CHAPTER XII.

A NEW HOME.

Three weeks have passed, and Honor and Molly have just stepped out of the old station fly at the door of their new abode, possession of which they are to take that very day. There have been not a few expeditions backwards and forwards from town; but now everything is settled, the house ready for their reception, and the furniture actually on its way. The two girls are standing on the steps watching the driver, who, with the assistance of Jane, is bringing their trunks and boxes into the hall. Although the deep, heavy mourning of the sisters tells of their recent bereavement, the sorrowful look which seemed to have settled on their young faces but a few weeks since has now passed away; for at fifteen and seventeen the spirits are elastic, and however sharp and painful the grief may be at first, the buoyancy of youth soon asserts itself, and the trouble melts away into the past, ere long resembling a dream which, though vivid at the time, gradually becomes more shadowy and indistinct as time rolls on.

"I can't think why some of the boys didn't come down with us," remarks Molly rather crossly, as she kneels down and unfastens the cords of a hamper in which her pet cat is packed. "Now they really _would_ have been of use to-day, whereas, whenever they came with us before, they seemed to do nothing but get in the way."

"O, Molly!" remonstrates Honor, "how _can_ you say so? Look how beautifully Hugh trained all the creepers over the front of the house; and I'm sure it must have been a work of patience too, for they were in a fearful tangle. It quite distressed those nice old gentlemen to see how persistently Hugh worked at them; but they were simply delighted when they were done. They told me afterwards that they were most anxious to save him the trouble by sending in their own gardener to do it; but Hugh was determined, so they let him have his own way."

Molly shakes her head as, with Timothy now enthroned upon her shoulder, she gazes out of the open door.

"Boys are always a nuisance, more or less," she observes, "though I don't deny that I like them well enough in their place; and of course I allow that Hugh has fastened up the creepers well, especially the yellow jasmine."

Molly says this quite magnanimously, and is about to descend the steps with a view to receiving an armful of the small packages now being extricated from the interior of the fly, when a loud knocking from inside the house suddenly startles both the girls into a listening attitude.

"Hark!" says Molly with finger on lip, "it's the family ghost coming down to receive us! Not _our_ ghost--the late occupant's, you know. Listen! there it is again. Who'll come up with me to see who or what it is? It _sounds_ from the attics."

"O, I durs'n't, miss!" exclaims Jane, dropping a whole bundle of parcels as Molly glances in her direction; "ghost or no ghost, I durs'n't go a-nigh the attics while that knocking is going on. O, my gracious, Miss Honor--there it is again! I shall drop with fright, my legs is that trembling!"

And suiting the action to the word, Jane, regardless of appearances, subsides in a sitting posture on the top of the hamper which the cat has lately vacated.

"Hush--h!" cries Molly theatrically, and secretly enjoying the girl's discomfiture; "he's dragging something about up there! Perhaps it is the old arm-chair of his deceased great-grandmother, or possibly his own coffin--" But here Honor interposes, seeing signs of a further collapse in Jane's frightened face, and frowningly signing to Molly she says:

"Nonsense! how can you both be so silly? It is probably some workmen still attending to something at the top of the house. I'll call out and see." And mounting a few steps she calls loudly: "Is anyone up there?"

"No!" answers a ringing voice from the attic regions. "Half a second, Honor, and I'll be down; I'm just finishing."

"_Finishing!_" echoes Molly, puckering up her eyebrows; "what in the name of goodness is Hugh finishing here? Let us go and see. Jane can come too if she likes."

But that young person prefers to remain where she is, deeming perhaps that her greater safety lies in proximity to the man who is still unloading the heavily-laden fly.

"I'd rather stay here, if you please, miss," she says with her hand pressed against her side; "the fright has give me such a turn, and the air will do me good perhaps if--" But Honor is off up the stairs after Molly, whom she finds pounding away with her little doubled-up fists at the closed door of the largest and best attic.

"All right, all right!" cries a voice within; and then suddenly the door is thrown wide open by Hugh, and both girls cross the threshold cautiously.

The floor of the room, which had looked so shabby and bare three weeks ago, is now stained and polished from one end to the other. There is a small square of Turkey carpet in front of the fireplace, while several skins are scattered at intervals over the rest of the floor. At both little windows thick oriental curtains are artistically draped, and across a large angular recess is hung another on large brass rings. Just on this side of the curtain stands an easel--Honor's, with a sketch of her own lying upon it; while on a little rough table, half hidden by the curtain, lie all her painting materials. Two or three high-backed oak chairs, which had formerly been part of the furniture of Mr. Merivale's study, are standing about the room; while three little dainty-looking wicker chairs are placed invitingly near the bright crackling fire so merrily burning at the other end of the room. In a recess near the fireplace is a low, pretty book-case containing all the girls' favourite books, while on the top stand several little bronze statuettes. A large basket work-table with "a second floor," as Hugh describes the upper shelf, completely fitted up with materials of all kinds, stands near one of the chairs; and a nice little table, with a reading-lamp upon it, completes the furniture of the room.

