Chapter XVI: An Interview

"MISS RIVERS wishes to see you, sir."

"Miss Rivers!" The Rector was rather astonished, knowing how short a time had passed since the arrival of the travellers. "A messenger from Miss Rivers, do you mean?"

"No, sir; Miss Rivers is here, her very own self," the girl answered with emphasis, as if appreciating his surprise. "And Miss Marjory is out with Mr. Harry; but Miss Rivers says it don't matter, because she don't want to see nobody except you, sir."

"Show Miss Rivers in here."

The maid vanished, and with a slight sigh Mr. Fitzalan put aside his sermon papers, wondering whether he would find himself so well in the mood for work after a delay. Mr. Fitzalan was an extempore preacher, in the sense of not reading from a written sermon, but his subject was always well worked out beforehand upon paper.

"May I come in? You are not too busy?" asked Hermione at the door.

"Not at all." Mr. Fitzalan would not even suggest haste, whereby the interview might be shortened. Most people would have counted that Hermione looked exactly the same as usual, as she glided gently in, taking a proffered chair, and letting her black draperies fall gracefully. But Mr. Fitzalan saw a difference.

"Harvey and his wife come yet?" he asked.

"Yes; and the Trevors. Mr. Fitzalan, did you know about those people— Mrs. Trevor and her child?"

"Marjory said something."

"Marjory only knows what I told her—that they were to be here for a visit. I thought it bad taste to ask them just now, but I had no idea of anything further—no idea of their always living with us."

"Is that to be the plan? Well, the Hall is large enough," Mr. Fitzalan said cautiously.

"Harvey has told me nothing. But from what the child says—"

Hermione's voice was not so calm as usual, not by any means so calm as she wished. It trembled, and a bright flush rose anew in her cheeks, filling the eyes with a troubled light.

"I remember being told that Mrs. Trevor had lost her money. It is a generous act on the part of Harvey to give her a home. He has the right if he chooses."

"Without consulting me!"

Mr. Fitzalan knew that the time had at last come for speaking out. He answered steadily, "In strictness, yes, without consulting any one except his wife."

"Julia! I don't suppose Julia cares. Mrs. Trevor is her sister. But I!"

The emphasis on the pronoun was unmistakable.

"It might have been a matter of kindness to tell you his intentions beforehand, but perhaps he thought it kinder not to worry you. It is not a matter of right, my dear child. I think you have to resolve to face that fact. Harvey is master here now. The place belongs to him."

"And I! I have nothing to do with anything!"

"Not more than your cousins choose."

"No rights of my own?"

"With respect to the estate—none."

For a full minute the clock ticked busily, with no accompaniment of human voices. Mr. Fitzalan sat with his eyes bent downward. He knew a struggle to be going on opposite, and he knew that Hermione would shrink from observation while it lasted. She would speak as soon as she was able. Till then he waited.

"Must I live there?" came at length.

"I think so; for the present. Harvey offers you a home, and no other home has presented itself. I believe it would have been your grandfather's wish."

"Yes—he—but I don't understand. I don't think I know how things really are. I did not hear the will read. He would wish me to be happy," Hermione said in short sentences, broken by agitation. "If I would rather live somewhere else, I suppose I could. I must have enough of my own. Could you tell me about that?"

"There is your mother's marriage settlement of one hundred and twenty pounds a year."

"And besides—"

"Nothing more."

"Nothing at all. But from my grandfather—"

"No." Mr. Fitzalan spoke feelingly. "He fully meant to make other arrangements, but unfortunately he put off too long. His will was made before your birth, and your name has never been inserted."

Another silence followed, longer than the last.

"It seems so strange, so extraordinary," she broke out at length, in a voice almost resentful. "I could not have thought it. He did love me; but to leave me dependent on Harvey and Julia—"

"He only knew of Harvey's marriage at the last."

"Yes—but Harvey alone—how could he leave me so?"

Tears of wounded feeling could no longer be kept back, strive as Hermione might. She stood up and went to the bookcase, remaining there with her back turned. Mr. Fitzalan would speak no hasty words. He feared to make mischief between the cousins.

"And there was nothing for me, nothing at all?" she repeated, coming back to her seat. "He forgot no one else—only me!"

