Part 32 (1/2)
”I shall have to go ahead as best I can without charm,” she told herself, soberly. ”Brains always count, if you keep them hid.”
To the casual observer the ambitions of young Jemima at this juncture might have seemed somewhat petty; but most beginnings are petty. There was in the girl's mind a determination that cannot be called unworthy, no matter how it manifested itself--nothing less than the reinstatement before the world of the family her mother had disgraced, the once-proud Kildares of Storm. She was going forth to do battle alone for the tarnished honor of her name, a gallant little knight-errant, tight-lipped and heavy-hearted, and far more afraid than she dared admit.
Something of this the mother sensed, and her heart yearned over her daughter. But Jemima rebuffed all overtures. She declined sympathy, and as far as possible she declined help from her mother. She had offered to return the check-book Kate gave her when she expected to go to New York, but her mother bade her keep it, saying, ”It is time you learned how to handle your own money.”
So Jemima did her planning and ordering without interference; and presently express boxes began to arrive from ”the city,” which caused much excitement in the household.
”Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as these,” smiled Kate one day, looking in at the sewing-room where Mag was installed, adding deft final touches. ”Where's Jacky, Jemima? Why isn't she here helping you two to run ribbons and whip on laces?”
”Oh, Jacky!” The other shrugged. ”Where would she be? Galloping about the country, or playing games with herself down at her precious Ruin, I suppose. Occasionally she wanders into the sewing-room like a young cyclone, leaving havoc in her wake. I'd rather not have her a.s.sistance, thank you!”
”Miss Jacky ain't much of a hand with a needle,” murmured the girl at the sewing-machine.
Kate smiled, as she always smiled when she thought of her youngest daughter. ”Bless her heart! I wonder what she's about down there in the ravine. We haven't heard her singing lately. Do you suppose she has abandoned grand opera entirely? I think I must go and investigate.”
Mag Henderson sat suddenly rigid. It was she who had become, inadvertently, Jacqueline's second confidante.
A few days before, she had made a discovery which she would have been torn limb from limb rather than betray; for the weakest natures are capable of one strong trait, and Mag's was loyalty. Just as she had tried to defend the father who had sold her into worse than slavery, so she would defend to the last ditch any member of the family who had rescued her--more particularly Jacqueline. For Jacqueline had done more than rescue her; she had kissed her.
She said with a sort of gasp, ”Miss Jacky's awful busy, Miss Kate. She wouldn't like to be disturbed. She's--she's writin' a book.”
Kate laughed. ”Come now, Mag! not a _book_?”
”Yes'm, she is, 'cause I seen it.”
”Well, well, what next?” cried Kate. ”What sort of chicken have I hatched? There've been queer developments in the family, but never a genius that I know of. We must leave her alone, by all means. Maybe she will get over it.”
Mag breathed more freely; and with the departure next day of Jemima, accompanied by two trunks and wearing an expression that said plainly, ”I shall return with my s.h.i.+eld or on it,” Mag's fears for her beloved Miss Jacky were further allayed. Of late the Storm household had begun to hold Jemima's seeing eye in even more respect than the Madam's.
Mag had stumbled upon Jacqueline's secret quite by accident. After her day's work was over she liked to walk the roads with her baby, dressed in her prettiest finery, with an eager, hopeful eye out for pa.s.sing vehicles. On one of these rambles she happened into the lane which pa.s.sed the haunted ravine, and there, concealed by the drooping branches of a willow beside the road, she had discovered a deserted automobile.
It aroused her curiosity. What could an automobile be doing in that unfrequented lane, and where was the owner of it? Fearfully she entered the ravine, and ventured a few steps toward the green tangle that hid the ruined cabin. When she came in sight of it, panic conquered curiosity, and she turned to run. It was very dark and hushed there in the underbrush.
But one of the young dogs, who had followed her, suddenly p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and nosed his way to the cabin's threshold, where he paused with one foot lifted, making violent demonstrations with his tail. Mag followed him, rea.s.sured.
”A dog would have too much sense to wag hisself at ghosts,” she thought....
No wonder it was still in the ravine. Birds pa.s.sing overhead forbore to sing, out of sheer sympathy. The great trees stood tiptoe, guarding with finger on lip the love-dream of the little human creature who had played so long about their feet, and whose playing days were done. Mag and the young dog were silent, too, and would have gone softly away from the place where they were not wanted.
”Miss Jacky's got her a fella!” whispered Mag enviously to herself.
”Ain't that grand?”
But the baby in her arms had as yet no conception that there might be places in the world where she was not wanted; poor little waif who had been unwanted anywhere! She recognized her usual companion wrapped in the arms of a strange man, and cooed inquiringly.
The lovers jumped apart.
”Oh!--It's only you, Mag!” gasped Jacqueline. ”I thought Jemmy had caught us at last!...”
So it happened that Mag was elevated to the position of confidante; not a very wise confidante, but a very proud and trustworthy one, eager to help her Miss Jacky to happiness, such as she conceived the term--a ”fella” to love her and give her presents, which might or might not include a wedding-ring.