and if the youngergirl in her secret heart found the minutiae rather wearisome, she kepther feelings to herself, and was more than rewarded by Evelyn'sincreased good spirits and cheerfulness.
"You don't know what a comfort it is to have Philippa back again," shesaid to her mother that evening at dinner; "I am beginning to feel everso much happier about Wyverston. I shall be able to write quitecomfortably to poor old Duke by next mail."
Mrs Raynsworth glanced affectionately at her younger daughter.Personally these two resembled each other very closely, nor did theresemblance stop with their outward appearance. There was decision andfirmness in both faces, both even more strongly marked in Philippa'scase than in her mother's, for young as the girl still was, she gave onean impression of extreme reliability, and of late years somewhat failinghealth and the mellowing influence of time had softened the character ofMrs Raynsworth's whole personality. Her married life, though far froman unhappy one, had been by no means free from the undue share ofpractical cares which almost inevitably falls to the wife of a scholar.And that Mr Raynsworth was a scholar, in the fullest sense of the word,there could be no two opinions. It was from him Philippa inherited theintellectual side of her character, balanced by her mother's practicalgood sense, and other more ordinary though not the less desirablefeminine qualities.
In his secret heart there were times when Mr Raynsworth sighed over thegirl's eager interest in social amusements and the daily life of thoseabout her.
"She almost has it in her to be a really learned woman," he would say tohimself, and in other surroundings it is possible that his ideal for hermight have been realised. But as things were, Philippa would havechoked in a study had the bulk of her time been spent poring over books.Her lessons with her father over, or, in later years, the work she didfor him, and that with real appreciation, completed for the time being,she would fly off to arrange flowers in the drawing-room, or even todiscuss the fashion of a new dress, with as keen enjoyment as if she hadnever touched a Greek or Latin book in her life.
Personally she was like her mother. Dark-haired, brown-eyed, and of amake and bearing suggestive of unusual vigour; while by one of thosecurious inconsistencies which abound in family likenesses, EvelynHeadfort resembled her father in appearance and temperament, and thoughby careful education her brain-powers had been made the most of, theywere not above the average.
One gift she possessed--the source of infinite pleasure to those abouther--that of a very beautiful voice, and if Philippa's generous naturehad been capable of even a passing touch of jealousy of her sister, itwould have shown in this direction.
"It is strange," she would say, sometimes, "that one can adore music asI feel I do, and yet have no power of expressing it one's self."
And even as a little child her sweetest dreams and fancies were shapedand coloured by the longing to find herself in possession of themarvellous gift of music, a gift which she sometimes felt inclined toreproach her sister for not sufficiently prizing. For musical as sheundoubtedly was, Evelyn was neither poetical nor imaginative, howeverdifficult it might be to credit this when one gazed at her delicate,almost ethereal features and lovely, dreamy blue eyes.
"One can't have everything," she would reply, prosaically enough, to hersister. "You're a hundred, thousand times cleverer than I, and quite ascapable or more so, and, to _my_ mind, quite as nice-looking. Youreally needn't grudge me my voice. I only care about it because all ofyou do."
But for the dissimilarity between them--possibly, indeed, to some extentin consequence of it--never were two sisters more heartily attached toeach other. Never was a home less disturbed by the friction of opposingtastes or unrestrained moods than theirs. There was, no doubt, dormantintensity of feeling, depths of devotion and capacity for suffering inthe younger girl's nature not yet gauged--potentialities which, it is tobe questioned, if any of those about her could have understood even hadshe been sufficiently conscious of them herself to attempt to expressthem, or egotistical enough to wish to do so. But though possibly therewas less power of sympathy with her deepest self than she had any ideaof, there had been nothing in her life or surroundings to stunt orthwart her individuality. Nay, rather very much the reverse--calm andstillness are excellent guardians of character in certain stages of itsdevelopment.
CHAPTER THREE.
"SO UNLIKE HER."
The next few days were fully occupied with Evelyn's preparations for hervisit. And here, perhaps, it may be well to explain why so apparentlyunimportant a matter as young Mrs Headfort's spending a few days withher husband's relations should have been looked upon by herself and herown family as an event of such moment.
It was now nearly four years since Evelyn Raynsworth's marriage toCaptain Headfort, and during that time two deaths had taken place in theimmediate family of his cousin--the head of the house and master ofWyverston--which had greatly altered the young man's position as aHeadfort, with regard to the future. For the deaths had been those ofMr Headfort's two sons, and though the large estates were not entailed,the family feeling of respect for the male line was proverbially strong.Marmaduke was an only son, and had been early left an orphan; the careof him in childhood and youth devolving upon relatives on his mother'sside, elderly people now dead. They had done their duty by the boy in aconscientious, unemotional fashion, and had left him a small addition tohis own little patrimony: all, indeed, that they had it in their powerto dispose of. So, though Captain Headfort's childhood had been asomewhat loveless one, he remembered his uncle and aunt with gratitude--never so warm, perhaps, as when, at eight-and-twenty, he fell in lovewith Mr Raynsworth's charming daughter--as but for this opportunelegacy he would scarcely have thought it possible to marry. It hadnever occurred to him in his wildest dreams, that a day might come whenhe should be looked upon as the probable heir to the large estatesbelonging to the head of his family, of which he considered himself avery unimportant member; he was not even disappointed or hurt when nospecial notice was taken of his marriage, beyond a somewhat formalletter of good wishes and a wedding present of the orthodox type. Therehad scarcely, indeed, been time for an invitation to visit Wyverston, asthe marriage took place immediately before he and his bride left forIndia; but the news of the death of his two cousins, little more than ayear after his own marriage, and the birth of his own son had inevitablyaltered the aspect of things, even to a man uncalculating andsingle-minded as was Evelyn's husband.
