Prince Fortunatus Part 43

"Perhaps she is sure that we think of her," Estelle said, rather sadly.

"I did not know till she was gone that I loved her so much and would miss her so much; because sometimes--sometimes she reproved me--and we had little disagreements--but all the same she was so kind--and always it was for your opinion I was corrected--it was what you would think if I did this or that. Ah, well, Nina will take her own time before she allows us to know. Perhaps she is not very happy."

Nor had Mrs. Grey any more helpful counsel or conjecture to offer; so, rather downheartedly, he got into the hansom again and set out for Victoria station, where he was to meet Maurice Mangan.

Maurice he found in charge of a bewildering number of variously sized packages, which seemed to cause him some anxiety, for there was no sort of proper cohesion among them.

"Toys for Francie's children, I'll bet," said Lionel.

"Well, how otherwise could I show my grat.i.tude?" Mangan said. "You know it's awfully good of your people, Linn, to ask a poor, solitary devil like me to join their Christmas family party. It's almost too much--"

"I should think they were precious glad to get you!" Lionel made answer, as he and his friend took their seats in one of the carriages.

"And I've got a little present for Miss Francie herself," continued Mangan, opening his bag, and taking therefrom a small packet. He carefully undid the tissue-paper wrappers, until he could show his companion what they contained; it was a copy of "Aurora Leigh,"

bound in white vellum, and on the cover were stamped two tiny violets,-green-stemmed and purple-blossomed.

"'Aurora Leigh,'" said Lionel--not daring, however, to take the dainty volume in his hands. "That will just suit Miss Savonarola. And what are the two violets, Maurice--what do they mean?"

"Oh, that was merely a little device of my own," Mangan said, evasively.

"You don't mean to say that these are your handiwork?" Lionel asked, looking a little closer.

"Ob, no. I merely drew them, and the binder had them stamped in color for me."

"And what did that cost?"

"I don't know yet."

"And don't care--so long as it's for Francie. And yet you are always lecturing me on my extravagance!"

"Oh, well, it's Christmas-time," Mangan said; "and I confess I like Christmas and all its ways. I do. I seem to feel the general excitement throughout the country tingling in me too; I like to see the children eagerly delighted, and the houses decorated with evergreens, and the old folk pleased and happy with the enthusiasm of the youngsters. If I've got to drink an extra gla.s.s of port, I'm there; if it's Sir Roger de Coverley, I'm there; I'll do anything to add to the general _Schwarmerei_. What the modern _litterateur_ thinks it fine to write about Christmas being all sham sentiment is simply insufferable bosh.

Christmas isn't in the least bit played out--though the magazinist may be, or may pretend to be. I think it's a grand thing to have a season for sending good wishes, for recollection of absent friends, for letting the young folk kick up their heels. I say, Linn, I hope there's going to be some sunlight down there. I am longing to see a holly-tree in the open air--the green leaves and scarlet berries glittering in the sunlight. Oh, I can tell you an autumn session of Parliament is a sickening thing--when the interminable speeches and wranglings drag on and on until you think they're going to tumble over into Christmas-day itself. There's fog in your brain as well as in your throat, and you seem to forget there ever was an outer world; you get listless and resigned, and think you've lived all your life in darkness. Well, just a glimmer of sunshine, that's all I bargain for--just a faint glimmer--and a sight of the two holly-trees by the gate of the doctor's house."

What intoxication had got into the head of this man? Whither had fled his accustomed indifference and indolence, his sardonic self-criticism?

He was like a school-boy off for the holidays. He kept looking out of the window--with persistent hope of the gray sky clearing. He was impatient of the delay at the various stations. And when at length they got out and found the doctor's trap awaiting them, and proceeded to get up the long and gradual incline that leads to Winstead village, he observed that the fat old pony, if he were lent for a fortnight to a butcher, would find it necessary to improve his pace.

When they reached the doctor's house and entered, they found that only the old lady was at home; the doctor had gone to visit a patient; Miss Francie was, as usual, away among her young convalescents.

