CHAPTER XIX.
WHO IS HE?
Five years had elapsed. Meg was eighteen; she had distanced all hercompetitors, and she was the head-pupil of Miss Reeves' establishment.
During those years she still remained somewhat of a solitary in theschool. The girls who had been her first schoolfellows had all left. Bythe succeeding girls, Meg was still called repellent by some, attractiveby others.
As time went on the mystery of her origin, about which her schoolmatesstill busied themselves, pained and humiliated her with greaterpoignancy. She longed to be allowed to know and love her benefactor.When questioned as to who she thought she was--how she had come by thename of Beecham--she felt inclined to answer bitterly: "Do not call meby my name. It would be more convenient to call me by a number, as I amtold the prisoners are called. Let me say I am number 18 or 24."
Mr. Standish still held an ever-present if somewhat dim place in thebackground of Meg's consciousness. It was a quaint half-goblinremembrance. The link between them seemed sundered forever. She hadnever heard from him since their parting. To Ursula alone she had spokenof that solitary time, of the friend who had been kind to her, and ofthe fashion-plate which had been sacred to her as her mother's portrait.To her alone she had shown her treasured presents. One day Ursulasuggested that her mysterious protector was Mr. Standish. That the sternold gentleman was perhaps a guardian appointed by this friend in hisabsence. Meg had disclaimed the possibility. Yet the thought that hemight be lingered in her mind. As a child loves wonderland, so she dweltupon Ursula's suggestion. She reasoned herself out of it. She laughed atit, yet it remained. Was he not the only one who had cared for her inher unsheltered childhood?
"Describe him to me," Ursula had once asked.
"I cannot," Meg answered. "It is strange. I can remember a tie hewore--dark-blue, dotted over with tiny horseshoes; and I remember a pairof slippers he had, with big red roses on the toes. I remember hishands, and the color of his hair."
"And you can't remember his face?" Ursula said in tones ofdisappointment.
"Perhaps if I saw him I might," answered Meg reflectively. "It is solong ago, I have a very dim recollection of his features. They beamedwith kindness, and he was kind to me." And then she would tell again themany kind things he had done, the memory of which she held sacred. "Ah,"she continued, "I used to be unable to think and speak of those thingswithout tears, but now you see my eyes are quite dry."
Once Meg asked Mr. Fullbloom if Mr. Standish was her guardian. Theelderly lawyer she had once known was dead. His brother was now therepresentative of her unknown benefactor. He alone visited her from theoutside world. The solicitor chuckled, as if he were amazingly tickledby this question, but he answered it neither in the affirmative nor thenegative.
Mr. Horace Fullbloom was cheery and gray-headed; his sparkling browneyes were surrounded by crinkles, suggestive of puckers made by laughterrather than by age. His appearance suggested a mischievous humor. Likehis brother, he was a bit of a dandy. He also wore a frilled shirt, animpressive bloodstone ring on his little finger, and he sported a silversnuffbox. The solicitor was a favorite with the girls. His cynicism wasthe sunshine of cynicism. He chaffed them with paternal familiarity,watching them with amused benevolence. He seemed to regard them asbelonging to a species not deserving any serious thought or treatment.Meg especially interested him. He always questioned her kindly aboutherself, and apparently relished the little tiffs that marked theirintercourse.
These tiffs were caused by Meg's endeavors to find out the name of hermysterious benefactor, and by the humorous banter with which thesolicitor evaded her curiosity. She had dreams of that human providencewho stood between her and destitution. Every noble personality she heardor read of became associated in Meg's mind with the thought of herguardian hero. The banter with which Mr. Fullbloom met her inquiries didnot prevent Meg from waiting and watching for the feverish moment whenshe would again question him. Was it the stern old gentleman sheremembered who twice had appeared to her? If it were, what was his name?If it were not, who was it, then?
To the teasing humor with which the solicitor asked her why she wantedso much to know, she answered, "Because I am grateful."
"But gratitude, my dear," said Mr. Fullbloom, tapping his snuffbox,"wants an object. Suppose I were to tell you it was the big stonefigure on the gate, or some old parchment will and testament that isyour guardian. What then? Would you feel grateful to those bloodlesspatrons?"
"I would be grateful to one who remembered and thought of me were heliving or dead," said Meg.
"Perhaps if he be alive he is a gruff, disagreeable old curmudgeon; youmight be afraid of him--you might not like him!"
Meg was not to be baffled by such answers. She wanted to know who it wasshe had a right to love and be grateful to. It was such pain to her alsoto live among people who kept wondering who she was.
More than once she put into the solicitor's hands a letter, that sheasked him to deliver to her unknown friend; but to these missives, thathe invariably took away with him, Mr. Fullbloom never brought an answer.To her demand, had he delivered her letters, Mr. Fullbloom returnedtantalizing answers. One day he admitted that he had put them all, everyone, into the pillar post.
"But not as they were, without an address?" Meg asked in consternation.
"That was no concern of mine. I posted them," said Mr. Fullbloom.
"But where did my letters go?" she cried.
"Perhaps one went to Surrey; perhaps another found its way to YorkMinster; perhaps a third was carried by fate to its rightful owner," thesolicitor replied with a chuckle, and eyes twinkling with the light ofmischief. With a little burst of anger, Meg told him that if he wouldnot tell her who her protector was she would rather not see him; it wasso painful not to know to whom she owed all this gratitude.
After this scene a long interval elapsed, during which Mr. Fullbloom didnot appear; till inconsistently Meg began to long for him to come andvisit her again.
