CHAPTER VII. "COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE."
Miss De Sor and Miss Wyvil were still sitting together under the trees,talking of the murder at the inn.
"And is that really all you can tell me?" said Francine.
"That is all," Cecilia answered.
"Is there no love in it?"
"None that I know of."
"It's the most uninteresting murder that ever was committed. What shallwe do with ourselves? I'm tired of being here in the garden. When do theperformances in the schoolroom begin?"
"Not for two hours yet."
Francine yawned. "And what part do you take in it?" she asked.
"No part, my dear. I tried once--only to sing a simple little song. WhenI found myself standing before all the company and saw rows of ladiesand gentlemen waiting for me to begin, I was so frightened that MissLadd had to make an apology for me. I didn't get over it for the rest ofthe day. For the first time in my life, I had no appetite for my dinner.Horrible!" said Cecilia, shuddering over the remembrance of it. "I doassure you, I thought I was going to die."
Perfectly unimpressed by this harrowing narrative, Francine turnedher head lazily toward the house. The door was thrown open at the samemoment. A lithe little person rapidly descended the steps that led tothe lawn.
"It's Emily come back again," said Francine.
"And she seems to be rather in a hurry," Cecilia remarked.
Francine's satirical smile showed itself for a moment. Did thisappearance of hurry in Emily's movements denote impatience to resume therecital of "the dagger-scene"? She had no book in her hand; she nevereven looked toward Francine. Sorrow became plainly visible in her faceas she approached the two girls.
Cecilia rose in alarm. She had been the first person to whom Emily hadconfided her domestic anxieties. "Bad news from your aunt?" she asked.
"No, my dear; no news at all." Emily put her arms tenderly round herfriend's neck. "The time has come, Cecilia," she said. "We must wisheach other good-by."
"Is Mrs. Rook here already?"
"It's _you_, dear, who are going," Emily answered sadly. "They have sentthe governess to fetch you. Miss Ladd is too busy in the schoolroom tosee her--and she has told me all about it. Don't be alarmed. There is nobad news from home. Your plans are altered; that's all."
"Altered?" Cecilia repeated. "In what way?"
"In a very agreeable way--you are going to travel. Your father wishesyou to be in London, in time for the evening mail to France."
Cecilia guessed what had happened. "My sister is not getting well," shesaid, "and the doctors are sending her to the Continent."
"To the baths at St. Moritz," Emily added. "There is only one difficultyin the way; and you can remove it. Your sister has the good oldgoverness to take care of her, and the courier to relieve her of alltrouble on the journey. They were to have started yesterday. You knowhow fond Julia is of you. At the last moment, she won't hear of goingaway, unless you go too. The rooms are waiting at St. Moritz; and yourfather is annoyed (the governess says) by the delay that has taken placealready."
She paused. Cecilia was silent. "Surely you don't hesitate?" Emily said.
"I am too happy to go wherever Julia goes," Cecilia answered warmly; "Iwas thinking of you, dear." Her tender nature, shrinking from the hardnecessities of life, shrank from the cruelly-close prospect of parting."I thought we were to have had some hours together yet," she said. "Whyare we hurried in this way? There is no second train to London, from ourstation, till late in the afternoon."
"There is the express," Emily reminded her; "and there is time to catchit, if you drive at once to the town." She took Cecilia's hand andpressed it to her bosom. "Thank you again and again, dear, for all youhave done for me. Whether we meet again or not, as long as I live Ishall love you. Don't cry!" She made a faint attempt to resume hercustomary gayety, for Cecilia's sake. "Try to be as hard-hearted as Iam. Think of your sister--don't think of me. Only kiss me."
Cecilia's tears fell fast. "Oh, my love, I am so anxious about you! I amso afraid that you will not be happy with that selfish old man--in thatdreary house. Give it up, Emily! I have got plenty of money for bothof us; come abroad with me. Why not? You always got on well with Julia,when you came to see us in the holidays. Oh, my darling! my darling!What shall I do without you?"
All that longed for love in Emily's nature had clung round herschool-friend since her father's death. Turning deadly pale under thestruggle to control herself, she made the effort--and bore the pain ofit without letting a cry or a tear escape her. "Our ways in life lie farapart," she said gently. "There is the hope of meeting again, dear--ifthere is nothing more."
