CHAPTER XXI.

I RECEIVE AN INVITATION.

Thus abruptly uncle Bryan concluded his story. Some parts of it had moved me very deeply with sympathy for him; but the latter part, where he spoke of Jessie in such a strangely unjust and inexplicable manner, filled me with indignation. I had no time, however, to think about it, for almost immediately upon the conclusion of his story, Jessie came home, flushed and radiant, from her visit to the Wests. Our grave faces checked her exuberant spirits, and, looking from one to another, she sought for an explanation.

'Are you angry with me for going out?' she asked, divining that she was the cause of all this seriousness.

'No, my dear,' replied my mother; 'no one is, I am sure. I hope you enjoyed yourself.'

'I always do,' said Jessie, her face clouding, when I go to the Wests. Has anything disagreeable occurred?'

'No, Jessie, nothing.'

Jessie had a habit of shaking her head at herself when she was not satisfied with things; it was the slightest motion in the world, but there was much meaning in it. On the present occasion it expressed to me very plainly, 'I know that you have been talking of me, and that I have done something wrong which I am not to be told of.' My mother understood it also, for with expressive tenderness she assisted Jessie to take off her bonnet and mantle, and smoothed Jessie's hair in fond admiration. I could have embraced my mother for those marks of affection towards Jessie; they were an answer to uncle Bryan's unjust words.

'I think,' said Jessie, looking into my mother's face, that _you_ are fond of me.'

'My dear,' responded my mother, kissing her, 'I regard you almost as my daughter.'

'I like to be loved,' murmured Jessie, almost wistfully, with tender looks at my mother, and keeping close to her as if for shelter from unkindness.

'Which would you rather have, Jessie,' I asked most suddenly, 'love or money?'

Heaven only knows how the words came to my tongue! They certainly were not the result of deliberate thought. Perhaps it was because of some unconscious connection between the words Jessie had just spoken and those which she had spoken to me a little time before: 'Chris, I think I would do anything in the world for money.' The words were often in my mind, or perhaps they were prompted by an episode in the story I had just heard. Uncle Bryan's keen eyes were turned upon Jessie immediately the question passed my lips, and his scrutiny did not escape Jessie's observation.

'Ask me again, Chris,' she said, with a sudden colour in her cheeks.

'I said, which would you rather have--love or money?'

'How much money--a great deal?'

'Yes, a great deal.'

'What a question to ask! What does uncle Bryan say to it?'

'Uncle Bryan is too old for such follies,' he replied roughly.

'That is a crooked way of getting out of an argument,' she said defiantly, as if being provoked herself, she wished to provoke him. 'Money is not a folly, and money can buy anything. So, Chris, I think I would rather have money; for then,' she continued, with a disdainful laugh, 'I could buy new dresses and new bonnets, and everything else in the world that's worth having.'

I listened ruefully, hoping she did not mean what she said, for she spoke mockingly. My mother, seeing that the conversation was taking an unfortunate direction, turned it by speaking of the West family, and Jessie entertained us with lively descriptions of her friends, throwing at the same time an air of mystery over them, which considerably enhanced my curiosity concerning them. Soon afterwards all in the house had retired to rest.

But I knew that my mother would come down for a few minutes' quiet chat, and that we should have something to say to each other about uncle Bryan's wonderful story. It was in every way wonderful to me. I had always imagined that he had led a quiet uneventful life, and suddenly he had become a hero; but I could not associate the uncle Bryan I knew with the man who had fallen in love with Frances Glaive, and so I told my mother as we sat together half an hour later in my quiet little bedroom.

'His life has been a life of great suffering,' my mother said, 'and we can never feel too kindly towards him. He has shown us his heart to-night; and yet, my dear, I think I understand him better than you do.'

'I daresay, mother; that's because you _are_ better than I am.'

'No, no, my dear,' she replied. 'Who can be better than my darling boy? It is because I have more experience of the world. Chris, my heart melted to him to-night more than it has ever done. I had a curious fancy once when he was speaking. I wished that he had been a boy like you instead of an old man, for I yearned to take him in my arms and comfort him.'

