Part 8

"There is no good both going, and I want to finish my book." But not much of the book was read that evening, when, out of sight of every one, Lena sat down and tried to arrange her thoughts. What had she done? Though no one was by to see her, her cheeks flushed with shame at her conduct. What cowardice and meanness had she not been guilty of! Oh, if she had only spoken out at the beginning, all this misery and wickedness would have been saved. "It was not too late yet," conscience whispered. Then the thought of what her father would say when he heard that she had deceived them. If it was only Mama, I should not mind, so ran her thoughts; but I dare not tell Papa, he would be so angry. Oh, if only Aunt Mary were here I could tell her everything, forgetting, or rather pushing away the remembrance, of One nearer and dearer than any earthly friend, who never turns a cold or deaf ear to any of His children, and who ever has the gentlest and most loving answer for His repentant little ones. How, over and over again, we dread the anger of some earthly friend, forgetting that some day we must face the just anger of an offended God if we continue in our hardness and sin. As Lena sat thus thinking, we may be very sure that excuses, and what she called good reasons for keeping silence, were not long in making their appearance. Lucy had been forgiven, and nothing more would be said on the subject. Why should she open out such a painful thing again? She had not told a falsehood; if Papa had asked her, she would have acknowledged doing it. He had only asked her if she had been in her mother's room that afternoon, and she had spoken the truth when she said "No." Then what would Aunt Mary feel if she heard that she, her pet and darling, had got into trouble and disgrace? No, this must never be, and so on and on went the struggle between right and wrong, ending, alas! in Lena's leaving it to be settled some other time. "I could not do it to-night, I will the first opportunity;" and somehow, when an opportunity offered itself, it was not a right one--Lena would wait for a better. So day followed day, and still the secret was locked up in Lena's bosom, and it seemed probable that it never would be told. Nothing was ever said about the feather, and to all appearance no one remembered anything about it. Still Lena was not happy. How could she be, with such a weight at her heart? Aunt Mary had striven to train her niece not for this life alone; and the good seed that had been sown in love and faith was not dead, and the better thoughts would make themselves heard. Lena was not callous or hardened; no, she was very miserable, poor child, as all of us must be who carry about with us an unconfessed and unforgiven sin. As day after day she kneeled, as she had ever done in prayer, and listened to, or read God's Word, her heart grew heavier, and sometimes the longing to tell all was so strong that she would start up to go, then her courage would fail, and she was afraid of what they would say; and the remembrance of her father's words, both to herself and Lucy, would come back, and she would shrink from the task, thinking, "I will be very good and obedient, and make up for not telling by good conduct." At times she would forget all about it, and be the bright, lively Lena we first knew; but some word or deed would be sure to recall her secret, and she would have the same struggle over again.

Her mother was sure that something was amiss, and would watch her troubled, anxious face with loving eyes, fearing that her child was either ill or unhappy. Could it be, she would wonder, that she was fretting at the loss of Aunt Mary? and at this thought she would be, if that were possible, when she was always kind and loving to her children, more so than usual to Lena. Strange to say, that when this was the case, it made Lena only stronger in her determination not to tell, for she would think, "She would not be so kind to me if she knew how naughty I had been." So day after day passed and her secret was still untold.

"Where is Lena?" asked Mrs. Graham, coming into the garden, where Milly and Lucy were busy working at their own especial little garden.

"On the lawn, Mama. She wanted to finish a book Gertrude lent her. Shall I call her?"

"No, dear, I will go to her," and she moved away.

Throwing down the rake with which she had been working, Milly followed. "Mama," she began, when she was out of ear-shot of Lucy; "I don't think Lena is very happy here."

"I am afraid, dear, that she is not well," answered her mother.

"She is so much quieter, and she is not half so fond of running about and romping as she used to be."

"I am beginning to think this place does not suit her. It's a change from the sea-air she has been accustomed to. I have a letter for her from Aunt Mary; that is what I want her for."