"It has been a busy time for Francie," Mrs. Moore said. "She has been making so many different things for them. And I don't like to hear her sewing-machine going so late at night."

"Then why do you let her do it?" Lionel said, in his impetuous way. "Why don't you get in somebody to help her? Look here, I'll pay for that. You call in a seamstress to do all that sewing, and I'll give her a sovereign a week. Why should Francie have her eyes ruined?"

"Lionel is like the British government, Mrs. Moore," Mangan said, with a smile. "He thinks he can get over every difficulty by pulling out his purse. But perhaps Miss Francie might prefer carrying out her charitable work herself."

So Maurice Mangan was arrogating to himself, was he, the right of guessing Francie's preferences?

"Well, mother, tell me where I am likely to find her. I am going to pull her out of those fever-dens and refuges for cripples. Why, she ought to know that's all exploded now. Slumming, as a fad, had its day, but it's quite gone out now--"

"Do you think it is because it is fashionable, or was fashionable, that Miss Francie takes an interest in those poor children?" Maurice asked, gently.

Lionel was nearly telling him to mind his own business; why should he step in to defend Cousin Francie?

"She said she was going across the common to old Widow Jackson's," his mother answered him, "and you may find her either there or on the way to the village."

"Widow Jackson's?" he repeated, in doubt.

"Oh, I know it," Mangan said, cheerfully. And again Lionel was somewhat astonished. How had Maurice Mangan acquired this particular knowledge of Francie's surroundings? Perhaps his attendance at the House of Commons had not been so unintermittent as he had intimated?

There were still further surprises in store for Master Lionel. When at length they encountered Miss Francie--how pretty she looked as she came along the pathway through the gorse, in her simple costume of dark gray, with a brown velvet hat and brown tan gloves!--it was in vain that he tried to dissuade her from giving up the rest of the afternoon to her small _proteges_. In the most natural way in the world she turned to Maurice Mangan--and her eyes sought his in a curiously straightforward, confiding fashion that caused Lionel to wonder.

"On Christmas-day, of all the days of the year!" she said, as if appealing to Maurice. "Surely, surely, I must give up Christmas-day to them! Oh, do you know, Mr. Mangan, there never was a happier present than you thought of for the little blind boy who got his leg broken--you remember? He learned almost directly how to do the puzzle; and he gets the ring off so quickly that no one can see how it is done; and he laughs with delight when he finds that any neighbor coming in can only growl and grumble--and fail. I'm going there just now; won't you come?

And mind you be very angry when you can't get the ring off; you may use any language you like about your clumsiness--poor little chap, he has heard plenty of that in his time."

Maurice needed no second invitation; this was what he had come for; he had found the sunlight to lighten up the Christmas-day withal; his face, that was almost beautiful in its fine intellectuality, showed that whenever she spoke to him. Lionel, of course, went with them.

And again it was Maurice Mangan whom Miss Francie addressed, as they walked along to the village.

"Do you know, in all this blessed place, I can't find a copy of Mrs.

Hemans's poems; and I wanted you to read 'The Arab to his Horse'--is that the t.i.tle?--at my school-treat to-morrow. They would all understand that. Well, we must get something else; for we're to make a show of being educational and instructive before the romping begins. I think the 'Highland Schottische' is the best of any for children who haven't learned dancing; they can all jump about somehow--and the music is inspiriting. The vicar's daughters are coming to hammer at the piano.

Oh, Mr. Mangan," she continued, still appealing to him, "do you think you could tell them a thrilling folk-story?--wouldn't that be better?"

"Don't you want me to do something, Francie?" said Lionel, perhaps a little hurt.

"Do you mean--"

"The only thing I'm fit for--I'll sing them a song, if you like. 'My Pretty Jane'--no, that would hardly do--'The Death of Nelson' or 'Rule Britannia'--"

"Wouldn't there be rather a risk, Lionel? If you were to miss your train--and disappoint a great audience in London?" she said, gently.

