Chapter XXIII: Guessing

GONE! Nellie would have given everything she possessed, in those first moments, to recall her lover. Her lover no longer—cut off from her by her own definite act.

She stood where he had left her, unable to shape any distinct thought, hardly knowing what she was doing.

Then her eyes fell upon the bunch of violets. She took them up off the table and looked at them a long time. "They were for me," she thought, "but I do not think I ought to have them now."

She slowly began to put the room straight. "Ada will be home soon," she said, glancing at the clock.

When all was done, and the table cleared, with the exception of the violets, she paused; then rang the bell and stood waiting.

"I want some water for these, Simmons," she said.

Simmons went to fetch it, and Nellie placed them in the vase, and then, leaving them on the sideboard, went upstairs to her room.

She felt stunned. Things had not turned out as she had expected. Knowing something of Wilmot's character, she had prepared herself for a struggle; but that he should leave her in anger was almost more than she could endure. She sat down on the ottoman at the foot of her bed, the misery of having hurt him crushing her young heart.

Oh that she could have gone to bed, she thought, there to weep out her sorrow unseen!

This was impossible; the whole house would be dismayed. No, she must bear it. After all, she had passed through the worst of this decision of hers months ago. When she made that solemn promise to her dying step-mother, had she not felt the shadow of it creeping over her? When her father had claimed her entire devotion, had she not known what it must cost?

"Nellie, not dressed for dinner! The first bell has rung," said Ada, coming in hastily, and throwing her things on the bed.

"Why, Nellie, are you not well, dear?" she added, looking at her sister.

"Only a sort of headache," answered Nellie, putting her hand to her forehead as if she were dazed.

"I'm so sorry," answered Ada, hurrying on with her preparations; "perhaps it will be better for some dinner?"

"Perhaps it will," she answered.

"I say, Nellie, who brought or sent those lovely violets? I never saw such a bunch."

"Mr. Elliot."

"Wilmot! Who for?"

"He did not say; he left them there."

"For you, of course. I believe, Nellie, he's getting fond of you."

"Oh, hush, Ada, dear."

"Well, I know you don't like those jokes, but one must sometimes, eh, Nellie?"

She looked archly up in the troubled face.

"You're a dear old sister," she added, kissing her, "and I'm a tease."

"Please don't say anything like that downstairs, Ada."

"I won't, you may be sure."

She ran off, and Nellie followed, as the second bell sounded.

The violets, to say nothing of this homecoming of Walter's, were a diversion from Nellie's headache, and her pale, sorrowful face passed unnoticed.

Dr. Arundel was truly delighted with the news which that morning's post had brought, and looked cheered at the thought of having his dear son so much sooner than had been anticipated. Thus the dinner passed in cheerful talk, and Nellie joined with the rest in surmising how soon he would come, and in all the questions which after all could have no answer.

When Ada returned from afternoon school, she ran upstairs to Nellie, and found her in the drawing room reading aloud to Tom and the little girls.

"Is your head too bad to come to Hampstead?" she asked eagerly. "Papa is waiting outside. He has a patient near there, and he says the carriage shall drive us there, and fetch him on its way back."

With this lucid explanation she paused, out of breath.

Nellie looked a little bewildered.

"Come, make haste; you can have five minutes. Put on your hat, and let's be off. I do long to know what Christina says to our news."

Nellie looked doubtfully towards Tom.

"Yes, go, Nellie," he answered. "I shall be all right."

"Might we have the little tea-things, and have Tom all to ourselves, Nellie?" asked Isabel, imploringly.

"Yes," said Ada, "you can. I shall give you leave. Go along, 'Mrs. Ready-to-Halt,' and be 'ready to go.'"

The children laughed; and as Nellie went away, Ada put a small table close by Tom, and told the little girls to have tea early.

She fished mysteriously into her pocket, and drew forth her purse, and looking quizzically into it, pretended it was empty.

"No go," she said, throwing it up in the air; "I declare there isn't a farden' in it."

Tom laughed. "Perhaps not," he said.

Ada opened it again, and after some more fun produced sixpence. "It's my very last," she said, pretending to cry; "but I'll give it to my starving relatives."

"Oh, Ada, we don't want it!" exclaimed Dolly, looking sober. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Ada, smiling, "that you should get sixpennyworth of buns—halfpenny buns—and enjoy yourselves."

"Oh, jolly!" said Isabel. "You are kind, Ada."

"Sometimes," said Ada, rather grimly, thinking how little self-denial a sixpence was, compared to giving up one's wishes in some other things.

