A Colony of Girls

by Kate Livingston Willard

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS.

  September with its bright, warm days and cool nights was at hand. Thegayeties of the summer were a thing of the past, and the little colonyof girls had settled down into the old routine of life, "exactly as weused to before the _Vortex_ came," Mollie Andrews said complacently.No voice was raised in contradiction, and yet, perhaps no heart quiteechoed the sentiment.

  Jean faced her trouble bravely and without complaint, but the efforttold on her as the days passed by, and she grew frail and slender, andan expression of deep sadness lingered in her soft eyes; but thechange in her took place so slowly, so gradually, that no one seemedto be aware of it. As the days shortened, they would spend theirevenings over the wood fire in the manor drawing-room, reading aloudfrom some favorite book of poetry or prose. Jean invariably found aplace on the divan in the corner, and when someone rallied her on herlazy habit, she only smiled faintly and nestled down among thecushions. One cold, gusty evening, when the rain beat against thewindowpanes and the wind howled dismally about the house, Eleanor tookup a volume of poems from the table and began to read a poem called"Oenone." Helen's eyes unconsciously sought Jean's face. It was halfturned away, and one little hand made shift to shield it, but Helendistinctly saw two great tears steal silently down from under theclosed lids.

  This set her heart to aching, and alone in her room that night shepondered long what could be done for her poor little sister. In theend she penned a letter, which in the morning she carried herself tothe post-office, and anxiously awaited the result.

  Before October had well-nigh come around, Jean was really ill; so illthat Aunt Helen, and even thoughtless Nathalie, were seriouslyconcerned. All day long she would lie on the sofa in her room,scarcely speaking save in response to some direct question that wasput to her, and all through the long hours of the night her tired eyesnever closed.

  "I don't think she ever sleeps," Nathalie confided to Helen one day ina troubled voice. "Whenever I speak to her she is always wide-awake,and once or twice I have thought I heard her crying."

  Helen shook her head sadly, and watched the mails with an increasingimpatience for the answer to her letter. It came at last, and when shehad read it through hurriedly, she went at once to Jean's room, andsitting down beside her, took her cold little hands in hers.

  "Do you feel so badly to-day, dear?" she said tenderly.

  "No, Helen, only very tired."

  The sigh with which these words were spoken went right to Helen'sheart.

  "Would you like to go away where you would have a complete change ofscene?"

  Jean raised herself on her elbow, and turned an eager eye toward hersister.

  "Oh, yes. I want to go away. It's the only thing in the world I reallywant, and oh, I want it so very much. Helen, I--I can't stay here."Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't you see how hard it is for me?"

  Helen bent down and kissed her.

  "Well, darling, I have arranged it for you, and I have only beenwaiting for this letter to tell you that it was all right. You see, Ididn't want to speak to you, dear, until everything was settled. Now,shall I read you what the letter says?"

  "Yes."

  Helen drew the letter from her pocket and unfolded it:

  "I am so sorry to hear that poor little Jean is not well. It is hard to imagine her otherwise than rosy and smiling. I think with you that probably a change of scene would do her more good than all the medicines in the world, and I see my way clear at once to carry out your proposition. My aunt, Mrs. Fay, crosses in the middle of October to join us here in Paris, and I want you to send Jean over with her. The ocean trip will be the first step toward recovery, and you must trust to our watchful care and the newness of her surroundings to complete the cure."

  Helen paused and Jean broke in hurriedly, a faint color rising in herpale cheeks:

  "Dear old Guy! how like him, always thoughtful, always tender. OHelen, yes; let me go. I would be so glad to, and I know it would dome good."

  "Would you be happy with Guy and his mother, Jean?"

  Jean's sad eyes met her sister's for a moment, and then were slowlyaverted.

  "I love them both dearly," she answered gently, "and I want aboveeverything to go away from Hetherford. Please help me to do this,Helen. You will gain Auntie's consent."

