Aunt Judith Part 6

Nellie's face at this point was a study; but Winnie cried joyfully,--

"I knew it, I knew it! something whispered to me it was you. Oh, Miss Latimer, I am so glad! Will you lend me one of your dear little books, and may I love you because you are so good? I wish you were my aunt; I do indeed," and there was a lonely ache in the girlish voice as she spoke.

Miss Latimer laid her hand on the rough curly head.

"Little Winnie," she said tenderly, "don't you know that love is a treasure to me? I shall prize your warm, true affection very dearly.

Call me Aunt Judith, my child; and when you read my little books, to which you are heartily welcome, remember I am speaking simply from my heart, with the earnest wish to raise your thoughts to the good Father who made this beautiful world and gave us all things richly to enjoy."

Words like these had a strange sound to Winnie, and filled her with an awe-stricken feeling; but she made no reply, only raising herself on tip-toe she kissed Miss Latimer warmly, and turned her attention to the bookcase again. At that moment the door-bell rang, and Miss Deborah announced the arrival of d.i.c.k with the carriage to take his sister home. So once more they re-entered the little parlour where Aunt Debby, with kind thoughtfulness, had prepared a repast of fruit and cake, and where Master Blake sat looking decidedly awkward and out of place in the dainty little room.

He acknowledged Miss Latimer's greeting with a few unintelligible words, and seemed altogether to be labouring under some restraint, till Winnie said with a light laugh,--

"For the first time in my life, d.i.c.k, I am sorry to see you. Whatever made you come so soon?" and at the plain-spoken words there was such a general laugh that the boy's reserve vanished, and--"Richard was himself again."

Nellie and he became fast friends, and chatted away pleasantly; while Winnie, after having partaken plentifully of fruit and cake, went to put on her hat and jacket under Miss Latimer's escort.

"May I come again soon?" she inquired naively, looking round the tiny room with loving eyes; "this is such a dear little house, and you are all so kind, I should like to spend an afternoon often here." Winnie seemed very earnest as she spoke.

"We shall be only too pleased to see you," replied Aunt Judith, smiling down on the upturned face, and neatly adjusting the tie round the girl's soft neck. "I love to have young people about me, and it is good to hear the sound of a blithe young voice."

Those words amply satisfied Winnie, and after many good-nights had been exchanged, she and d.i.c.k drove homewards, bearing with them two of Aunt Judith's precious volumes.

"I say, Win, that's a jolly little house," said the boy as they rolled along in the darkness. "What a funny, brisk old lady Aunt Debby is!

Did you notice the way she dodged about, and how her front curls shook and bobbed a regular jig every time she spoke? She puts me in mind of a little bird peeping out at you from those small twinkling eyes.

She's a rum old customer, sure enough;" and d.i.c.k chuckled at the remembrance of Miss Deborah's round chubby face and crisp chirping voice.

"Yes, she is rather queer," a.s.sented Winnie musingly; "but I like Miss Latimer dearly. She is awfully good, d.i.c.k; and fancy her being the author of those books after all. Is it not strange?"

"Slightly, perhaps; but 'truth is stranger than fiction,' my dear sister.--By-the-by, I did not notice any Quaker fas.h.i.+on in their dress to-night. Miss Latimer wore some lace fal-lal about her neck, and Aunt Debby's cap was a regular flower-garden." d.i.c.k was a severe critic on female attire.

"That's quite true," replied Winnie; "but if you saw them in the street, with their long loose cloaks and huge bonnets, you would speak differently. O d.i.c.k, how happy they all seem! don't they? and how cosy everything looks! Such a contrast to our great big rooms, where you feel like a--a--" Winnie stopped short for lack of a simile, and her brother supplied the missing word,--

"Pelican in the wilderness. That's it, Win; and you're about right.

Love won't make the pot boil; but money can't buy everything, and I reckon there's a screw loose somewhere in our home."

With that there followed a long silence, and Winnie was almost in the land of dreams when the carriage stopped at No. 3 Victoria Square, and d.i.c.k shouted roguishly in her ear the one word--"Awake!"

The windows were ablaze with light, and there were sounds of music and singing as brother and sister, entering the house, wended their way to the oak parlour and warmed their hands at the cheerful blaze. The gas was lit, the curtains drawn, the room tidy and inviting-looking; but no kind motherly face was there to welcome them and ask if the evening had been a pleasant one. At other times Winnie would not, most probably, have felt the blank, having been accustomed to such neglect; but coming straight from Aunt Judith's gentle presence, and with the remembrance of her loving words and kind voice stirring the lonely little heart, it struck home to her with a chill. Leaving d.i.c.k to his own meditations she slipped away to the large nursery, where old nurse sat quietly watching the slumbers of her young charge, Winnie's little step-brother.

Here at least there was no lack of sympathy or welcome, for dearly did the faithful servant love her first mistress's children, and bitterly did she bewail the neglect with which the two youngest were treated.

