CHAPTER XIII.

A SUDDEN SHOCK.

'Emma,' said my uncle, 'can you find something to do for a few minutes? Chris can shut up the shop.'

We went out of the parlour together, and I put up the shutters, and bolted them. Then my mother and I went downstairs to the kitchen, and my mother set light to the fire, and warmed up what remained of the day's dinner. Our usual supper was bread-and-cheese.

'She must be hungry,' said my mother, and I think it will please your uncle.'

'I am glad she is going to stay, mother. Do you think she will stop altogether with us?'

'I have no idea, child.'

'Jessie Trim! It's a pretty name, isn't it? Jessie, Jessie! Mother, why didn't you ask her her name when she came in?'

'She came to see your uncle, Chris. We must never forget one thing, my dear. This is his house, and he has been very kind to us.'

'He would be angry if he heard you say so.'

'That is his nature, and I should not say it to him. The least we can do in return for all his goodness is to study him in every possible way in our power. To have asked her all about herself might have been like stealing into his confidence. He may have secrets which he would not wish us to know.'

'Secrets! Do you think _she_ is one of them?'

'How can she be? But let you and me make up our minds, my dear--I made up mine a long time ago, Chris--not to be too curious concerning anything your uncle does. If he wished us to know anything, he would tell us of his own free will.'

'I don't suppose he has anything to tell,' I said, with not the slightest belief in my own words.

'Perhaps not. Anyhow, we'll not say anything--eh, Chris?'

'Very well, mother. She is very pretty, isn't she?'

'Very, very pretty.'

'Such beautiful hair--and such white hands!'

I was proceeding with my raptures, when my mother tapped my cheek merrily, which brought the blood into my face strangely enough. 'At all events,' I said, I hope she will stay with us always.'

'You stupid Chris! What has got into your head? I really don't suppose she will stay very long.'

'But she has brought her box--and--and--'

My mother suddenly assumed a look of perplexity. 'Really, really now,' she said, sitting down, and holding me in front of her, 'I know every mark upon you. You have got a brown mole on your left side, and a little red spot like a currant on the back of your neck, and another one just here----' and then she paused.

'Well, mother?'

'Well, Chris, I really _cannot_ remember that I have ever seen a note of interrogation anywhere about you. Have you got one, my dear? And where is it?'

'But, mother,' I said, laughing, and kissing her, 'I must be inquisitive and I must ask questions.'

'Only of me, dear child.'

'Well, then, only of you. Now wouldn't you grow quite fond of her?'

'I am sure I should, dear.'

'Well, wouldn't it be too bad, directly you got fond of her, for her to go away? Now wouldn't it?'

'But life is full of changes, my dear!'

'That's not an answer, mother. You're fond of me;'--an endearing caress answered me--'very, very fond, I know, and I am of you. Now, supposing _I_ was to go away!'

'Child, child!' cried my mother, kneeling suddenly before me and clasping me in her arms. If I were to lose you, my heart would break!'

I was frightened at the vehement passion of her words, and at the white face upon which my eyes rested; but she grew more composed presently. Then the voice of uncle Bryan was heard at the top of the stairs, calling to us to come up.

'What can we do with our visitor to-night, Emma?' he said, thus indicating that matters had been arranged during our absence.

'She can sleep with me. You won't mind, my dear?'

'I shall like to,' replied Jessie. He's ever so much nicer than he was, although I can't say that he's at all polite.' This referred to uncle Bryan, who made a grimace. 'I couldn't help coming.'

'The least said,' observed uncle Bryan, with all his usual manner upon him, 'the soonest mended, young lady.'

She pursed up her lips: Young lady! That was all very well when we were distant. You may call me something else now, if you like.'

'Indeed! Well, then, Miss Trim.'

She laughed saucily. How funny it sounds as you say it! Miss Trim! I think we are quite intimate enough for you to call me Jessie.'

'You think!' retorted uncle Bryan, with some sense of enjoyment.

'You are given to thinking, I have no doubt.'

'Oh, yes; I think a good deal.'

'Upon my word What about?'

'All sorts of things that wouldn't interest you.'

I quite believe you, young lady.'

'Oh, if you like to call me that,' she said, with a shrug of her shoulders, you can. 'But I think it's a pity when people try to make themselves more disagreeable than they naturally are.'

For the life of him, uncle Bryan could not help laughing. This little play of words was to him what the world is always looking out for nowadays--a new sensation.

'Then I am naturally disagreeable, you think?'

She did not reply.

'What else do you think about me?'

'I think it must be uncomfortable for the others for you to go to sleep every night, with a handkerchief over your face.'

'If I had known you were coming----' he said, with mock politeness; but she interrupted him with wonderful quickness.

'Don't say unkind things. I feel when they are coming; my flesh begins to creep.'

'Do you think anything else about me?'

'Yes; I think you might give me some supper. You can't know how hungry I am; and I have always a good appetite.'

