A Young Mutineer Part 20

"Judy," said Hilda--she turned eagerly, the old lovely color mantling her cheeks, and the brightness of hope filling her eyes. "Isn't Jasper good, Judy? I have just heard from him--he says the furniture is coming in for your room to-day. We can go back to town as soon as ever Dr.

Harvey thinks you strong enough to be moved, my pet."

"Which won't be this week," interrupted Aunt Marjorie. "It would be the sheerest madness. Has Jasper proposed such a thing, Hilda? If so, I can only say how like a man. In about a fortnight, this dear child may be the better for change of air.... I have no doubt too that Dr. Harvey will be pleased to have a London opinion about her. There may be a weakness of the heart's action. I never am easy about people who faint off suddenly. Now, Judy, why do you flush up? you know you oughtn't to listen when Auntie talks to Hilda about you. Go on reading your pretty story book, my love. Yes, Hilda, I should like the child to see a first-cla.s.s physician. You know your mother's heart was not strong. He will doubtless order cod-liver oil, but for my part I prefer cream."

"I know something better than cream for Judy--don't I, my pet?" said Hilda, turning to her little sister with her bright smile.

"And so do I," replied Judy. "Oh, Hilda, to think of living with you in your own little house! Oh, Hilda, I'm _too_ happy--I am so happy that my heart aches. It aches with pleasure."

Judy's thin arms were flung round her sister's neck. Her lips pressed Hilda's soft young cheek, her eyes looked into Hilda's. It seemed to them both at that moment that soul answered to soul.

"Now what nonsense this is," said Aunt Marjorie in her fussy tones.

"Judy, I hope Hilda is not going to encourage you in silly sentimental talk of that kind. You say your heart aches with pleasure. Really, my dear, I have no patience to listen to you. I should like to know what a child like you knows about heart-aches--you, who have been brought up in what I may call the very lap of luxury. For, Hilda, I have made it the object of my life ever since poverty came to us, to prevent even the slightest shadow of its wings touching the children. They have had their excellent governess, and their warm schoolroom and snug bedroom. I cut down one of my own fur cloaks to give them really nice winter jackets, and I took special care that the schoolroom table should be as liberal as ever. It is impossible, therefore, for me to understand Judy's silly words about her heart aching."

Aunt Marjorie left the room, and Judy still softly rubbed her cheek against Hilda's.

"But my heart did ache," she said after a pause--"it aches with joy now, and it did ache--oh, it kept crying, it felt starved without you, Hilda."

"I understand--yes, I understand," replied Hilda.

"You don't mind what Aunt Marjorie says then?"

"Not about you, my own little love."

"Hilda, I did really try very, very hard not to fret."

"The effort was too much for you, my Judy; but never mind, the pain and the parting are all over now. Isn't it kind of your new brother--isn't it kind of dear, dear Jasper--to get the nice little room furnished and ready for you, darling?"

"Yes, Hilda. Has he gone in debt for the furniture? You told me long ago that the room would have been furnished and that I should have come to you, but there was no money left, and Jasper would not go in debt. Has he really gone in debt now, just to please me?"

"No, my love, no--we have managed. You must not ask inquisitive questions. All is right now, and we shall be very happy together."

Dr. Harvey was highly pleased, when he heard that his little patient was going to London with her sister. He was a man with plenty of observation, and he could read between the lines much better than poor obtuse old Aunt Marjorie.

"You are the right physician for your little sister, Mrs. Quentyns," he said. "I prophesy that Miss Judy will become perfectly strong and well in a short time under your care. Yes, there will be nothing to prevent her traveling to town on Sat.u.r.day next, if you really wish it. The weather is extraordinarily mild for the time of year, and a change will do Judy more good than anything else."

Hilda wrote a joyful letter to her husband that day.

"You are to expect us both on Sat.u.r.day," she said. "Oh, Jasper, how happy your letter has made me. How good--how really good you are. Please forgive me if I was a little hasty with you the other evening. I know you will never regret, darling husband, helping me to keep both my vows--the vow I made to you, and the vow I made mother. No one ever had a more loving wife than I shall prove to you, and no one ever had a dearer little sister than you will find my Judy when you really know her."

"Her Judy, indeed!" murmured Quentyns, when he read his wife's letter at his breakfast-table on the following morning. "Tiresome little piece--she'll never be _my_ Judy, however much she may be Hilda's. Well, I suppose I must make the best of a bad job, but if I had known beforehand that that wretched sentimental child was to be tacked on to us, I'd have thought twice.... No, I wouldn't though, I love Hilda well enough to bear some inconvenience for her sake; but if she thinks this step will really add to our happiness, she'll soon find her mistake.

Fancy her asking me to sell her engagement ring! I can never get over that. Things can't be quite the same again--it's impossible. Well, well, more than one friend has told me I'd wake from my dream of bliss some day. I have, with a vengeance--it has been something of a shock too.

Heigho! I am not going to _look_ like defeat, anyhow. Of course, too, I'll be just the same to Hilda outwardly. Ah, there's Susan--I'd better speak to her and get her to tell cook. This is Thursday--they'll be here in two days."

