The Carroll Girls Part 19

Mademoiselle Leperier's heart warmed towards her sympathetic visitor with the eager face, and soon they were deep in talk, so deep that they were surprised when Anne knocked at the door to say he had come to know if the young m'amzelle was ready to be conducted home.

Under the spell of her hostess's kind face and voice Esther had told some of her story too--told more, really, than she could have believed possible considering that she had not spoken of the events of that afternoon, nor to what led to her appearance at Edless, as the spot was called where Mademoiselle lived.

"May I come to see you again?" she asked impulsively, as she put up her face to kiss the gentle, fragile-looking French lady.

"Will you, dear? I shall be so pleased if your cousin will permit you.

It is a little desolate here, and _triste_ at times, for I cannot read or write much, or use my needle; my eyes are not strong."

"Those bright, s.h.i.+ning eyes not strong!" thought Esther with surprise.

"Could I read to you sometimes, or write for you, or sew?" she asked eagerly. "I am sure Cousin Charlotte would be pleased for me to, and--and I should _love_ to. May I?"

"If _la cousine_ does not object, dear child, I should be grateful indeed; but, remember, she does not know me, or anything of me, and you must not be angry if she does not permit you. It would be but natural."

"Oh, I am sure she will," said Esther confidently, and out she stepped into the darkness with Anne.

To the end of her life Esther will never forget that walk across the moor under the cold blue of the darkening sky--the long, mysterious-looking Stretches of darkness with here and there a big rock standing up grim and gaunt in the silence, the vastness in which they seemed but specks, the shrill, sweet voices of the birds calling to each other, and the busy, persistent voice of the river, added to the weirdness and loneliness of the experience. The only lifelike sounds were their own footsteps, and it was only here and there, when they got on to rough ground and off the turf, that these could be heard.

Esther grew oppressed by the awe and silence. She longed for her companion to speak. She would have said something herself, only she did not know what to begin about, and it needed courage to break, with her small voice, that vast silence.

At last though, a rabbit, or some other wild animal that loves the night-time and the silence, darted right across their path, making her start and scream. The shock past, she laughed a little with shame of her own weakness. The scream and the laugh broke the spell.

"It was very silly of me, but it came so suddenly," she explained apologetically.

"It did, m'amzelle. I expect you are not used to such places at night?"

"No, not at night. We love the moor, though, by day, and know it well, and I am not really afraid of the wild things."

"No, m'amzelle," politely. Silence followed again. Esther grew desperate.

"I--I hope your wife will soon be better," she said sympathetically.

"Thank you, m'amzelle. I hope so, too."

"Is she very ill?"

"Well, not--not dangerous, but she troubles. Our M'amzelle Lucille is not strong, she suffers so, and when Laura--my wife--is ill, M'amzelle does too much, she is so good."

"Can't you have some one in to help you?" asked practical Esther.

"No, m'amzelle, we are so far away. But we do not want any one really.

I can do all. I know how to nurse," with evident pride, "but M'amzelle likes to help us, and--and she is not strong, she suffers so."

"Does she?" asked Esther sympathetically. "I am so sorry. I noticed she was lame. Does she suffer pain from her lameness?"

"Yes, m'amzelle. She had a fall some years ago. You know, I daresay, that M'amzelle Lucille was at one time a famous singer. No? She has not told you? Then perhaps I should not have, but I thought that when she told you her name you would know."

"I can keep a secret," said Esther. "I will never mention it if I may not. Why did M'amzelle stop singing and come here?"

"Ah, she stopped singing long, long before she came here. She never sang after the great trouble came to her life, when the great English gentleman she was so soon to marry was killed."

Esther gave a little cry of horror. "Oh, how dreadful, but--but how--was it an accident?"

Anne's tongue was loosened now, he needed no questioning; he had so few opportunities to talk, he could not resist this one, and he wanted every one's sympathy for his beloved mistress. "Yes, it was an accident, a fearful, a cruel accident, and it happened less than a week before the wedding day. They were together at a station waiting for a train, when some one ran against him with so great force he reeled, he lost his balance, he fell forward, right off the platform--the train was just coming in!" Anne's voice died away in an awful impressive silence.

"M'amzelle Lucille sprang to catch him--"

"Oh!" gasped Esther, in horror.

"They saved _her_," he added significantly; "but she was injured, she was lame always from that day, and her eyes were injured. She may be blind, some day--if she lives. He was killed before her eyes."

"Oh, poor M'amzelle Leperier," groaned Esther, her heart aching with the tragedy of the terrible story. "I wonder it did not kill her."

"It nearly did," said Anne significantly.

"And her singing?"

"She never sang again, m'amzelle. She says her voice broke with the shock--but it was her heart that broke. She loved him so; it was too cruel, too terrible."

"Did you come here to live then?"

"No, m'amzelle, not for a long time. We travelled from place to place.

M'amzelle Lucille said she would go alone, but my wife and I would not leave her, she was so lonely, so _triste_, she had no one but us.

Wherever we went people stared at her and annoyed her so. Very often they recognised her, she was so well known; or they saw she was beautiful, and they knew her story, or found it out, and they had no delicacy, no feeling. We always had to leave. Last year we came here. M'amzelle does not suffer here, except from loneliness, and I think she never will, but it is too lonely for her. I hope you will come to see her, m'amzelle.

She likes you, I can see."

Esther was delighted. Here, at last, was some one who really needed her.

In her heart she determined to devote all her spare time to M'amzelle Lucille. The walk home was over much sooner than she wished. She could have gone on listening to Anne for miles further, but the bridge was crossed, the lights began to show in the cottage windows, and soon they were at the gate of Moor Cottage.

Here Esther's new joy began to moderate. It was quite dark now.

Anne told her it was nearly six o'clock. What would Cousin Charlotte be thinking? Now she had time to spare a thought for her, Esther felt sorry and ashamed.

The sounds of their footsteps or voices must have reached the anxious ears within, for even while she was saying 'good-night' to her companion the cottage door was opened wide, letting a flood of light pour along the pathway. "Esther, dear, is that you?" asked Cousin Charlotte's gentle voice reproachfully, and Esther flew to her and flung her arms about her.

"Oh, Cousin Charlotte, I _am_ so sorry," she cried repentantly. "I can't tell you _how_ sorry. I didn't mean to be so late, really--at least, at first I did--but--but--I shouldn't have--"

"Never mind now, dear. Come in and warm yourself, and you can tell me all about it later. You have frightened me dreadfully, Esther; but just now I am too relieved to scold, only--only don't do it again, it is more than I can endure bravely," and Cousin Charlotte leaned down and kissed her.

Esther saw then that she was white and trembling, that tears glistened in her eyes, and understood for the first time how much Cousin Charlotte cared.

"Oh, Cousin Charlotte, Cousin Charlotte," she cried remorsefully, "if only I were like you. I wish I could be good. I do want to be, I do really."

"Try to be good, but not like me, dear," said Cousin Charlotte huskily, "or you will be a very weak and foolish old woman. Now," with another kiss, "run upstairs and take off your hat and shoes, and come and tell us all your adventures. We have all been dreadfully anxious."

Esther went upstairs feeling far more remorseful than if Miss Charlotte had scolded her well. When she had taken off her hat and shoes, and made herself tidy, she felt really shy of going down to face them all.

But while she was hesitating, the door opened and Poppy flew into the room and straight to Esther's arms.

"Oh, Essie, I couldn't wait, and Cousin Charlotte said I might come up for you. Are you all right? You are not hurt or--"

"You have been crying," broke in Esther. "Oh, Poppy, I made you!"