"Oh, that will please her. There she is. Lena!" she called out as they came in sight of her lying flat on the grass, intent on a book she was reading.

Lena looked up as they joined her, saying, "It is such a nice book! Milly, you ought to read it."

"I have brought you something else to read, dear," said her mother, holding out a letter which Lena sprang up to receive; for what child is not delighted at receiving a letter, especially if directed to itself!

As Lena was opening the envelope, Mrs. Graham said, "I heard from Mrs. Clifford to-day. That will interest you, Milly. I wrote and asked her to come and stay here."

At these words Lena turned round hastily, and listened anxiously to hear the answer from Mrs. Clifford. As her mother had paused and was looking for the letter in her pocket, Lena asked impatiently, "Is she coming?"

"Yes, dear, in a fortnight."

Lena's cheek flushed crimson, for the thought flashed through her mind, "She will inquire about the hat."

At sight of her crimsoned cheeks Mrs. Graham and Milly at once came to the same conclusion--"Lena has not forgotten her disappointment at not receiving a present;" but neither took any notice of her confusion in words.

"Shall I read you your letter, dear?" asked Mrs. Graham.

"Please, Mama," she answered, placing the letter in her hand. Then walking slowly up and down the lawn, Mrs. Graham read the letter aloud to the two girls, who were walking one on each side of her.

After telling her niece about the many new and interesting places she had been visiting, she went on to say what pleasure it had given her to hear from Mrs. Graham, how good and obedient Lena had been, ending with, "Nothing can give me so much happiness as hearing this, dear Lena, and I trust that I may continue to have equally good accounts until we meet again in the winter." Lena listened to these words in silence as her mother ended the letter.

Bessie Freeling rushed out of the house to join them, exclaiming as she did so, "O Mrs. Graham, I came with Mama; she is in the drawing-room; she wants to see you."

This was a happy interruption for Lena. She dreaded hearing some words of praise from her mother, for she knew how little she deserved them. Handing her the letter with a smile, Mrs. Graham answered Bessie, and hurried back to the house to see Mrs. Freeling, leaving the three girls together.

Bessie was in a state of excitement, and the moment Mrs. Graham disappeared into the house she burst out with, "What do you think she has come for? To ask if your mother will let one of you go to the seaside with Gertrude and Miss Gifford, instead of me. I want to stay here all summer. I don't want to lose a day when I have such a miserable winter before me."

"I thought your Papa and Mama were going away too," said Milly.

"Yes, to take the boys to see Uncle Henry; but I want to come and stay here while you go with Gerty."

Milly's face fell: she did not want to leave home. "But we can't--we have no holidays," she said, brightening up at this thought.

Here was an escape for Lena from meeting Mrs. Clifford. Was ever anything more fortunate? she thought, for she dreaded any remarks or inquiries from that lady.

"I should like to go to the sea," said Lena; "I hope Mama will let me."

"Want to go away, Lena?" said Milly reproachfully. "And when Mrs. Clifford is coming; I do so want her to know you, as well as me."

"I do hope Mrs. Graham will say 'yes.' Now, Milly, don't you go trying to persuade Lena not to--I shan't let you speak to her until it is all settled;" and she laughingly dragged her away, calling loudly to Lucy to come and help her, which the moment Lucy heard her voice, she hastened to do. And a merry struggle went on between them, in which Lena, rejoiced at the prospect of escaping Mrs. Clifford's promised visit, joined in, and it was in the midst of all the fun and noise that Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Freeling joined them.

"You will consent, won't you, Mrs. Graham?" said Bessie, leaving Milly and looking up coaxingly at her.

"Consent to have you here? Yes, with pleasure; and I think, as your mother has kindly asked one of my children to go with Gertrude, that it would do Lena good. She has not been very well lately, and the sea-air may strengthen her."

"But our lessons, Mama?" said Milly.

"She will do them all the better when she is strong and well; won't you, Lena dear?"

"I am not ill, Mama, but I should like to go to the sea."

