Part 7 (2/2)
Shall I tell you of the boy with golden hair?” and holding her so close to him that he could feel the beating of her heart and hear her soft, low breathing, he told her all there was to tell of his half-brother Charlie, who died just one day after his young mother, and was buried in the same coffin.
They could not return to Collingwood that night, and the evening was spent in the private parlor which Arthur engaged for himself and his blind friend. It was strange how fast they grew to liking each other, and it was a pleasant sight to look at them as they sat there in the warm firelight which the lateness of the season made necessary to their comfort--the one softened and toned down by affliction and the daily cross he was compelled to bear, the other in the first flush of youth when the world lay all bright before him and he had naught to do but enter the Elysian fields and pluck the fairest flowers.
It was late when they separated, but at a comparatively early hour the next morning they a.s.sembled again, this time to bid good-by, for their paths hereafter lay in different directions.
”You must write to me, little metaphysics,” said Arthur, as with hat and shawl in hand he stood in the depot on the east side of the Hudson.
”Yes,” rejoined Richard, ”she is to be my private amanuensis, and shall let you know of our welfare, and now, I suppose, we must go.”
It was a very pleasant ride to Edith, pleasanter than when she came with Arthur, but a slight headache made her drowsy, and leaning on Richard's arm she fell asleep, nor woke until West Shannondale was reached. The carriage was in waiting for them, and Victor sat inside. He had come ostensibly to meet his master, but really to see the kind of specimen he was bringing to the aristocratic halls of Collingwood.
Long and earnest had been the discussion there concerning the little lady; Mrs. Matson, the housekeeper, sneering rather contemptuously at one who heretofore had been a servant at Brier Hill. Victor, on the contrary, stood ready to espouse her cause, thinking within himself how he would teach her many points of etiquette of which he knew she must necessarily be ignorant; but firstly he would, to use his own expression, ”see what kind of metal she was made of.”
Accordingly his first act at the depot was to tread upon her toes, pretending he did not see her, but Edith knew he did it purposely, and while her black eyes blazed with anger, she exclaimed,
”You wretch, how dare you be so rude?”
a.s.sisting Richard into the carriage, Victor was about to turn away, leaving Edith to take care of herself, when with all the air of a queen, she said to him,
”Help me in, sir. Don't you know your business!”
”Pardonnez, moi,” returned Victor, speaking in his mother tongue, and bowing low to the indignant child, whom he helped to a seat by Richard.
An hour's drive brought them to the gate of Collingwood, and Edith was certainly pardonable if she did cast a glance of exultation in the direction of Brier Hill, as they wound up the gravelled road and through the handsome grounds of what henceforth was to be her home.
”I guess Mrs. Atherton will be sorry she acted so,” she thought, and she was even revolving the expediency of putting on airs and not speaking to her former mistress, when the carriage stopped and Victor appeared at the window all attention, and asking if he should ”a.s.sist Miss Hastings to alight.”
In the door Mrs. Matson was waiting to receive them, rubbing her gold-bowed spectacles and stroking her heavy silk with an air which would have awed a child less self-a.s.sured than Edith.
Nothing grand or elegant seemed strange or new to her. On the contrary she took to it naturally as if it were her native clement, and now as she stepped upon the marble floor of the lofty hall she involuntarily cut a pirouette, exclaiming, ”Oh, but isn't this jolly! Seems as if I'd got back to Heaven. What a splendid room to sing in,” and she began to warble a wild, impa.s.sioned air which made Richard pause and listen, wondering whence came the feeling which so affected him carrying him back to the hills of Germany.
Mrs. Matson looked shocked, Victor amused, while the sensible driver muttered to himself as he gathered up his reins, ”That gal is just what Collingwood needs to keep it from being a dungeon.”
Mrs. Matson had seen Edith at Brier Hill, but this did not prevent her from a close scrutiny as she conducted her to the large, handsome chamber, which Richard in his hasty directions of the previous morning had said was to be hers, and which, with its light, tasteful furniture, crimson curtains, and cheerful blazing fire seemed to the delighted child a second paradise. Clapping her hands she danced about the apartment, screaming, ”It's the jolliest place I ever was in.”
”What do you mean by that word JOLLY?” asked Mrs. Matson, with a great deal of dignity; but ere Edith could reply, Victor, who came up with the foreign chest, chimed in, ”She means PRETTY, Madame Matson, and understands French, no doubt. Parley vous Francais?”
and he turned to Edith, who, while recognizing something familiar in the sound, felt sure he was making fun of her and answered back, ”Parley voo fool! I'll tell Mr. Harrington how you tease me.”
Laughing aloud at her reply, Victor put the chest in its place, made some remark concerning its quaint appearance, and bowed himself from the room, saying to her as he shut the door,
”Bon soir, Mademoiselle.”
”I've heard that kind of talk before,” thought Edith, as she began to brush her hair, preparatory to going down to supper, which Mrs.
Matson said was waiting.
At the table she met with the old man, who had seen her alight from the carriage, and had asked the mischievous Victor, ”Who was the small biped Richard had brought home?”
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