Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline Part 53

"Oh, are you? Just as I have found you. But you promise to write to me?"

"Yes, I will write to you; I beg of you not to try any experiments with me," she added laughing.

"Don't be afraid," said Nan, seriously.

"I wish you would make a friend of Miss Jewett; you will be glad of it as long as you live."

"I am doing it; but I don't want _you_ to go away."

"I shall come back some day, childie."

Nan moved nearer, still on her knees, drew Tessa's cheek down to her lips,-her warm, saucy, loving lips,-saying, "My counsellor."

Dr. Greyson's house stood opposite. Tessa went to the window to see if the light were still burning in Sue's chamber; Sue had forgotten to drop the curtains; the room was well-lighted; Sue was standing in the centre of the room holding something in her hand; Tessa saw Dr. Greyson enter and Sue moved away.

She lay in bed wide awake watching the light.

"Good-by, Mystic; you and I will have our talk another day."

The tears dropped slowly on the pillow.

XXI.-THROUGH.

The snow-flakes were very large, they fell leisurely, melting almost as soon as they touched Tessa's flower bed; she was sitting at one of the sitting-room windows writing. She wrote, as it is said that all ladies do, upon her lap, her desk being a large blank book; her inkstand stood upon the window-sill; the cane-seated chair in front of her served several purposes, one of them being a foot-rest; upon the chair were piled "Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases," "Recreations of a Country Parson," a Bible, the current numbers of the _Living Age_ and _Harper's Magazine_, and George Macdonald's latest book.

Her wrapper was in two shades of brown, the ruffle at her throat was fastened by a knot of blue velvet; in one brown pocket were a lead pencil, a letter from an editor, who had recently published a work upon which he had been busy twenty years and had thereby become so famous that the letter in her pocket was an event in her life, especially as it began: "My dear Miss Tessa, I like your letter and I like you."

Her father was very proud of that letter.

In the other brown pocket were a tangle of pink cord, a half yard of tatting, and a shuttle, and-what Tessa had read and reread-three full sheets of mercantile note from Miss Sarepta Towne.

Dinah was seated at another window embroidering moss roses upon black velvet; the black velvet looked as if it might mean a slipper for a good-sized foot. There was a secret in the eyes that were intent upon the roses; the secret that was hidden in many pairs of eyes-brown, blue, hazel-in Dunellen in these days before Christmas.

There was not even the hint of a secret in the eyes that were opening "Thesaurus" and looking for a synonym for _Information_.

"Poor Tessa!" almost sighed happy Dinah, "she has to plod through ma.n.u.script and books, and doesn't know half how nice it is to make slippers."

Poor Tessa closed her book just then and looked out into the falling snow.

"Perhaps we shall hear that he's dead to-day," said Dinah, brus.h.i.+ng a white thread off the velvet. "I have expected to hear that every day for a week."

"But you said that he talked real bright last week."

"So Sue said. I have not seen him. He knows that I have called, that is enough; I do not want to see him, I know that my face would distress him."

"Poor fellow," said Dine, compa.s.sionately, "how he used to talk! The stories that he has told in this room. Oh, Tessa, I can't be thankful enough for every thing! To think that John should get such a good position in the Dunellen school! How things work around; he would not have had it but for Mr. Lewis Gesner! John and I are going there to spend the evening next week; Miss Gesner asked him to bring me. And oh, Tessa, _do_ you think that Gus takes it much to heart?"

"If I did not know I should not think that he had any thing to take to heart!"

"I suppose his heart bleeds in secret," said Dinah pensively. "Well, it isn't _my_ fault. You don't blame me."

"I never blame any one."

"Father and mother are very polite to John."

"They are never rude to any one."

"Say, Tessa, are you glad about me, or sorry?"

"Am I not always glad about you?"

"Well, about John?"

"I like John; he is a good boy; but you can not expect me not to be disappointed about Gus!"

"You think that Gus is every thing."

"I think that he is _enough_."

"Perhaps-perhaps-" but Dinah became confused and dared not finish.

Tessa felt her thought. Perhaps-but what a queer perhaps; who could imagine it?

The sharp Faber scribbled upon waste paper for some minutes; it scribbled dates and initials and names, and then "Such as I wish it to be."

"There goes Dr. Towne," said Dinah.

Tessa lifted her head in time for a bow. Then she scribbled, "A nightingale made a mistake."

The letter in her pocket had closed thus: "You have the faculty of impressing truth in a very pleasant manner; your characters are spirited, your incidents savor of freshness, your style is rather abrupt however, it will be well to consider that."

A busy life, busy in the things that she loved best, was her ideal of happiness.

She scribbled-"Dec. 15. Dinah making roses. Miss Towne wis.h.i.+ng for me.

Is any one else? What do I wish? My naughty heart, be reasonable, be just, be sure, do not take a thing that you _want_, just because you want it."

Dinah was wondering how Tessa's face _could_ look so peaceful when she was not engaged nor likely to be. Tessa was at peace, she was at rest concerning Dr. Lake. Before the storm was over, he would be glad that he had been born into a life upon the earth. In this hour-while Dine was working her roses and Tessa scribbling, while the snow-flakes were melting on Dr. Towne's overcoat and Nan Gerard was studying "The Songs of Seven" to read to the Professor that evening-Sue and her husband were alone in Sue's chamber.

"Sue, I haven't heard you sing to-day."

"How can I sing, Gerald, when you are so sick?"

"Am I so sick? Do you know that I am?"

"I think I ought to know; don't I see how father looks? and didn't Dr.