"Susan," as the neat parlor-maid entered the room, "I have had a letter from your mistress. She is coming home on Sat.u.r.day, and will bring little Miss Merton with her. Have the things come from Shoolbred's yet?"

"The furniture, sir, for the spare room? Yes, it arrived yesterday, and the man is coming to lay down the carpet and put up the curtains this morning."

"Well, Susan, you get the room ready, and have the bed well aired, and tell me if there's anything more wanted--the child has been ill, and she'll require every comfort. Mrs. Quentyns will wish the room to look as nice as possible. I know nothing about these matters--see to it, Susan, will you?"

"Yes, sir; you may depend on me and cook to do everything right----"

"And tell cook about your mistress. Let me see, they'll be home between five and six on Sat.u.r.day evening. I shan't dine at home to-night, and if a telegram comes for me, I want you to wire to my city address. This is it."

Quentyns left the house, and Susan and the cook spent a busy day in dusting, polis.h.i.+ng, sweeping, and cleaning.

The little spare room looked very sweet and bright with the simple tasty furniture which Quentyns had chosen. The small bed was inviting in its white draperies. The furniture, painted in artistic greens, had a cool and young effect. The room looked like a child's room, and Susan and cook were in ecstasies over its appearance.

"Master _'ave_ taste and no mistake," said cook. "But why don't he come and look for 'isself at all we have done, Susan? So natty as everything looks, and the furniture master's taste and all. Won't missis be pleased! But why don't he come and say what he thinks of how we has put the things, Susan?"

"Never you mind," said Susan. "Master knows as the arranging of furniture is woman's province--there's no fussing in him, and that's what I likes him for."

Sat.u.r.day arrived in due time, and the little house in Philippa Terrace was in apple-pie order.

As Quentyns was leaving for town that morning, Susan waylaid him.

"What hour shall I tell my missis that we may expect you home, sir?" she asked. "Mrs. Quentyns and the little lady will be here by six, and the very first thing my missis will ask is, when you are coming in."

"Say," began Quentyns--he paused. "I'll write a line," he said; "you can give it to your mistress. I shan't be in to dinner to-night, and cook had better prepare tea for Mrs. Quentyns and Miss Merton, with fish or chops or something of that sort. I'll write a line--I'm glad you reminded me, Susan."

Quentyns went into his tiny little study, and wrote a few hasty words.

"DEAR HILDA: I have some important work to get through to-night, and shall not be back early. I have the latch-key, so no one need sit up. I shall dine at the club with Rivers. Go to bed early if you are tired.

"Your Affectionate Husband."

This letter was handed to Hilda on her arrival. She was too excited and too interested in getting Judy into the house, and showing her all the pleasant arrangements made for her comfort, to read it at first; but when her tired little sister was safe in bed, and Hilda had seen her enjoying a cup of tea, with some toast and a new-laid country egg, then she took Jasper's note out of her pocket.

She was in her own room, and she hesitated for a moment before she opened it. She had a kind of premonition that there was pain in it. Her home-coming had made her happy, and even while she was opening the envelope of Jasper's letter she was listening for the click of his latch-key in the hall-door lock.

He was always home in good time on Sat.u.r.days, and surely he would make extra haste to-night in order to give his wife and his little sister a hearty welcome.

Hilda's was the most forgiving nature in the world. During that scene in the conservatory at Little Staunton she had lost her temper with her husband, but she felt quite sure now that her hasty words must be forgotten. As she forgave absolutely, so would he. Why had he written to her therefore? Why was he not here? She pulled the note out of its envelope, and read the few words that it contained.

It is not too much to say that her heart sank down, down, very low indeed in her breast. She became conscious for the first time in her life of that heart-hunger, that absolute starved sort of ache which had so nearly wrecked Judy's little life. This was the first pang of pain, but the ache was to go on and become worse presently.

Hilda was a very patient sort of woman, however, and it did not occur to her to cry out or make a fuss. She read the note twice, then put it into her pocket and went downstairs.

"Tell cook that I don't want any dinner," she said to Susan; "I will have my tea upstairs with Miss Judy. Tell her not to get dinner, as Mr.

Quentyns is obliged to be out this evening."

"Hilda," called Judy's weak little voice from out of her luxurious white bed; "Hilda, do come here a minute."

Hilda went immediately into the room.

"I am so happy and so sleepy," said Judy. "I'm like a bird in a nest--oh, I am so snug. Jasper will be coming in presently, won't he, Hilda? and you'll want to be with him. I shan't need you at all to-night, Hilda darling; I'm going to sleep very soon, and I just sent for you now to say that you mustn't come up to me after dinner--you must stay with Jasper and let him amuse you. I am sure you want lots of amus.e.m.e.nt after all the dull nursing you have had. Go and put on your pretty dinner dress now, Hilda, and then come and look at me and say good-night. I am so awfully happy, and I just want one kiss from you before I go to sleep."

"But you don't want to go to sleep yet, little puss," said Hilda, in her most cheerful tone; "at least I hope you don't until I have had my tea.

I want to have my tea with you, darling, so I hope you don't mind putting up with my company for a little longer."