Tom looked interested, and began whispering about laying out the sixpence.

"Are we bound to get halfpenny buns?" asked Netta.

"Anything in the world you like," answered Ada, "with this reservation—that sixpence will buy it."

"Oh, that's all right then! We thought we would have three pennyworth of buns and three pennyworth of parliaments; they go so far, you know, Ada."

Nellie joined them at this moment, and Ada told the little girls not to lose their way in going to the confectioner's; Nellie also instructed Simmons to have an oversight of the drawing room party.

They found their father and Arthur in the carriage waiting for them, and were soon on their way to Christina's.

"Shall you come with us?" asked Ada of her brother.

"Oh, yes. I long to hear all about Walter's plans."

Dr. Arundel left them in the middle of Hampstead, and they then drove up over the heath to Sunnyside.

The young people quickly jumped out, and were admitted before the carriage had time to turn.

Arthur and Ada hastened in, while Nellie followed. Christina had seen the carriage stop, and came out into the hall to meet them.

Ada threw her arms round her, and exclaimed, "Oh, I'm so glad, Christina."

Christina smiled, and disengaging herself, came up to Nellie, and kissed her lovingly.

Nellie glanced in the beautiful face with its calm brightness, a face like no other, she thought. "Dear Christina," was all she ventured to say.

They all went into the drawing room, where they found Christina's aunt, who was looking smiling and happy.

"Delightful, isn't it?" said Arthur to her.

"Indeed it is; so unexpected too," she answered.

"We must talk to you, Miss Arbuthnot," said Arthur, "and let the two friends go and tell their secrets in private."

"Oh!" answered Ada grudgingly. "I wish they'd tell their secrets here; at least tell us all the news."

"So we will," said Christina, taking Nellie's hand, "but we must have a tiny talk first, Ada."

She drew Nellie from the room, and did not speak again till they were shut in her bedroom, where a fire was burning.

Christina seated herself on a sofa by it, and put her arm round Nellie's waist.

"You are not glad about it, darling?" she said inquiringly.

"Oh, Christina!" exclaimed Nellie, "I am. I could hardly be more glad."

Christina looked surprised, and went on, "Then why does my Nellie look so triste?"

"I'll tell you about that, perhaps. I have had a trouble, but now I feel nothing but how glad I am about Walter."

"Tell me about your trouble first, Nellie."

"Not to-day, dear; perhaps never; I do not know. To-day I will only think of you. Have you had a long letter?"

"Not very; he was in too great a hurry to write much."

"Does he say when he is coming?"

"Why yes, Nellie. Did you not know? He hopes to be here for Christmas."

"For Christmas? I had no idea it could be so soon! Oh, Christina!"

"He was to sail a week after this mail started."

Nellie was so overcome by this second piece of news, that she could only burst into tears again.

Christina kissed her, and did all she could to soothe her, but knew not what to say.

"You are quite worn-out," she said tenderly, "and no wonder, with so much to do and think about."

Nellie was worn-out; and when Christina wrapped her up on the sofa, and sat down by her in the firelight, she felt a strange feeling of rest and comfort stealing over her. The past months had been full of sorrow and self-command, and now that she felt it was all over, not even Walter's coming could rouse her out of a kind of blank restfulness, which was partly sorrow and partly relief.

"I shall be better to-morrow," she whispered.

"I am going down to see after the others," said Christina, "and you shall go to sleep."

"Oh, no!"

"I shall expect you to, and I will bring you up a cup of tea when I have poured out for the rest."

She left her, and went down.

"Nellie looks very tired and poorly," she observed to Ada, when she rejoined them.

"She is," said Ada. "She told me she had a headache. Wilmot Elliot was there this, morning, and Walter's letter upset her too."

Christina then explained to them that they only knew half the news, and great was the surprise of the two, to find Walter could have omitted such an important part of it in writing to their father.

"Now, I suppose you'll be married in no time," said Arthur.

"I do not know what 'no time' means," answered Christina.

She felt rather glad to escape from their questions, to go up again to Nellie. She begged her aunt to make them happy, and giving her a loving kiss, and whispering, "I think Nellie needs me," she was leaving the room, when Nurse Margaret entered, carrying little Charlie Wood for a good-night kiss.

Christina set her little tray again on the table, and turned to her new baby boy. "Well, my little man," she exclaimed, taking him proudly in her arms, "so you have come to wish Auntie good-night?"

