Part 98 (2/2)

And in fact he had not been at the Holt since, as a pert boy, he had found it 'slow.' Honor was rather alarmed at his fatigue, and offered varieties of sustenance, which he declined, returning with eager nervousness to the subject in hand.

The Bannermans, he said, had offered to go with Bertha and Phoebe, but only on condition that Maria was left at a boarding-house, and a responsible governess taken for Bertha. Moreover, Augusta had told Bertha herself what was impending, and the poor child had laid a clinging, trembling grasp on his arm, and hoa.r.s.ely whispered that if a stranger came to hear her story, she would die. Alas! it might be easier than before. He had promised never to consent. 'But what can I do?' he said, with a hand upon either temple; 'they heed me no more than Maria!'

Robert had absolutely half consented to leave his cure in the charge of another, and conduct his brother and sisters, but this plan did not satisfy the guardian, who could not send out his wards without some reliable female.

He swung the ta.s.sel of the sofa-cus.h.i.+on violently as he spoke, and looked imploringly at Honora, but she, though much moved, felt obliged to keep her resolution of not beginning.

'Very hard,' he said, 'that when there are but two women in the world that that poor child likes, she can have neither!' and then, gaining hope from something in her face, he exclaimed, 'After all, I do believe you will take pity on her!'

'I thought you in joke yesterday.'

'I thought it too good to be true! I am not so cool as Phoebe thought me. But really,' he said, a.s.suming an earnest, rational, gentlemanly manner, 'you have done so much for us that perhaps it makes us presume, and though I know it is preposterous, yet if it were possible to you to be long enough with poor Bertha to bring her round again, I do believe it would make an infinite difference.'

'What does Phoebe say?' asked Honor.

'Phoebe, poor child, she does not know I am come. She looks as white as death, and got up a smile that was enough to make one cry, but she told me not to mind, for something would be sure to bring it right; and so it will, if you will come.'

'But, Mervyn, you don't consider what a nuisance I shall be to you.'

Mervyn looked more gallant than Robert ever could have done, and said something rather foolish; but anxiety quickly made him natural again, and he proceeded, 'After all, they need not bother you much. Phoebe is of your own sort, and Maria is inoffensive, and Bertha will have Lieschen, and I--I'll take my own line, and be as little of a bore as I can.

You'll go?'

'If--if it will do.'

That odd answer was enough. Mervyn, already leaning forward with his arms on his knees, held out one hand, and shaded his eyes with the other, as, half with a sob, he said, 'There, then, it is all right! Miss Charlecote, you can't guess what it is to a man not to be trusted with his own sisters!'

These words made that _bete noire_, John Mervyn Fulmort, nearly as much a child of her own as his brother and sister; for they were in a tone of self-blame--not of resentment.

She was sufficiently afraid of him to respect his reserve; moreover, he looked so ill and hara.s.sed that she dreaded his having an attack, and heartily wished for Phoebe, so she only begged him to rest till after her early dinner, when she would convey him back to Beauchamp; and then left him alone, while she went to look her undertaking in the face, rather amused to find herself his last resource, and surprised to find her spirit of enterprise rising, her memories of Alps, lakes, cathedrals, and pictures fast a.s.suming the old charm that had erst made her long to see them again. And with Phoebe! Really it would be almost a disappointment if the scheme failed.

When she again met her unwonted guest he plunged into plans, routes, and couriers, treating her as far more completely pledged than she chose to allow; and eating as heartily as he dared, and more so than she thought Phoebe would approve. She was glad to have him safe at his own door, where Phoebe ran to meet them, greatly relieved, for she had been much disturbed by his absence at luncheon.

'Miss Charlecote! Did you meet him?'

'I went after her'--and Mervyn boyishly caught his sister round the waist, and pushed her down into a curtsey--'make your obedience; she is going to look after you all.'

'Going with us!' cried Phoebe, with clasped hands.

'To see about it,' began Honor, but the words were strangled in a transported embrace.

'Dearest, dearest Miss Charlecote! Oh, I knew it would all come right if we were patient; but, oh! that it should be so right! Oh! Mervyn, how could you?'

'Ah! you see what it is not to be faint-hearted.' And Phoebe, whose fault was certainly not a faint heart, laughed at this poor jest, as she had seldom laughed before, with an _abandon_ of gaiety and joyousness.

The quiet girl was absolutely thrown off her balance, laughed and cried, thanked and exclaimed, moved restlessly, and spoke incoherently.

'Oh! may I tell Bertha?' she asked.

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