The Girls at Mount Morris Part 29

"Mrs. Barrington has had her in training for some time, and from the very first was attracted by her natural grace and dignity; and her strength of character," was the reply, "and her father found resemblances to me in the first interview!"

"But the years before would naturally leave some impress. Mrs. Boyd, it seems, had not much education, and they must have lived in the commoner streets with all kinds of people. I feel something as brother does, that I can hardly forgive her for robbing the child of her natural birthright and subjecting her to plebian surroundings."

Mrs. Crawford winced and flushed a little. Her last remembrance of the smiling, cooing baby, bright eyed and full of health and sweetness, never faded from her mind, and she fancied now she should have the same instinctive impressions that had puzzled Mrs. Barrington. Aunt Kate might be rather captious at first, but she could pardon it and understand it as well, for she had been a most devoted mother to Zaidee.

Then, too, school would begin so soon and all these little breaks would bring about the finer claims of relationship.

No one went to church on Sunday. Mrs. Crawford was not quite up to the mark, and Aunt Kate declared she could not face the curious eyes or answer a question. The Major longed to go over to Mrs. Barrington's but some feeling of delicacy restrained him.

Lilian had come home from the lonely burial like one in a strange dream.

The brief illness, the excitement of the confession, the quiet pa.s.sing out of existence had transpired so rapidly that she could hardly make it real. She almost expected to find Mrs. Boyd lying there on the bed when she entered the room. She felt that Mrs. Boyd had never taken root at Mount Morris; she smiled sadly thinking of Mrs. Dane's suspicions that there was some secret between them, that she, Lilian, was afraid would come to light. But she had never in her wildest moments dreamed of the truth. Mrs. Boyd had all the limitation of a commonplace nature, sweet, devoted, with no lofty aspirations. The refinements of Barrington House wore upon her. She did try, for Lilian's sake, to adapt herself to some of them but the effort was plainly visible to practiced eyes. If she had lived--but then the confession would hardly have been made. For, with all the unlikeness, Lilian had never suspected the truth.

Oh, why had not G.o.d given this poor starved life its rightful surroundings? If Mrs. Boyd had lived! If there had been a number of merry, satisfied children going cheerfully to work in shops and factories when school days were over, having lovers, marrying and repeating their mother's life! For the world was full of ordinary happy people with no high ideals. Was there something in heredity?

No, she could not have been content with that destiny. She must have worked and striven for a higher round, for some intellectual advancement. Yet, how many of these girls at school really cared for it with all their advantages? It was not mere money that inspired one, and she almost wished she were not going in that upper atmosphere.

CHAPTER XIV

GOING OUT OF THE OLD LIFE

Lilian had seen very little of her friend, Miss Trenham, through the week, though every day she had been the recipient of a note of sympathy and affection. She came in on Sat.u.r.day afternoon.

"My dear girl," she began, "so many unusual events have happened to you that one must needs use both congratulations and condolences. I saw the newspaper account and it seems like the finger of Providence that you should have been directed hither and to the arms of your real parents.

Mrs. Boyd looked very poorly the last time I saw her, a month or so ago.

I suppose there is a great deal back of the account----"

"I have wanted to see you so," returned Lilian. "I thought I would come to the Chapel tomorrow morning. You are the only friend I have made outside of the school, but Mrs. Barrington has been so sweet and generous. She had planned to keep me here after mother was gone and educate me."

The tears stood in Lilian's eyes and her voice broke with emotion.

"There is so much to talk over, and we have gone to our own home now.

Mother and I have been very busy the last four days cleaning and putting things in order. We spent our Christmas at Mrs. Lane's and had a really delightful time. We had planned some time ago to have you share it with us, and now can you not spare us Sunday, if you are not going----"

"The change is to be made on Monday. Oh, Miss Trenham--I can hardly describe my feelings. I dread it and yet my own mother is an ideal mother. I hardly dare think of the happiness in store for me, but I shall go on here at school. I am glad of that. I could not give up my dear Mrs. Barrington."

"We want to hear all the story--your side," smiling gravely. "So if you can come and dine with us on Sunday. Oh, there are so many explanations."

"I will see. Excuse me a few moments." Lilian came back with a heartsome expression.

"Yes, I can come. I wanted to go to the Chapel in the morning. I suppose some of my life, at least, will be changed----"

"Yes, but it will be--yes, lovely and advantageous. I never thought Mrs. Boyd quite the right mother for you, if you will allow me to say it."

Lilian flushed. "But she loved me with her whole soul. She would have made any sacrifice to advance me. All these years she has cared for me, worked for me and I should be an ingrate to forget it. If she had lived and this had not come, I was planning to work for her----"

"I think you would, without a demur. You would have had an excellent friend in Mrs. Barrington, but it will be a much wider life, I am very glad for you. There are people for whom prosperity does very little. You will not be one of that kind. In spite of her misfortune your mother has always had a wide and lovely influence, and the home is said to be very attractive. I think all of Mount Morris rejoiced truly in her restoration to health, and you will have some of the best of her life.

You will soon learn the sweet lesson of loving her."