"He did not forget. Don't let yourself wrong him, even in thought. He had spoken to Mr. Selwyn sometimes of his intention to provide for you more fully, and the day before his death he wrote summoning Mr. Selwyn from London. But—too late."

"He ought not to have put off. It was wrong," Hermione said in distinct accents. Then, with a change of tone, "Does Harvey know this?"

"Yes. He offers you a home; and I think that at present your duty is to accept his offer."

Hermione's face quivered. "I don't know how to bear it all," she said. "Anything else would be easier."

"Anything, except what is given you to bear?"

"You don't know, you don't understand. Nobody outside can guess what it will be. I don't expect to have no trials. One must have them, of course. But to live on there in the dear old home as a mere dependent—as nobody—after what has been!" She broke into her own words with a start, "I am saying this only to you—only for yourself. Others must not know how I mind it, not even Marjory. I can't endure to be pitied. But oh, it is hard—very very hard!" and a sob seemed wrenched from her.

"Poor child!" Mr. Fitzalan said, despite her repudiation of pity. "My dear, it is of no use for me to tell you that things will not be so bad as you expect. Lower comfort is no good at such times. Better take the pain and the help both together straight from God Himself."

She shook her head mutely, placing both hands over her face.

"Think," he went on, "how often you have told others to trust in His love, not to doubt Him in sorrowful hours. Now is the time for you to put your own words into practice."

"I don't think anybody ever had anything like this to bear!"

He did not smile, as he might have done. He knew that she knew little of life yet, and that her loss was very great in her own eyes.

"There is a poor old woman down in the village, whom you and I both know well. She is lonely, poverty-stricken, forsaken by her only son, a great sufferer in body. Three days ago I went to visit her, and I found her very full of a call she had just had. Shall I tell you what she said?" Hermione made no sign. "I think you can guess who had called. She said, 'Sir, Miss Rivers has been, and she's done my poor old heart good. For she do speak like an angel to me, sir, a-telling me how I'm not to be afeared, for if so be I'm "yielded up" to the Lord, and has given up my will to Him, why, I needn't never mind nothing, but just rest upon Him, and take whatever He sends, and be joyful. And I'll do it too, sir, so please He'll help me.'"

Mr. Fitzalan waited a few seconds.

"Oh, I don't know—it all seems so unreal."

The words dropped from Hermione as if involuntarily. She stopped when about to say more, abashed by her own utterance.

"What seems unreal?" He had no reply, and he went on, "It was absolute truth that you spoke to the poor old woman. But, my child, was it truth for yourself, or was it only quoted from the knowledge of others?"

This question came searchingly, and Hermione made no attempt to answer it. She pressed her hands closer over her face.

"If the last—then perhaps a sharp test has been sent, that you may see how things really are."

Half-an-hour later Marjory came to her father's study, with the exclamation— "Has Hermione really been here?"

"Yes."

"Sutton told us, and Harry has rushed off, in hopes of overtaking her before she reaches home."

"Harry might have spared himself the exertion."

"Then you don't think he will succeed?"

"Hermione left me some time ago, and she is a quick walker."

"If only we had guessed that she might come! Father, does she seem happy?"

"What did you think when you left her?"

"I don't know—I thought her very worried. That child Mittie Trevor talked as if she and her mother were to live at the Hall. She is a dear child, I should fancy, but Hermione did not take to her."

"And Marjory did?"

"I can't resist children. She is very small, with a great mane of fair hair, and such a pair of winning black eyes. When she followed me through the garden, and threw her little arms round me, begging for kisses, I found her irresistible. Hermione is not like me in that. She only cares for children in a Sunday-school."

"Seated in neat rows, to be talked to," suggested the Rector, with a twinkle in the corner of his eye, for it did sound very much like Hermione, and Marjory's unconscious satire on her friend amused him.

"Hermione is so good at teaching!"

"Many people are much better at teaching than learning."

"But not Hermione! You did not mean Hermione."

"It comes to her more easily. So it does to a good many of us."

Marjory looked rather tried. "I must not interrupt you longer," she said, and she went away. Nobody heard the sighing utterance— "Strange, while my father is so dear and good to me, he never does appreciate Hermione!"