My mother was so intent upon this unusual dialogue, and was probably so lost in wonder (as I myself was) at the appearance of uncle Bryan in a new character, that she had entirely forgotten the supper; but at Jessie Trim's mention of it she ran downstairs, and it was soon on the table.

'Ah,' exclaimed Jessie, with approving nods; 'that smells nice.'

Uncle Bryan stared at the unexpected fare.

'You see what it is to be a young lady,' he said; hitherto we have always been contented with bread-and-cheese.'

'This is much nicer,' said Jessie, beginning to eat; 'are you not going to have some?'

'No. Give me some bread-and-cheese, Emma.'

The girl was too much occupied with her supper to bandy words with him; she ate heartily, and when she had finished, asked uncle Bryan if he did not feel in a better humour.

'_I_ always do,' she remarked, 'after meals. There is only one thing I want now to make me feel quite amiable.'

'Then,' said uncle Bryan sententiously, 'all the trouble in the world would come to an end.'

She nodded acquiescently.

'And that one thing is----' he questioned.

'Something I sha'n't get. I see it in your face; it is really too much to ask for.'

'To put an end to all the trouble in the world, I would make a sacrifice.'

'No,' she said, shaking her head, I really haven't courage to ask.'

'What is it?' demanded uncle Bryan impatiently.

Then ensued a perfect piece of comedy-acting on the part of Jessie Trim; who, when she had worked uncle Bryan almost into a passion, made the prettiest of curtseys, and said that the only thing she wanted to make her feel quite amiable was a piece of candied lemon-peel.

'I always,' she added, with the oddest little twinkle in her eyes, 'like something sweet to finish my meals with.'

The expression on uncle Bryan's face was so singular that I did not know if he was going to laugh or storm. But Jessie got her piece of candied lemon-peel, and chewed it with great contentment, and with many sly looks at uncle Bryan.

'Now, then,' he cried, 'it is time to go to bed.'

'It isn't healthy,' observed Jessie, who seemed determined to upset all the rules of the house, 'to go to bed the moment after one has eaten a heavy supper.' She spoke with perfect gravity, and with the serious authority of a grown-up woman.

'Then we are to sit up after our time because you have over-eaten yourself.'

'I have not over-eaten myself: I have had just enough. I wish you wouldn't say disagreeable things; you would find it much nicer not to. If you think I am not right in what I say about going to bed immediately after supper, of course I will go. You are much older than I, and ought to be much wiser.'

'But I think you _are_ right,' he growled.

'Why do you make yourself disagreeable then?' she asked, sitting down on the stool at his feet.

Not a word was spoken for half an hour; at the end of which time our visitor rose, just as if she were the mistress of the house, and remarked that now she _did_ think it time we were all in bed.

'Good-night,' she said, giving him her hand; 'I hope I haven't vexed you.' She held up her face to him to be kissed, but he did not avail himself of the invitation, and retired to his room.

'He is a very strange man,' she said to us, and I don't quite know whether I like him or whether I don't. Good-night, Chris.'

'Good-night, Jessie.'

My mind was full of her and her quaint ways as I undressed myself, and I found myself unconsciously repeating, 'Good-night, Jessie! Jessie! Jessie!' Her name was to me the sweetest of morsels. 'I am glad she has come,' I thought; 'I hope she will stop.' I had not been in my room two minutes before I heard her knocking at the door of the room in which uncle Bryan slept. I crept to the wall to listen.

'Do you hear me?' she said. 'You can't be asleep already.'

But no response came from uncle Bryan.

'Do answer me!' she continued. 'If you think I have been rude to you, I am very sorry. I shall catch my death of cold if I stand here long. Say, good-night, Jessie!'

'Good-night.'

'Jessie!' she called out archly.

'Good-night, Jessie. Now go to bed, like a good--little girl.'

And then the house was quiet, and I fell asleep, and dreamt the strangest and sweetest dreams about our new friend.

The following morning when I rose I moved about very quietly, and I debated with myself whether I ought to bid my mother good-morning as usual. I stole softly upstairs, and put my ear to the door.

'Good-morning, mother.'

I almost whispered the words, but the reply came instantly, in clear sweet tones,

'Good-morning, dear child.'

She must have been listening for my step.

Is that you, Chris?' inquired a voice which, if I had not known the speaker, I should have imagined had proceeded from a little child.

'Yes, Jessie,' I answered, with a thrill of delight.

'Where are you going?'

'I am going to work.'

'Good-morning.'

'Good-morning.'

I had never been so happy in my work as I was during this day, and yet I wanted the hours to fly so that I might be home again. When eight o'clock struck, I whipped off my apron eagerly, and ran out of the office. My mother was at the gate.

'I didn't expect you, mother.'

'No, dear child. I wished to leave your uncle and Jessie together for a little while. She wanted to come with me, but I thought it best to leave her at home. Shall we take a walk, my dear?'

