Part 20 (2/2)

The only comfort Janetta had out of the visit was a moment's conversation in the hall when Mrs. Brand took her leave.

”My dear--my dear,” said Mrs. Brand, taking the girl's hand in hers, ”I am so sorry, and I can't do anything to comfort you. Your father was very kind to me when I was in great trouble, years ago. I shall never forget his goodness. If there is anything I can ever do for you, you must let me do it for his sake.”

Janetta put up her face and kissed the woman to whom her father had been ”very kind.” It comforted her to hear of his goodness once again. She loved Mrs. Brand for appreciating it.

That little sentence or two did her more good than the long letters which she was receiving every few days from Margaret, her chosen friend.

Margaret was sincerely grieved for Janetta's loss, and said many consoling things in her sweet, tranquil, rather devotional way; but she had not known Mr. Colwyn, and she could not say the words that Janetta's heart was aching for--the words of praise and admiration of a n.o.bly unselfish life which alone could do Janetta any good. Yes, Margaret's letters were distinctly unsatisfactory--not from want of feeling, but from want of experience of life.

Graver necessities soon arose, however, than those of consolation in grief. Mr. Colwyn had always been a poor man, and the sum for which he had insured his life was only sufficient to pay his debts and funeral expenses, and to leave a very small balance at his banker's. He had bought the house in Gwynne Street in which he lived, and there was no need, therefore, to seek for another home; and Mrs. Colwyn had fifty pounds a year of her own, but of course it was necessary that the two elder girls should do something for themselves. Nora obtained almost immediately a post as under-teacher in a school not far from Beaminster, and Georgie was taken in as a sort of governess-pupil, while Joe was offered--chiefly out of consideration for his father's memory--a clerks.h.i.+p in a mercantile house in the town, and was considered to be well provided for. Curly, one of the younger boys, obtained a nomination to a naval school in London. Thus only Mrs. Colwyn, Tiny, and ”Jinks”

remained at home--with Janetta.

With Janetta!--That was the difficulty. What was Janetta to do? She might probably with considerable ease have obtained a position as resident governess in a family, but then she would have to be absent from home altogether. And of late the Colwyns had found it best to dispense with the maid-servant who had hitherto done the work of the household--a fact which meant that Janetta, with the help of a charity orphan of thirteen, did it nearly all herself.

”I might send home enough money for you to keep an efficient servant, mamma,” she said one day, ”if I could go away and find a good situation.”

It never occurred either to her or to her stepmother that any of her earnings were to belong to Janetta, or be used for her behoof.

”It would have to be a very good situation indeed, then,” said Mrs.

Colwyn, with sharpness. ”I don't suppose you could get more than fifty pounds a year--if so much. And fifty pounds would not go far if we had a woman in the house to feed and pay wages to. No, you had better stay at home and get some daily teaching in the neighborhood. With your recommendations it ought to be easy enough for you to do so.”

”I am afraid not,” said Janetta, with a little sigh.

”Nonsense! You could get some if you tried--if you had any energy, any spirit: I suppose you would like to sit with your hands before you, doing nothing, while I slaved my fingers to the bone for you,” said Mrs.

Colwyn, who never got up till noon, or did anything but gossip and read novels when she was up; ”but I would be ashamed to do that if I were a well-educated girl, whose father spent I don't know how much on her voice, and expected her to make a living for herself by the time she was one-and-twenty! I must say, Janetta, that I think it very wrong of you to be so slack in trying to earn a little money, when Nora and Georgie and Joey are all out in the world doing for themselves, and you sitting here at home doing nothing at all.”

”I am sorry, mamma,” said Janetta, meekly. ”I will try to get something to do at once.”

She did not think of reminding Mrs. Colwyn that she had been up since six o'clock that morning helping the charity orphan to scrub and scour, cooking, making beds, sewing, teaching Tiny between whiles, and scarcely getting five minutes' rest until dinner-time. She only began to wonder how she could manage to get all her tasks into the day if she had lessons to give as well. ”I suppose I must sit up at night and get up earlier in the morning,” she thought to herself. ”It is a pity I am such a sleepy person. But use reconciles one to all things.”

Mrs. Colwyn meanwhile went on lecturing.

”And above all things, Janetta, remember that you ask high terms and get the money always in advance. You are just like your poor father in the way you have about money; I never saw anyone so unpractical as he was.

I'm sure half his bills are unpaid yet, and never will be paid. I hope you won't be like _him_, I'm sure----”

”I hope I shall be like him in every possible respect,” said Janetta, with compressed lips. She rose as she spoke and caught up the basket of socks that she was mending. ”I don't know how you can bear to speak of him in that slighting manner,” she went on, almost pa.s.sionately. ”He was the best, the kindest of men, and I cannot bear to hear it.” And then she hurriedly left the room and went into her father's little surgery--as it had once been called--to relieve her overcharged heart with a burst of weeping. It was not often that Janetta lost patience, but a word against her father was sufficient to upset her self-command nowadays. She rested her head against the well-worn arm-chair where he used to sit, and kissed the back of it, and bedewed it with her tears.

”Poor father! dear father!” she murmured. ”Oh, if only you were here, I could bear anything! Or if she had loved you as you deserved, I could bear with her and work for her willingly--cheerfully. But when she speaks against you, father dear, how _can_ I live with her? And yet he told me to take care of her, and I said I would. He called me 'his faithful Janet.' I do not want to be unfaithful, but--oh father, father, it is hard to live without you!”

The gathering shades of the wintry day began to gather round her; but Janetta, her face buried in the depths of the arm-chair, was oblivious of time. It was almost dark before little Tiny came running in with cries of terror to summon her sister to Mrs. Colwyn's help.

”Mamma's ill--I think she's dying. Come, Janet, come,” cried the child.

And Janetta hurried back to the dining-room.

She found Mrs. Colwyn on the sofa in a state of apparent stupor. For this at first Janetta saw no reason, and was on the point of sending for a doctor, when her eye fell upon a black object which had rolled from the sofa to the ground. Janetta looked at it and stood transfixed.

There was no need to send for a doctor. And Janetta saw at once that she could not be spared from home. The wretched woman had found a solace from her woes, real and imaginary, in the brandy bottle.

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