Part 4

"But that was not the first fault: disobedience was that. I gave you leave to go down to the beach, but I did not give you leave to go and hear the band play. I thought I could have trusted you both."

Milly's eyes filled with tears at these words, and her heart swelled at the thought that she, "Mother's right-hand," as she had often been called, could not be trusted; but she said nothing, while Lena, who was both truthful and generous, hastened to explain, "It was not Milly's fault, Mama; she didn't want to go, but I insisted on it."

"Ah, Lena, you see how one fault leads to another."

"But we were quite as safe there as at the beach."

"That has nothing to do with it. You did wrong, my child, and I am afraid, continued doing so all the afternoon, for Hester tells me you were very harsh and rough with your little sister."

"But Lucy was so naughty and cross, we could not help getting angry."

"I know we ought not to have left her, Mama," said Milly; "but she was so provoking, screaming so loud, it made everybody look at us. Though we told her it was late, she would not come home."

"And she hit me, and said all sorts of things."

"She was in one of her fits of passion," added Milly.

"I am very sorry to hear it," was Mrs. Graham's answer with a sigh, for Lucy's fits of passion were a great sorrow to her.

"If you had been gentler and kinder, would you not have done more good?"

"I don't think so, for Milly didn't get into a passion. I did, Mama, and I am very sorry. Oh dear, it is so hard to be good! And I wanted to be so really, and now I have grieved you and Auntie too. I promised I would show how good her child could be."

"O Lena dear, that is it: you forget what I said, and what you promised; to try and be, not mine, but"----and she paused, while Lena finished the sentence in a low voice--"The child of God. And I have not been good, but I am so sorry, I really am."

"So am I," whispered Milly, nestling close to her mother. "Are you very grieved? Will you forgive us?"

"Fully and freely, dear; but there is One, whose children you both are, whom you have grieved more. I want you both to ask Him to forgive you before you go to sleep to-night, never doubting that if you ask aright He will do so."

As the two girls went upstairs together, later on that evening, Lena gave a great sigh as she said, "Oh dear, I wish we had not taken Lucy with us this afternoon; it quite spoiled all the pleasure."

"I wish we had not left her," said Milly, in her gravest tones.

"I believe you think we are most to blame."

"We are the eldest, and she is such a little thing; if we had stayed with her she would have been good."

"Then I am most naughty, for I would go to the band. I wish one could always be good; it is so horrible after being naughty."

When Lena was alone in her room, she went to the window, and pulling up the blind, looked out, but her thoughts were not on what she saw, fair as the scene was, on which her eyes rested. Beneath her window lay the garden, now bathed in moonlight, and in the far distance was the sea, shining like a band of silver in the moon's rays. How often had she stood, as now, at this very window, thinking! Then, her thoughts had been of the parents so dimly remembered. What would they be really like? Ah, how good she would be to them, and show how much she loved them. Now they had really come; and to-day, instead of all this goodness, she had grieved her mother by her disobedience and selfishness, and the little sister of whom she had said, "She would like to give up her pleasures to,"--she had quarrelled with her, not only in word, but in very deed. The tears filled her eyes as she thus thought. She did love her mother just as much as she ever did, and--no, there was no disappointment in her, but somehow things were not quite what she had expected. She had pictured to herself a life with Mama, as something of the same kind, she had led with her Aunt, being her constant companion, and her one chief thought and care. Instead of that, she was more with her sisters than her parents. Kind and loving as Mama was to her, she was equally so to Milly and Lucy. Poor foolish child, surrounded as she was with every earthly blessing, she was not content. Instead of a happy, grateful love for all she had, she was groping after the impossible, and raising up for herself all sorts of imaginary troubles, that had no real existence but in her own wayward fancy. The opening of the door roused her, and turning round, she saw that it was her mother who had entered.

"Not in bed yet, dear?"

"No, Mama, I have been thinking," said Lena, in a very grave tone, as she pulled down the blind.

"What were the thoughts that made you look so grave, and forget to go to bed?"

"I was wondering why things are never so nice as we expect them to be."

"Shall I tell you why that is the case, dear?"

Lena only nodded in reply, and Mrs. Graham, looking down fondly on the girl's upturned face, said, "Because we want things to be exactly as we wish, instead of taking thankfully and contentedly what God sends. I fear we are all too apt to think we know best what is good for us."

"Oh no, Mama," cried Lena in a shocked tone.

"We don't think or allow, even to ourselves, that we do so, dear; but how is it that we so often say--'If it had only been different, it would have been so much nicer and better?' I fancy that some such thoughts were in my little girl's mind to-night."

"I did not know that it was so wrong. Auntie told me it would not be good for me to have my own way too much; and I remember she once said, 'She was so glad she had not the ordering of her own life.' Are you glad too?"