"There is actually no one of the name to succeed except myself andBonny," he said to his wife, when the first shock of natural concern forhis cousins' untimely fate had somewhat subsided, "for though Louis wasmarried, he had only two daughters, and poor cousin Marmaduke is nowquite an old man."
"It is very sad," said Evelyn, "very sad, indeed. Shall you write tothem, Duke?"
He hesitated.
"I really can't say," he replied; "I know them so little. And, underthese circumstances, don't you see, I rather shrink from reminding themof my existence just now."
"I don't see that you can help writing," said Evelyn. "The _not_ doingso would be only too marked. And it isn't as if the property wereentailed; it is all _actually_ nothing more to you than to any oneelse."
So Captain Headfort wrote--a short, manly letter of honest sympathy--aletter which, however, in the months that followed, he often more thanhalf regretted, though he was too generous to say so to Evelyn. For itbrought forth no response, not even a formal acknowledgment.
"No doubt," he thought to himself, "they looked upon it as a piece ofofficiousness. However, it was done for the best, and I'll think nomore about it."
Two years later saw Evelyn obliged to return to England with herchildren, for her health had suffered to some extent from the climate,and little Marmaduke--Bonny, as he was called--was growing thin andpale. She had been with her own people for several months, when at lastthe coming of the little-looked-for invitation to visit Wyverston wasannounced to her by her husband, as has been related. Nothing couldhave been more unexpecte
d, Captain Headfort having had no communicationtill now with his cousins. He was even at a loss to explain theirknowing of his wife's return home. And naturally he was anxious torespond cordially to this friendly overture; anxious, perhaps, aboveall, that no considerations of misplaced economy should prevent Evelyn'smaking her debut among his relatives with befitting dignity.
Hence the sensation in the Raynsworths' family circle concerning anevent, on the surface, so simple and commonplace. And no one, perhaps,of all the family party had taken the matter so deeply to heart asPhilippa. It was never out of her head during the few days whichsucceeded her return home, and by night her dreams were haunted byabsurd complications and variations of the theme.
As to Duke's wife herself, the younger sister had no misgivingswhatever.
"Evelyn may be shy," she thought, "but she is never awkward. She canalways be stately if occasion calls for it. And her clothes will be allright; indeed, she looks nice in anything, though I do wish she had someone to help her to put them on. Yes, it is the going without a maidthat spoils it all. I don't know _what_ can be done!"
For the previous day had destroyed the last hope of a temporary maidbeing procurable, and Evelyn, with the touch of _laisser-aller_ inherentin her, and which her life in India had not tended to decrease, had madeup her mind to face Wyverston unattended.
"If only you keep quite well, it won't matter so much," said MrsRaynsworth.
"I shall take care not to let the Headforts know, if I don't," saidEvelyn. "I should hate them to think that Duke had married a limp,delicate sort of a girl, and, unluckily, I always look much more so thanI am."
"But you are not really strong yet," said her mother. "And if you doanything foolish out of a kind of bravado, you may really lay yourselfup, and think how disagreeable that would be!"
Philippa, who was present, glanced at her sister. She was certainlylooking more fragile than usual. The excitement, and, to a certainextent, fatigue of the last few days were telling upon her, and afeeling of additional anxiety came upon the younger girl.
"I shall really not be a bit surprised at anything that happens," shesaid, in a tone of annoyance. "You are quite right, mamma, and I wishyou would frighten Evelyn well. She is sometimes as silly about herselfas if she were no older than Vanda," and the laugh with which MrsHeadfort treated this remonstrance was by no means reassuring.
This conversation took place on Tuesday--Friday was the day fixed forEvelyn's journey. Late on Thursday evening Mrs Raynsworth and hereldest daughter were sitting alone in the drawing-room, or, to be moreexact, Evelyn was lying on a couch while her mother sat beside her.
"Don't look so worried, mamma dear," said the younger woman. "I reallyam better; I don't think there is actually much the matter with me; Ihave just overtired myself a little. I shall be all right once I startto-morrow."
"It is your going alone," said Mrs Raynsworth, despondently.
Evelyn stroked her mother's hand.
"How funny you are!" she said; "you didn't mind it half so much at firstas Philippa did, and now she says nothing more about it, and you havebegun to worry yourself. But as for Philippa, where can she be? I'vescarcely seen her to-day."
"She was out for some time this afternoon," said Mrs Raynsworth. "Iwas rather surprised at it, for she knows I am uneasy about you."
As she spoke, the door opened and her younger daughter entered.
"Where have you been?" said Mrs Headfort; "with papa?"
