By the Light of the Soul Part 55

Lily asked Maria to be her maid of honor. She planned to be married in church, but George Ramsey unexpectedly vetoed the church wedding.

He wished a simple wedding at Lily's house. He even demurred at the bridal-gown and veil, but Lily had her way about that. Maria consented with no hesitation to be her maid of honor, although she refused to allow Mrs. Merrill to purchase her dress. She purchased some white cloth, and had it cut and fitted, and she herself made it, embroidering it with white silk, sitting up far into the night after school. But, after all, she was destined not to wear the dress to Lily's wedding and not to be her maid of honor.

The wedding was to be the first week of Maria's spring vacation, and she unexpectedly received word from home that her father was not well, and that she had better go home as soon as her school was finished. Her father himself wrote. He wrote guardedly, evidently without Ida's knowledge. He said that, unless her heart was particularly set upon attending the wedding, he wished she would come home; that her vacation was short, at the best, that he had not seen her for a long time, and that he did not feel quite himself some days. Maria read between the lines, and so did her aunt Maria, to whom she read the letter.

"Your father's sicker than he lets on," Aunt Maria said, bluntly.

"You'd better go. You don't care anything particular about going to that Merrill girl's wedding. She can get f.a.n.n.y Ellwell for her maid of honor. That dress f.a.n.n.y wore at Eva Granger's wedding will do for her to wear. Your dress will come in handy next summer. You had better go home."

Maria sat soberly looking at the letter. "I am afraid father is worse than he says," she said.

"I know he is. Harry Edgham wasn't ever very strong, and I'll warrant his wife has made him go out when he didn't feel equal to it, and she has had stacks of company, and he must have had to strain every nerve to meet expenses, poor man! You'd better go, Maria."

"Of course, I am going," replied Maria.

That evening she went over and told Lily that she could not be her maid of honor, that her father was sick, and she would be obliged to go home as soon as school closed. George Ramsey was calling, and Lily's face had a lovely pink radiance. One could almost seem to see the kisses of love upon it. George acted a little perturbed at sight of Maria. He remained silent during Lily's torrent of regrets and remonstrances, but he followed Maria to the door and said to her how sorry he was that her father was ill.

"I hope it is nothing serious," he said.

"Thank you," said Maria. "I hope not, but I don't think my father is very strong, and I feel that I ought to go."

"Of course," said George. "We shall be sorry to miss you, but, if your father is ill, you ought to go."

"Do you think one day would make any difference?" said Lily, pleadingly, putting up her lovely face at Maria.

"It would mean three days, you know, dear," Maria said.

"Of course it would," said George; "and Miss Edgham is entirely right, Lily."

"I don't want f.a.n.n.y Ellwell one bit for maid of honor," Lily said, poutingly.

Maria did not pay any attention. She was thinking anxiously of her father. She realized that he must be very ill or he would not have written her as he had done. It was not like Harry Edgham to deprive any one of any prospective pleasure, and he had no reason to think that being maid of honor at this wedding was anything but a pleasure to Maria. She felt that the illness must be something serious. Her school was to close in three days, and she was almost too impatient to wait.

"Ida Edgham ought to be ashamed of herself for not writing and letting you know that your father was sick before," said Aunt Maria.

"She and Lily Merrill are about of a piece."

"Maybe father didn't want her to," said Maria. "Father knew my school didn't close until next Thursday. If I thought he was very ill I would try to get a subst.i.tute and start off before."

"But I know your father wouldn't have written for you to come unless he wasn't well and wanted to see you," said Aunt Maria. "I shouldn't be a mite surprised, too, if he suspected that Ida would write you not to come, and thought he'd get ahead of her."

Aunt Maria was right. In the next mail came a letter from Ida, saying that she supposed Maria would not think she could come home for such a short vacation, especially a she had to stay a little longer in Amity for the wedding, and how sorry they all were, and how they should look forward to the long summer vacation.

"She doesn't say a word about father's being ill," said Maria.

"Of course she doesn't! She knew perfectly well that if she did you would go home whether or no; or maybe she hasn't got eyes for anything aside from herself to see that he is sick."