"Yes, darling, very, very glad. Ah, Lena dear, it is such peace and happiness to know that all is done for us by that loving Father, who gives us more than we can ask or desire."

When Lena said her prayers that night, she paused, in the Lord's Prayer, at the words, "Thy will be done." How often she had repeated them slowly and reverently as she had been taught to do, but to-night they seemed to assume a new and deeper meaning; and when Mama had given her, her good-night kiss, she repeated them over and over to herself ere she fell asleep. No wonder that the next morning she rose bright and happy; and when Lucy's voice was heard at the door saying, "I want to speak to you, Lena," she opened the door and greeted her little sister with a loving kiss.

"I am very sorry I was a naughty girl last night," she said gravely, as if repeating a lesson.

"Oh, never mind, dear."

"Mama said I was to beg your pardon; and, Lena, I told a story, because I do love you."

"I was naughty too and unkind," said Lena, who, when she was pleased and happy, was always ready to be generous and kind.

In general, all Lena's troubles were self-made; she wanted to be first, not so much in amusements, though she certainly liked to take the lead there also, but in every one's opinions and affections. She wanted to be Milly's and Lucy's favourite, as well as eldest sister. And she would have also liked to be the first in her parent's confidence and affections, as well as the first of their children.

Aunt Mary called the two elder girls to her after breakfast, and told them that she meant them to do some lessons with her every morning. Too much idle time was neither good nor pleasant for them; and she did not want the governess, under whose care they were very soon to be placed, to find her new pupils backward in their education.

The idea of a governess was quite new to them. They would have liked to discuss the subject well over with Auntie; but this she at once forbade--"Your Mama will tell you all about it herself."

"Do just tell us when she is to come?"

"Not till your parents are settled into their own house," said their Auntie unguardedly.

"Going to leave here? O Auntie, you must tell us--please, please do," Lena added coaxingly.

"I thought we were always to live here; I do like this place. Where are we to live?" said Milly, adding her entreaties to Lena's.

"Not a word more will you get out of me," said their Aunt laughing. "What a foolish old woman I was to let so much out."

"You are not old, and you are not foolish, but a dear kind Auntie who is going to tell us all about it."

"I am not quite so foolish as to be taken in by all these blandishments; but, joking apart, dears, I ought not to tell you more; your parents will do so when they think right."

At this, both the girls returned to their seats, and lessons went on quietly. Milly was found not to be so very much behind Lena, for she had been well and carefully taught by her mother, who had used the very same books of instruction that Miss Somerville had taught Lena from. So that the two sisters would be able to go on together with the same governess; and both girls were quite pleased at the thought of doing the same lessons. All was as it should be. Lena was a little advanced, but not too much so to make it difficult for Milly to keep up with her, but enough to spur Lena on to keep in advance.

"Is it true we are to have a governess? and are we going to another house?" were the questions that were eagerly put to Mama on the very first opportunity.

"I have been letting out secrets, I am afraid," said Miss Somerville.

"I meant to tell them what their Papa had decided upon. He has taken a house in the country--a furnished one, near the friends with whom he is now staying. The people to whom it belongs are anxious to leave as soon as they can, so Papa says, he hopes we will be able to go there in a fortnight."

"In a fortnight!" This sudden move quite took away Lena's breath; to leave Aunt Mary and her own home! for Scarsdale Villa was the only home Lena could remember. Then she gave a little laugh at this foolish thought of hers. "Leave Aunt Mary! of course she would go with them."

Milly was busy asking questions about the new house--"Was it quite in the country? had it a garden?"

All these questions were answered satisfactorily. "It was quite in the country, with a nice garden, and some fields attached to it," Mama said.

"What is to be done with this house?" Lena asked.

"I am going to let this," said her Aunt quietly.

So it was all right. Aunt Mary was coming with them; and Lena eagerly joined Milly in talking over their new home. How delightful it would be to live quite in the country! And very soon they were both quite eager to be there, and were planning about the gardens they were to have for their very own.

"You will find nice neighbours in the Freelings," said Miss Somerville to Mrs. Graham.

"Have they children?" was the eager question.

"Yes, six. Two are grown up. There are four at home, two girls and two boys--at least not the boys; they are at school."

"I wonder what they will be like--the girls I mean."

"The eldest girl is fifteen. The youngest will be a nice companion for you; she is only thirteen."