The clasp of Cecilia's arm tightened round her. She tried to releaseherself; but her resolution had reached its limits. Her hands dropped,trembling. She could still try to speak cheerfully, and that was all.
"There is not the least reason, Cecilia, to be anxious about myprospects. I mean to be Sir Jervis Redwood's favorite before I have beena week in his service."
She stopped, and pointed to the house. The governess was approachingthem. "One more kiss, darling. We shall not forget the happy hours wehave spent together; we shall constantly write to each other." She brokedown at last. "Oh, Cecilia! Cecilia! leave me for God's sake--I can'tbear it any longer!"
The governess parted them. Emily dropped into the chair that her friendhad left. Even her hopeful nature sank under the burden of life at thatmoment.
A hard voice, speaking close at her side, startled her.
"Would you rather be Me," the voice asked, "without a creature to carefor you?"
Emily raised her head. Francine, the unnoticed witness of the partinginterview, was standing by her, idly picking the leaves from a rosewhich had dropped out of Cecilia's nosegay.
Had she felt her own isolated position? She had felt it resentfully.
Emily looked at her, with a heart softened by sorrow. There was noanswering kindness in the eyes of Miss de Sor--there was only a doggedendurance, sad to see in a creature so young.
"You and Cecilia are going to write to each other," she said. "I supposethere is some comfort in that. When I left the island they were glad toget rid of me. They said, 'Telegraph when you are safe at Miss Ladd'sschool.' You see, we are so rich, the expense of telegraphing to theWest Indies is nothing to us. Besides, a telegram has an advantage overa letter--it doesn't take long to read. I daresay I shall write home.But they are in no hurry; and I am in no hurry. The school's breakingup; you are going your way, and I am going mine--and who cares whatbecomes of me? Only an ugly old schoolmistress, who is paid for caring.I wonder why I am saying all this? Because I like you? I don't know thatI like you any better than you like me. When I wanted to be friends withyou, you treated me coolly; I don't want to force myself on you. I don'tparticularly care about you. May I write to you from Brighton?"
Under all this bitterness--the first exhibition of Francine's temper, atits worst, which had taken place since she joined the school--Emily saw,or thought she saw, distress that was too proud, or too shy, to showitself. "How can you ask the question?" she answered cordially.
Francine was incapable of meeting the sympathy offered to her, even halfway. "Never mind how," she said. "Yes or no is all I want from you."
"Oh, Francine! Francine! what are you made of! Flesh and blood? or stoneand iron? Write to me of course--and I will write back again."
"Thank you. Are you going to stay here under the trees?"
"Yes."
"All by yourself?"
"All by myself."
"With nothing to do?"
"I can think of Cecilia."
Francine eyed her with steady attention for a moment.
"Didn't you tell me last night that you were very poor?" she asked.
"I did."
"So poor that you are obliged to earn your own living?"
"Yes."
Francine looked at her again.
"I daresay you won't believe me," she sa
id. "I wish I was you."
She turned away irritably, and walked back to the house.
Were there really longings for kindness and love under the surface ofthis girl's perverse nature? Or was there nothing to be hoped from abetter knowledge of her?--In place of tender remembrances of Cecilia,these were the perplexing and unwelcome thoughts which the more potentpersonality of Francine forced upon Emily's mind.
She rose impatiently, and looked at her watch. When would it be her turnto leave the school, and begin the new life?
Still undecided what to do next, her interest was excited by theappearance of one of the servants on the lawn. The woman approached her,and presented a visiting-card; bearing on it the name of _Sir JervisRedwood_. Beneath the name, there was a line written in pencil: "Mrs.Rook, to wait on Miss Emily Brown." The way to the new life was openbefore her at last!
Looking again at the commonplace announcement contained in the line ofwriting, she was not quite satisfied. Was it claiming a deference towardherself, to which she was not entitled, to expect a letter either fromSir Jervis, or from Miss Redwood; giving her some information as tothe journey which she was about to undertake, and expressing with somelittle politeness the wish to make her comfortable in her future home?At any rate, her employer had done her one service: he had reminded herthat her station in life was not what it had been in the days when herfather was living, and when her aunt was in affluent circumstances.
She looked up from the card. The servant had gone. Alban Morris waswaiting at a little distance--waiting silently until she noticed him.
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