  And with this reply Helen was fain to be content. She had refrainedfrom reading aloud the closing lines of Guy's letter, which, runningthus, had made her heart beat strangely:

  Our plans are somewhat indefinite. My aunt does not care to spend more than two months over here, and it is her intention to return home at Christmas time. If a stay of this duration should effect Jean's cure she might return with her, for there is a chance that she may be homesick so far away from you all. It would be very pleasant to return home at this sweet season. My own thoughts turn that way so often. Helen, can you never hold out any hope to me? Must this season of peace come and go, leaving my heart as lonely as ever? Must I wait forever, in strange lands, for one word from you? Forgive me if I do wrong to write you thus, but your letter has undone me.

  Faithfully yours, GUY APPLETON.

  In less than two weeks Jean Lawrence sailed for Europe under the careof Mrs. Fay. A sense of desolation inwrapped the manor. The weatherwas sharp and cold and the sweet warm summer seemed a dream, and everylittle thing that recalled it gave the girls a pang. Emily Varian haddeparted, and both the Hills and Andrews were about to turn theirfaces cityward.

  One crisp morning, when the wind blew fresh from the northwest,Eleanor came out from the inn with Cliff Archer at her side andstarted briskly forth in the direction of the parsonage. Eleanor'sface wore an expression of deep dejection, and Cliff, observing this,made comment on it:

  "You are down on your luck."

  Eleanor smiled somewhat dubiously:

  "It is in the air, Cliff. I don't know what is the matter with us all.Our good spirits seem to have deserted us with Jean."

  There was a brief silence, broken by Archer. He spoke slowly, as ifnot quite sure of his ground:

  "It was in the air before Jean went away, I think. It strikes me thatshe was fully under its influence herself."

  Eleanor shot a glance at her companion:

  "Jean was not well, you know."

  "And there was a cause. Come, Eleanor, let us be frank. You may trustmy affection for Jean to keep me from prying into her affairs, butsome things this summer were quite too patent to be disregarded."

  "I don't know what you mean," Eleanor interposed hurriedly.

  "Oh, yes, you do. It is natural for you to shield Jean, because fromyour point of view, she has been badly treated. Well, I don't agreewith you in that. If ever a man was honestly in love, that man wasValentine Farr. I don't pretend to know what the trouble was betweenthem, but I have a suspicion, on general principles, that jealousy wasat the bottom of it. I don't believe that Jean's was well founded andI wish she had a friend who felt at liberty to tell her so. I havekept silent for a long time, too long perhaps; but now I have set theball rolling, and shall await results."

  They were in the parsonage grounds now, and Eleanor paused and laidher hand lightly on Cliff's arm.

  "I would do anything in the world for Jean, as you know, Cliff, but Ifeel too much in the dark to take any step at present. You may beright; indeed, I think you are; but remember neither you nor I arequite sure of Jean's feeling on the subject, and it is a very delicatematter to meddle with."

  "I would risk it," smiled Cliff.

  After a moment he spoke again, in a tone of deeper earnestness:

  "A very grave trouble can arise from a slight misunderstanding,Eleanor. I wish, dear, that you and I could put that possibility outof reach. I have tried to be patient, but when I see so much sorrowbrought about undoubtedly by a lack of frankness and confidence, Itremble for our future. If you do care for me, dear, why will you no
ttell me so? Surely you cannot doubt the sincerity of my love for you."

  Eleanor raised her eyes to her lover's face.

  "I think you know, Cliff----" she began, when Nan's voice broke inupon them.

  "Hello! Now what are you two doing, philandering in this secludedspot?"

  "Talking of subjects quite beyond your ken, my dear," drawled Clifflazily.

  "You won't catch your train if you don't come down to mother earth,"laughed Nan.

  Archer consulted his watch, and then bade the girls a hurried good-byand started off for the station. Nan linked her arm in Eleanor's andthey proceeded leisurely to the parsonage, talking as they went. Onesentence remained in Nan's mind, awakening there a long train ofthought.

  "The summer is over, Nan, and we are about to disband. We have,perhaps, had more gayety and less real happiness than in the yearsgone by. I think you know as well as I the reasons for this. You arethe only one, I think, who could set some crooked matters straight.Suppose you see what you can do?"