Kneeling down by her side, Winnie rehea.r.s.ed the whole history of the afternoon and evening at Dingle Cottage; and old nurse, listening intently, did not fail to raise her hands and express due astonishment at the knowledge of Aunt Judith's authors.h.i.+p. So the young girl was comforted, and after kissing her little brother lovingly, she rejoined d.i.c.k in the oak parlour, and pa.s.sed the rest of the evening contentedly in his society.

CHAPTER VIII.

FORGING THE FIRST LINK.

Autumn, with its sobbing winds and falling leaves, was over now, and cold, sterile winter reigned supreme all around. Day after day the chill northern blasts swept over the busy town, bringing with them now a tempest of blinding sleet, and again showers of softly-falling snow: rich people wrapped themselves warmly in their furs and velvet; and the poor, gathering their tattered garments more closely round them, s.h.i.+vered under the touch of the icy king. But if winter days brought cold, bleak winds and murky skies, they also brought many pleasures in their train; and young hearts beat joyfully as the Christmas-tide drew near, and bright visions of the festive season filled each youthful mind.

Winnie especially was in a state of great excitement, for Mrs. Blake had promised her a party with a real Christmas tree, to which she was at liberty to invite as many of her school-mates as she chose. One little trifle alone damped her happiness--namely, the command to include Ada Irvine in the list of her invitations; and although Winnie pouted and pleaded her dislike of that young lady, Mrs. Blake remained firm, and insisted that her injunction should be carried out. "Your father was formerly on very intimate terms with Mr. Irvine, Winnie, and I will have no slight or disrespect shown to his daughter; so, either post her an invitation or abandon the idea of a party altogether." And when her step-mother spoke in that decided manner, Winnie knew she had no alternative save to yield.

"I sincerely trust Ada Irvine will have the good sense to refuse," she confided to Nellie the day on which the invitations were about to be issued. "She'll spoil the whole affair it she comes, horrid old thing; and I did mean it all to be so nice. Ugh! she will surely never accept," and Winnie's face wore anything but an amiable expression.

School had not been such a very pleasant place those last few weeks, and many of the scenes which occurred there were certainly neither seemly nor instructive. Open warfare reigned between Ada and Winnie, and the skirmishes were becoming serious as well as disagreeable; for Winnie, scouting all Nellie's proposals of being patient and winning by love, made a fiery little adversary, and Ada Irvine's dislike of both was rapidly deepening into the bitterest hatred--the more so when she saw Nellie rising gradually in the esteem of both teachers and scholars: the former being won by her steady attention and modest behaviour; the latter by the simple, kindly spirit which characterized all her actions. There was much still to call for patient forbearance and quiet endurance; but Nellie could see the golden sunlight streaming through the clouds, and hopefully trusted that by-and-by every dark shadow would vanish and leave never a trace behind.

This state of matters was as gall and wormwood to Ada. Nellie's gradual triumph, and Winnie's malicious delight thereat, roused every evil pa.s.sion in her nature; and out of her deadly hatred she meditated a sure revenge when the opportunity came in her way. What form it would take she hardly knew; events would shape themselves somehow; and then--the cold blue eyes glittered ominously at the thought of what she termed her reckoning-day.

Many a tender, wistful thought Winnie sent to Miss Latimer, though she had never managed to visit Dingle Cottage a second time. Her precious volumes were read and re-read over and over again; and it seemed as it Aunt Judith's quiet, peaceful face shone forth from every page, and the soft, kindly voice uttered each loving word and n.o.ble thought. d.i.c.k used to protest his utter weariness of Aunt Judith and her books, for day after day she was quoted to him with never-failing enthusiasm; but on those occasions when he did give expression to such sentiments, Winnie merely treated him to a hearty embrace, and pursued the interesting subject with increased earnestness. In the meantime, however, her mind was so fully occupied with the forthcoming party that nothing else was on her lips from morn till eve; and with regard to Miss Latimer, d.i.c.k had peace for a season.

Oh, what discussions took place in the old oak parlour over the approaching festivity! How was it to be conducted? What was to be the programme for the evening? and who were to be included in the list of invitations?

"I suppose your friends will be able to dance, d.i.c.k?" inquired Winnie one night when they were sitting together talking as usual about the great event in prospect. "Mamma says we cannot play games all the evening."

"Well, I daresay they can do a hop or two when it's necessary,"

answered the boy lazily. "Just you get hold of Archie Trollope and he'll spin you round and round the room in a twinkle; not very gracefully, perhaps, but with no lack of energy. He's the boy to do it;" and d.i.c.k laughed as he pictured the charming spectacle with his mental eye.

Winnie looked dignified.

"If he cannot dance properly," she said, with a touch of contempt in her voice, "most a.s.suredly he will not have the honour of dancing with me. I have no desire to figure ridiculously in a ball-room," and the little lady drew herself up proudly as she spoke.

d.i.c.k collapsed.

"The honour!" he gasped spasmodically--"the honour! My eye! listen to the princess!" and rolling himself about in convulsions of laughter, the vulgar boy ended his merriment by tilting over his chair and landing himself gracefully on the floor.