The frail little fellow smiled with delight, and Christina went to a drawer and gave him a sugarplum, then holding him out towards her aunt, she said, smiling, "Now a kiss for Charlie, Aunt Mary."

Miss Arbuthnot did not seem surprised. In this little family, love reigned, and they treated the little children as cherished lambs in the fold of the Great Shepherd.

"Have you heard of his mother lately?" asked Ada, when Margaret had carried him off.

"Oh, yes!" said Christina. "I hear regularly every week. She is getting on so nicely; she is better in health, and has never touched one drop of spirits or anything since that day. It is worth a lifetime of self-denial to be allowed to save such a one."

"Will she go home yet?"

"For Christmas," answered Christina. "Oh, if you could see her husband's letters! He has not seen her yet, but she writes to him."

She took up the tray again, and left the room.

She found by Nellie's peaceful breathing that she had fallen asleep, and she sat down by her side, glad herself to have a little quiet time to think.

In a few moments, however, Nellie stirred and gave a long sobbing sigh. "I can't, I can't!" she murmured.

Christina laid her hand on her arm, and said gently, "You are dreaming, dear."

Nellie sat up rather frightened, but was soon reassured by Christina's presence and love, and by the pleasant smell of the fragrant cup by her side. They sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea, until at last Christina said:

"You need not tell me a word; I guess it all, Nellie."

"How do you guess?" asked Nellie, frightened that she had betrayed her secret.

"I have known it would be so for ever so long. No one could see you together, at least no one loving you as I do, without knowing how it was."

Nellie laid her head on the kind shoulder and felt it a comfort to cry.

"Do you think I have been right?" she asked presently. "He seemed to feel I was almost wicked."

"Dear Nellie," she answered softly, "I do not see what you could have done else, now."

"I did think it right all along," said Nellie; "but to-day I feel wretched, half fearing that I have acted unfairly to him; and yet I have tried so hard that he should understand without all this."

"I am sure you have; I have seen it when I have been with you. He must have been wilfully blind."

"You see he didn't want to believe I could be in earnest," said Nellie, very low.

"But he should have been willing to wait, Nellie."

"He was," answered she; "but I would not let him. Oh, Christina, you do not think I ought to have let him?"

"I do not know exactly, dear. Your father would tell you best."

"I was wondering whether it would be my duty to tell papa; it would add so to his sorrow; and I could not think of leaving them all now, Christina; it would be very wrong."

"Yes, now; but in a year or two?"

"I felt I ought not to accept in that sort of fashion; it seemed to me very hard on him to keep him waiting indefinitely; and I could not bear for dear papa to have this to think about, when he believes he has got me as his comfort and help."

"Yes; I see it all," answered Christina sadly; "but I feel perplexed, Nellie. I wish you would tell Dr. Arundel."

"I will, if you think I ought; anyway I should have done so after a time; but it can make no difference now," she added; "for he left me in anger, and I told him I would not. Nothing could have been plainer."

"Oh, my Nellie, my Nellie!"

Nellie raised her head. "Don't pity me, Christina; I shall be glad soon. Just now you have caught me tired and stupid; but I shall be better soon. It has been the thought of hurting him which has been the worst."

That evening Nellie told her father in a few words of the offer she had received, and of her refusal.

Dr. Arundel heard her story, holding his arm round her, and hardly glancing at the downcast face.

At last he said, "But, Nellie, my child, I wish you would tell me; should you have refused him, if things had not been as they are at home?"

Nellie hesitated; and then said quickly, "But, papa, how could I leave it all?"

"Not now, I am sure you could not, nor would he wish it so soon; but I think you should have given him some hope, if—if you return his affection, Nellie. If people love each other, they should be willing to wait."

There was a pause, and Nellie bent her head lower. Ought she to have decided differently? Did her father think her wrong too? This was a sad blow.

"But it is all over now, dear papa," she said at last. "I tell you because I thought I ought. I am the only one you have, you know," she added, looking up from the shelter of his arm, and smiling a wan little smile; then bursting into tears, she kissed him, saying brokenly, "I could not, could not, leave you for the world!"

Dr. Arundel sat a long time that night watching the embers of his fire die out.

What tender thoughts twined round that eldest daughter of his who had just left him. "Dear little maiden," he said to himself, "I trust all will come right. I must take an opportunity of having a talk with Elliot; I cannot have her sacrifice herself. I am sorry it has fallen out so. He should have come to me first, under the circumstances. Poor dear Nellie, I hope it will all come right."