  Enigmatical as the words were, Nan understood their purpose, and when,on the last evening before the Andrews and the Hills were to leaveHetherford, they assembled at the manor, she had quite determined tofollow Eleanor's suggestion. It was a custom of long standing for Nan,Mollie, and Eleanor to spend the last night of the season with theLawrence girls, to talk over the events of the summer and toanticipate the future.

  To-night, as they gathered around the wide fireplace in thedrawing-room, a certain sadness hovered over them, subduing theirvoices, breaking the conversation with frequent spaces of silence.Their hearts were full of thoughts that were left unspoken. Jean'sabsence made itself strongly felt among them, so closely was sheassociated with every like occasion in the past.

  "Nothing seems real without her," said Eleanor drearily. "This partingis like no other."

  "I hate partings anyway," cried Mollie. "I am always so afraid that wewill not come together again quite in the old way!"

  "All things must change To something new, to something strange!"

  quoted Helen.

  "Now, girls, this is nonsense," exclaimed Nathalie, struggling withthe lump that would rise in her throat. "Jean is going to have asplendid time, and will come home as strong and well as ever, and atChristmas time you will all come up here and we will have a grandreunion."

  No answer to Nathalie's cheerful prediction suggested itself, andHelen made a welcome diversion by announcing that it was bedtime.

  "Nan, will you share my room?" she asked as they were on their wayupstairs.

  "Well, I should think so. I particularly want to have a good talk withyou alone."

  "That is nice. I am just in the humor for it, too."

  When they had donned their wrappers Helen threw herself down on thesofa before the open fire, and Nan knelt down on the hearthstone tostir the logs into a brighter blaze.

  "A cheerful fire is always inspiring to me," she said explanatorily."I can talk so much better when I am thoroughly warm and cozy."

  Helen smiled indulgently.

  "All right, Nan; make yourself comfie, and then talk to me."

  The flames were crackling up the chimney now, and Nan settled herselfon the hearthrug with a sigh of satisfaction.

  "Do you think Jean will be happy so far away from you all?"

  "She wanted very much to go," Helen replied evasively.

  "Yes, I know that. Helen, Jean was not happy before she went away. Didyou not see it?"

  Helen did not speak, and after a moment Nan resumed quietly:

  "Yes, Jean was unhappy, and yet Mr. Farr loved her dearly."

  Helen sat up and looked at her friend in blank astonishment.

  "Why, Nan----"

  "Dear, I couldn't help guessing it. Indeed, I don't mean to beimpertinent, but I believe Mr. Farr was in love with Jean, and I can'tbear to see everything going wrong, when a little common sense wouldset it right."

  "I am afraid it would take more than that, Nan. Mr. Farr is in lovewith Lillian, I think, and probably he meant nothing by his attentionsto Jean."

  "He may have been in love with Miss Stuart once, but he is not now,"declared Nan in a tone of conviction.

  "You are mistaken, Nan. I am sure you are."

  "I think not," returned Nan stubbornly. "I have had my eyes wide open,and I believe I am right."

  "Then why did he treat Jean so?" demanded Helen. "Toward the end ofhis stay here he hardly ever came to the manor, and he went awaywithout even calling to say good-by. In fact I don't think Jean knewthe _Vortex_ was going."

  But Nan's opinion was quite unshaken. She dropped her chin in her handand stared thoughtfully into the fire.

  "I will tell you something," she said impressively. "The afternoonbefore the _Vortex_ left, I was on my way to the inn, when from adistance I saw Mr. Farr turn in at the manor gates. You remember thatshortly after Bridget came over for me, and I was so cross at havingto leave our game of tennis?"

  Helen nodded, and Nan went on:

  "Well, on my way over I saw Mr. Farr come out from the manor grounds.His cap was drawn down over his eyes, and so lost was he in his ownthoughts that he passed me on the other side of the road, and did noteven see me. There was something in his whole figure and bearingexpressive of disappointment and unhappiness. Oh, you needn't lookincredulous," turning her head to scan Helen's face. "A person'scarriage is often most expressive."

  "I wasn't looking incredulous, Nan, I was only wondering what pointyou were going to make out of all this."

  "That Mr. Farr did go to the manor to say good-by to Jean. I don'tthink he could have seen her, for from the time he went in the manorgates until he left them again, he could only have walked to the doorand right back again without stopping."

