Part 3 (1/2)

Mrs. Mainwaring never, even to Primrose, parted with the key of this cabinet. Whenever the girls were present it was locked--even Daisy could not coax mother to show her the contents of any of those tempting little drawers--”only mementoes, darling--only mementoes,”

the lady would say, but the girls knew that mother herself often in the dead of night looked into the locked drawers, and they generally noticed that the next day she was weaker and sadder than usual.

On the top of the cabinet a miniature painting of Captain Mainwaring was always to be found, and the girls used to love to keep a vase of the choicest flowers close to father's picture.

When Mrs. Mainwaring died, Jasmine cried nearly the whole of one night at the thought of the little old-fas.h.i.+oned cabinet--for now she felt quite sure that no one would ever dare to open it, ”and I don't like to think of the mementoes being never seen again,” she sobbed: ”It seems cruel to them.”

Then Primrose promised to undertake this dreaded task, and here was her opportunity.

Primrose was not at all a nervous girl, and with the soft summer air filling the chamber, and driving out all the ghosts of solitude and gloom, she commenced her task. She determined to look through the contents of the little cabinet with method, and she resolved to begin with the large centre drawer. She pulled it open, and was surprised to find that it was nearly empty.

A few papers, on which verses and quotations from Books of Sermons were copied in her mother's hand-writing, lay about; these, and one parcel which was carefully wrapped up in soft white tissue-paper, were the sole contents of the centre drawer. Primrose pulled the parcel from where it lay half-hidden at the back of the drawer. She felt self-possessed, but her fingers trembled slightly as she touched it.

It was folded up most carefully--the wrappings were kept in their place by white satin ribbon, and on a slip of white paper which had been placed on the top of the parcel, and secured by the ribbon, Primrose read a few words:

”Arthur's little desk--for Primrose now.”

She felt her color coming high, and her heart beating. Who was Arthur?--she had never heard of him--her father's name had been John.

Who was the unknown Arthur, whose desk was now given to her?

She untied the parcel slowly, but with shaking fingers.

The little desk was a battered one, ink-stained, and of a slight and cheap construction. Inside it contained one treasure, a thick letter, with the words ”For Primrose” written in her mother's writing on the envelope.

An unexpected message from those who are dead will set the strongest nerves quivering. At sight of this letter Primrose laid her pretty yellow head down on the little old cabinet, and sobbed long and bitterly.

How long she might have wept she could never say, but her tears were suddenly brought to an abrupt termination. When she entered her mother's room she had not locked the door, and now a voice sounded at her elbow:

”Eh!--my word--dear, dear, deary me! Now, Miss Primrose, to think of you creeping up like this, and 'worriting' yourself over the secrets in the little bit of a cabinet. Your poor mamma knew what she was about when she kept that cabinet locked, and for all the good they'll ever do, she might well have burnt the bits of fallals she kept there.

There, darling, don't spoil your pretty eyes crying over what's dead and gone, and can never be put right again--never. Shut up the cabinet, Miss Primrose, and put your hair a bit straight, for Mrs.

Ellsworthy, from Shortlands, is down in the drawing-room, and wanting to see you most particular 'bad.'”

CHAPTER VI.

MANY VISITORS.

Miss Martineau's plans had been full of directness. Having made up her mind, she wasted no precious moments. The girls must be helped; she could only give them counsel, but others could do more. Miss Martineau determined to go at once to the fountainhead. In short, she would attack the one and only rich person who lived in the neighborhood of Rosebury. Shortlands was a big place, and the Ellsworthys were undoubtedly big people. Money with them was plentiful. They considered themselves county folk; they lived in what the Rosebury people believed to be royal style.

Miss Martineau had for one short blissful week of her life spent the time at Shortlands. She had been sent for in an emergency, to take the place of a nursery governess who was ill. Her French had been of little account in this great house, and her music had not been tolerated. The poor old lady had indeed been rather snubbed. But what of that? She was able to go back to her own intimate friends, and entertain them with accounts of powdered footmen, of richly-dressed London ladies, of a world of fas.h.i.+on which these people believed to be Paradise.

Twice during her week's sojourn she had been addressed by Mrs.

Ellsworthy. No matter; from that day she considered herself one of the great lady's acquaintances. Miss Martineau could be heroic when she pleased, and there was certainly something of the heroic element about her when she ventured to storm so mighty a citadel at eleven o'clock in the morning.

Her very boldness, however, won her cause. The footman who opened the door might look as supercilious as he pleased, but he was obliged to deliver her messages, and Mrs. Ellsworthy, with a good-humored smile, consented to see her.

Their interview was short, but Miss Martineau, when she launched on her theme, quite forgot that she was poor and her auditor rich. Mrs.

Ellsworthy, too, after a few glances into the thin and earnest face of the governess, ceased to think of that antiquated poke bonnet, or the absurdly old-fas.h.i.+oned cut of that ugly mantle.