Maria grew so uneasy about her father that she engaged a subst.i.tute and went home two days before her vacation actually commenced. She sent a telegram, saying that she was coming, and on what train she should arrive. Evelyn met her at the station in Edgham. She had grown, and was nearly as tall as Maria, although only a child. She was fairly dancing with pleasurable expectation on the platform, with the uncertain grace of a b.u.t.terfly over a rose, when Maria caught sight of her. Evelyn was a remarkably beautiful little girl. She had her mother's color and dimples, with none of her hardness. Her forehead, for some odd reason, was high and serious, like Maria's own, and Maria's own mother's. Her dark hair was tied with a crisp white bow, and she was charmingly dressed in red from head to foot--a red frock, red coat, and red hat. Ida could at least plead, in extenuation of her faults of life, that she had done her very best to clothe those around her with beauty and grace. When Maria got off the car, Evelyn made one leap towards her, and her slender, red-clad arms went around her neck. She hugged and kissed her with a pa.s.sionate fervor odd to see in a child. Her charming face was all convulsed with emotion.

"Oh, sister!" she said. "Oh, sister!"

Maria kissed her fondly. "Sister's darling," she said. Then she put her gently away. "Sister has to get out her trunk-check and see to getting a carriage," she said.

"Mamma has gone to New York," said Evelyn, "and papa has not got home yet. He comes on the next train. He told me to come and meet you."

Maria, after she had seen to her baggage and was seated in the livery carriage with Evelyn, asked how her father was. "Is father ill, dear?" she said.

Evelyn looked at her with surprise. "Why, no, sister, I don't think so," she replied. "Mamma hasn't said anything about it, and I haven't heard papa say anything, either."

"Does he go to New York every day?"

"Yes, of course," said Evelyn. The little girl had kept looking at her sister with loving, adoring eyes. Now she suddenly cuddled up close to her and thrust her arm through Maria's. "Oh, sister!" she said, half sobbingly again.

"There, don't cry, sister's own precious," Maria said, kissing the little, glowing face on her shoulder. She realized all at once how hard the separation had been from her sister. "Are you glad to have me home?" she asked.

For answer Evelyn only clung the closer. There was a strange pa.s.sion in the look of her big eyes as she glanced up at her sister. Maria was too young herself to realize it, but the child had a dangerous temperament. She had inherited none of her mother's hard phlegmaticism. She was glowing and tingling with emotion and life and feeling in every nerve and vein. As she clung to her sister she trembled all over her lithe little body with the violence of her affection for her and her delight at meeting her again. Evelyn had made a sort of heroine of her older sister. Her imagination had glorified her, and now the sight of her did not disappoint her in the least. Evelyn thought Maria, in her brown travelling-gown and big, brown-feathered hat, perfectly beautiful. She was proud of her with a pride which reached ecstasy; she loved her with a love which reached ecstasy.

"So father goes to New York every day?" said Maria again.

"Yes," said Evelyn. Then she repeated her ecstatic "Oh, sister!"

To Maria herself the affection of the little girl was inexpressibly grateful. She said to herself that she had something, after all. She thought of Lily Merrill, and reflected how much more she loved Evelyn than she had loved George Ramsey, how much more precious a little, innocent, beautiful girl was than a man. She felt somewhat rea.s.sured about her father's health. It did not seem to her that he could be very ill if he went to New York every day.

"Mamma has gone to the matinee," said Evelyn, nestling luxuriously, like a kitten, against Maria. "She said she would bring me some candy. Mamma wore her new blue velvet gown, and she looked lovely, but"--Evelyn hesitated a second, then she whispered with her lips close to Maria's ear--"I love you best."

"Evelyn, darling, you must not say such things," said Maria, severely. "Of course, you love your own mother best."

"No, I don't," persisted Evelyn. "Maybe it's wicked, but I don't. I love papa as well as I do you, but I don't love mamma so well. Mamma gets me pretty things to wear, and she smiles at me, but I don't love her so much. I can't help it."

"That is a naughty little girl," said Maria.

"I can't help it," said Evelyn. "Mamma can't love anybody as hard as I can. I can love anybody so hard it makes me shake all over, and I feel ill, but mamma can't. I love you so, Maria, that I don't feel well."

"Nonsense!" said Maria, but she kissed Evelyn again.

"I don't--honest," said Evelyn. Then she added, after a second's pause, "If I tell you something, won't you tell mamma--honest?"

"I can't promise if I don't know what it is," said Maria, with her school-teacher manner.

"It isn't any harm, but mamma wouldn't understand. She never felt so, and she wouldn't understand. You won't tell her, will you, sister?"

"No, I guess not," said Maria.

"Promise."

"Well, I won't tell her."

Evelyn looked up in her sister's face with her wonderful dark eyes, a rose flush spread over her face. "Well, I am in love," she whispered.

Maria laughed, although she tried not to. "Well, with whom, dear?"

she asked.