It was the eve of the Easter holidays. The school was breaking up. Meghad formed a resolution. This resolution helped her to bear the painthat always accompanied the approach of the holidays. The eager plansshe heard her comrades discussing were ever an occasion of pain to hersensitive nature, bringing her loneliness home more keenly.
The gentle independence that now marked Meg's manner had grown upon herof late; the stern necessity of self-support that, since her childhood,had governed her thoughts and actions, had become the ruling instinct ofher life. She had determined to be no longer a burden to her protector,and the resolve heightened her spirits. Dreaming is the employment ofthe idle, and Meg's life was one of action.
If something of the vividness that had distinguished her glance andexpression in childhood seemed to have passed away, it was rathersubdued or merged in a look, as of a habit of thought now usual to her.Meg's appearance was a matter of discussion in the school; some calledher beautiful, others vowed she was plain. Her soft, silky "no color"hair--"mousey hair" Ursula called it--went charmingly with hercomplexion; it obtruded somewhat heavily over her forehead, for she wasinclined to be careless about her dress. Her beauty was of the sort thatyou do not think of analyzing. It grew upon the beholder, who invariablydiscovered that her features possessed beauty of form, and that thewhole physiognomy had the charm that is magnetic.
Meg had been contemplating writing to Mr. Fullbloom to tell him theresolve she had taken, when his presence was announced in thedrawing-room.
"Well, my dear," said the solicitor, taking her two hands in his, "hereI am. I did not dare to show myself before I could communicate news. Youcommanded me the last time I saw you not to appear in your presenceuntil I brought you tidings of your guardian."
"I was sorry I said that," replied Meg. "I have missed you. I did notthink you would obey me so implicitly."
"Not after such a definite command!" Eh? exclaimed the solicitor,jerking his head on one side and surveying her with his superficiallysmiling glance. "Well, now,
what news of yourself, little lady?" hecontinued, leading her to a chair and sitting down beside her.
"I have passed my examination," said Meg. "I am now at the head of theschool."
Mr. Fullbloom put his hand on his heart and bowed.
"A modern Aspasia!" he replied as Meg paused, and seemed to hesitate."Come," he went on, "when is our tiff to begin? I must have my tiffabout the great Unknown."
"No," said Meg gently, "we shall have no more tiffs. I have made up mymind I will ask no more questions; and if possible, I shall ceasewondering concerning myself. Whoever my benefactor may be, I am gratefulto him--grateful from my heart. I wish I could prove my gratitude tohim. I wish it so much that I cannot but think it will be granted to meto do so some day."
"Perhaps it will--and sooner than you think," exclaimed Mr. Fullbloom."Ha! ha!" he went on tantalizingly, the flicker of mischief alight inhis eyes as Meg looked up inquiringly. "You have just been saying youwould not wonder any more.
"You would not be curious. Ha! ha! Mrs. Blue Beard, you would pry intoany forbidden closet--you know you would--to find out that secret."
"No," repeated Meg, "I will not be curious any more. There must be somereason--some reason that I ought to respect. You will, I know, tell mykind friend, who he or she may be, that I am grateful; also, that I havetaken a great resolve."
"Indeed!" said Fullbloom with evident enjoyment. "May I ask what it is?"
"I will not be dependent any longer. I am going to earn my ownlivelihood," replied Meg.
"How valorous we are, all of a sudden!" said Mr. Fullbloom, chuckling asif immensely tickled by the idea of Meg earning her livelihood.
"No, not all of a sudden!" said Meg with energy. "I have long thought ofit. My wishes, my dreams have long been to be independent; to be nolonger a pensioner on the bounty of one whose very name is unknown tome. I am going to be a governess. Miss Reeves has heard of a situation,the duties of which she thinks I am fitted to undertake--to teach threelittle girls in the country. The salary is thirty pounds. I won't bedependent any longer," repeated Meg with concentration.
"Miss Reeves and the three little girls go to Jericho!" cried Mr.Fullbloom. Then taking Meg's two hands in his paternal grasp, "My dearchild," he said, "you have long wished to know your benefactor's name.To-morrow you will know it. You will not only know it, but you will beon a visit to him. He sends me to invite you down to stay at his placein the country."
"To-morrow!" repeated Meg. "On a visit to him! Who, then, is he?"
"Ha! ha!" cried Mr. Fullbloom gleefully. "All that fine assumption ofhaving laid curiosity aside, where is it? No, no, no; not till to-morrowwill you know anything about it."
"But where am I to go? Who am I to ask for?" cried Meg.
"Listen, my dear," explained Mr. Fullbloom, giving an occasionalemphasis to his words by a pressure of Meg's hands. "You are to go toLondon first, then to the station of the North-Western Railway. MissReeves will go with you thus far; she will take a first-class ticket foryou. You must take the train that leaves London at a quarter to three. Iwill be at Greywolds Station to meet you at half-past five. It takesover three hours to get to Greywolds."
Meg felt a sudden recoil as she realized how near she was to the meetingshe had dreamed of so long.
"Don't trouble your little head about money. All that is settled. MissReeves will make the necessary preparations. You have nothing to do butattend to the farewells. I must be off now. I am going to Greywoldsto-night. I have an appointment with your mysterious patron."
Mr. Fullbloom's eyes were brimming over with elvish laughter, as withanother pressure of Meg's two hands he turned away. He left her standingsilent and chill, under the impression of that sudden revulsion offeeling.
Meg's Friend: A Story for Girls Page 19