Chapter 8

FORGING THE FIRST LINK.

Autumn, with its sobbing winds and falling leaves, was over now, and cold, sterile winter reigned supreme all around. Day after day the chill northern blasts swept over the busy town, bringing with them now a tempest of blinding sleet, and again showers of softly-falling snow: rich people wrapped themselves warmly in their furs and velvet; and the poor, gathering their tattered garments more closely round them, shivered under the touch of the icy king. But if winter days brought cold, bleak winds and murky skies, they also brought many pleasures in their train; and young hearts beat joyfully as the Christmas-tide drew near, and bright visions of the festive season filled each youthful mind.

Winnie especially was in a state of great excitement, for Mrs. Blake had promised her a party with a real Christmas tree, to which she was at liberty to invite as many of her school-mates as she chose. One little trifle alone damped her happiness--namely, the command to include Ada Irvine in the list of her invitations; and although Winnie pouted and pleaded her dislike of that young lady, Mrs. Blake remained firm, and insisted that her injunction should be carried out. "Your father was formerly on very intimate terms with Mr. Irvine, Winnie, and I will have no slight or disrespect shown to his daughter; so, either post her an invitation or abandon the idea of a party altogether." And when her step-mother spoke in that decided manner, Winnie knew she had no alternative save to yield.

"I sincerely trust Ada Irvine will have the good sense to refuse," she confided to Nellie the day on which the invitations were about to be issued. "She'll spoil the whole affair it she comes, horrid old thing; and I did mean it all to be so nice. Ugh! she will surely never accept," and Winnie's face wore anything but an amiable expression.

School had not been such a very pleasant place those last few weeks, and many of the scenes which occurred there were certainly neither seemly nor instructive. Open warfare reigned between Ada and Winnie, and the skirmishes were becoming serious as well as disagreeable; for Winnie, scouting all Nellie's proposals of being patient and winning by love, made a fiery little adversary, and Ada Irvine's dislike of both was rapidly deepening into the bitterest hatred--the more so when she saw Nellie rising gradually in the esteem of both teachers and scholars: the former being won by her steady attention and modest behaviour; the latter by the simple, kindly spirit which characterized all her actions. There was much still to call for patient forbearance and quiet endurance; but Nellie could see the golden sunlight streaming through the clouds, and hopefully trusted that by-and-by every dark shadow would vanish and leave never a trace behind.

This state of matters was as gall and wormwood to Ada. Nellie's gradual triumph, and Winnie's malicious delight thereat, roused every evil passion in her nature; and out of her deadly hatred she meditated a sure revenge when the opportunity came in her way. What form it would take she hardly knew; events would shape themselves somehow; and then--the cold blue eyes glittered ominously at the thought of what she termed her reckoning-day.

Many a tender, wistful thought Winnie sent to Miss Latimer, though she had never managed to visit Dingle Cottage a second time. Her precious volumes were read and re-read over and over again; and it seemed as it Aunt Judith's quiet, peaceful face shone forth from every page, and the soft, kindly voice uttered each loving word and noble thought. Dick used to protest his utter weariness of Aunt Judith and her books, for day after day she was quoted to him with never-failing enthusiasm; but on those occasions when he did give expression to such sentiments, Winnie merely treated him to a hearty embrace, and pursued the interesting subject with increased earnestness. In the meantime, however, her mind was so fully occupied with the forthcoming party that nothing else was on her lips from morn till eve; and with regard to Miss Latimer, Dick had peace for a season.

Oh, what discussions took place in the old oak parlour over the approaching festivity! How was it to be conducted? What was to be the programme for the evening? and who were to be included in the list of invitations?

"I suppose your friends will be able to dance, Dick?" inquired Winnie one night when they were sitting together talking as usual about the great event in prospect. "Mamma says we cannot play games all the evening."

"Well, I daresay they can do a hop or two when it's necessary," answered the boy lazily. "Just you get hold of Archie Trollope and he'll spin you round and round the room in a twinkle; not very gracefully, perhaps, but with no lack of energy. He's the boy to do it;" and Dick laughed as he pictured the charming spectacle with his mental eye.

Winnie looked dignified.

"If he cannot dance properly," she said, with a touch of contempt in her voice, "most assuredly he will not have the honour of dancing with me. I have no desire to figure ridiculously in a ball-room," and the little lady drew herself up proudly as she spoke.

Dick collapsed.

"The honour!" he gasped spasmodically--"the honour! My eye! listen to the princess!" and rolling himself about in convulsions of laughter, the vulgar boy ended his merriment by tilting over his chair and landing himself gracefully on the floor.

