Part 17 (2/2)

”Oh, those cowrie and yellow snail sh.e.l.ls!” sighed Marjorie.

Miss Nelson only caught these last words. She looked down into the pleading gray eyes of her favorite, and her choice was made.

”We will go to Salter's Point,” she said.

Some hurrahs, accompanied by some groans, met her decision; but it was a satisfaction to have anything fixed, and the children rushed upstairs to prepare for the great picnic.

It was discovered that the large wagonette and the pony-carriage could accommodate the whole party, and accordingly, soon after eleven o'clock, they started in the highest possible spirits--even Miss Nelson casting away her mantle of care for the time, and Mr. Wilton, who had now thoroughly entered into the spirit of the fun, enjoying himself as much as the youngest child present.

It was a glorious day, the breeze was only fresh, and the dust, notwithstanding Ermengarde's fears, by no means excessive.

The little girl soon therefore got over her slight disappointment at Miss Nelson's choice not having been the same as her own. She was seated by her favorite Basil's side, in the pony-carriage, the more riotous party, with Mr. Wilton at their head, having elected to go in the wagonette.

Miss Nelson and two of the younger children sat opposite to Ermengarde and Basil. Ermengarde would rather have had another _vis-a-vis_, but as the governess devoted her whole time to amusing the two little ones, Ermengarde decided to take no notice of her, and to give herself up to the delights of Basil's conversation.

Basil was a boy who, with all his sunny and pleasant ways, had a very reserved nature. There were in reality two Basils: one with a kindly word, a joke, a light jest, an affectionate manner for each and every one he came across; the other was made of sterner stuff--grave, with deep thoughts and high aspirations, and very strong, almost rigid ideas with regard to honor and rect.i.tude--this was the inner Basil, whose existence Ermengarde knew of, whom she adored, loved, admired, dreaded.

This Basil had a heart which could be wounded, and Ermengarde knew well that, if she caused that deep heart a pang, it might close its doors against her, and shut her out in the cold, outside its affection and influence forever.

By superficial observers Basil was considered one of the most forgiving and the most easily pleased people in the house. But Ermengarde knew better. She knew things might happen which might make Basil a very stern and unrelenting young judge.

This morning, however, all was suns.h.i.+ne. Basil was in his sunniest humor. He would not talk all the time to Ermengarde, but gave Miss Nelson and the children enough of his conversation to make them feel in it all, and consequently in excellent spirits. But for his sister he had some tender glances, and one or two allusions which no one understood but herself, for the brother and sister had spent happy birthdays like this in their mother's time, and they were both thinking of her to-day.

A part of the road which led to Salter's Point wound through the woods which lay at the back of Wilton Chase. There was plenty of shade, therefore, here, and Ermengarde lay back on her comfortable seat with a great feeling of rest and security. She almost forgot that miserable day which followed the boys' return from school; she even looked at Miss Nelson without being haunted by any sense of reproach. The governess's worn face looked quite peaceful and happy; and Ermengarde hoped that she had really forgotten that tiresome old-fas.h.i.+oned miniature which had so mysteriously disappeared from her room. Ermie trusted that the stolen miniature would soon be forgotten, and she was fully convinced that her share in its disappearance would never be known.

The wagonette, with its two horses, had disappeared from sight, and the pony-carriage, drawn by the pretty Shetlands with their tinkling bells, was about to emerge through the park-gates, when there came a sudden interruption. This was caused by Collins, the head keeper, who stepped across the road, and touched his hat to the whole party, and to Ermengarde in particular.

”I beg your pardon, Miss Nelson,” he said, addressing himself first of all to the governess, ”but the fact is we are in a little bit of trouble at home, and the good wife said if I stood here I'd be sure to see Miss Ermengarde pa.s.sing, and she knew Miss Ermengarde would come to Susy, just for one minute, as she wants her so very badly.”

On hearing these words Ermengarde turned so white that Miss Nelson thought she was going to faint. She started to her feet at once with a half-cry. ”Oh, please let me go,” she said eagerly. Her hand shook; she would have leaped out of the carriage had not Basil held her back.

”Sit quiet, Ermengarde,” said her governess authoritatively. ”Now, Collins, please explain why it is necessary that Miss Wilton should see your daughter at this inconvenient moment, when we are just on our way to Salter's Point; you are aware that Mr. Wilton has forbidden any intimacy.”

”Oh, let me go; I won't keep you two minutes,” said Ermie.

”Quiet, Ermengarde. Now, Collins, what does Susan want with Miss Wilton?”

Collins had a strongly-marked face, and it flushed now rather angrily.

”I can't say, I'm sure, miss,” he said. ”The poor child is all in a fl.u.s.ter, and as to Miss Ermengarde, poor Susy wors.h.i.+ps the very ground she walks on. You haven't, maybe, heard of the accident that has happened to her, miss?”

Miss Nelson's manner became gentle at once. Ermengarde was about to burst forth with another exclamation; the governess laid her hand on the little girl's arm with a not unkind pressure. ”One moment, Ermie.

No, Collins, we have not heard of any accident. I sincerely trust your daughter has come to no harm.”

”Well, miss, for the matter of that, Susy's life ain't in danger, but she has broke her leg; a bad fracture, too, midway between the knee and the ankle. Poor child, she's for all like a boy in some of her ways, and she was climbing a tree to get a glimpse of me, she said, the rogue; and a rotten bough broke under her, and she came down right on her leg. The poor thing was insensible when I took her up, miss, but she's better now, of course, and the leg was set by Doctor Reeves last night.”

”Oh, do let me go to her,” said Ermengarde; ”what does a stupid picnic matter? Basil, won't you speak up for me. _Do_ get Miss Nelson to let me go at once.”

”Poor Susy, she's feverish a bit,” said Collins, favoring Ermengarde with a quick grateful glance, ”and she has been crying out all the morning and half the night for missie. It was that made the wife think of me standing here to watch, in case Miss Ermengarde might spare a minute or two from the day's pleasure to give to the poor child.”

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