Hilda's Mascot Part 27

The color left the face of the girl for a moment, and she leaned against her dressing-table for support.

"You are his mother," she said with tear-dimmed eyes. "Read what he says."

"I hope, my child, that you have not asked me to do this unless you are desirous that I should read it."

"I did not even imagine, five minutes ago, that I could ever allow anyone to see it; now I wish you to read it," and tears rolled down the pale cheeks.

Mrs. Warfield opened the sheet and glanced over the words:

"My Poor Little Hilda:

"No one could have convinced me half a year ago that I would address you, whom I then loved, to tell you that my feelings in regard to you have undergone a change. I am heartily ashamed of myself to have to acknowledge this, and no doubt you will be disappointed in me. Perhaps if I could have seen you oftener it might have been different. If I could know what my future sentiments toward you will be I would gladly tell you. I hope you will care a little because of this, but I do not wish you to grieve too much.

"Your Cousin Fred."

The flush which had arisen to the cheek of Hilda was eclipsed by the glow that spread over the face of Mrs. Warfield. She gave the letter back without a word, her eyes refusing to meet those of the girl standing before her.

"Will you read my answer?" asked Hilda, taking it from the envelope not yet sealed.

"If you wish it, my love."

"Yes, I would rather have you know the whole story."

Mrs. Warfield's face brightened into a smile as she read:

"Dear Cousin Fred:

"Yours received and I reply merely to advise you not to distress yourself fearing I will grieve. Why should I be disappointed in you, when it is exactly as I expected? I was favored with the experience of other girls, and as you will remember was not willing to engage myself to you, knowing your fickleness; but after you remained faithful a few weeks I was foolish enough to believe you in earnest, and for this I am heartily ashamed. I shall be in no danger of committing again the folly of believing it, so you need not trouble yourself to tell me 'your future sentiments.'

"Your Cousin Hilda."

Mrs. Warfield arose upon finishing the letter, and taking Hilda in her arms pressed a kiss upon the trembling lips.

"I feared you would not be willing to have me send it," faltered Hilda, as tears for the sympathy received filled her eyes.

"Yes, send it, by all means, and the earlier the better. It will do Fred good to find that one girl, at least, is not so much in love with him as to withhold resentment for his unmanly fickleness."

Hilda put the letter in the envelope, sealed it and went out, and Mrs.

Warfield returned to her room and took up her sewing.

"Without intending it, she has taken the very best way to retain him,"

she communed with herself. "She is a n.o.ble girl. Fred will rue this."

Bravely as Hilda had borne the trial, try as she might to conceal her wounded feelings, Mrs. Warfield, apparently un.o.bservant, knew as time pa.s.sed on that the reaction was harder to bear than the first knowledge of Fred's inconstancy.

Hilda had watched for his coming, the correspondence had been a stimulus in her uneventful life at the farmhouse, and when it ceased, in spite of her good sense and excellent judgment for one so young, she felt desolate and unsettled. She dreaded Fred's next visit home. How could she meet him under these changed circ.u.mstances? What could she say to him, or he to her, under the piercing, satirical gaze of Mrs. Paul Warfield? And Mrs. Merryman-what would she think of it, she who was so glad to know that Hilda had such kind and loving friends in her new home?

It was a bitter trial to tell her, but Hilda's conscience would not allow her to leave that faithful friend in ignorance of how matters stood, and in the postscript to her next letter she said: "Dear Aunt Grace, the engagement between Cousin Fred and myself is broken."

That was all; she could not tell her now the cause, and was very sure that Mrs. Merryman would never ask.

Hilda was sincere in saying that she would not grieve. She read, she studied, practiced the most difficult of the pieces given her by Professor Ballini, and in other ways kept herself constantly employed; and Mrs. Warfield's motherly heart yearned toward her as if she were indeed her own loved daughter.

After a time Fred's letter set Hilda to a.n.a.lyzing the real state of her feelings toward him. She loved him because, like the others of his family, he had been so kind to her. He was one of the best of sons, one of the most affectionate of brothers. She doubted if any girl could have helped becoming attached to one so handsome and attractive, if placed in his companionship as she had been.

Yet she realized that the affection she had cherished for him was unlike that which she had thought a woman's should be for the one who was to fill the place of protector and life-long companion; different, as she now discovered, from the affection she entertained for Mr. Courtney.