  "I know he didn't," said Helen quietly, "for Jean told me so." Shehesitated a moment, then added: "Lillian was at home that afternoon."

  Nan's face grew downcast.

  "I don't believe he went to see Miss Stuart," she persisted, somewhatunreasonably. "I believe that there was some great mistake somewhere.I knew," she went on, as Helen did not reply, "that Jean was surprisedto find that he and Miss Stuart were old friends. He may not have toldher, but that was probably accidental. At any rate that was thebeginning of the difficulty, and every incident from there on servedto widen the breach. Jean thought she had been willfully deceived, andMiss Stuart was not loath to lend herself to strengthen thatconviction."

  "I don't see how you can blame Lillian," objected Helen irritably. "Itwas not her fault that Mr. Farr was in love with her. I think theywere once engaged;" this last somewhat fearfully, for she did not knowthat she was doing right to betray her friend's secret.

  Nan shrugged her shoulders:

  "That may be, but it is only a greater reason why he is not in lovewith her now."

  This bit of worldly cynicism struck on deaf ears, for Helen wasrevolving many things in her mind.

  "There are, of course, many things that I cannot attempt to explain,"Nan continued, "but I still hold to my belief that Mr. Farr cared forJean. I like him, and I don't believe he would ever have deliberatelydeceived her."

  A brief pause ensued.

  "Nan," said Helen, "I wish the _Vortex_ had never come to anchorhere. Everything has gone wrong since then."

  "Be fair, Helen. Are you sure the fault lay there? It seems to me thateverything went happily until----"

  "Until when? Go on, Nan."

  "Until Miss Stuart came."

  Helen, who had been half-sitting up, with her head propped on herhand, dropped back among the cushions with a heavy sigh.

  "I don't know why you should think so. You are prejudiced againstLillian, and harsh in your thoughts of her. I am not at all sure thatit is fair."

  Nan gained her feet, and looked gravely down at her friend:

  "Is it not true, dear? Think, Helen. Have not many things gone wrongsince your acquaintance with Miss Stuart? Oh! I am sure of it, quitesure."

  Unbroken silence.

>   "Are you angry with me, Helen?" Nan asked at length.

  "No, no."

  "May I say something still further, dear?"

  "Of course; I know you would never willfully be unkind."

  Nan sat down on the sofa:

  "Things have gone wrong since the day you met Miss Stuart, and thereason is that you persisted in a friendship of which Guy so stronglydisapproved. Tell me, Helen, was it not Miss Stuart who separated youfrom Guy? Was it not on her account that you quarreled?"

  "I suppose so; but Guy was very strange and unreasonable, and I likedLillian; her friendship was very sweet."

  "O Helen, you had known Guy all your life; you should have relied onhis judgment, you should have trusted him. Do you think that for anylight or insufficient reason he would have thwarted you? Had he notalways shown himself thoroughly unselfish in everything that concernedyou? You did him a very cruel wrong when you mistrusted him, Helen;and I don't see how you could have been so cold when he loved you so."

  For answer, Helen raised her eyes and looked at Nan through her tears.

  "I want to help you to see what a mistake you have made," Nancontinued gently. "You had grown used to Guy, his devotion was such anold story that you thought you did not love him. Miss Stuart's greatbeauty fascinated you, and she soon found it easy to bend you to herwill. Forgive me, darling, but this once I must speak bluntly. Manyand many a time you would have gone back to your allegiance to Guy hadshe not willed it otherwise, and had he, poor fellow, not taken theworst course for his cause. It was foolish for him to go away, but Guynever could bear half-measures. Since then you have almost learned toknow Lillian Stuart for yourself. Yet, even to this day, you blindyourself about her. I sometimes am tempted to think it is simplybecause she is so beautiful."

  Helen started up, her face ablaze.

  "Nan, Nan, you are unjust. You despise me because I gave Guy up, butI tell you I realized I did not love him before I ever saw LillianStuart. I do love her."

