Part 7 (1/2)
”No, never. He wrote me one letter after my marriage, and only one. He said that I had disgraced my family, and he never wished to see my face again. He said he had changed his will, and that neither I nor my husband should ever inherit a penny of his money.”
”And Uncle Jack, was he angry too?”
”He wrote me only once. He was very much grieved, and could not understand how I could have acted as I had done. That was twelve years ago and I have never heard a word from him since.
”We came to America, and after a time your father obtained employment as an ill.u.s.trator for a publis.h.i.+ng firm here in New York. Then you and Jack were born. We were very happy in those days, and if it had not been for my longing to see Jack and know that he forgave me, I should have been quite content. I was too proud to write to him, but kept hoping that something would happen to bring us together again, and that he and my husband might become good friends. Then, six years ago, just as we were beginning to feel that we were really making our way in the world, your father died.”
Mrs. Randall paused, and Betty felt the hand she held quiver convulsively, but after a moment's pause she went on again.
”It was a terrible struggle at first. I had never been brought up to support myself, and now I was left alone in the world with two little helpless children to care for. Little Jack was frightfully delicate. The doctors told me that it was only by the very tenderest care that I could hope to save him. Twice I decided to write to my brother Jack. He would help me, I knew. I even wrote the letters, but I tore them up again. I was too proud. I could not ask for help even from him.
”My music was my only talent, and in time I succeeded in procuring pupils. It has been hard work ever since, but I have managed somehow, and you and Jack have never suffered.”
”No, indeed, we haven't, mother; we've had lots of good times, and Jack is ever so much stronger than he used to be.”
”I know that, and I am very thankful. If I can only keep my health--I have always been very strong. Why, I don't think I have ever been really ill in my life.”
A spasm of coughing interrupted Mrs. Randall's words, and it was several minutes before she was able to speak again.
”I don't know why I am telling you all this to-night, Betty, unless it is that I feel so restless and wakeful. If I keep well everything will be all right, but if anything should ever happen--things do happen sometimes you know, darling--if you and Jack are ever left alone in the world, then you must try to find your Uncle Jack. He will be good to you and love you for my sake, I know.”
”Where does he live, mother?”
”I don't know where he is now, but a letter sent to the old home would probably reach him. My father has been dead for nearly two years--I saw the notice of his death in an English newspaper--and Jack, as his only son, would naturally inherit everything. My father was a general, you know--General Stanhope. In my desk you will find a letter addressed to John Stanhope, Esq., Stonybrook Grange, Devons.h.i.+re, England. That is the address of my old home. You must see that it is stamped and posted. I wrote it shortly after my father's death. I thought that I ought to make some provision in case of anything happening to me. In it I have told him everything, and asked him to care for you and Jack. Why, my darling, what are you crying for? I didn't say anything was going to happen.
Hush, I hear Jack stirring; I am afraid our talk is disturbing him. Now turn over like a good little girl, and go to sleep. I feel better than I did, and I shall try to go to sleep too.”
Betty, much rea.s.sured by her mother's words, obeyed as far as turning over was concerned, and soon the only sounds to be heard were the ticking of the clock and Mrs. Randall's heavy breathing. Betty lay awake for some time, thinking over the story she had heard, but she was only a little girl, after all, and before very long her thoughts grew dim and confused; she fell into a doze, and in a few moments more was fast asleep.
CHAPTER V
WINIFRED TO THE RESCUE
When Betty next opened her eyes it was broad daylight, and the morning suns.h.i.+ne was peeping through the c.h.i.n.ks of the shutters. Her first thought was of her mother, and she was glad to find that Mrs. Randall was still asleep. She was breathing heavily, but her eyes were closed, and she did not cough. Even when Betty rose softly, and crept round to the other side of the bed to look at her more closely, she did not move, although she was as a rule a very light sleeper.
”It's after seven,” said Betty to herself, glancing rather uneasily at the clock; ”I don't think mother ever slept so late before.”
Just then she heard Jack stirring in his bed, and she hurried into the next room to tell him to be very quiet, as mother was still asleep.
”Is she better?” Jack inquired in an anxious whisper, as Betty bent over him in motherly fas.h.i.+on, to arrange his pillows more comfortably.
”Yes, I think so; her eyes are shut, and she's lying very still. I only just woke up myself.”
”I've been awake for ever so long,” said Jack; ”I've been listening to mother. She doesn't cough so much any more, but she breathes so hard, and sometimes she moans. Oh, Betty, I'm frightened; I don't know why, but I am.” And the poor little fellow buried his face in the pillow, and began to cry.
Betty dropped on her knees by the bedside, striving to comfort her little brother by every means in her power.
”There isn't anything to be frightened about, Jack, there really isn't,”
she whispered soothingly. ”Mother's all right; she told me she was better last night before she went to sleep, and, oh, Jack dear, she told me something else; such an interesting story, all about father and our grandfather and Uncle Jack. I'll tell you all of it by and by. There's mother calling me; don't let her see you've been crying.”