Yes, like a revelation it came to her in the quietude of her room that the feeling with which she regarded him was different from that felt for any other human being. She remembered his manly steadiness and strength of character; his protecting care of her and of everything feebler than himself; the repose and peace and contentment she always felt in his society. She remembered the last evening she pa.s.sed at "My Lady's Manor," and tears filled her eyes as she thought of the loneliness that reigned in the beloved library, now that he was far away.

She took the miniature portrait of Mr. Courtney from its velvet case and looked long and earnestly at it.

"He has not a superior," she said to herself; "he is n.o.ble and true and I love him and only him, though he may never think of me or see me again."

That afternoon Mrs. Lura invited Hilda to make parochial calls with her, after which she intended stopping at Uncle Herbert's store in the village to purchase material for her embroidery. She was proficient in all kinds of fancy work, and just at that time was exercised over the completion of a sofa pillow for a birthday gift for her father.

In the fancy line Uncle Herbert's stock was far from extensive at any time, and at that particular epoch was poor indeed, and Mrs. Lura was unable to obtain any of the shades of silk desired. Consequently she lost her temper and sharply reminded him that he ought to keep a store where customers could get at least a third of the articles called for, or give it up that a more enterprising man might take his place.

Uncle Herbert laughed good-naturedly at this candid opinion, accompanied by a frown upon the fair brow and the flashing of brilliant black eyes, and informed her that he intended going to Philadelphia on the early morning train to purchase his half yearly supply of merchandise, and would be happy to get anything she needed.

Equanimity restored, Mrs. Lura made out a list which Uncle Herbert put carefully in his memorandum book, searchingly watched by Mrs. Lura, accompanied by the injunction not to forget until she came for the silks that it was there.

The errands all completed, they drove back to the farmhouse, at the entrance of which Mrs. Warfield met them, more disturbed than they had ever seen her.

"My love," she said taking Hilda's hand, "a telegram has just come from Dorton. Jerusha Flint is very ill; they think she cannot live, and she says she must see you, and you cannot go alone."

"Uncle Herbert is going to Philadelphia in the morning," said Mrs. Lura promptly. "Hilda can go with him."

"That is an excellent opportunity," exclaimed Mrs. Warfield. "I will send immediately to the village and tell him that Hilda will meet him at the station in good time."

"Planchette and the carriage are yet at the gate," said Mrs. Lura, glancing through the window. "I will drive back and tell Uncle Herbert, although I wonder that Hilda is willing to trouble herself to visit one who treated her so unkindly as did Miss Flint. I should not go near her."

"I grieve to have Hilda leave us, but it is a duty. Miss Flint must have some important reason for wishing to see her. She has possession of the few articles of furniture which were my sister's, and she may wish to see her in regard to them; or she may wish to ask forgiveness for her cruelty. Be the reason what it may, she must have her wish granted, if possible."

Hilda pa.s.sed the evening packing her trunk, and although she reproached herself that she could be glad to go from friends who were so tenderly kind, and her conscience troubled her that she could not be more sorry for the cause that was calling her back to Dorton, in spite of her reasoning she could not help rejoicing over the prospective visit.

"I will see dear Aunt Merryman and all my Dorton friends," she said to herself with an exultant throb of her heart. "Besides, I shall miss seeing Cousin Fred."

The next morning Mrs. Lura, who had another commission for Uncle Herbert, took Hilda to the Woodmont station, where he had not arrived, much to her displeasure, for it was nearing train time and she prophesied that with his usual want of punctuality he would be left.

Just as she arrived at the stage of impatience as to be upon the point of driving to the village for him and giving him a piece of her mind, he came in sight, walking at his usual leisurely, dignified pace, and in a few minutes they were off and Mrs. Lura went home.

Uncle Herbert was a genial traveling companion, and Hilda enjoyed the trip thoroughly. He accompanied her to the Baltimore depot as soon as they reached Philadelphia, and saw her on her way. Mr. Merryman's carriage met her at Dorton Station and conveyed her to the cottage of Jerusha Flint. And thus, without a moment's delay which could be avoided, Hilda stood again in one of the homes of her childhood.

Diana Strong was in attendance upon the invalid and welcomed Hilda warmly.

"How much you have grown!" she said softly. "I never would have thought that a person could improve so much in less than two years; you are really an elegant young lady."

"Is she very ill?" asked Hilda in the same tone, as she laid aside hat and gloves in the little sitting-room.