Into the Highways and Hedges Part 5

was what she meant, but Laura was apt to snub any expression of feeling.

"I shouldn't do it if I didn't!" said Laura; "if by 'it' you mean matrimony. The sooner we get the wedding over the better, I think. Aunt Russelthorpe is arranging it all, and settling who are to be the bridesmaids. I don't mean to interfere. It is the very last chance she shall ever have of putting a finger into any pie of mine, so she may as well make the most of it; but I came to talk about you, not about myself. Follow my example, Meg, and get away from this house as soon as you can, for if you and Aunt Russelthorpe are left together here, you will drive each other perfectly crazy."

"I spoke to father to-night," said Meg. "I begged him to let me live with him, and he nearly promised that----"

"That which he'll never perform," said Laura. "Oh, Meg, what a baby you are! Can't you _see_ that it's no good depending on father? Oh! you needn't look so angry. He can't help it,--it's not his fault, of course.

Aunt Russelthorpe is stronger than he is, that's all, and she is jealous of you. My dear, you think you understand him better than she does, because you sympathise with all his fine ideas, and she doesn't; but she knew him before you were heard of; she can make up his mind for him, and save him trouble, and make him comfortable. On the whole, you'd much better study a man's weaknesses than his n.o.bilities, if you want to have a hold over him; but _you'll_ never take in that bit of wisdom if you live to a hundred, and I expect she was born with it."

"Father hasn't got weaknesses--at least, I don't want to discover them.

For shame, Laura, to talk so of him!" cried Meg. And Laura laughed and nodded.

"Just so! That's where Aunt Russelthorpe has the pull over you," she retorted. "Don't quarrel with her, Meg. You'll get the worst of it. Try and keep the peace till you are independent of her. Don't fight for the possession of father, for it's a losing game, but take what offers, and when you are clear of her authority snub her as much as you like. Shan't I enjoy it if she tries to interfere with me after I am married? I hope she will," said Laura, with a twinkle of fun; "but I am afraid she won't. She is too clever for that. Really, I've a great admiration for my aunt."

"Have you?" said Meg. "I hate her! but I shouldn't want to snub her if I were free of her. I only want never to be in the same place, or world, with her again. I shiver when I hear her voice."

"Exactly!" said Laura. "And that is so silly of you, Meg. What is the use of a hate like that? It only gives her another advantage. However, I suppose it's something in the way you are made that makes you take things so. You always did; and you'll go on getting more and more miserable, and you will aggravate her more and more, till she wears you out altogether, unless you get away; and you can't go alone, and you may wait till you are grey or till my aunt is dead before father takes things into his own hands; and I really don't see how I can have you, because----"

"I wouldn't trouble you," said Meg proudly. She stood very upright, and looked at her sister with wondering eyes. What were all these gloomy prognostications leading to?

"Well then, because you would not trouble me," said Laura. "And that leaves one way out of the difficulty. Marry as soon as you can, Meg, because you are too unhappy here! It was bad enough before; but now that you've thrown down your gauntlet (how could you be such a little fool?), and tried to get father away from Aunt Russelthorpe, it will be ten times worse. If it were I it wouldn't matter. I never care twopence what she says; but you'll suffer a martyrdom like St. Sebastian. All her spiteful little arrows will stick. I declare on my honour, Meg, I would give a thousand pounds, as well as my blessing, to hear you were going to marry _any_ decently rich man who would be good to you!"

"Oh Laura!" cried Meg, half amused, half aghast.

"Oh Margaret!" cried her sister, mimicking her. "Yes; I know these are not the right sentiments for a bride to express. If we had a mother I shouldn't offer them; but I kept thinking about you this evening, and I didn't like my thoughts. Don't you wait for impossibilities, Meg. I am sure you believe in an impossible sort of lover, if ever you condescend to think of one at all; half a knight and half a saint; some one who has never loved any other woman, and never will, and yet isn't a milksop; who drinks nothing but water, and doesn't care what he eats, but is as strong as Goliath; who is full of high-flown ideas, and yet madly in love; who is handsome as Adonis, and does not know it. Well! _don't_ expect him; he doesn't exist, and, what's more, he would be a monster of unnaturalness if he did! Take the man who'll fight your battles for you, even though he isn't beautiful. Don't bother too much about his ideals.

If he is a good sort at home, and sticks to--well, his vulgar old mother, we'll say--he'll probably stick to you. If he has brains, you'll grow proud of him; if he is ambitious, that will suit you."

She watched Meg while she spoke; but Meg was utterly unconscious: it never occurred to her to put a name to Laura's hypothetical suitor; and Laura (whose shrewd eyes had seen a good deal that evening) could only hope her sage advice might bear fruit later.

"Well, I've said my say," she remarked, taking up her candle and getting off the bed. "Don't forget it! Don't be wretched because you cannot have the moon. Who can? Not one of us gets what he starts by wanting--not one in ten!" said Laura with a half-sigh. "But the people who eat their half-loaves and make the most of makeshifts, are the happy ones--as happiness goes. Good-night!"

She got as far as the door, then turned, with a half comical, half rueful face. "I might have been a better sister, I daresay," she said; "and half a pound of help is worth a pound of good advice, tho' mine's excellent; but, you see, there is Kate, and it doesn't pay to be fond of too many people,--there'd be nothing left for oneself."

Meg made no answer. Laura paused a moment longer. It was odd how her heart softened to-night to the "little sister" she had never taken much account of before.

"Let's kiss each other for once!" she said. And Meg surprised, flung both arms round her neck.

"Oh Laura, you _do_ like me just a little then, don't you?" she cried.

