Shirley
returning thither, and that she might as well make her toilet now; and
while mademoiselle delivered a solemn homily on her own surpassing merit
in disregarding all frivolities of fashion, Caroline denuded her of the
camisole, invested her with a decent gown, arranged her collar, hair,
etc., and made her quite presentable. But Hortense would put the
finishing touches herself, and these finishing touches consisted in a
thick handkerchief tied round the throat, and a large, servant-like
black apron, which spoiled everything. On no account would mademoiselle
have appeared in her own house without the thick handkerchief and the
voluminous apron. The first was a positive matter of morality--it was
quite improper not to wear a fichu; the second was the ensign of a good
housewife--she appeared to think that by means of it she somehow
effected a large saving in her brother's income. She had, with her own
hands, made and presented to Caroline similar equipments; and the only
serious quarrel they had ever had, and which still left a soreness in
the elder cousin's soul, had arisen from the refusal of the younger one
to accept of and profit by these elegant presents.
"I wear a high dress and a collar," said Caroline, "and I should feel
suffocated with a handkerchief in addition; and my short aprons do quite
as well as that very long one. I would rather make no change."
Yet Hortense, by dint of perseverance, would probably have compelled her
to make a change, had not Mr. Moore chanced to overhear a dispute on the
subject, and decided that Caroline's little aprons would suffice, and
that, in his opinion, as she was still but a child, she might for the
present dispense with the fichu, especially as her curls were long, and
almost touched her shoulders.
There was no appeal against Robert's opinion, therefore his sister was
compelled to yield; but she disapproved entirely of the piquant neatness
of Caroline's costume, and the ladylike grace of her appearance.
Something more solid and homely she would have considered "beaucoup plus
convenable."
The afternoon was devoted to sewing. Mademoiselle, like most Belgian
ladies, was specially skilful with her needle. She by no means thought
it waste of time to devote unnumbered hours to fine embroidery,
sight-destroying lace-work, marvellous netting and knitting, and, above
all, to most elaborate stocking-mending. She would give a day to the
mending of two holes in a stocking any time, and think her "mission"
nobly fulfilled when she had accomplished it. It was another of
Caroline's troubles to be condemned to learn this foreign style of
darning, which was done stitch by stitch, so as exactly to imitate the
fabric of the stocking itself--a wearifu' process, but considered by
Hortense Gérard, and by her ancestresses before her for long generations
back, as one of the first "duties of a woman." She herself had had a
needle, cotton, and a fearfully torn stocking put into her hand while
she yet wore a child's coif on her little black head; her "hauts faits"
in the darning line had been exhibited to company ere she was six years
old; and when she first discovered that Caroline was profoundly ignorant
of this most essential of attainments, she could have wept with pity
over her miserably-neglected youth.
No time did she lose in seeking up a hopeless pair of hose, of which the
heels were entirely gone, and in setting the ignorant English girl to
repair the deficiency. This task had been commenced two years ago, and
Caroline had the stockings in her work-bag yet. She did a few rows every
day, by way of penance for the expiation of her sins. They were a
grievous burden to her; she would much have liked to put them in the
fire; and once Mr. Moore, who had observed her sitting and sighing over
them, had proposed a private incremation in the counting-house; but to
this proposal Caroline knew it would have been impolitic to accede--the
result could only be a fresh pair of hose, probably in worse condition.
She adhered, therefore, to the ills she knew.
All the afternoon the two ladies sat and sewed, till the eyes and
fingers, and even the spirits of one of them, were weary. The sky since
dinner had darkened; it had begun to rain again, to pour fast. Secret
fears began to steal on Caroline that Robert would be persuaded by Mr.
Sykes or Mr. Yorke to remain at Whinbury till it cleared, and of that
there appeared no present chance. Five o'clock struck, and time stole
on; still the clouds streamed. A sighing wind whispered in the
roof-trees of the cottage; day seemed already closing; the parlour fire
shed on the clear hearth a glow ruddy as at twilight.
"It will not be fair till the moon rises," pronounced Mademoiselle
Moore, "consequently I feel assured that my brother will not return till
then. Indeed I should be sorry if he did. We will have coffee. It would
be vain to wait for him."
"I am tired. May I leave my work now, cousin?"
"You may, since it grows too dark to see to do it well. Fold it up; put
it carefully in your bag; then step into the kitchen and desire Sarah to
bring in the goûter, or tea, as you call it."
"But it has not yet struck six. He may still come."
"He will not, I tell you. I can calculate his movements. I understand my
brother."
Suspense is irksome, disappointment bitter. All the world has, some
time or other, felt that. Caroline, obedient to orders, passed into the
kitchen. Sarah was making a dress for herself at the table.
"You are to bring in coffee," said the young lady in a spiritless tone;
and then she leaned her arm and head against the kitchen mantelpiece,
and hung listlessly over the fire.
"How low you seem, miss! But it's all because your cousin keeps you so
close to work. It's a shame!"
"Nothing of the kind, Sarah," was the brief reply.
"Oh! but I know it is. You're fit to cry just this minute, for nothing
else but because you've sat still the whole day. It would make a kitten
dull to be mewed up so."