The prospect of the change gave the children plenty to think and talk about for the next day or two. Lena went so far in preparation that she went about collecting what she considered her own property from the different rooms, and was rather aggrieved that she was not allowed to pack them all up in readiness. Mama compromised the matter by allowing her, with Milly's help, to fill one box with the many books and toys that she had outgrown, and were too numerous to carry away; and this box, when ready, was to be sent to the poor little suffering children in the hospital How often that box was packed and unpacked I should be sorry to say: it was a great amusement and occupation to them for the next few days, as the weather had changed, and instead of bright sunshine and warm breezes, the rain came down steadily; and Milly and Lucy would look mournfully out of the window, thinking that here, as in India, there was to be no more hot bright suns for some time now that the rains had set in, though Lena assured them fifty times a day it would be sure to be fine to-morrow. This was all very well the first day; but when to-morrow came with clouded sky, Lucy grew very very angry when she heard Lena begin the same story "of to-morrow being fine," and accused her of being wicked and telling stories. A stormy scene was fast brewing indoors as well as out, when Mama heard the cause of anger, and Lucy had the matter explained to her, and hope once more "of seeing fair weather to-morrow" sprang up in her small mind.

In the midst of this wet weather they were all cheered and enlivened by Papa's return. Now they would be able to have all their questions answered about Astbury, as their new home was called. They had to curb their curiosity till after Papa had had dinner. Lena had still a little lingering awe of her father; and when he told them that they must keep all their questions until after he had finished his dinner, she did not dare to disobey him, as I fear her eagerness and curiosity would have tempted her to do if it had been her aunt or mother who had given the order.

As they were all seated round the fire listening to his account of Astbury and its neighbourhood, Aunt Mary, seeing her nieces' attention devoted to their father, quietly drew a letter from her pocket. Taking it out of the envelope, she began to read it. Soon after the conversation turned upon some matter that Lena did not think interesting, so she turned to her Aunt to ask some question. Instead of receiving the answer she had expected, Aunt Mary went on with her reading, evidently not having heard what she had said. "The letter seemed to interest her very much," Lena thought. She wondered who it could be from, and why had not Auntie told her of it, for during the time that aunt and niece had lived alone together Miss Somerville had got into the way of reading her letters aloud before her niece. It was a habit that she had got into during the years when she was quite alone and before she had taken charge of Lena: gradually she had not only read out the letters before the child, but as she grew older and more companionable, had spoken and discussed things that were in them before and with her. It was not a good thing for any child, especially for one like Lena Graham. Still it had been done in all love and with good intention. Rising from her seat, Lena went and perched herself on the arm of her Aunt's chair, so that she could read the letter over her shoulder. We must do Lena the justice to say, that though it was a wrong thing to do, it was not done with a wrong intention. She had always heard Auntie's letters, she would have told you, so there could not be the slightest harm in reading them. It was a very interesting one she saw at once; the handwriting was perfectly familiar to her as being that of a great friend of her Aunt's, who had often stayed with them--Miss Howard was her name. The contents puzzled Lena, for Miss Howard wrote as if she and Aunt Mary were going together somewhere, to a place called "Lucerne." Lena knew the name well, but for the moment she was confused as to its locality. As she tried to make out what it meant, she leant forward to see more easily. At that moment Colonel Graham looked up and saw Lena doing what he considered, and what certainly is, a most dishonourable action, reading what is not meant for one to see.

"Lena!" was all he said, but the tone in which it was said startled them all.

Lena looked up. Never before had she heard her name so spoken. Startled and confused at the suddenness with which she had been called, she answered hastily and nervously, "Yes, Papa."

"What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Graham.

"Lena knows," was the short reply.

Poor Lena was frightened, not only at the sternness of the voice, but by her father's face. It seemed to her that it had the same look that she had remarked in the photograph and had hoped never to see shown towards her. Her fear and nervousness brought the colour to her looks and gave her the conscious look of guilt.

"I don't know, Papa. What is it?" she faltered out.

"You must know what a dishonourable thing you were doing, reading your Aunt's letter over her shoulder."

"Oh!" she said with a great sigh of relief, "is that all, Papa? Why, I always do it."

Here Aunt Mary interposed hastily, and said, before Colonel Graham could speak the astonishment he certainly felt at Lena's answer, "It is my fault, Henry. Lena always sees my letters. I may have been wrong; but remember she has been niece and child and companion to me all in one. I may have spoilt her in many ways, but I am sure she would not do a dishonourable thing;" and as she spoke, she pulled Lena on to her knee and kissed the troubled little face. "I ought to have told her I did not wish her to read this quite yet, and I am sure she would not have done it."

At her Aunt's kind words Lena burst out crying. The child had been frightened, and the burst of tears relieved her feelings.--"No, Auntie dear, indeed, indeed I would not," she sobbed out.

"I think you have made a mistake about it, Mary. And I hope Lena will remember that though you have allowed her to see yours, letters are sacred, and she must never look at any without leave that are not addressed to her."

"No, Papa, indeed I never will," she said earnestly.

"Come and give Papa a kiss," said her mother, leading the still sobbing child to her father.

"You are not afraid of me, Lena?" he asked kindly, as she shrunk from him, without lifting her eyes from the ground. "Come, look up, and give me a kiss."

