Part 24 (2/2)

”I do not know. But now we have both, and there seems to be no one else,” said Selina, with a sigh.

”Oh! if papa could only come! We should have no more of Madame Precoe, or Father Jerome, or any of them. Everybody seems to have forsaken us.”

”No. A great many people have called. But you have been so ill--and Madame does not care to have even Miss Robina come up. Oh! Fred dear, if you were only quite well again?”

”I shall be well, I am determined. I shall be equal to Madame Precoe very soon.”

”I do not know why she is here. We do not need her more than we did before. When you are well, you must ask Mr St. Cyr.”

”I shall be well I feel quite strong when I think of Madame Ascot Precoe. And we can get Tessie home.”

”But that is not a very sure strength, I am afraid. And the best way will be to wait patiently till papa comes home, or till--”

Selina stopped suddenly, and Frederica, notwithstanding her boasted strength, burst into tears. They felt very forlorn and friendless, these young girls. There were many in M--who cared for them, and who would gladly have come to them with help and counsel. But they seemed to be under other guardians.h.i.+p. No offered kindness to them was well received either by Mr Jerome St. Cyr, or by Madame Precoe. To the young people themselves there was little chance of access, and those who felt kindly towards them had no opportunity of showing their feelings.

Even Mrs Brandon was kept at home by the care of an infant daughter, and no wonder that they began to feel their loneliness press sadly on them.

”We can have Tessie home for awhile. I will write a note to Miss Robina, and she will let her come. Then she can read to us, and go out in the sleigh with you.”

The note was written, and Tessie came home, well pleased to be made useful, and they brightened up a little. Frederica grew better, and was soon able to drive with her sisters. She made several attempts, more or less successful, to let Madame Precoe see that she was not the mistress of the house, nor even the housekeeper, as she once had been. She was too well bred, and heeded too entirely the peacemaking suggestions of Selina, to say or do anything to make her aware that she was not altogether a welcome visitor. To all appearance Madame was quite content with her ill-defined position in the house, and willing to be on the best of terms with them all. Tessie took less pains than the rest to be agreeable to her, but Madame would take no offence; and beyond a suggestion, that it was not wise to have Tessie losing so much of her time from school, she did not interfere with their arrangements with regard to her.

But though there was nothing to disturb the outward quiet of the time, it was a time of trial to them all. There was in every one of them a feeling that they were waiting for something--a sense of dread and doubt, that went deeper than the fear that they might never see their father again. Of that there was little hope. The tidings that came from him varied with every mail, and did not become more hopeful. There never had been much hope that he would be quite well, and now it seemed doubtful whether he would be able to return home again; and gradually, as the winter wore away, there fell on them a dread of what might follow his death to them all.

Mr St. Cyr was still an invalid, quite confined to the house. They used to go round that way when they went to drive, and several times Frederica had made an attempt to see him. But he was able to see no one, she was always told: His brother seemed to have taken his place with them, as far as the guidance of their affairs was concerned; but they did not trust Mr Jerome as they had been taught to trust Mr St.

Cyr. He was kind in many ways, granting without hesitation almost all the requests made to him, and refusing, when he was obliged to refuse, in a way which ought not to have offended them. But it was not clear to them, that he had a right to a.s.sume any guardians.h.i.+p or authority over them, and they made one another unhappy, and sometimes angry, by discussing his possible motives, and the designs he might have with regard to them.

If there had been nothing else, the stand he took with regard to Madame Precoe's residence with them would have made them dislike him. He said decidedly, when appealed to, that she must remain. A family of young girls in their circ.u.mstances could not well be left without some responsible person to take charge of them. There was no one so well fitted for the position as Madame. Her former residence in the house made this evident. Her society was not, it seemed, indispensable to the happiness of Mr Precoe. At least, she could be spared, and was willing to devote herself to their interests. What complaint had they against her?

They had no complaints, except that Tessie detested her, and Frederica did not trust her; but neither the one nor the other could give any satisfactory reason for the feelings entertained toward her, and she remained.

She had taken the affairs of the house into her own hands from the very first. There were changes made in various respects. Old servants were dismissed for reasons which commended themselves to her judgment and the judgment of Mr Jerome, and she did not trouble the young ladies about the matter. Still she was not unreasonable with regard to this, nor arbitrary, as the priest took pains to point out to them. For when they indignantly exclaimed against the dismissal of old Dixen, Madame certainly did not look pleased, but she did not insist. Dixen still kept his place in the house, and came and went at everybody's bidding, but he was no longer permitted to drive the young ladies as he had always done before. It was dangerous in the crowded streets, Madame said, for Dixen was getting both deaf and blind, and his place was given to one whom she considered in every way worthy of confidence.

Madame did not trouble herself to answer expostulations or objections.

She did not resent Frederica's but half-concealed distrust, or Tessie's open impertinence. Like every one else in the house, she seemed waiting for something--”biding her time,” as Tessie said, and knowing her as they did, they were hardly to be blamed for looking forward with dread, and for the determination, daily strengthening, to resist her influence and interference when the time for change should come.

Miss Agnace was with them still, but she was very grave and silent at this time. Any day or hour she might be recalled to her hospital and her sick people again, and she was sad at the thought of leaving the children whom she had learned to love so well. But she was sad for another reason too--a reason which ought _not_ to have troubled her.

This silent, patient, humble woman, who had long ago forgotten what it was to have hopes, or fears, or wishes of her own, had her heart stirred to its utmost depths for the sake of these orphan children. She was afraid for them. And yet, why should she be afraid? Why should she look forward with such dread to the change and separation that sooner or later must come to them? Were they not to be in good keeping? Had not Father Jerome given himself to the work of caring for their souls, of bringing them into the true Church? thus ensuring their happiness, both in this world and the next. They must suffer a little while, being separated from each other; but with such good and gentle children the struggle would not be long. Why should she fear for them? So blessed an end would justify the use of any means, and who was she that she should judge the actions of one like Father Jerome?

But in spite of her confidence in the priest, in spite of her reasonings and her indignation at herself because of her misgivings, she had painful sinkings of heart for the children's sakes. Sometimes, as she sat listening to their conversation, or watched Frederica writing to their little brothers letters which would never reach them, because she knew they must be given by her into Father Jerome's hands, to be read and smiled at, and put into the fire, she had a feeling of pain and shame which no confidence in the priest, no belief in the good work he was to do in the saving of these children's souls, could quite put away.

She knew that, with the will of Father Jerome, the sisters would not for years see their brothers again. She knew that into his plans for them the entire separation of the sisters entered. It might be best for them, she acknowledged, but it was very, very sad.

The boys had not been sent back to the school from which they had been brought at the time of their mother's death. They were in one of the great Catholic schools of the city, where hundreds of boys of all ages and cla.s.ses were taught. It was a good school, Miss Agnace believed, and they would be well taught and well disciplined, and where no evil could befall them. It was the best place in the world for them, she was sure. But she shrank with a feeling of pain and shame from the thought that their sisters were being deceived with regard to them. And if it was wrong for Father Jerome and Madame Precoe, what was it for her, whom they loved and trusted, to deceive them? Many a painful question, which she could not answer, came into Miss Agnace's thoughts during these days of waiting--questions which she called sinful--but which she could neither answer nor put quite away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

The winter wore slowly away. The snow was fast disappearing from mountain and fields, and the streets were growing dirty and uneven, as, under the influence of the sun in the lengthening days of March, the ice began to yield, and an early spring was antic.i.p.ated.

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