"My heart went out to her the Sunday I saw her in church. She looked to me like a saint, and I did not know then, but I have felt bewildered since. And I have been so used to planning to do something for--for the one who has gone, that I feel kind of helpless, knowing I can do nothing for her."

"Oh, yes, you can give her a daughter's choicest love. I am quite sure you two will grow into finest accord, and two manly brothers and that lovely Zaidee! Oh, it will be a most absorbing life. You will be in the sphere just fitted for you. Perhaps G.o.d let it all happen that your character should be the more fully shaped by the experience. We will talk it over more, at length, tomorrow."

Miss Trenham rose and kissed the young girl tenderly, knowing that tears were very near the surface. After she had gone Lilian gave way to them.

She had not the easily adaptive nature to go in her new home and take the best at once, though it had been held out with such winning tenderness. The beautiful face of Zaidee instead of adding a radiance seemed to shadow the path. She could not explain it to herself; she would not think her sister would grudge her anything, but she felt in her inmost heart it would not be given generously. She must win it by large patience.

Sunday was a perfect winter day with a gorgeous sunshine and a crisp air that seemed to bring refreshment in every waft. The leafless trees were penciled against the blue sky like the lines of a fine engraving. The church bells rang out their reverent inspiration, they were harmoniously toned and there was no jangling. Lilian wondered a little--were her parents and the two children at home kneeling in the old church where the Crawfords had worshiped for a hundred years or more? Did they offer a little prayer for her?

The father and mother said it at home. He was all impatience for the day to pa.s.s.

Oh, how delightful Mrs. Trenham's warm welcome was, and little Claire clasped both slim arms about Lilian's neck and kissed the cool rosy cheek over and over again. If her sister was little and fond like that!

"It's been such a long, long while since you were here. Of course you couldn't come while we were away. It was very nice at Mrs. Lane's; there were so many people to make merry. You can't be truly merry alone by yourself, can you? It's like bells ringing. You can be happy thinking of many things, but not merry."

Lilian smiled. Yes, the conceit was true.

Then she must inspect Claire's Christmas gifts. Her own had been a pretty booklet that one of the girls had given her in a perfunctory fashion that carried no real regard with it. She had been too full of anxiety to look up anything.

"And that lady that came here once who wasn't your real mother went away, didn't she? And Edith said you had a real mother now and you were going to live with her and not stay at school all the time. I wish I could go to school. Edith said sometime she might have a school in our own house, and I might come and say lessons with other little girls.

That will be so nice. I think that will be merry."

Then they were summoned to dinner, and the elders took the lead in the conversation, expressing their surprise at the strange event they had seen in the paper, and as they lingered over the dessert Lilian told her own story that she had believed in devoutly until Mrs. Boyd had explained her adoption, hoping thereby Lilian might trace her parentage--though Mrs. Boyd supposed only her father could be found.

Mrs. Barrington had supplied the other side.

"I suppose there is a certain kind of gratification in belonging to an old and respected family. Major Crawford's family could go back even of their first settling in America, and the madam was a proud old Virginian with a fortune, but she wanted only one son, and she had three and one daughter. All her love and pride was in her first born who was indulged in every thing and led a gay life. The youngest died, Everard went to West Point and entered the regular army. Reginald took the best of life and became a capricious invalid, as penurious as he had been wasteful before, and died about the time of the accident. The madam had been dead some years. So all of Crawford House and its belongings came to the Major, who had married one of the loveliest of girls. You have heard that part of the story from Mrs. Barrington, doubtless. She was one of the earlier scholars."

"Yes," replied Lilian. "She admires her, beside loving her for the bravery with which, she bore the dreadful accident."

"I think when the word came, if prayers could have availed for the safety of the child, the whole town would have prayed, and to think that G.o.d should have saved you and restored you in this strange manner."

Edith glanced across the table. Lilian's eyes were suffused with tears.

"Miss Crawford had looked after the house, as the mother spent much of the time in the city with Reginald. She was very fond of gayeties, and her sudden death was a great surprise for she seemed vigorous enough to round out the century. Miss Kate took charge of little Zay while her mother was on the journey and through those years spent in hospitals and sanitoriums. She has been most devoted, refusing several good offers of marriage, but I suppose Mrs. Barrington has told you most of the family history."

"She is very fond of my mother and her girl life, her early married life as well, and she fancied at the very first that I resembled some one she had known."

"There is something in the poise of the head and the shape of your chest and shoulders, that is like her, and it won't hurt you if I say she was an extremely handsome girl. Even Reginald admitted that."

"And I am not handsome," Lilian said bravely, though with a little pang.

It had never mattered to her before. Then she turned scarlet and added with an embarra.s.sed laugh: "That sounds like what the girls call fishing for compliments. Zaidee will be the family beauty."

"And you have a voice, that with the proper training, may be very fine, indeed. I noticed it this morning in the hymn."

"Oh, do you think so? I love to sing," and her face was a-light with pleasure. "But it seems to me that it isn't, well--neither alto nor soprano; I can't keep it to a true sound."