Lena looked up as bidden, and seeing nothing in his face but love and kindness, summoned back her courage as she said, "You looked so angry before, and so stern."

"I am only angry when you do wrong and act dishonourably; and you need not be afraid to look even a stern man in the face if you have done nothing to be ashamed of, my child."

As Lena returned to her chair she thought, "Oh dear, I hope he will never speak to me again like that. Even if I was ever so naughty, I don't think I could tell him, and ask him to forgive me."

Aunt Mary said quietly to Lena, "I will read you all that Miss Howard says to-morrow, dear; it will interest you, I am sure, and I meant you to hear it soon."

"Where is Lucerne?" she asked in a low voice.

"In Switzerland," answered her Aunt. And not another word would she say that night on the subject of the letter and its contents.

*CHAPTER VI.*

*LEAVING MEADENHAM.*

"Switzerland! O Auntie, that is such a long way off! You don't mean really that you are going all that way from me," and Lena as she spoke these words burst into tears, and clung tightly to her Aunt, as if to prevent her leaving her.

"I am not going away to-day, dear," said Miss Somerville, trying to speak cheerfully and brightly as she fondly stroked the little head that was buried on her shoulder. "And, my child," she went on more gravely, "this is no new thought to you; we both knew this parting must come."

"But not so soon, and such a long way."

"You have Papa and Mama and your sisters, and will be so happy with them, and will often write to me. And I shall hope for such good accounts of my pet."

"You won't get them," said Lena in a most doleful tone; "I shan't be able to be good without you, I know I shan't."

"Lena, dear, that is not a right way to speak. I shall think that I have taught you what is wrong if you say such things."

"No, no, I did not mean that; but why can't you always live with us? What do you want to go to that horrid place for?"

"It is not at all a horrid place, but a very nice one. Why I am going is this"----

Lena lifted her head to listen with such an injured expression that her Aunt laughed. "I believe you are glad to go!" (indignantly).

"Yes, dear, I am glad, though very very sorry to leave you. I am glad because Miss Howard has to go, and wants a companion; and you know, dear, it is always pleasant to be able to do anything for your friends."

"But I want you too."

"Not now. You have wanted me, but now you have Mama and Papa; and, Lena, you love them both very dearly, I know."

"Yes, but I want you too."

"We none of us can have all we want in this world. Ask God, my little one, to make you grateful and thankful for all the blessings He has so liberally bestowed on you, instead of murmuring for what you cannot have."

Before Lena had time to reply, Mrs. Graham opened the door, asking, as she did so, if she might come in.

"O Mama, why does Auntie want to go away from us? Mayn't she stay with us?"

"Of course she may, dear; but Aunt Mary thinks Miss Howard requires her. We want her, and she requires her. Now don't you see why Auntie has decided on going abroad?"

"Yes, because she thinks it right;" adding, "but couldn't Miss Howard come and live with her here?"

"Why do you wish that, Lena?"

"Because it's so much nearer, and we could come and see her sometimes."

"Oh, so you don't want it for Aunt Mary's pleasure, but your own," was the quiet rebuke.

Lena's face flushed scarlet as she murmured some words in too low a tone for her mother to hear.

"Listen, my child; do you not think that a change would do Auntie good? Think how much more she would miss the little niece she has been so good to, and has learned to love so dearly, if she remained on here, than if she goes abroad, and sees new sights and beautiful scenery."

"Yes, I see; but, Mama, I can't help being sorry, and wishing changes would not come--at least not nasty changes."

"I should be very much astonished and very grieved too, if you were not sorry at parting with Auntie, who has been so good and kind to you and to me too. Changes must come in this world, my child; but we know that if we love our Saviour, every one that comes is sent in love and for some good purpose."

"I can't see why Auntie's going away can do us good."

"That is what the disciples said when their Divine Master told them of His ascension: they, like you, thought they knew best." Mama spoke the words so significantly that they at once recalled to her the conversation they had held together some evenings before, and when Lena had expressed herself as so shocked at the idea of any one thinking they knew better than God. Humbled and abashed, Lena promised to try and bear whatever was sent for her, though she was quite sure it would be dreadfully hard to bear parting with Auntie, forgetting that it was harder for Auntie than herself. It was a great comfort to both Colonel and Mrs. Graham, since Aunt Mary had decided not to go and live with them, that she was going abroad with her friend Miss Howard for a few months. It was very easy to let her house for the summer, as West Meadenham was a favourite resort for summer visitors, and Lena was comforted by hearing that before Miss Somerville settled down for the winter, she had promised to pay a visit to her brother and sister at Astbury.

"We shall spend our first Christmas at home altogether," said Colonel Graham cheerfully, as Aunt Mary's plans were being discussed one day openly, now that all was arranged.