'Yes, but not a long one. Mother, who is she?'

'I do not know, my dear; and your uncle hasn't said a word--neither has she.'

'Not a word! Why, mother, she couldn't keep quiet!'

'I don't think she could, dear,' said my mother, with a smile. 'I mean not a word as to who she is. I think she gave your uncle a letter, for he has been writing to-day with one before him; but I am not sure.'

'I have been thinking about her all day, and I can't make her out. Anyhow, I hope she will stop with us. The house is quite different with her in it. Don't you think so? She is as light-hearted and as sparkling as a--a sunbeam.' I thought it a very happy simile. 'She couldn't be anything else.'

'My dear,' said my mother gravely, she was sobbing in her sleep last night as if her heart would break.' I looked so grieved at this that my mother quickly added, But she has been talking to your uncle to-day just as she did last night. She is like an April day; but then she is quite a child.'

'A child! Why, mother, she must be--how old should _you_ think?'

'About fifteen, I should say, Chris.'

'So how can she be quite a child? And she doesn't talk like a child.'

'She does and she doesn't, my dear. I shouldn't wonder,' she said, with her sweet laugh, that because you are nearly eighteen, you think yourself quite a man.'

'I _am_ growing, mother, am I not?' And I straightened myself stiffly up. Why, I am taller than you!'

'You will be as tall as your father was, my dear.'

'I am glad of that. She said men had no business to be little.'

'_She_ said!' repeated my mother, laughing; and she tapped my cheek merrily, as she had done on the previous night, and again I blushed. Jessie ran into the shop to welcome us when we arrived home.

The evening passed very happily with me, Jessie entertaining us with her light talk. Her marvellous ingenuity, in twisting a few simple words so as to make them bear sparkling meanings, afforded me endless enjoyment. Uncle Bryan said very little, and notwithstanding the many challenges she slyly threw out to him, declined to be drawn into battle; but now and then she provoked him to answer her. He needed all his skill to hold his own against her, and he spoke rather roughly to her once or twice. On those occasions she became grave, and edged closer to my mother, having already learned that nothing but what was gentle could emanate from her tender nature. When Jessie went to bed with my mother, she did not hold up her face to be kissed, as she had done on the previous night. I do not think she debated the point with herself, whether she should do so; she gave him a rapid look when she wished him good-night, and decided on the instant--as she would have decided the other way had she seen anything in his face to encourage her. A week passed, and no word of explanation fell from uncle Bryan's lips as to the connection that existed between these two opposite beings; but I could not help observing that he grew more and more reserved, more and more thoughtful. In after days I recognised how strange a household ours really was during this period, but it did not strike me at the time, so entirely was I wrapped up in the new sense of happiness which Jessie Trim had brought into my life. Of the four persons who composed the household only Jessie and I were really happy. My mother was distressed because of uncle Bryan's growing moroseness; with unobtrusive gentleness she strove, in a hundred little ways, to break through the wall of silence and reserve which he built around himself, as it were, but she could scarcely win a word from his lips. It did not trouble me; my mind, was occupied only with Jessie. What Jessie did, what Jessie said, how Jessie looked and felt and thought--that was the world in which I moved now. A second week passed, and there was still no change. One night my mother said that she would come for me on the following evening.

'And bring Jessie,' I suggested, taking advantage of the opportunity which I had been waiting for all the week; 'a walk will do her good.'

Jessie's eyes sparkled at the suggestion.

'I should like to come,' she said, with a grateful look; 'I haven't had a walk since I came here. What are you thinking about?' to my mother.

'I am thinking,' replied my mother, 'whether there will be any objection to it.'

'On whose part?' I asked. 'Uncle Bryan's? Why, what objection can he have?'

'I am sure,' said Jessie, he won't care, one way or another; he doesn't care about anything, and especially about me. Why, how many words do you think he has spoken to me all this day, Chris?'

'I can't guess, Jessie.'

She counted on her fingers. One, two, three--sixteen. "I don't know anything about it! Be quiet! You're a magpie--nothing but chatter, chatter, chatter!" and he didn't speak them--he growled them. So he can't care. I shall come, Chris,'--pressing close to my mother coaxingly--'and we'll take a nice long walk.'

'Very well, my dear,' said my mother, with a smile; 'but I _must_ ask your uncle, Chris.'

I mapped out in my mind the pleasantest walk I knew, and on the following night, when work was over, I hastened into the street; but neither my mother nor Jessie was there. I looked about for them, and waited for a quarter of an hour, and then raced home. Only my mother was in the house.

'Why didn't you come, mother?' I asked. 'I've been waiting ever so long. And where's Jessie?'

'My dear,' replied my mother, with her arm around my waist, 'Jessie has gone.'

'Gone! Oh, for a walk with uncle Bryan, I suppose?'

'No, my dear; she has gone away altogether.'