"And you don't really believe all you've been saying? I do hate it so! I would rather be unhappy all my life, than think that _n.o.body_ ever gets anything but half-loaves and makeshifts. It is better to be miserable than satisfied like that."

"Oh Lord!" said Laura, who had a trick of strong language. "This comes of trying to put a modic.u.m of common-sense into your head. Go your own way and be miserable, then. Some people do prefer it, I believe!" And Meg got into bed at last, and had a horrible nightmare, in which she was dancing with an angel who discoursed of the regeneration of the world, till suddenly a horror fell on her, and she saw he was the devil in disguise, and fled shrieking to Laura and Uncle Russelthorpe, who were looking on from a corner, and Uncle Russelthorpe chuckled and remarked:--

"Yes; every one has the original old gentleman under his skin; scratch deep enough, and you'll find the savage instinct at the bottom of all our refinements". A speech which Uncle Russelthorpe had really made years before, and which had puzzled Meg's childish brain at the time; but Laura shrugged her square shoulders, and said:--

"My dear, make the best of him; it is what we all do in the end".

Meg's sisters were married from Ravenshill in the pretty month of May.

The bridal party walked through the garden to the chapel under archways of flowers and flags.

Kate looked beautiful; Laura, very unmoved and like her ordinary self, only as they pa.s.sed under the church door she slid her hand into her sister's and held it tight. Meg, following, saw the action. Kate hardly noticed it; but that was an old story; indeed, it is a story that goes on from generation to generation.

The sunshine shone between clouds, and there was a light spring shower, just sprinkling the procession as it wound between the beds of anemones and daffodils. The drops clung to Meg's soft hair, and glistened there like diamonds through the service.

There were fourteen bridesmaids chosen by Aunt Russelthorpe, none of them personal friends of either bride. Fourteen maids in green and white,--a goodly company!

Meg walked first, looking rather shy at finding herself in such unwonted prominence; but she forgot that in the solemnity of the occasion when they had entered the cool dark old church, and stood grouped under the stained gla.s.s window that was put up by a Deane of the sixteenth century in memory of a husband who died fighting.

How many Deanes had been christened and married within those old walls?

George Sauls, standing far back in the aisle, wondered what visions were pa.s.sing through the chief bridesmaid's brain, and put in imagination a white veil on her graceful bowed head.

Aunt Russelthorpe nudged her suddenly. "Are you asleep, Margaret? Take Laura's bouquet and gloves," she whispered in a sharp undertone; and Meg blushed crimson, and hid her confusion in an armful of blossoms.

"Meg's awkwardness was the only _contretemps_," as Mrs. Russelthorpe said. "And that no one could provide against," she added.

Everything else went off splendidly, and everything else was the result of her generalship.

Uncle Russelthorpe did not appear in church. "He is getting more eccentric than ever," people whispered; but he was in the porch in cap and slippers when the brides drove off.

"Good-bye, Laura!" he said. "So you've got a husband instead of a sister to take care of! Lord! Lord! how time flies! Twelve years since you all came to us! I hope you'll be happy, my dear."

"I'm sure I shall," said Laura cheerfully. "I _mean_ to be. Good-bye, uncle;" and she kissed him, for the first time in her life. Aunt Russelthorpe had never approved of their kissing their uncle; and Meg could not help wondering whether it was affection or new-born independence that prompted the embrace.

Kate held out her hand coldly. She was ashamed of the queer figure the old man cut.

Laura's face positively beamed when she bid farewell to her aunt.

"Mind you come and see me," she insisted hospitably, and a little patronisingly, "I shall enjoy it!" She kissed Meg hurriedly, but clung a moment to Kate. Kate's face was wet as the two parted.

So they drove off in a shower of rice, and Aunt Russelthorpe stood waving her handkerchief till they were out of sight. She had never felt more kindly towards her nieces; and they, who had come to her as children, and left as women, were glad enough to go. Surely there was something a little tragic about the extreme cheerfulness of that wedding; but no one thought it so, except perhaps their father, who said with a sigh:--

"One wants the mother on these occasions". And when the last carriage had departed and the last guest gone Mrs. Russelthorpe drew a long breath of satisfaction as she reflected again that she certainly _had_ "done well for those girls".

She expressed as much to her brother, while they lingered together in the great drawing-room before dinner. (Mr. Deane was the only member of the family who ever beguiled Mrs. Russelthorpe's restless spirit into dawdling.)

He sighed rather heavily.

"I am sure I don't understand how it is," he said, "but I seem to know very little of them. Laura has always been so reserved, and Kate so cold; and yet I am very fond of my children, and Meg is fond of me. I won't have her marrying,--do you hear, sis? I can't spare poor little Meg, and I really couldn't stand another son-in-law."

"Margaret is neither poor nor little. I cannot imagine why you always call her by baby names," said Mrs. Russelthorpe, with a hard ring in her voice, which made him look up in surprise.

"Parental foolishness, I suppose," he said. "I can't imagine why you should mind if I do." And Mrs. Russelthorpe bit her lip, and repented of her ebullition of impatience.

Apparently her words had given him food for thought; for after a few minutes' pause he said gravely:--

"I am meditating taking her away with me. You have been wonderfully good. I can't think what I should have done with my poor bairns if I had not had you to fall back on years ago; but, after all, Meg is quite grown-up now,--at least, so she constantly a.s.sures me; and she does not seem over happy here, though I daresay that is not your fault, and she is exceedingly anxious to come. In fact, I couldn't say her nay. I am afraid you will feel hurt, sis; but----"

"On the contrary, I have no doubt it is a capital plan," said Mrs.

Russelthorpe briskly; and he leant back with an air of relief. After all, Augusta was always sensible. Meg had imagined that her aunt would be angry at the idea, but Meg was apt to take fancies.