A whole month had gone by since Jasper had left Evelyn, and Evelyn after a fashion had grown accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes had taken place in the little girl during that time. She was no longer dressed in an outré style. She wore her hair as any other very young girl of her age would. She had ceased to consider herself grown-up; and although she knew deep down in her heart that she was the heiress—that by and by all the fine property would belong to her—and although she still gloried in the fact, either fear, or perhaps the dawnings of a better nature prevented her talking so much about it as she had done during the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The guests had all departed, and schoolroom life held sway over both the girls. Miss Sinclair was the very soul of order; she insisted on meals being served in the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom work being pursued with regularity2 and method. There were so many hours for work and so many hours for amusement. There were times when the girls might be present with the Squire3 and 170 Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed the society of Miss Sinclair. There were masters for several accomplishments4, and the girls had horses to ride, and a pony-carriage was placed at their disposal, and the hours were so full of occupation that they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times better and happier than she had done when she first arrived at Castle Wynford, and even Lady Frances was forced to own that the child was turning out better than she expected. How long this comparatively happy state of things might have lasted it is hard to say, but it was brought to an abrupt5 conclusion by an event which occurred just then. This was no less than the departure of kind Miss Sinclair. Her mother had died quite suddenly; her father needed her at home. She could not even stay for the customary period after giving notice of her intention to leave. Lady Frances, under the circumstances, did not press her; and now the subject of how the two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly discussed. Lady Frances was a born educationist; she had the greatest love for subjects dealing6 with the education of the young. She had her own theories with regard to this important matter, and when Miss Sinclair went away she was for a time puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, of course, the only thing to be done; but for a time she wavered much as to the advisability of sending Evelyn to school.
“I really think she ought to go,” said Lady Frances to the Squire. “Even now she does not 171 half know her place. She has improved, I grant you, but the thorough discipline of school would do her good.”
“You have never sent Audrey to school,” was the Squire’s answer.
“I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different.”
“I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn’s case which has not been done in Audrey’s,” was the Squire’s reply.
“But surely you cannot compare the girls!”
“I do not intend to compare them. They are absolutely different. Audrey is all that the heart of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn is still——”
“A little savage7 at heart,” interrupted Lady Frances.
“Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has some fine points in her—indeed, I am sure of it. She is, for instance, very affectionate.”
Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant.
“I am tired of hearing of Evelyn’s good qualities. When I perceive them for myself I shall be the first to acknowledge them. But now, my dear Edward, the point to be considered is this: What are we to do at once? It is nearly the middle of the term. To give those two girls holidays would be ruinous. There is an excellent school of a very superior sort kept by the Misses Henderson in that large house just outside the village. What do you say to their both going there until we can look round us and 172 find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair’s place?”
“If they both go it does not so much matter,” said the Squire. “You can arrange it in that way if you like, my dear Frances.”
Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was much interested in the Misses Henderson; she herself had helped them to start their school. Accordingly, that very afternoon she ordered the carriage and drove to Chepstow House. The Misses Henderson were expecting her, and received her in state in their drawing-room.
“You know what I have come about?” she said. “Now, the thing is this—can you do it?”
“I am quite certain of one thing,” said the elder Miss Henderson—“that there will be no stone left unturned on our parts to make the experiment satisfactory.”
“Poor, dear Miss Sinclair—it is too terrible her having to leave!” said Lady Frances. “We shall never get her like again. To find exactly the governess for girls like my daughter and niece is no easy matter.”
“As to your dear daughter, she certainly will not be hard to manage,” said the younger Miss Henderson.
“You are right, Miss Lucy,” said Lady Frances, turning to her and speaking with decision. “I have always endeavored to train Audrey in those nice observances, those moral principles, and that high tone which befits a girl who is a lady and who in the future will occupy a high position.” 173
“But your niece—your niece; she is the real problem,” said the elder Miss Henderson.
“Yes,” answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. “When she came to me she was little less than a savage. She has improved. I do not like her—I do not pretend for a moment that I do—but I wish to give the poor child every possible advantage, and I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudice shall not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with her; but she requires very firm treatment.”
“She shall have it,” said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look of distinct pleasure crossed her face. “I have had refractory8 girls before now,” she said, “and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that I have always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of Miss Wynford.”
“Firm discipline is essential,” replied Lady Frances. “I told Miss Sinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what her method was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she learnt her lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust the improvement will continue under your management.”
Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours, etc., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House as day-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished9 school was to begin on the following morning.
Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was to be sent to school. She 174 had cried and flung her arms round Miss Sinclair’s neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on the contrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter than usual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess’s hand and wrung11 it, and as she bent12 forward to kiss her again on the cheek, Miss Sinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poor Evelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girls looked at each other.
“I did not know you could be so stony-hearted,” said Evelyn. She took out her handkerchief as she spoke10 and mopped her eyes. “Oh dear!” she added, “I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am such an affectionate girl.”
“We had better prepare for school,” said Audrey. “We are to go there to-morrow morning, remember.”
“Yes,” answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; “and do you know, although I am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about school. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like mine could never find a proper vent1 except in school-life. I wonder what sort of girls there are at Chepstow House?”
“I don’t know anything about it,” said Audrey.
“Are you sorry to go, Audrey?”
“Yes—rather. I have never been to school.”
“How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you be shy and awkward?”
“I don’t think so. I hope not.” 175
“It would be fun to see it, all the same,” said Evelyn. “But there, I am going for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch13! Often and often I ran a whole mile without stopping. Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do what I like to-day.”
Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speed through the shrubbery on her way to a big field, which was known as the ten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came full tilt14 against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly15 at her.
“Do you know, Uncle Edward,” she said, “that I am going to school to-morrow?”
“So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there.”
Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly:
“I am glad; mother wished me to go.”
“You love your mother’s memory very much, do you not, Eve?”
“Yes,” she said; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. “I love her just as much as if she were alive,” she continued—“better, I think. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me.”
“You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?”
“Yes,” answered the child.
“Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when you came here, but I think to a 176 certain extent you have conquered. Our ways were not your ways—everything was strange—and at first, my dear little girl, you rebelled, and were not very happy.”
“I was miserable16—miserable!”
“But you have done, on the whole, well; and if your mother could come back again she would be pleased. I thought I should like to tell you.”
“But, please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery be pleased? She often told me that I was not to submit; that I was to hold my own; that——”
“My dear, she told you those things when she was on earth; but now, in the presence of God, she has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure, could she now speak to you, she would tell you that you did right to submit, and were doing well when you tried to please me, for instance.”
“Why you, Uncle Edward?”
“Because I am your father’s brother, and because I loved your father better than any one on earth.”
“Better than Aunt Frances?” said Evelyn, with a sparkle of pleasure in her eyes.
“In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I loved him well, and I would do my utmost to promote the happiness of his child.”
“I love you,” said the little girl. “I am glad—I am glad that you are my uncle.”
She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the next moment was lost to view.
“Queer, errat............