Aunt Kitty's Tales

by Madame Guizot

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE DISCLOSURE.

  The day was past, the visiters from the village had left us, and we weregathered around the parlor fire to spend our last evening together, forthe next morning our little party at Hazel Grove would separate. Mrs.Wilmot had promised to return home with me for the holidays. Grace hadlong ago promised to spend that time with Clara, and Mrs. Wilmot hadbeen prevailed upon to consent that Lucy should accompany her friendMartha.

  The sound of carriage wheels drew Clara and Grace to the window.

  "Oh, Clara!" exclaimed Grace, "it is your father."

  "Yes," said Clara, joyfully, "I know the white horses,--but why do theynot drive to the door? What is papa going to the stables for?"

  The question was soon answered. A servant entered with a note for Mrs.Wilmot; she glanced at it and then handed it to Clara, saying, "There,my dear Clara, you will find there is no further cause for anxiety. Yourfather has been detained by business, but he has sent the carriage foryou and Grace."

  Clara had seized the offered note, and was reading with such eagerness,that I do not think she heard what Mrs. Wilmot said. As she saw from thenote that her father was not coming,--still more, that he would haveleft home before she could arrive there the next day, on business whichmight oblige him to be absent for some weeks--the thought that she musteither keep Cecille waiting during all that time, or make the dreadedbetrayal of her fault to Mrs. Wilmot, oppressed her so much that sheburst into tears.

  "Clara, my dear child, what is the matter?" said Mrs. Wilmot drawing toher side. "This is something more than sorrow at not seeing yourfather." She paused, but Clara did not speak. "Is there any thing youwished him to do for you, my dear? Surely, if there is, you will nothesitate to speak your wish to me." Clara was still silent. "I amgrieved at this silence, Clara, I thought you loved me and confided inmy affection; but perhaps you would rather speak to me alone. Come withme to the library."

  Mrs. Wilmot then left us, leading Clara with her. She closed the librarydoor after her, and we could then hear only the low murmur of her voiceor Clara's heavy sobs. Grace seemed very anxious. She approached thelibrary door at one time as if she was going in,--then went to thefarthest part of the room from it. At length, her mother opened the doorand called her. Grace sprang to the door and was admitted. There wassomething sad in the tone of Mrs. Wilmot's voice, which made me certainthat Clara had told her all; but I did not hear how she had told it,till many days after, when Mrs. Wilmot related the scene to me as I amabout to describe it to you.

  As soon as they entered, Mrs. Wilmot seated herself on a sofa, andplacing Clara by her side, strove to win her confidence by everysoothing and affectionate word and action. At last with great effortClara said, "You will be so angry with me, mamma Wilmot, if I tell you,that you will never love me again."

  "Clara, I am angry only with those who are obstinate in doingwrong--never with those who confess their faults and try to amend."

  "But you will think me so cruel and unjust."

  "Cruel I cannot believe you to have been, Clara, and if you havecommitted an act of injustice, and you may by confiding in me beassisted in making amends for it, it is a new reason, my child, why youshould speak at once. What is it, Clara?" Mrs. Wilmot's eye rested justthen on the locket which she wore on her wrist, and this prompted thequestion--"Clara, did you speak the whole truth to-day when you told methis locket was paid for? Do you owe nothing on it?"

  "No, mamma Wilmot; nothing on that, but I owe--" she stopped.

  "Not Cecille, Clara," said Mrs. Wilmot; "you could not be sothoughtless--so selfish--as to keep her hard earnings from her for asingle day, for any purpose of your own. Speak, my child, and tell me itis not so."

  Clara spoke not--moved not--except that her head sunk lower and lower,till it almost rested on her knees. "Tell me, Clara, if you have donethis wrong, that I may make amends for it at once. Do you owe Cecille?"

  "Yes," faltered Clara.

  Mrs. Wilmot rose, and after calling Grace, seated herself at the librarytable and wrote a few lines to Cecille, in which she was about toenclose the price of a month's tuition, when Grace, who had seen hercounting it out, said, "Mamma, Clara does not owe Cecille so much, shepaid her some."

