The Maidens' Lodge Part 33

"Oh, nonsense!" answered Rhoda, rather more awake. "Go to sleep.

You've been dreaming."

And Phoebe, accepting the solution, took the advice. She was scarcely asleep again, as it seemed to her, when the door was softly opened, and Betty came in.

"Mrs Rhoda, my dear, you'd better get up."

"What time is it?" sleepily murmured Rhoda.

"You'd better get up," repeated Betty. "Never mind the time."

"Betty, is there something the matter?"

Betty ignored Phoebe's question.

"Come, my dear, jump up!" she said, still addressing Rhoda. "You'll be wanted by-and-bye."

"Who wants me?" inquired Rhoda, making no effort to rise.

"Well, Mr Dawson, the lawyer, is coming presently, and you'll have to see him."

"I!" Rhoda's eyes opened pretty wide. "Why should I see him? 'Tis Madam wants him, not me."

To the astonishment of both the girls, Betty burst out crying.

"Betty, I am sure something has happened," said Phoebe, springing up.

"What is the matter?"

"O, my dear, Madam's gone!" sobbed Betty. "Poor dear gentlewoman!

She'll never see anybody again. Mrs Rhoda, she's died in the night."

There was a moment of silent horror, as the eyes of the cousins met.

Then Phoebe said under her breath--

"That bell!"

"Yes, poor dear Madam, she rang her bell," said Betty; "but she could not speak when I got to her. I don't think she was above ten minutes after. I've sent off sharp for Dr Saunders, and Mr Dawson too; but 'tis too late--eh, poor dear gentlewoman!"

"Did you send for Mr Leighton?" asked Rhoda, in an awe-struck voice.

"Oh dear, yes, I sent for him too; but la! what can he do?" answered Betty, wiping her eyes.

They all came in due order: Dr Saunders to p.r.o.nounce that Madam had been dead three hours--"of a cardial malady," said he, in a professionally mysterious manner; Mr Leighton, the Vicar of Tewkesbury, to murmur a few plat.i.tudes about the virtues and charity to the poor which had distinguished the deceased lady, and to express his firm conviction that so exalted a character would be at once enrolled among the angelic host, even though she had not been so happy as to receive the Holy Sacrament. Mr Dawson came last, and his concern appeared to be awakened rather for the living than the dead.

"Sad business this!" said he, as he entered the parlour, where the cousins sat, close together, drawn to one another by the fellows.h.i.+p of suffering, in a manner they had never been before. "Sad business! Was to have seen me to-day--important matter. Humph!"

The girls looked at him, but neither spoke.

"Do you know," he pursued, apparently addressing himself to both, "how your grandmother had arranged her affairs?"

"No," said Rhoda and Phoebe together.

"Humph! Pity! Been a good deal better for you, my dear young gentlewoman, if she had lived another four-and-twenty hours."

Neither said "Which?" for both thought they knew.

"Poor Phoebe!" said Rhoda, pressing her hand. "But never mind, dear; I'll give it you, just right, what she meant you to have. We'll see about it before I'm married. Oh dear!--that will have to be put off, I suppose."

"You are going to be married?" asked the lawyer.

"Yes," said Rhoda, bridling.

"Humph!--good thing for you."

Mr Dawson marched to the window, with his hands in his pockets, and stood there softly whistling for some seconds.

"Got any money?" he abruptly inquired.

"I? No," said Rhoda.

"No, no; your intended."

"Oh! Yes--three thousand a year."

"Humph!" Mr Dawson whistled again. Then, making as if he meant to leave the room, he suddenly brought up before Phoebe.

"Are _you_ going to be married?"

"No, Sir," said Phoebe, blus.h.i.+ng.

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the lawyer, once again.

Silence followed for a few seconds.

"Funeral on Sunday, I suppose? Read the will on Monday morning--eh?"

"Yes, if you please," said Rhoda, who was very much subdued.

"Good. Well!--good morning! Poor girl!" The last words were in an undertone.

"I am so sorry for it, Phoebe, dear," said Rhoda, who was always at her best under the pressure of trial. "But never you mind--you shall have it. I'll make it up to you."

Rhoda now naturally a.s.sumed the responsibility of mistress, and gave orders that no visitor should be admitted excepting the Vicar and Mr Welles. The evening brought the latter gentleman, who had apparently spent the interval in arraying himself in faultless mourning.

"I am so grieved, my charmer!" exclaimed Mr Marcus Welles, dropping on one knee, and lifting Rhoda's hand to his lips. "Words cannot paint my distress on hearing of your sorrow. Had I been a bird, I would have flown to offer you consolation. Pray do not dim your bright eyes, my fair. 'Tis but what happens to all, and specially in old age. Old folks must die, you know, dearest Madam; and, after all, did they not, young folks would find them very often troublesome. But you have now no one over you, and you see your slave at your feet."

And with a most unexceptionable bow, Mr Marcus gently possessed himself of Rhoda's fan, wherewith he began fanning her in the most approved manner. It occurred to Phoebe that if the gentleman's grief had been really genuine, it was doubtful whether his periods would have been quite so polished. Rhoda's sorrow, while it might prove evanescent, was honest while it lasted: and had been much increased by the extreme suddenness of the calamity.

"I thank you, Sir," she said quietly. "And I am sure you will be grieved to hear that my grandmother died just too soon to make that provision she intended for my cousin. So the lawyer has told us this morning. You will not, I cannot but think, oppose my wish to give her what it was meant that she should have."