"Why not an honour, pray?" inquired Winnie, looking loftily on the sprawling form at her feet. "Is it not a _great_ privilege for any gentleman to dance with a lady?" and the indignant child laid special stress on the word "great."

Dick rose, and treating her to a sweeping Sir Charles Grandison bow, replied, "You are right, madam; the honour is inestimable." At this both laughed, and continued the interrupted conversation.

"Ada Irvine has accepted her invitation, Dick," was Winnie's next announcement, given with ominous gravity. "No one ever imagined she would do so, and all the school-girls are talking about it."

Dick gave a low whistle.

"Depend upon it, Win," he said solemnly, "there's something in the wind. Ada Irvine's not the girl to take such a step without having a reason for so doing. I guess you and Nellie had better look out for squalls, for if Miss Ada's not up to some low dodge, my name's not Richard Blake."

And even while they were speaking, the subject of their conversation sat up in her comfortable bedroom at Mrs. Elder's, thinking over the first link she was about to forge in the long chain of bitter malice and deceit. She was seated in a low basket-chair before the fire, making a pretty picture with her long fair hair floating down her back, and her dainty figure nestling cosily amongst the soft cushions. Her blue eyes had an absent, far-away look, and the small white hands lying on her lap were nervously interlaced one with the other.

"Yes," she muttered in a low, hushed voice, "I shall have my revenge, though I cannot as yet see the way clearly before me. I hardly know towards which I bear the greater hatred, but anyhow both will suffer--Winnifred Blake for her malicious triumph and delight; Nellie Latimer for her upsetting behaviour and quiet contempt. Oh, how I detest them both!" and the girl's eyes gleamed angrily. There was a moment's silence; then she continued, knitting her white brow in a perplexed frown,--"I wonder how I shall manage? One thing is certain: I must do my best on Friday night--make a good impression on the Blake family, and cautiously poison their minds with respect to Nellie Latimer. People are so credulous in this world, it is wonderful what a word skilfully thrown in will do, and how very easily it is credited; but I must be careful, and lay my plans with the greatest caution."

She spoke all this in a low undertone, as if fearful of being overheard, and her eyes wandered round the room with an uneasy light shining in their depths. The fire-flames leaped and crackled, the pretty room was full of warmth and comfort; yet the girl shivered violently, and gave a scared glance towards the window as the wind went wailing round the house like a sobbing child. What gave her that strange, restless feeling--that weariness of heart? She could hardly tell; only somehow the world seemed all changed of late, and the Christmas-tide so close at hand failed to afford the same joy and gladness it had done heretofore. A great black cloud seemed to be hiding all the sunshine from her sight; a heavy weight would keep dragging at her heart-strings, and a continual thirst after revenge persisted in haunting her every footstep.

Yet this time was a season of peace and holy joy--a time when hand should clasp hand with the fervour of warm friendship, and all past slights and wrongs be blotted out for ever, leaving room for naught in the heart save the pure Christ-like love which makes this world a heaven on earth. Night after night, as the Christmas-tide drew near, the sky spread itself over all--one curtain, of misty blue, studded with the bright, scintillating twinkle of myriads of happy stars. Every evening the quiet, peaceful moon shone forth rounder and mellower; the north wind tempered its cutting blasts and touched the sleeping earth gently, gently with its icy fingers; and the frost-sparkles, glistering from lofty steeple and sloping roof, changed the dingy town to a veritable fairyland.

At first Nellie had often wondered why Miss Latimer took such an interest in the outside world, and what beauty she could see in the busy city with its constant din and bustle. But that was over now, for she had learned that the nature-world was as an open book to Aunt Judith--a treasury from which she brought forth gold, silver, and precious stones, and scattered them throughout the world in the shape of grand, beautiful thoughts.

Nellie found life very pleasant just now at the little cottage in Broomhill Road. Miss Latimer and Aunt Debby vied with each other in every endeavour to add to her comfort and happiness; while even Aunt Meg roused herself occasionally from her selfish torpor and tried to brighten the tiny home. She could gladden it wonderfully when she chose, for Miss Margaret possessed many pleasing traits of character; but, alas! she seldom did choose, and, as Miss Deborah quaintly expressed it, "one had to endure innumerable showers of rain for one gleam of sunshine." Nellie had become so accustomed, however, to the invalid's whims and caprices, that she thought little, if at all, about them, and in the meantime her whole attention was engrossed with Winnie's party. Miss Latimer had bought her a soft white muslin for the occasion, and Miss Deborah was busy converting it into the prettiest party-dress imaginable. The young girl had been at first slightly dubious about Aunt Debby's dress-making capabilities; but her doubts were fast disappearing as she watched the gradual progress made under that lady's skilful fingers, and noted how beautifully and tastefully the work was done.