Both the girls gasp as, taking courage, they advance further into the room. Their eyes fill with tears as they recognize some of their much-prized belongings which they had never expected to possess again; and they are both so touched at the kind delicacy of thought for them which is so plainly visible in every little detail of the room, that for a second or two they are too much overcome to speak. Hugh, who is leaning with one elbow on the mantel-piece, sees the struggle which both the girls are making for composure, and fearful of the consequences, having already all an Englishman's horror of "a scene," he says rather abruptly, "I hope you will all like it. The working affair is mother's arrangement, and I believe it is well furnished. The easel, the painting things,--and the statuettes were Regy's thought; and everything else is--well, among us all, as it were;" the real fact being that the "everything else" alluded to had been Hugh's own particular care.

"O, Hugh," cry both the girls, darting forward and each seizing one of the young fellow's hands, "how good--how _kind_ of you! and how beautifully you have arranged everything, in this short time too!"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I believe Alick, Regy, and I have each worn out a pair of trousers walking round the room on our knees--doing the staining and polishing, you know; for that was a big job, and we were so afraid we wouldn't get it done in time. We had to press Ted and also Dick (under strict promise of secrecy) into the service the last day or two."

The girls having now quite recovered themselves, they proceed to make a tour of inspection round the room; and Molly, having dived behind the curtain, discovers Honor's old big portfolio filled to overflowing with sketches, good, bad, and indifferent, which the poor girl, thinking sketching and painting days were over, had had no heart to bring away with her. Making this discovery Molly cries with enthusiasm:

"Why, here is Honor's dear old portfolio! You _are_ good to have thought of that! I know it was you, because here is the label in your own handwriting. I could hug you for that, Hugh!"

"Well, why don't you?" asks Hugh promptly.

At this moment Honor, who is standing at one of the windows feasting her eyes on the lovely view which is stretching far and wide, exclaims:

"Why, what is this huge thing in the cart turning in at the gate? It isn't the furniture, I'm sure! It must be a mistake. I had better go down and tell them before they begin to unpack it--whatever it is."

But Hugh is before her; and Honor and Molly arrive on the front steps just in time to hear him say "All right!" to the men in charge of the van with so much confidence that Honor stares stupidly at him and says nothing. Then one of the men comes forward and touching his hat presents a letter to her.

"I don't know which of the young ladies it is for, miss," he says, then retires down the steps again to where the others are already unpacking the mysterious contents of the van.

"It is for you, Molly, I suppose; you are the only 'Miss M. Merivale' in the family excepting Daisy." And when her sister has broken the seal Honor looks over her shoulder and reads the following:--

"My dear Miss Molly,

"Please accept the accompanying little present from an old man whom you have often delighted with your playing. My old enemy the gout has necessitated my leaving England again for a time; so young Mr. Horton has promised to attend the sale at Lancaster Terrace and to manage this little business for me. I have written to your mother expressing the great sympathy I feel for you all in your sad bereavement, and to say that I shall take the earliest opportunity of calling to see you on my return, when you will perhaps oblige me with your admirable rendering of the 'Sonata Pathetique.' This will be the pleasantest thanks I can receive.

"Believe me to remain, "Yours very truly, "PETER BERESFORD."

Molly turns to Honor with eyes full of grateful tears at this unexpected kindness from a fresh quarter, but she is unable to say anything, for at the same moment the head man approaches them again and asks which room the instrument is to be taken into. It had been a bitter trial to poor Molly to have to leave her beloved piano to the mercy of strangers, and her unbounded delight may be imagined, therefore, now that she finds herself looking upon it once more with the proud consciousness that it is her own--her very own! Honor calls her into what will be the drawing-room, where she and Hugh are standing consulting with the man as to the best place to put it.

"Not _too_ near the window, and certainly not near the door," says practical Molly promptly. "It mustn't be in a draught. _Here_ would be a good place. Don't you think so, Honor? O, good gracious! here they come with it, staggering under its weight. How nicely it will help to furnish the room, Honor! And oh, what a dear old man Sir Peter is! I hope you'll grow up like him, Hugh!"

"Thanks! I shall want to strike out in a line of my own before I reach Sir Peter's age," laughs Hugh. "Do you wish me to be the same height also, Molly? because I can't accommodate you there, being already about half a foot taller."

At this point all three are driven ignominiously into a corner by the piano, which, being now placed on the little wheeled platform used for such purposes, runs into the room in quite a jaunty manner.

"I suppose it _is_ ours," hazards Honor, looking rather dubiously at the back of it.

"Of course it is; can't you recognize it? Besides, look here"--and Molly takes up one of the legs which have been laid down in a corner,--"don't you see where Timothy sharpened his claws one day just before Christmas? Here are the long scratches, down the right leg. What a way mother was in! I remember it quite well. Don't you, Honor?"

"I think I can vouch for its being your own also," says Hugh, "considering that I bought it at the sale; besides, Sir Peter sent the note to me, and asked me to give it to the man to bring with it, and I saw it packed up myself."