'But what person in the world,' I thought, 'would she not wish to comfort if she knew that they needed it?' And I said aloud: 'If he had had a mother like mine, it would have been different with him.' (Such words as these were the natural outcome of my affection for this dearest of women, and I did not know then, although I believe I have learnt since, how sweet they were to her.) 'But, mother, I can't think of him as you do, when I remember what he said about Jessie. And tell me--would you like me to look on things as uncle Bryan does?'

'God forbid, child!' she exclaimed warmly. 'It would take the sweetness out of your life; but I pray that you may never be tried as he has been. All that I want to impress upon you is to be tolerant to him and kind, because of his great trials and troubles. And now, my dear, I have something to tell you that you will be glad to hear. Jessie, before she went to sleep, asked me not to believe what she had said about money. "I couldn't help saying it," she said; "but I would rather be loved than have all the money there is in the world." Jessie puzzles me sometimes, my darling; but I have seen nothing in her nature that is not good.'

And with these sweet words of comfort my mother left me to my rest.

The battle between Jessie and me with respect to the Wests still continued. Jessie, standing upon her dignity, as she had declared she would, did not ask me again to call for her when she visited them, and as her visits were growing more frequent, my sufferings were proportionately intensified. I felt that I could not hold out much longer, and I was on the point of giving way and sacrificing my manliness, when the difficulty was resolved for me by the following note, which my mother placed in my hands with a smile:

'Miss West presents her compliments to Mr. Christopher Carey, and will be happy to see him at nine o'clock to-night.'

I was greatly delighted, and I congratulated myself upon my powers of endurance, thinking, naturally enough, that I had Jessie to thank for the invitation. In obedience to the summons, and feeling really very curious about the Wests--and most anxious also, I must confess, to be where Jessie was--I presented myself at the house at the hour named to the minute. There was no need to knock at the street-door, for it was open. I tapped on the wall of the dark passage, and waited for an answer. There was a great deal of laughter below, and my soft tapping was not heard, so I advanced two or three steps, and knocked more loudly.

'Who's there?' a voice cried, and the laughter ceased.

'It's me,' I answered; and I was about to announce myself more explicitly, when my words were taken up mockingly.

'Oh, it's Me, is it? Well, come downstairs, Mr. Me. Flora child, open the door. Take care! Mind your head!'

The warning came too late. I knocked my head smartly against a beam in the ceiling, and stumbling down the stairs, entered the kitchen--the door of which was opened, by Flora I presume, just in time to receive me--in a very undignified manner. Screams of laughter greeted me as I picked myself up, very hot and red at my loss of dignity.

'Be quiet, children!' cried the voice which I had first heard. 'I hope you haven't hurt yourself, Mr. Me! Come along and shake hands. Very glad to see you. "And Jack fell down and broke his crown."'--This quotation because I was rubbing my head, which I had bumped severely.

'I am not hurt much, thank you,' I said, as I walked towards the speaker, who was either a girl or a woman, or both in one, for I could not guess her age within ten years. She was sitting on a bench before a table; and as I gave her my hand, she placed her fingers to her lips, and glanced expressively towards a curtain, made of two patchwork quilts, which partitioned off a part of the kitchen. There was something going on behind this curtain, for there was a shuffling of feet there, and I heard low voices.

'Don't speak loud,' said my hostess, as I guessed her to be. 'I'm Miss West. Jessie's behind there; you'll see her presently. Don't let her know you're here.'

'Why, doesn't she know?' I exclaimed, in a maze of bewilderment.

'Bless your heart, no! _I_ sent you the note without her knowing anything of it. I thought you'd be glad.' As Miss West made this remark she gave me a sharp look.

'I _am_ glad,' I said.

'I knew you would be. Rubbing your head again! Well, you _have_ raised a bump! Shall I brown-paper-and-vinegar you?'

'No, thank you,' I said, laughing; and then I looked round in wonder upon the strange scene.