  "Pshaw," interrupted Nan indignantly. "Guy Appleton is the best andtruest man in the world, and you must have loved him if you had notbeen unduly influenced. There, dear, don't be angry. You know how fondI am of Guy, and how keenly I took his disappointment to heart. Heloved you so, Helen, and he was so miserable."

  "Please spare me, Nan," murmured Helen brokenly.

  "I can't spare you, dear. If your mistakes had simply made you suffer,I would never have said a word, but it is not so. Miss Stuart hascrossed Jean's path, and for her sake I have spoken."

  "If it is true, if I were sure of it, I would want to die."

  "Dying would not do any good. Live, and some day it may be in yourpower to put an end to all this sorrow."

  "Nan, are you sure that Mr. Farr is in love with Jean?"

  "Not sure, Helen, but I think so."

  "What can I do?"

  "Nothing at present. We must wait, and see what happens. Oh! I am veryhopeful for the future."

  When they were in bed and the lights were out, Nan ventured to ask:

  "Don't you think Guy will ever return to Hetherford?"

  "I don't know, dear," Helen replied, with a sound of tears in hervoice.

  Nan longed to shake her, to say "You ought to know; it depends solelyupon you; why don't you do something about it?" but she felt she hadgone far enough for one night, and turning over on her pillow, fellfast asleep.

  Nan was only a country-bred lass, and yet not all her separation fromthe world and from her fellow-creatures could shut her out from anunerring comprehension of human nature. Her wide sympathies taught herto understand Helen's coldness toward a lover whose one fault was thathe had demanded too little and yielded too much; and she was toothorough an artist not to fully appreciate the wonderful spell thatbeauty such as Miss Stuart's casts upon certain natures.

  The next day the rain came down in sheets, and nothing drearier couldbe imagined than the Hetherford station, where Helen and Nathalieawaited the arrival of their friends, who were to depart on the trainwhich was now almost due. Presently the old omnibus backed up to theplatform, and from its damp interior the Hills and Andrews slowlyemerged, their faces as gloomy as the leaden sky above, as they wentthrough the irksome task of buying tickets and checking trunks. Nancame rushing in upon the scene just as the train drew up at thestation. There were a few hurried words of farewell, and then, with aclanging of bells and puffing of steam, the train sped on its way tothe far-off city. When the three girls clambered into the Lawrences'great closed rockaway, they felt sorely tempted to give way to tearsand lamentations. The horses splashed through the mud, the rain beatagainst the windowpanes, the east wind wailed and sighed through thetrees. Nan got out at the parsonage, and in silence the two sistersdrove on to the manor. Nathalie threw off her hat and coat, andseating herself at the big table in the center of the hall-way, begana long letter to Jean. From the fireside Helen watched her for a fewmoments and then mounted slowly to her room, feeling too dispiritedfor even Aunt Helen's society.

  By and by a soft little voice from without begged for admission, andshe opened the door and gladly drew Gladys into the room.

  "Baby, you are just the little girlie I wanted. Sister feels very dulland lonely to-day."

  "Me too," echoed Gladys, as she climbed into her lap.

  "Well, well, that is too bad. We shall have to comfort each other."

  "What is comfort, sister?"

  "Comfort, Dolly? Why to comfort anyone is to try to make them happywhen something is troubling them."

  "Auntie says I'se her comfort," Gladys affirmed, with a wise littlenod of her head.

  "So you are, pet, and not only Auntie's, but mine too."

  The child nestled down contentedly in her sister's arms. Her big eyes,wandering about the room, rested at length upon a large folding frameof photographs which stood on the mantel.

  "I wish Jeanie didn't go 'way," she said in a pathetic little voice.

  "What made you think of Jean, dear?"

  "'Cause I just was lookin' at her picture."

  Helen lifted her eyes to the mantel.

  "So you were. We all miss Jean very much, don't we, darling?"

  "Who's that, sister?" asked Gladys, pointing to the photograph next tothe one of Jean.

  "Don't you know?"

  "I kind of 'member, but I ain't sure."

  "Have you forgotten Mr. Appleton, Gladys--Guy Appleton?" queried Helenin a low tone.