"I am sure no one will have such a pretty dress, Aunt Debby," she said one afternoon, coming into the parlour and finding Miss Deborah busy over the dainty garment. "It is so good of you to put yourself to all this trouble for me, and I shall never be able to thank you as I ought." Nellie's eyes glistened as she spoke.

"You will soon find out your mistake, my dear," said Aunt Meg from her couch by the fire. "I question if one of your friends will be dressed in so simple and cheap a material. Why, you will be a regular dowdy, and I told Judith so when she showed me her purchase. She could hardly have bought a less expensive fabric."

"Nonsense, Meg," put in Miss Deborah with a displeased frown and rapid glance at Nellie's amazed countenance; "don't place absurd ideas in the child's head. You know perfectly well muslin makes a most appropriate dress for a young girl. I wonder what Judith would say were she to hear you speak in that manner?"

"Look like a saint, and preach to Nellie on the vanity and vexation of the human heart," replied the invalid, who seemed to be decidedly out of humour. "I am well aware of Judith's style, Debby: that is how she covers her stinginess," and Miss Margaret gave a little sarcastic laugh at this point.

"Hush!" almost shouted Miss Deborah, turning a pair of bright, angry eyes in the direction of the couch. "How dare you utter such an untruth? Simply because one of your endless wishes was thwarted. Meg, I am ashamed of you!" and Aunt Debby resumed her sewing with an air of heavy displeasure, while the invalid relapsed into sulky silence, the cause of her ill-humour being Aunt Judith's refusal that morning to grant her a new dressing-gown. "Wait a little longer, Meg; I can hardly afford it just now, and your old one still looks pretty and fresh," had been the quiet answer to the proffered request; but that was sufficient to upset the invalid's equanimity for the rest of the day, and no amount of kindness could soothe her wounded feelings.

Of course Nellie was ignorant of all this. Still, although she did not believe Miss Margaret's statement in reference to Miss Latimer's meanness, the words left a sting, and the pretty dress seemed divested of half its beauty. "Aunt Judith might have purchased something just a trifle more expensive," was the unuttered thought ever rising to her lips; but, oh! how her heart reproached her when, on the evening of the party, Miss Latimer called her into the little sanctum, and, shutting the door, lifted a small box from the table and proceeded to unfasten the lock.

"Aunt Debby has just been showing me your dress, Nellie," she said in her soft gentle voice, "and now that it is finished I think it very pretty indeed. I hardly know why, but I have an idea _you_ consider it too simple for evening wear; and although I am sorry should such be the case, I cannot agree with you. The dress seems to me quite suitable, and its charm lies in its very simplicity. A little trinket round the neck, however, might be an improvement, and so, dear, I am going to forestall my Christmas present and give it to you now. I suppose you will value it none the less because I used to wear it long ago in my girlhood days;" and Miss Latimer, lifting a string of fairest pearls from the box, clasped them round her niece's neck as she spoke.

Nellie's breath came quick and fast.

"O auntie! they are never for me," she gasped excitedly. "They are so beautiful, and I have been thinking such horrid things."

Aunt Judith smiled. "I do not blame you, child. It is only natural such thoughts should crop up; but, Nellie, I am not so very rich, and cannot afford to be lavish with my money. One never knows what may happen, and I must needs guard against a rainy day. No, no; not another reproachful word. I like to see my child look fair and sweet. Good-night, dear." And kissing her softly. Miss Latimer pushed the repentant girl from the room with gentle hands. Then closing the door, she drew a low chair close to the fire, and, as she sat quietly thinking, the white, set look Nellie had noticed before settled over the patient face, while the lips quivered and drooped like those of one in pain.

What was the mystery in Aunt Judith's life? What suffering had stamped its refining image on that noble, true face, and bore witness to the fiery trial through which she had passed?

Few knew of the life of complete self-renunciation lived out in that little home--the quiet acceptance and patient bearing of a life-long sorrow, and the earnest endeavour day after day to follow closely the Master's footsteps, and live his holy, blameless life. But some day in the great hereafter, she knew the mystery of suffering would be explained, and that there what was here sown weeping would be reaped in joy and gladness; and knowing this, Aunt Judith was content to wait.