  "Clara," asked Mrs. Wilmot, "how much do you owe Cecille?"

  "I do not know exactly, ma'am."

  "How much did you pay her?"

  "All that Grace had. I do not know how much it was."

  "How much was it, Grace?"

  "One dollar and fifteen cents, mamma."

  The money was enclosed, Mrs. Wilmot sealed the note and handed it toGrace, bidding her give it to a servant and tell him to take itimmediately to Cecille. "But stay, Grace," she added, laying her hand onher arm and looking into her face, "you owe her nothing?"

  "No, mamma--nothing," said Grace, meeting her mother's eye fully.

  "God bless you, my child, for saving me that pain. I can wear yourbracelet, Grace, with pleasure, for it has cost no one sorrow; but thislocket, Clara,--you must receive it again, for I cannot wear it."

  Mrs. Wilmot, while she was speaking, had taken the bracelet from herarm, and severing with a small penknife the silk which fastened thelocket, replaced the bracelet on her wrist, confining it with a pin, andapproaching Clara, laid the locket on her lap.

  This was the deepest humiliation, the severest punishment that couldhave been inflicted on poor Clara.

  She started up, flinging the now unvalued locket on the floor, andfalling on her knees, clasped Mrs. Wilmot's hand, exclaiming, "Oh, mammaWilmot! forgive me, and love me again."

  Mrs. Wilmot seated herself, and raising Clara, said, "I do forgive you,my child, and it is because I love you, Clara, that I am so deeplypained by your doing wrong; but I must see some effort to amend--someproof that you have learned to regard what belongs to others, before Ican again confide in you. I will give you an opportunity of recoveringmy confidence. You are now in my debt to the amount of one month'spayment of Cecille, for I will return to Grace the money which she lentyou. When, by _economy_ and _self-denial_, you have paid this debt, Ishall think that you have learned that you have no right to gratify evenyour amiable and generous feelings at the expense of another--that youhave learned to be just before you are generous,--and then, Clara, Ishall again confide in you as well as love you. But remember, it must beby _economy_ and _self-denial_, not by any present from your father orany increase of your allowance. When this task is accomplished, give meback the locket, and I will wear it, with both pleasure and pride. Tillthen, you must wear it yourself, Clara. It may be useful to you byreminding you of your task and the reward of your success."

  Clara wept--but more gently. There was now hope before her, and whenMrs. Wilmot kissed her and bade her good-night, though she was sad andhumbled, she was more composed than she had been since telling Cecillethat she could not pay her. Her fault had now been told--there wasnothing to conceal, and this would have made her feel far happier thanshe had done, even had her punishment been much more severe than it was.

  It must have been very mortifying to Clara to wear the locket herselfbefore those who knew for what purpose she had bought it; but so anxiouswas she to regain her mamma Wilmot's good opinion by compliance with herwishes, that she appeared at breakfast the next morning with it on herwrist sewed to a piece of riband. She looked very unlike the lively andhigh-spirited Clara, for she was silent, and if others spoke to her,while answering them, she colored and seemed abashed.

  Mrs. Wilmot had prepared a parting present for each of the children--forthe four youngest, books, for Grace a very handsome paint-box, and forClara, a work-box with many colored silks for her embroidery. Afterbreakfast, calling them to her own room, she delivered these presents tothem, commencing with the youngest. To all except Clara she said, thatthey were premiums or rewards for their good conduct. To Clara she said,the box was a mark of her affection and her approval of her _as ascholar_. Clara felt this distinction, and stood still withoutattempting t
o take her box.

  "Why do you not take it, Clara?" asked Mrs. Wilmot.

  She burst into tears as she replied, "I do not want it, mamma Wilmot,till you can love me just as well as you used to do."

  "I do love you, my dear Clara, just as well as ever," said Mrs. Wilmot,kissing her; "but I will keep the box, since you wish it, until I canrestore to you my full esteem and confidence, and then we will exchangegifts," touching the locket with her finger.

  In an hour after this scene, we had said "good-by" to each other, andwere travelling on our different roads.