"Oh, I'll take my chance of that? I'm used to it," he said, "I'll have d.i.c.k and the pony waiting outside. Oh, yes, I'll sing something for them."

"It will be very kind of you," she said.

And again, as they went to this or that cottage, to see that the small convalescent folk were afforded every possible means of holding high holiday (how fortunate they were as compared with thousands of similar unfortunates, shivering away the hopeless hours in dingy courts and alleys, gin clutching at every penny, that might have got food for their empty stomachs or rags for their poor shrunken limbs!), it was to Maurice Mangan that Francie chiefly talked, and, indeed, he seemed to know all about those patient little sufferers, and the time they had been down here, and when they might have to be sent back to London to make way for their successors. There was also a question as to which of their toys they might be permitted to carry off with them.

"Oh, I wouldn't deprive them of one," Mangan said, distinctly. "I've brought down a heap more this morning."

"Again--again?" she said, almost reproachfully; but the gentle gray eyes looked pleased, notwithstanding.

Well, that Christmas evening was spent in the doctor's house with much quiet enjoyment; for the old people were proud to have their only son with them for so long a time; and Francie seemed glad to have the various labors of the day over; and Maurice Mangan, with quite unwonted zest, kept the talk flowing free. Next morning was chiefly devoted to preparations for the big entertainment to be given in the school-room; and in due course Lionel redeemed his promise by singing no fewer than four songs--at the shyly proffered request of the vicar's pretty daughters; thereafter, leaving Maurice to conduct the gay proceedings to a close, he got out and jumped into the trap and was driven off to the station. He arrived at the New Theatre in plenty of time; the odor of consumed gas was almost a shock to him, well as he was used to it, after the clear air of Winstead.

And did he grudge or envy the obvious interest and confidence that appeared to have sprung up between his cousin and his friend? Not one bit. Maurice had always had a higher appreciation of Francie and her aims and ideals than he himself had, much as he liked her; and it was but natural she should turn to the quarter from which she could derive most sympathy and practical help. And if Maurice's long-proclaimed admiration for Miss Savonarola should lead to a still closer bond between those two--what then?

It was not jealousy that had hold of Lionel Moore's heart just at this time; it was rather a curious unrest that seemed to increase as day by day went by without bringing any word of Nina. Had she vouchsafed the smallest message, to say she was safe and well, to give him some notion of her whereabouts, it might have been different; but he knew not which way to turn, north, south, east, or west; at this season of kindly remembrance he could summon up no sort of picture of Nina and her surroundings. If only he had known, he kept repeating to himself. He had been so wrapped up in his idle dreams and visions that, all unwittingly, he had spurned and crushed this true heart beating close to his side.

And as for making amends, what amends could now be made; He only wanted to know that Nina was alive--and could forgive.

As he sat by himself in the still watches of the night, plunged in silent reverie, strange fancies began to fill his brain. He recalled stories in which he had read of persons separated by great distances communicating with each other by some species of spiritual telegraphy; and a conviction took possession of him that now, if ever--now as the old year was about to go out and the new year come in--he could call to Nina across the unknown void that lay between them, and that she would hear and perchance respond. Surely, on New-Year's Eve, Nina would be thinking of her friends in London; and, if their earnest and anxious thoughts could but meet her half-way, might there not be some sudden understanding, some recognition, some glad a.s.surance that all was well?

This wild fancy so grew upon him that when the last day of the year arrived it had become a fixed belief; and yet it was with a haunting sense of dread--a dread of he knew not what--that he looked forward to the stroke of twelve.

He got through his performance that night as if he were in a dream, and hurried home; it was not far from midnight when he arrived. He only glanced at the outside of the letters awaiting him; there was no one from her; not in that way was Nina to communicate with him, if her hopes for the future, her forgiveness for what lay in the past, were to reach him at all. He drew a chair to the table and sat down, leaving the letters unheeded.