"And I do so want to stay here," said Bessie. "O Lucy, won't we be happy? I shall have no lessons, and we will live out of doors." Seizing the child as she spoke, she danced her round.

"When are we to go?" asked Lena.

"In a few days," said Mrs. Freeling. "I have written about the rooms, and we shall hear to-morrow."

"And how long shall we be away?" asked Lena nervously.

"About three weeks or a month, I hope. Will that be too long?" asked Mrs. Freeling of her mother.

"I am afraid you will miss Mrs. Clifford's visit, dear; perhaps she will stay longer than she says when once she is here."

Lena made no answer; and Mrs. Freeling then spoke on some other subject, and the girls wandered off together to another part of the garden.

The few days before they were to start passed away quietly. Lena was very glad to escape Mrs. Clifford, for she quite made up her mind that the subject of the spoilt hat would be brought forward again during her stay, and perhaps, in some way, her part in the proceeding might be brought to light. This she dreaded happening more than anything. It would be worse, far worse, than telling it herself, for in this case who would believe that it was an accident and not done intentionally? Oh, if she had only told it at first! Now each day made it more difficult. How true it is that "The wicked flee when no man pursueth." Lena was running away from an imaginary enemy. If she had remained she would have heard no word mentioned on the subject, for Mrs. Graham had written the whole story to Mrs. Clifford, saying, as she believed was the case, that little Lucy had done it in a sudden fit of passion, but without any real intention of destroying it, simply kicking it out of the way as it was the nearest thing on which to spend her anger. And an answer had come from Mrs. Clifford, regretting all that had happened, except the amiable and forgiving behaviour of her little friend Milly.

*CHAPTER X.*

*AT SIDCOMBE.*

Miss Gifford and the two girls, Gertrude and Lena, had been now for some days in their comfortable lodgings at Sidcombe, and Lena was fast becoming very fond of her new companion. Although they had seen a great deal of Gertrude during their stay at Astbury, both she and Milly had looked upon her as being nearly grown up, and though liking her very much, for she was always kind and good to them, they looked upon her in quite a different light to that in which they looked on Bessie, not considering her, as they did the latter, as a companion and playfellow. There seemed to Lena more difference between her twelve and Gertrude's fifteen years, than there was between Milly and Bessie, though the actual difference in age was much the same. Gertrude was very different from her sister, Bessie being much gentler and quieter in disposition. But now, in the quiet and daily companionship of their life, the two girls were fast becoming firm friends.

The life at Sidcombe was very pleasant, and Lena was enjoying it much. There was nothing here to recall the secret trouble that had been haunting her at home, and no word was ever said to call forth the struggle between right and wrong, between deceit and truth, that had been of daily occurrence when with her mother-and sisters. She was only too glad to think that her secret was to remain one for ever, and that the whole thing was an affair of the past, never to trouble her any more.

Both Miss Gifford and Gertrude were very kind to Lena, and the days passed in a simple but happy manner. Their mornings were spent on the sands, and there was nothing Lena enjoyed more, when the morning bath in the sea was over, than to lie under shelter of some rock, and listen to Gertrude as she read aloud, for Miss Gifford said something in the way of lessons must be done, so had fixed upon this plan, of reading out for a certain number of hours each morning from an interesting and improving book, certainly the pleasantest of all ways of gaining knowledge.

The afternoons and evenings were devoted to long rambles, either along the sands, or through the pretty lanes and fields of the country round. At first both girls were eager to wander about and explore the neighbourhood, but very soon they grew either too lazy, or the weather became too hot, or for some reason Lena began to tire of long walks, and she would ask Miss Gifford and Gertrude to spend their evenings on the water, being rowed about in the cool evening air, chatting to one another, or listening to the many tales that their boatman, who was an old sailor, delighted to tell them of the many places he had visited.

One afternoon Miss Gifford said she had letters to write, so the two girls started off together for a walk.

"Where shall we go?" asked Lena.

"Suppose we go to the wood. We have only been once since we came."

"Right past that little white cottage where we saw that pretty little girl who sold us flowers?"