"Why not an honour, pray?" inquired Winnie, looking loftily on the sprawling form at her feet. "Is it not a _great_ privilege for any gentleman to dance with a lady?" and the indignant child laid special stress on the word "great."

d.i.c.k rose, and treating her to a sweeping Sir Charles Grandison bow, replied, "You are right, madam; the honour is inestimable." At this both laughed, and continued the interrupted conversation.

"Ada Irvine has accepted her invitation, d.i.c.k," was Winnie's next announcement, given with ominous gravity. "No one ever imagined she would do so, and all the school-girls are talking about it."

d.i.c.k gave a low whistle.

"Depend upon it, Win," he said solemnly, "there's something in the wind. Ada Irvine's not the girl to take such a step without having a reason for so doing. I guess you and Nellie had better look out for squalls, for if Miss Ada's not up to some low dodge, my name's not Richard Blake."

And even while they were speaking, the subject of their conversation sat up in her comfortable bedroom at Mrs. Elder's, thinking over the first link she was about to forge in the long chain of bitter malice and deceit. She was seated in a low basket-chair before the fire, making a pretty picture with her long fair hair floating down her back, and her dainty figure nestling cosily amongst the soft cus.h.i.+ons. Her blue eyes had an absent, far-away look, and the small white hands lying on her lap were nervously interlaced one with the other.

"Yes," she muttered in a low, hushed voice, "I shall have my revenge, though I cannot as yet see the way clearly before me. I hardly know towards which I bear the greater hatred, but anyhow both will suffer--Winnifred Blake for her malicious triumph and delight; Nellie Latimer for her upsetting behaviour and quiet contempt. Oh, how I detest them both!" and the girl's eyes gleamed angrily. There was a moment's silence; then she continued, knitting her white brow in a perplexed frown,--"I wonder how I shall manage? One thing is certain: I must do my best on Friday night--make a good impression on the Blake family, and cautiously poison their minds with respect to Nellie Latimer. People are so credulous in this world, it is wonderful what a word skilfully thrown in will do, and how very easily it is credited; but I must be careful, and lay my plans with the greatest caution."

She spoke all this in a low undertone, as if fearful of being overheard, and her eyes wandered round the room with an uneasy light s.h.i.+ning in their depths. The fire-flames leaped and crackled, the pretty room was full of warmth and comfort; yet the girl s.h.i.+vered violently, and gave a scared glance towards the window as the wind went wailing round the house like a sobbing child. What gave her that strange, restless feeling--that weariness of heart? She could hardly tell; only somehow the world seemed all changed of late, and the Christmas-tide so close at hand failed to afford the same joy and gladness it had done heretofore. A great black cloud seemed to be hiding all the suns.h.i.+ne from her sight; a heavy weight would keep dragging at her heart-strings, and a continual thirst after revenge persisted in haunting her every footstep.

Yet this time was a season of peace and holy joy--a time when hand should clasp hand with the fervour of warm friends.h.i.+p, and all past slights and wrongs be blotted out for ever, leaving room for naught in the heart save the pure Christ-like love which makes this world a heaven on earth. Night after night, as the Christmas-tide drew near, the sky spread itself over all--one curtain, of misty blue, studded with the bright, scintillating twinkle of myriads of happy stars.

Every evening the quiet, peaceful moon shone forth rounder and mellower; the north wind tempered its cutting blasts and touched the sleeping earth gently, gently with its icy fingers; and the frost-sparkles, glistering from lofty steeple and sloping roof, changed the dingy town to a veritable fairyland.

At first Nellie had often wondered why Miss Latimer took such an interest in the outside world, and what beauty she could see in the busy city with its constant din and bustle. But that was over now, for she had learned that the nature-world was as an open book to Aunt Judith--a treasury from which she brought forth gold, silver, and precious stones, and scattered them throughout the world in the shape of grand, beautiful thoughts.

Nellie found life very pleasant just now at the little cottage in Broomhill Road. Miss Latimer and Aunt Debby vied with each other in every endeavour to add to her comfort and happiness; while even Aunt Meg roused herself occasionally from her selfish torpor and tried to brighten the tiny home. She could gladden it wonderfully when she chose, for Miss Margaret possessed many pleasing traits of character; but, alas! she seldom did choose, and, as Miss Deborah quaintly expressed it, "one had to endure innumerable showers of rain for one gleam of suns.h.i.+ne." Nellie had become so accustomed, however, to the invalid's whims and caprices, that she thought little, if at all, about them, and in the meantime her whole attention was engrossed with Winnie's party. Miss Latimer had bought her a soft white muslin for the occasion, and Miss Deborah was busy converting it into the prettiest party-dress imaginable. The young girl had been at first slightly dubious about Aunt Debby's dress-making capabilities; but her doubts were fast disappearing as she watched the gradual progress made under that lady's skilful fingers, and noted how beautifully and tastefully the work was done.