Part 35 (1/2)

Tom did not comprehend this at all. He only laughed at her for feeling so ”nesh” (that means tender, sensitive--but the word is almost unexplainable to other than s...o...b..ry ears) on the subject. He liked the romance and excitement of secret courts.h.i.+p--men often do; rarely women, unless there is something in them not quite right, not entirely womanly.

But Tom was very considerate, and though he called it ”silly,” and took a little fit of crossness on the occasion, he allowed Elizabeth to write to mother about him, and consented that on her next holiday she should go to Richmond, in order to speak to Miss Hilary on the same subject, and ask her also to write to Mrs. Hand, stating how good and clever Tom was, and how exceedingly happy was Tom's Elizabeth.

”And won't you come and fetch me, Tom?” asked she, shyly. ”I am sure Miss Hilary would not object, nor Miss Leaf neither.”

Tom, protested he did not care two straws whether they objected or not; he was a man of twenty, in a good trade--he had lately gone back to the printing, and being a clever workman, earned capital wages. He had a right to choose whom he liked, and marry when he pleased. If Elizabeth didn't care for him, she might leave him alone.

”Oh, Tom!” was all she answered, with a strange gentleness that no one could have believed would ever have come into the manner of South Sea Islander. And quitting the subject then, she afterward persuaded him, and not for the first time, into consenting to what she thought right. There is something rather touching in a servant's holiday. It comes so seldom. She must count on it for so long beforehand, and remember it for so long afterward. This present writer owns to a strong sympathy with the holiday-makers on the grand gala-days of the English calendar. It is a pleasure to watch the innumerable groups of family folk, little, children, and prentice lands.

--”Dressed in all their best, To walk abroad with Sally.”

And the various ”Sallys” and their corresponding swains can hardly feel more regret than she when it happens to be wet weather on Easter week or at Whitsuntide.

Whit-Monday, the day when Tom escaped from the printing-office, and Elizabeth got leave of absence for six hours, was as glorious a June day as well could be. As the two young people perched themselves on the top of the Richmond omnibus and drove through Kensington, Hammersmith, Turnham Green, and over Kew Bridge--Tom pointing out all the places, and giving much curious information about them--Elizabeth thought there never was a more beautiful country, or a more lovely summer day: she was, she truly said, ”as happy as a Queen.”

Neverthless, when the omnibus stopped, she, with great self-denial, insisted on getting rid of Tom for anytime. She thought Miss Hilary might not quite like Tom's knowing where she lived, or what her occupation was, lest he might gossip about it to s...o...b..ry people; so she determined to pay her visit by herself, and appointed to meet him at a certain hour on Richmond Bridge, over which bridge she watched him march sulkily, not without a natural pleasure that he should be so much vexed at losing her company for an hour or two. But she knew he would soon come to himself--as he did, before he had been half a mile on the road to Hampton Court, meeting a young fellow he knew, and going with him over that grand old palace, which furnished them with a subject at their next debating society, where they both came out very strong on the question of hypocritical priests and obnoxious kings, with especial reference to Henry VIII, and Cardinal Wolsey.

Meanwhile Elizabeth went in search of the little shop--which n.o.body need expect to find at Richmond now--bearing the well-known name ”Janet Balquidder.” Entering it, for there was no private door, she saw, in the far corner above the curtained desk, the pretty curls of her dear Miss Hilary. Elizabeth had long known that her mistress ”kept a shop,” and with the notions of gentility which are just as rife in her cla.s.s as in any other, had mourned bitterly over this fact. But when she saw how fresh and well the young lady looked, how busily and cheerfully she seemed to work with her great books before her, and with what a composed grace and dignity she came forward when asked for, Elizabeth secretly confessed that not even keeping a shop had made or could make the smallest difference in Miss Hilary.

She herself was much more changed.

”Why, Elizabeth, I should hardly have known you!” was the involuntary exclamation of her late mistress.

She certainly did look very nice; not smart--for her sober taste preferred quiet colors--but excessively neat and well-dressed. In her new gown of gray ”coburg,” her one handsome shawl, which had been honored several times by Miss Hilary's wearing, her white straw bonnet and white ribbons, underneath which the smooth black hair and soft eyes showed to great advantage, she appeared, not ”like a lady”--a servant can seldom do that let her dress be ever so fine--but like a thoroughly respectable, intelligent, and pleasant-faced young woman.

And her blushes came and went so fast, she was so nervous and yet so beamingly happy, that Miss Hilary soon suspected there was more in this visit than at first appeared. Knowing that with Elizabeth's great shyness the mystery would never come out in public, she took an opportunity of asking her to help her in the bedroom, and there, with the folding-doors safely shut, discovered the whole secret. Miss Hilary was a good deal surprised at first. She had never thought of Elizabeth as likely to get married at all--and to Tom Cliffe.

”Why, isn't he a mere boy; ever so much younger than you are?”

”Three years.”

”That is a pity--a great pity: women grow old so much faster than men.”

”I know that,” said Elizabeth, somewhat sorrowfully.

”Besides, did you not tell me he was very handsome and clever?”

”Yes: and I'm neither the one nor the other. I have thought all that over too, many a time; indeed I have, Miss Hilary. But Tom likes me--or fancies he does. Do you think”--and the intense humility which true love always has, struck into Miss Hilary's own conscious heart a conviction of how very true this poor girl's love must be. ”Do you think he is mistaken? that his liking me--I mean in that sort of way--is quite impossible?”

”No, indeed, and I never said it; never thought it,” was the earnest reply. ”But consider; three years younger than yourself; handsomer and cleverer than you are--”.

Miss Hilary stopped; it seemed so cruel to say such things, and yet she felt bound to say them. She knew her former ”bower-maiden” well enough to be convinced that if Elizabeth were not happy in marriage she would be worse than unhappy--might grow actually bad.

”He loves you now; you are sure of that; but are you sure that he is a thoroughly stable and reliable character? Do you believe he will love you always?”

”I can't tell. Perhaps--if I deserved it,” said poor Elizabeth.

And, looking at the downcast eyes, at the thorough womanly sweetness and tenderness which suffused the whole face, Hilary's doubts began to melt away. She thought how sometimes men, captivated by inward rather than outward graces, have fallen in love with plain women, or women older than themselves, and actually kept to their attachment through life, with a fidelity rare as beautiful. Perhaps this young fellow, who seemed by all accounts superior to his cla.s.s--having had the sense to choose that pearl in an oyster-sh.e.l.l, Elizabeth Hand--might also have the sense so appreciate her, and go on loving her to the end of his days, Anyhow, he loved her now, and she loved him; and it was useless reasoning any more about it.

”Come, Elizabeth,” cried her mistress, cheerfully, ”I have said all my say, and now I have only to give my good wishes. If Tom Cliffe deserves you, I am sure you deserve him, and I should like to tell him so.”