"Yes, and perhaps we shall see her again. Now don't be lazy, Lena; it will be a lovely walk."

"Can we buy some more flowers? David says that she and her mother are very poor."

"I will run and ask Miss Gifford," said Gertrude, turning back and re-entering the house she soon came out again, saying, "Yes, we may; and Miss Gifford says she will come and meet us when she has finished her letters."

They started off again, this time without returning, talking of the little girl, whose sweet looks and gentle manner had interested them all, and of whom their boatman David had often spoken to them, her father, who had been a sailor like himself, having been drowned a few years before, leaving his widow and children very poor, and in a certain degree to David's care.

Their way lay along a shady lane, bordered with ferns and wild flowers, tempting both girls to stop to pick and admire them more than once. Before they reached the end of the lane, Lena said, "O Gertrude, let us wait here for Miss Gifford; it's so hot, and I am so tired;" and she seated herself on the bank as she spoke.

"You lazy girl!" laughed Gertrude; then seeing that she looked really tired, added, "You take a rest, dear, while I pick some flowers and ferns, and then I will bring them to you and we will arrange them together."

Gertrude had joined Lena, with both hands full of floral treasures, and they were busy arranging them into a pretty nosegay, when the sound of footsteps caused them to look up. They so seldom met any one in these quiet lanes, that both the girls stopped their work to see who was coming. In a few moments their curiosity was gratified by seeing their old friend the boatman coming towards them from the direction of the White Cottage.

"Halloa, David!" called out Lena, "have you been for a walk?"

"Yes, Missie," answered the old man as he touched his hat.

"We are going to the wood, and to call and buy some flowers from that little girl, Mary Roberts," said Gertrude.

"I would not go that way to-day, Miss," he answered gravely.

"Oh yes, but we want to--we mean to," said Lena.

"What is the matter, David?" asked Gertrude, seeing he looked troubled.

"I've just came from the cottage, Miss, from seeing little Mary. She's down with the fever."

Both girls exclaimed in tones of pity, "Poor Mary!" and Gertrude added, "Is there nothing we can do for her, David? Is she very ill?"

"Yes, Miss, she's terrible bad, and her mother is in a sad way about her."

"Oh, do take her this," pressing into his hand the money Miss Gifford had given them to pay for the flowers. "And we will go back and ask Miss Gifford to help her. Come, Lena."

Both the girls were eager to hurry back to ask for assistance, but David would not let them go until they promised they would not go near the cottage, as he feared the fever might be infectious.

When they gave the desired promise, he thanked them, and said he would return with the money they had given him, for small though the coin was, it would be a help to the poor hard-working mother.

"Is she very ill, David?" asked Lena in an awed tone; "will she die?"

"She is in God's hands, Missie; the best and safest of all," he answered reverently, adding, "She's very young, and it's wonderful what a deal of illness young things can bear."

"How old is she?" asked Gertrude kindly.

"Twelve years, that's all."

"Just your age, Lena." Then with a friendly good-bye to the old man, the two girls hurried off to meet Miss Gifford, and tell her of the sad trouble that had overtaken Mrs. Roberts and her child.

They had gone but a very little way when they met Miss Gifford hurrying towards them. When she went to post her letters, she had heard a rumour of there being fever at Mrs. Roberts' cottage, and she had hurried after the two girls, hoping to overtake them before they reached the cottage, for she dreaded their running into any danger of infection. Her first question was as to whether they had been, and it was with deep thankfulness she heard how they had loitered on the way, and that they had met David, who had stopped their going on.

"We may send them something, may we not?" they both asked eagerly as they walked home.

Very soon a basket was despatched under David's care, filled with things that Miss Gifford thought would be good for the sick child. There was no boating that evening, both the girls declaring it would not be fair upon their "own man," as they called David, to employ any one else, when he had gone on an errand of kindness and mercy to his old friend's widow and child.

