart by a hope that may never be realised," said Cecilia.

"By no means at present," said her brother; "there is no need for that."

"It would be a miracle," said Mrs Brandon.

"A miracle of science and skill," said Edgar. "We will not speak of this to her, or to any of them, yet; but I cannot but hope that she may see, even before she enters the city by the gates of pearl."

After that they had a very quiet summer. Madame Precoe went home to her own house, and they did not see her very often. But Miss Agnace was allowed still to remain with them, and the affairs of the household went well and smoothly in her hands. Mr Jerome they never saw, for he had been sent on a mission to a distant city, and they only heard of him now and then through Mr St. Cyr; but they were none the less happy that he was away.

Mr St. Cyr did not grow strong very fast. It was, indeed, doubtful whether he would ever be very strong again; and so all through the summer he was making arrangements to give up his business for a while into the hands of his partner, and he purposed to take a long holiday, to go to Paris, where he had not been since he was a young man, and perhaps to Rome, where he had never been. But he found time, amid all his preparations, to come often to see the young people; for he still considered himself their guardian, and in a certain sense responsible for their well-being. And besides, he loved them dearly, and they trusted him, and depended on him as they had always done, and loved him better every day.

Edgar and young Mr Bentham, Cecilia's husband, had much to do, and many places to visit, before the time set for their return to England, and sometimes Cecilia went with them. But it generally pleased her best to stay quietly at home with her young sisters, and it pleased them also.

It was a very quiet summer, but it was a very busy one. For it had been decided that when their elder brother and sister went back to England, they should all go with them; and there was much to be thought of, and much to be done, in preparation. To say that they were glad at the prospect, would be saying little. To go anywhere with the brother and sister who had been so kind to them, and whom they had learned to love so dearly, would have been pleasant; but to go to England, the country of which they had heard so much, where there were so many wonderful and beautiful things to see, was more than pleasant.

"And papa's home was there, and it was the last place he saw," said Selina, who had no hope of beholding the beautiful and wonderful things of which her brother and Tessie were never weary of talking. "And the kind people who cared for him are there. Yes, I am glad to go."

"And we shall come home again. I am glad to go away for a while, because there are some things here I want to forget," said Frederica, a little tremulously. "But we must come home again by-and-by, and begin all over again."

"Unless we should like England best," said Tessie. "I should not be at all surprised."

But Frederica said that would be quite impossible. When their brothers should be quite grown up, and able to take care of themselves, they would all come back and be happy at home. They made many plans as to what they were to do and enjoy, but Frederica's plans all had reference to their return home, and the life they were to live afterwards. She was as glad to go as any of them, but it was always with thought of coming home again.

They had not many friends to whom it was sad to say good-bye. Mr St.

Cyr was going with them, on his way to Paris. Miss Agnace was going with them too, to be Selina's special attendant and friend. For though little was said about it, it was more for Selina's sake than for anything else that they were going to England. Edgar had taken Mr St.

Cyr into his confidence as to the hope he entertained of bringing back the light, to her sweet eyes, and so all plans with regard to their going were made easy by him.

They went to school to say good-bye to Miss Robina and her mother, and Cecilia went with them to thank them for all their kindness to her little sisters. But this was not Frederica's last visit. She went again with Selina, and Mistress Campbell made tea for them in her room, as she used to do when Frederica was a child. It was not so very long ago, but it seemed a great while to her, and she was very quiet and grave all the afternoon. Selina had more to say than she had, and asked many questions about what her sister used to do when she was a pupil in the school.

"A bonny bit wilful creature she was," said Mistress Campbell, "very wilful whiles. But it was just a pleasure to see her for all that.

Many a good advice I had occasion to give her at one time and another, but she did me more good than ever I did to her, I think. She is one of His little lambs, as you are yourself doubtless, and none shall pluck you out of His hand. You are ay safe with Him, but still it is a grand thing to have a brother and sister like those you have found to trust to, and to be obedient to. You'll ay mind that, Miss Frederica, my dear, when you are far away."

"I shall never be wilful or disobedient any more, Mistress Campbell,"

said Fred gravely, quite believing it.

Mistress Campbell nodded her head a good many times.

"You are in G.o.d's keeping, my bairn. That's ay a comfort. But walk softly, my lammie, when your light heart comes back again. And mind the rest will ay look to you for an example, and so on." Mistress Campbell had "many an advice" to give still, and Frederica received them more meekly than she used sometimes to do in the old times.

"And though I never see you more on earth, we'll meet in a better place, my bonny bairns, and G.o.d go with you wherever you go," said the old woman, kissing them when they were ready to go away. "And there is nothing to grieve about, though it is the last time."

Nothing to grieve about. It could not be long that the kind old woman would have to stay in her garret, and there were no partings where she was going to dwell.

After that they spent a day with their sister Caroline and her little children, and this was the saddest parting of all. But even this was not so very sad, for they were coming back again by-and-by to their home and their friends, and the graves of their father and mother, and there was no bitterness in the tears they shed when the day of departure came.

The summer was quite over by that time. The sun of a bright still autumn day was near its setting as they stood on the deck of the steamer to take their last look of the city, and of the mountain which makes so grand a background to the view. Grand indeed it was that night, for the frost spirit had breathed on the unfallen leaves, and changed their summer green to colours wonderful for glory and beauty, and few words were spoken for a good while as they gazed.

"Tell me about it," said Selina softly.

So one told her about the bright clouds in the west, and the mountain growing dim already in the distance, and another told of the gleaming city roofs and spires; and the great cathedral towers looking down upon them all, and little Hubert told her of the long shaft of light that the sun sent over the water, and of the white sails that were pa.s.sing out of sight.

"Which of us all is so happy as she?" said Cecilia softly, as she watched the smile of sweet content on the blind girl's listening face.

"But please G.o.d, when she comes home again, she shall see it all," said her brother. And so she did.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Cecilia's home was in London, and there until Christmas-time her brothers and sisters remained. It was not the best season of the year for sight-seeing, but by taking advantage of such gleams of sunshine as now and then came to brighten the general dulness, a good deal was enjoyed even in that way. Nothing came amiss in the way of amus.e.m.e.nt to any of them. Everything was new and full of interest, and in their eyes wonderful. A drive through London streets gave matter for discussion for days afterwards.

It was all new and strange to them, the crowds of people hurrying to and fro, the great dingy houses, the queer narrow courts into which they sometimes peeped, the splendour of the shop windows, the monuments and public buildings afforded never-ending themes for talk, and the bright quaint remarks which were now and then made, amused their elders greatly.

But there were many dull days during that autumn, when all things were seen dimly through rain or fog, and there were some days when nothing at all could be seen, when the gas burned at noon, and when the carts and carriages that rumbled through the streets all day long, were quite invisible to the eager eyes of the little boys. On such days, no wonder that they grew impatient and even fretful, now and then, or that their sisters were not always so bright and cheerful themselves, as to be able to beguile their brothers back to cheerfulness and good-humour again.

They were all a little homesick on such days; and so, when the time came to accept Col. Bentham's invitation for Christmas, they were glad to leave the dull dark streets behind them, and to get a glimpse of blue sky and green fields again.

For in sheltered places the fields were green still, almost with the greenness of summer. In their own country at Christmas-time the snow lies thick on the ground, and the smaller streams, and sometimes even the great rivers, are covered with ice. Not a leaf is to be seen or a blade of gra.s.s, but great snowdrifts on the hill-sides, and icicles hanging from the bare boughs of the trees.