"Sarah, does your master often come home early from market when it is
wet?"
"Never, hardly; but just to-day, for some reason, he has made a
difference."
"What do you mean?"
"He is come. I am certain I saw Murgatroyd lead his horse into the yard
by the back-way, when I went to get some water at the pump five minutes
since. He was in the counting-house with Joe Scott, I believe."
"You are mistaken."
"What should I be mistaken for? I know his horse surely?"
"But you did not see himself?"
"I heard him speak, though. He was saying something to Joe Scott about
having settled all concerning ways and means, and that there would be a
new set of frames in the mill before another week passed, and that this
time he would get four soldiers from Stilbro' barracks to guard the
wagon."
"Sarah, are you making a gown?"
"Yes. Is it a handsome one?"
"Beautiful! Get the coffee ready. I'll finish cutting out that sleeve
for you, and I'll give you some trimming for it. I have some narrow
satin ribbon of a colour that will just match it."
"You're very kind, miss."
"Be quick; there's a good girl. But first put your master's shoes on the
hearth: he will take his boots off when he comes in. I hear him; he is
coming."
"Miss, you are cutting the stuff wrong."
"So I am; but it is only a snip. There is no harm done."
The kitchen door opened; Mr. Moore entered, very wet and cold. Caroline
half turned from her dressmaking occupation, but renewed it for a
moment, as if to gain a minute's time for some purpose. Bent over the
dress, her face was hidden; there was an attempt to settle her features
and veil their expression, which failed. When she at last met Mr. Moore,
her countenance beamed.
"We had ceased to expect you. They asserted you would not come," she
said.
"But I promised to return soon. _You_ expected me, I suppose?"
"No, Robert; I dared not when it rained so fast. And you are wet and
chilled. Change everything. If you took cold, I should--we should blame
ourselves in some measure."
"I am not wet through: my riding-coat is waterproof. Dry shoes are all I
require. There--the fire is pleasant after facing the cold wind and rain
for a few miles."
He stood on the kitchen hearth; Caroline stood beside him. Mr. Moore,
while enjoying the genial glow, kept his eyes directed towards the
glittering brasses on the shelf above. Chancing for an instant to look
down, his glance rested on an uplifted face, flushed, smiling, happy,
shaded with silky curls, lit with fine eyes. Sarah was gone into the
parlour with the tray; a lecture from her mistress detained her there.
Moore placed his hand a moment on his young cousin's shoulder, stooped,
and left a kiss on her forehead.
"Oh!" said she, as if the action had unsealed her lips, "I was miserable
when I thought you would not come. I am almost too happy now. Are you
happy, Robert? Do you like to come home?"
"I think I do--to-night, at least."
"Are you certain you are not fretting about your frames, and your
business, and the war?"
"Not just now."
"Are you positive you don't feel Hollow's Cottage too small for you, and
narrow, and dismal?"
"At this moment, no."
"Can you affirm that you are not bitter at heart because rich and great
people forget you?"
"No more questions. You are mistaken if you think I am anxious to curry
favour with rich and great people. I only want means--a position--a
career."
"Which your own talent and goodness shall win you. You were made to be
great; you _shall_ be great."
"I wonder now, if you spoke honestly out of your heart, what recipe you
would give me for acquiring this same greatness; but I know it--better
than you know it yourself. Would it be efficacious? Would it work?
Yes--poverty, misery, bankruptcy. Oh, life is not what you think it,
Lina!"
"But you are what I think you."
"I am not."
"You are better, then?"
"Far worse."
"No; far better. I know you are good."
"How do you know it?"
"You look so, and I feel you _are_ so."
"Where do you feel it?"
"In my heart."
"Ah! You judge me with your heart, Lina: you should judge me with your
head."
"I do; and then I am quite proud of you. Robert, you cannot tell all my
thoughts about you."
Mr. Moore's dark face mustered colour; his lips smiled, and yet were
compressed; his eyes laughed, and yet he resolutely knit his brow.
"Think meanly of me, Lina," said he. "Men, in general, are a sort of
scum, very different to anything of which you have an idea. I make no
pretension to be better than my fellows."
"If you did, I should not esteem you so much. It is because you are
modest that I have such confidence in your merit."
"Are you flattering me?" he demanded, turning sharply upon her, and
searching her face with an eye of acute penetration.
"No," she said softly, laughing at his sudden quickness. She seemed to
think it unnecessary to proffer any eager disavowal of the charge.
"You don't care whether I think you flatter me or not?"
"No."
"You are so secure of your own intentions?"
"I suppose so."
"What are they, Caroline?"
"Only to ease my mind by expressing for once part of what I think, and
then to make you better satisfied with yourself."
"By assuring me that my kinswoman is my sincere friend?"
"Just so. I am your sincere friend, Robert."
"And I am--what chance and change shall make me, Lina."
"Not my enemy, however?"
The answer was cut short by Sarah and her mistress entering the kitchen
together in some commotion. They had been improving the time which Mr.
Moore and Miss Helstone had spent in dialogue by a short dispute on the
subject of "café au lait," which Sarah said was the queerest mess she
ever saw, and a waste of God's good gifts, as it was "the nature of