Miss Gifford was naturally very anxious about the health of her two pupils, and she remembered, with a feeling of uneasiness, how much Lena had complained the last few days of being tired; and as she looked white that evening after the great heat of the day, she hurried her off early to bed, much against Lena's inclination. But Miss Gifford was firm, and she had to obey.

The next day came news that little Mary was still very very ill, and there was but small hope of her recovery. And the two girls spoke and thought much of the poor little sufferer, who but a few days ago had brought them flowers, apparently as well and with as fair a prospect of living as either of themselves, now lying tossing restlessly about in the clutches of that cruel fever, in the small close cottage that was her home.

"She is not going to die, is she, Gertrude?" asked Lena. "She is so young--only twelve."

It was not Gertrude, but Miss Gifford, that answered this remark with, "Age has nothing to do with it, Lena dear. It is not only the aged that God calls away. We ought all, even children, try to live good lives, so that when our summons comes we may be ready and glad to go."

"But we can't; at least children can't always be good," said Lena.

"No, dear; but we can all try, and if we do fall, we can repent, and ask God's forgiveness, which He never withholds, and then we need not fear."

"But David says little Mary is such a good girl, so truthful and honest, and always been so kind to her mother and everybody; he says she is a real little Christian," said Gertrude.

"Yes, so I was very glad to hear," answered Miss Gifford.

"It would be a dreadful thing," said Gertrude, thoughtfully, "to die when you were doing a wrong thing."

"Little Mary is not going to die," said Lena almost passionately, bursting into a flood of tears as she spoke.

Miss Gifford looked surprised but said nothing except, "We hope not, dear Lena." Then drawing the weeping child to her side, she soothed her with gentle words, until she had recovered, and regained her composure once more.

Nothing more was said on the subject of little Mary that morning. Gertrude opened her book and read out until it was time to return to the house, while Lena leant with her head against Miss Gifford's shoulder, apparently listening intently, but in reality thinking and wondering over many things.

After dinner Miss Gifford announced that it was too hot for a walk; and as Lena complained of having a headache, she was to lie down until it was cool enough for them to go out, adding, as she left the room, "Poor child, I had no idea she would have felt for others so very strongly."

As Lena lay on the bed in the darkened room, sleep was very far from her. Although her eyes were shut, her thoughts were very busy. Gertrude's words came back to her over and over again, "To die doing wrong." Her head ached dreadfully, which was not to be wondered at after her passionate fit of crying; and as Lena was not often troubled with a headache, she began to grow nervous and frightened. Could it be that she was going to get the fever also, like Mary Roberts? If she had it at twelve years of age, why should not she? Yes, she was sure she was going to be ill too; and her mother would soon be in as sad a state about her, as David said Mrs. Roberts was about her little girl. Poor Lena! she began to cry softly out of sheer fright. Suddenly jumping up, she went to the table, and taking up a small hand-glass that lay there, she took it with her to the window, and lifting the blind, looked at herself. Such a miserable, flushed, tear-stained face she saw. Yes, it must be the fever that made her cheeks so red. Laying down the glass, she flung herself on the bed. Oh, if she had only told Papa and Mama that it was she who had destroyed Milly's hat, and not little Lucy, as she had allowed them all to believe, how much happier she would be now! How weak and wicked she had been and still was! Oh, if Mama was only here, she would go and tell her all; but it was too late now, Mama was far away, and couldn't hear or see her child's sorrow, and alas! it was her own doing, and by her own wish, they were not together. Then there crept into her heart the sweet loving words that had been so familiar to her all her life, but now seemed to come back to her with a stronger power and deeper meaning than they had ever had to her before. "I will arise and go to my Father," were the words that were ever before her as she lay sobbing bitterly. Yes, she too would do that. Springing up, she knelt down and prayed earnestly and truly for strength to do what was right--to tell the truth, and remove the blame from poor innocent little Lucy. Lena prayed as she had never prayed before in her young life, and being calmed and comforted, she was standing meditating how she was to carry out her good resolutions, when the door opened softly, and Gertrude looked in.

"I came to see if you were asleep; how is your headache, dear?" she asked.