by L. T. Meade
cannot help telling you--they are under-bred."
"It must be dreadful, dear; but is it their fault?"
"I fear in a certain measure that this state of things belongs to theirnatures."
"But natures can be altered," said Angela. "At least I believe so."
She gave a queer little twitch to her brows, looking up as she did sofor a moment at Marcia.
"I know," said Marcia, "up to a certain point they can; and people canbe made to see their duty and all that; but I think there are certainnatures which cannot rise beyond certain heights, at least in thisworld; don't you agree with me, Angela?"
"I have not thought about it. I have always thought that `The best forthe highest' ought to be our motto--it ought to be the motto of everyone--the best for the highest, don't you understand?"
"It is yours," said Marcia.
"Well, anyhow," continued Angela, "I am so interested. I'll come andsee you all some day."
"They'd be ever so proud, and so would my stepmother. They think agreat deal about you."
Angela did not reply.
"I am going to stay here for a little," she said, after a pause."Father is quite happy to be with Uncle Herbert, and it is good for himnot to have too much of his roaming life. I will ask him if I may notcome and see you some day. He wouldn't come--he can't bear to go nearNewcastle since dear old Court Prospect was sold."
"I can quite understand that."
"And will you come to see us--are you quite sure you will come duringthe summer?"
"I hope so."
"Do you think those girls will keep their compact?"
"I don't know."
"Do you mean to keep yours if they break it? that the point," saidAngela, and now she leant back against the great clump of fern, andlooked at her companion from under the shade of her black hat. Marciaglanced at her.
"I shall do it," she said.
"It would be somewhat painful for you. Your--your mother has gotaccustomed to you."
"She is not my real mother."
"Ought you to think of that, Marcia? Your real mother doesn't want you;this mother does."
"Yes, I know what you mean, but I will not change; I am determined; Iwill help the girls to do their duty; I will not take their burden fromthem."
"But ought they to consider the care of a mother a burden?" said Angela."I think if I could find my own mother anywhere--"
"Angela, you and they are not made out of the same materials."
"Oh, yes, we are. I should like to talk to them."
"You would have no effect. They would only look at you, and wonder whyyour hat looked different on you from their hats on them, and why youspoke with such a good accent, and why you are so graceful, and theywould be, without knowing it, a little bit jealous."
"You are not talking very kindly of them, are you, Marcia?"
"I don't believe I am; shall we change the subject?"
"Yes, certainly, if you like. What is your plan for the future,Marcia?"
"I will tell you. I have some hopes; I think I have won my stepmotherround very much to my views. She is the sort of woman who can be veryeasily managed, if you only know how to take her. If I had mystepmother altogether to myself and there was no one to interfere, Ishould not be at all afraid. But you see the thing is this--that whileI influence her one day, the others undo all that I have said and donethe next, and this, I fear, will go on for some time. Still, I think Ihave some influence, and I have no doubt when I get back to-night that Ishall find Nesta has not transgressed any very open rules."
"Poor Nesta," said Angela, "I understand her point of view a littlebit--at least, I think I do."
"I don't," said Marcia. "A life without discipline is worth nothing,but we have been very differently trained. Anyhow, I believe that inthree months' time my stepmother will be so much better that she will beable to go downstairs and take her part in the household. Beyond doubther illness is largely fanciful, and when that is the case, and when thegirls have come to recognise the fact that they must devote a portion oftheir time to her, things will go well, and I shall be able to return toFrankfort for another year."
"Oh, delightful," said Angela. "Think of the opera, and the music.Perhaps we might go to Dresden, or to Leipsic. I do want to see thoseplaces and the pictures, and to hear the music, and to do all that is tobe done."
Marcia smiled; she allowed Angela to talk on. By-and-by it was time forthem to return to the railway station. The train was a little late, andMarcia and Angela paced up and down the little platform, and talked asgirls will talk, until at last the local train drew up, and Marcia tookher seat.
She found herself alone with one man. At first she did not recognisehim, then she gave a start. It was Dr Anstruther, the medical man whoattended her mother. He came at once towards her, holding out his hand.
"How do you do, Miss Marcia? I am very glad to see you, and to have thepleasure of travelling with you as far as Newcastle."
Marcia replied that the pleasure was also hers, and then she began toask him one or two questions with regard to her stepmother.
"I cannot tell you how thankful I am," he said, "that you have returned;her case perplexes me a good deal."
"Her case perplexes you, doctor?"
"Well, yes. Things are going from bad to worse."
"But surely," said Marcia, with a little gasp and a tightening at herheart, "you are not seriously alarmed about my stepmother."
"Not seriously alarmed at present, but I soon should be if the presentstate of things went on."
"I always thought," said Marcia, "and I gathered that opinion partlyfrom your words, that her case was not at all serious, and that youbelieved most of her symptoms to be purely imaginary."
"On purpose I always encouraged her to think so, and a good many of hersymptoms are imaginary, or rather they are only the consequence ofweakened nerves; her nerves are very weak."
"But that kind of thing is never dangerous, is it?" said Marcia, whowith her twenty years on her shoulders, and her buoyant strength andyouth, had a rooted contempt for what people called nerves.
"Nervous diseases in themselves are scarcely dangerous, but in yourmother's case there is a serious heart affection, which requires andmust always require, an immensity of care. She has not the slightestidea of that herself, and I should be very sorry to enlighten her on thepoint. I could not tell your sisters, who would not comprehend me if Idid, but I have often been on the point of mentioning the fact to yourfather, or to your brother."
"How long," said Marcia, in a low, strained voice, "how long have youknown this?"
"I have suspected it for a year, but I have been positively certain onlywithin the last three months. I was then called in to attend on yourmother when she had had a very serious collapse. She was quiteunconscious when I got to the house and for a short time I despaired ofher life. She came to, however, and I made as lightly as I could of theattack; but it was then that I told your father I thought he ought tohave somebody more capable of looking after his wife than his youngdaughters. The next day I examined my patient's heart very carefully,and I found that the mischief which would cause such an attack did existto a larger extent than I had the least idea of before."
"When you asked my father to get a more competent nurse for her, whatdid he say?"
"He said he would not have a hired nurse in the house on any terms, andimmediately mentioned you."
"Dr Anstruther, I will also speak plainly to you. There is timeenough, may I?"
"Certainly, Miss Aldworth."
"I am not her real daughter."
"Does that count? She came to you when you were a very little child."
"That is true, and had she no daughter of her own, I should nevermention the fact. I would attend to her as I would my real mother, andbe glad to do so; but she has three daughters of her own; two grown-upand the other quite old enough to be useful."
"That is true."
"They should have taken care of
her."
"They do not know how to, Miss Aldworth. I cannot express to you theneglect that poor woman suffered. She is not very strong-mindedherself, and she never knew how to command, how to order, how to forcethose girls to do their duty. They need some one with a head on hershoulders to guide them. The poor thing drifted and let them drift, andthe state of things was disgraceful. It could not have gone on. Hadyou failed to come, you would soon have had no stepmother to troubleyou."
"I am glad I came," said Marcia, and the tears started to her eyes.
"I