Part 2 (2/2)
”I can't. I would not bear it at all, if I could help myself. Now I am an orphan! An orphan!”
”Not while I live to love you. Look at this parcel, your father's present.”
Eliza unwrapped the paper and took out an oblong gilded box, to which was fastened a card: ”For our dear little daughter Eglah, with love of her father and mother.” The child glanced at the handwriting and her eyes seemed almost to take fire. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the box and threw it to the floor.
”It is not mine; I have no father and no mother. I have only Ma-Lila left!”
She buried her face in Eliza's lap, and hoping a burst of tears would relieve the strain, the nurse silently caressed her, waiting for the storm to break; but save the trembling of the figure no sign was given.
After a while, Eliza whispered,
”Grandmother is coming down the walk.”
Eglah started up as if electrified, and lifted the box from the floor, holding it against her breast. Leaning on her cane, Mrs. Maurice came to the table, sat down, and opened her arms.
”My dear child, come here.”
Not an inch stirred Eglah, and Eliza gently forced her forward within reach of the extended arms. Mrs. Maurice leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head away.
”My poor little girl, don't you know I love you?”
”Oh, no, grandma; you never did love me, and you never will.”
”But I do, dear child. Kiss me.”
”I don't want to kiss you any more than you want to kiss me. I understand exactly how you feel. You are sorry for me because you think father has treated me badly in getting married. But, grandmother, you need not pity me now, for I must make you understand that _my father always is right_. No matter what he may do, he has good reasons, and if I am satisfied n.o.body else can complain. I shall always know father is right.”
The dry, white face was lifted proudly, and the challenging eyes met her grandmother's steadily, but the childish lips trembled and the hand clutched spasmodically at her throat.
A gush of genuine tenderness warmed the old lady's heart as she took the quivering fingers, spread them on her own palm, and touched the girl's forehead with her lips.
”'Loyal and true'--that is the Maurice motto. 'Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him!' To-day we will have no lessons, and this evening Eliza shall dress you especially to meet the gentleman, Mr. Herriott, whom your father wishes you to know. Eliza, see that she has a warm bath, and put some orange flower water in her gla.s.s of lemonade.”
In after years Noel Herriott often recalled that afternoon spent at Nutwood. The inimitable courtesy of the handsome stately hostess, the sweet countenance of the widowed foster-mother--whose anxious, tender gaze rarely left the white-clad child--the grave negro butler, wearing linen ap.r.o.n that matched his grey head, and the s.p.a.cious old cedar-wainscotted dining-room where, on bare, polished mahogany table, the light of wax candles was reflected in silver dishes and candelabra, and glittered from heavy, antique-shaped, cut-gla.s.s bowls, while golden honeycomb and ripe strawberries mixed their fragrance with the breath of crimson carnations heaped in a Sevres china centrepiece that once graced banquets at Trianon. Most vivid of all impressions, he retained the imperishable image of a beautiful girl, with singularly white cheeks and l.u.s.trous, shy eyes, glowing unnaturally from her fierce struggle for composure--a proud, sensitive face whose exquisite lines suggested rare old cameos behind cabinet gla.s.s.
Though the guest was a very young man, his quiet manner and perfect ease indicated thorough acquaintance with the most refined society, and despite her sectional prejudice Mrs. Maurice yielded to the charm of an unusually handsome personality and a conversation marred by no trace of egotism. The crocus light of after-glow still tinged the west, where the sickle of a new moon swung, when the visitor rose to depart.
”Miss Eglah, when I come back from New Mexico and Arizona, shall I bring you a Zuni pickaninny or a Moqui pony?”
She shook her head.
”Since your father has stolen my stepmother, do you not think you might persuade yourself to accept me as a sort of half cousin or hemi-demi-semi-stepbrother, or any kind of a relative you may choose? I am quite alone in the world, and you are just the sister I should like to claim as my hermanita. May I?”
”Thank you, sir, I would rather not. I want only my father.”
He bowed, and lifting her dainty little hand brushed it with his mustache.
”Mrs. Maurice, in saying good-bye, I must thank you cordially for the privilege of spending several hours in your lovely home, which ill.u.s.trates all I have read of charming Southern life, and realizes completely my ideal picture of what your sunny land must have been in former years.”
<script>