"No," Philippa replied, "I've been up in my own room."
"You might have stayed with me the last evening," her sister continued,with a touch of reproach. "And I must go to bed immediately--poormamma's unhappy about my looking so ill."
Philippa glanced at her critically.
"I don't wonder," she said; "you certainly are not looking well. Yes, Ithink the best thing you can do is to go to bed. Let me see, what timedo you leave to-morrow?"
"Not till eleven--that's to say, eleven from this house. The train goesat twelve."
Philippa's face grew grave.
"Don't think it horrid of me," she began, "but I can't possibly be hereto say good-bye to you at eleven, or to go to the station with you. I_must_ be at Marlby before then, to-morrow morning."
"Well, if you're to be there, why not come to the station to see meoff?" said Evelyn. "I shall think it rather horrid of you if youdon't!"
"I am very sorry," Philippa replied, "very sorry to seem horrid, but Ican't even see you off."
"How strange you are, Philippa!" exclaimed Mrs Raynsworth. "Youshouldn't have made any pressing engagement for to-morrow morning. Youseemed so anxious about Evelyn!"
"So I am, mamma," Philippa replied, "but the mere fact of my seeing heroff wouldn't do her much good."
But Mrs Raynsworth still looked annoyed. She was feeling reallyanxious and concerned about her elder daughter, and was in consequenceless calm than usual.
"Evelyn," said Philippa, "do come up to bed. I'll stay with you whileyou undress."
Mrs Headfort got up slowly.
"Philippa is queer this evening," she thought to herself. "She's notvery nice to mamma."
"I will come down again in a few minutes," said Philippa, as they leftthe room. "I only want to make sure of Evelyn taking her medicine, andto prevent her going into the nursery again to-night.--What will you dowithout me to look after you," she added, turning to her sister.
"There will be no nursery for me to wander into," said Evelyn, with asigh, "when I feel dull or lonely, as there is here."
Philippa turned quickly.
"But you never do feel dull or lonely--at least not _lonely_, here withmamma and me, surely?" she said, with a touch of reproach.
"Oh, well, no, not in the same way, of course. But there must be timeswhen I feel lonely without Duke, even though I love so being at homewith all of you. It wouldn't be natural if I didn't miss him."
"No, I suppose not," said Philippa, half absently, for in her own mindshe was thinking, "How strange it must be to care for anybody _more_than for one's own people! I cannot picture it to myself at all."
The few minutes she had spoken of to her mother turned out thirty atleast, for more than half an hour had passed before her younger daughterrejoined Mrs Raynsworth in the drawing-room. And even then Philippaseemed so carried away and preoccupied that her mother felt againslightly irritated by her manner.
"Are you very tired this evening, Philippa?" she said at last; "or isthere anything the matter? You don't seem like yourself."
Philippa gave a little start.
"I'm quite well--not the least tired, I mean," she said, quickly. "I amthinking about Evelyn; there is nothing else the matter."
"You mean about her going to-morrow alone?" said Mrs Raynsworth; "I amnot at all happy about it myself. She looks so fragile, poor littlething. She is not nearly as strong as you, Philippa, in any way. Butit is always a satisfaction to me to see how fond you are of each other;she clings to you so. And to tell you the truth, before she and thechildren came to us, I had some misgiving as to how it would be, for youwere practically a child when she married, and those two or three yearsmade all the difference. You had come to be so thoroughly the daughterat home--helping your father and me. I have perhaps never said to youbefore in so many words that I have been very pleased, very gratified byyour whole tone towards and about Evey. You have been unselfish andself-forgetting all through."
The young girl's eyes glistened with pleasure. It was not often thatMrs Raynsworth--as a rule a somewhat silent and undemonstrative woman--expressed herself so unreservedly.
"Dear mamma," said Philippa, "there isn't _anything_ I wouldn't do forEvelyn. And I am so glad, so particularly glad, that you understand it.Thank you so much for what you've said. Now, I think I will go to bedif you don't mind," and she kissed her mother warmly.
"She must be tired, though she won't own to it," thought Mrs Raynsworthas Philippa left the room. "It is generally so difficult to ge
t her togo to bed early," and again the feeling came over her of there beingsomething slightly unusual about her younger daughter that evening.
She would have been still more perplexed and surprised could she haveseen Philippa an hour or two later in her own room. For long after thewhole household was asleep, the girl was busily sewing at variousarticles of her attire, altering them and modifying them with the helpof some small purchases she had made that afternoon. And when at lastall was completed to her satisfaction, she drew out a small light trunk,already partially packed, which she proceeded to fill.
"I think that will do," she said to herself, as she stood up andsurveyed it with satisfaction. "With this and a hand-bag, and thethings I'll manage to get into Evelyn's roll of rugs, I am sure I shallhave all I need. Now I've only to write my letter of explanation tomamma. Dorcas must give it to her when it is quite certainly too lateto overtake me."
And half an hour later she was in bed and fast asleep, her mother'swords having removed any misgivings she had felt as to what she wasabout to do.
Mrs Headfort looked a little better the next morning, thanks to a goodnight's rest; thanks also,
Philippa Page 4