  "Oh, now I 'member," cried Gladys gleefully. "Don't you know thelittle kitty he gave me? Larry harnessed her to my little wed cart,an' she wan up the willow tree with it." And at the recollection, thechild burst into a merry peal of laughter.

  Helen laughed, too, in sympathy, and then it came back to her hownicely Guy had spoken to the children, telling them that what was funto them was suffering to poor kitty, and impressing upon them howunkind and cowardly it was to be cruel to any living creature.

  They talked on thus, this big and little sister, until twilight hadcome. Then Helen put the child down from her lap, and sent her off tothe nursery for her supper. As she turned back into the room, her eyescould just discern the outline of the frame upon the mantel, butalthough the photographs within it were quite obscured by the dusk,Guy's face rose before her with startling distinctness. She droppedinto a chair, and a dismal little laugh broke from her.

  "Oh, dear, I wish Gladys and Nan had both kept still. Now I don't knowwhat I do want."

  Week followed week monotonously, with little to mark the flight oftime save the arrival of letters from Jean and the Appletons. Jeanwrote cheerfully, declaring that she was much better and in excellentspirits, but Mrs. Appleton's reports were much less encouraging.

  "Jean never complains," she wrote, "and seems filled with a restlessdesire to keep constantly on the move, but she still looks veryfragile, and I sometimes fear that all at once she will break downcompletely. However, you must not be anxious, about her, for perhaps Iam needlessly so. Mrs. Fay expects to return home at Christmas time,and I imag
ine that by then Jean will be quite ready to accompany her."

  The last week in November Helen went to town to spend Thanksgivingwith the Hills.

  "It seemed almost selfish to take you away from Nathalie," Eleanorsaid, as they drove rapidly away from the station through the noisy,crowded streets, "but I was longing for a sight of someone fromHetherford, and I thought it would be such fun to begin to do ourChristmas shopping together. A little later the shops are so terriblyovercrowded."

  The first few days of Helen's visit were passed chiefly in this wise,and partly because her time was so fully occupied, and partly becauseof a curiously uncomfortable feeling which she could not shake off,she neglected to let Miss Stuart know that she was in town. On thefourth evening after her arrival they dined at a famous restaurantwith an uncle and aunt of Eleanor's and two youths of the _jeunessedoree_. Helen had felt very shy at first, but this was fast wearingoff, and she was talking quite naturally and pleasantly with hercompanion, when a party of two ladies and half a dozen men entered theroom, and selecting a table at a short distance from where Eleanor andher friends were seated, grouped themselves about it; their loudtalking and easy assurance attracting universal attention. Helenstared at them a little curiously, and then, as one of the ladies drewoff her long tan gloves and let her gaze wander slowly around theroom, she gave a sudden start. At the same instant the lady's glancemet Helen's, and the recognition was mutual. Miss Stuart gracefullyinclined her head, a certain surprise in her eyes, and Helen flushedcrimson as she returned the bow.

  "Why, there is Miss Stuart," exclaimed Eleanor. "I can't imagine whyshe chooses such a companion as Mrs. Desborough."

  "And why should Miss Stuart be so particular?" laughed the man at herside. "It would be the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't it?"

  Eleanor broke in hurriedly, with some totally irrelevant remark, butthe words had reached Helen's ears. The color died out of her face,and from that moment her companion found her silent and absent-minded.As they passed out of the restaurant, Miss Stuart bowed smilingly toEleanor and turned a steady level glance on Helen.

  "Who were you bowing to?" asked Mrs. Desborough from the other side ofthe table.

  "To Miss Hill and her friend Miss Lawrence," Miss Stuart replied alittle stiffly.

  "What?" laughed the man at her side, "not that demure little girl whowas dining with Miss Hill?"

  "The very same. She is a great friend of mine."

  "Oh, come now, don't tell me that. You two never hit it off together."

  Miss Stuart frowned.

  "You will oblige me by not discussing the subject," she returned, in atone so unlike her usual careless, flippant one that her companion wasimpressed by it. "I like her infinitely better than any woman I haveever known."

  "By Jove, I believe you are in earnest!"

  "Don't believe anything," she answered sharply, and turning to the manon her left plunged at once into a reckless flirtation.