University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER X. JASPER WAS TO GO.

WHAT will not hunger — real, healthy hunger — effect? Lady Frances, after her last words, swept out of the room; and Jasper, her bosom heaving, her black eyes flashing angry fire, looked full at her little charge. What would Evelyn do now? The spoilt child, who could scarcely brook the smallest contradiction, who had declined to get up even to breakfast, to do without Jasper! To allow her friend Jasper to be torn from her arms — Jasper, who had been her mother's dearest companion, who had sworn to that mother that she would not leave Evelyn come what might, that she would protect her against the tyrant aunt and the tyrant uncle, that if necessary she would fight for her with the power which the law bestows! Oh, what an awful moment had arrived! Jasper was to go. What would Evelyn do now?

Evelyn's first impulse had been all that was satisfactory. Her fury had burst forth in wild, indignant words. But now, when the child and the maid found themselves alone, Jasper waited in expectancy which was almost certainty. Evelyn would not submit to this. She and her charge would leave Castle Wynford together that very day. If they were eventually parted, the law should part them.

Still Evelyn was silent.

"Oh Eve — my dear Miss Evelyn — my treasure!" said the afflicted woman.

"Yes, Jasper?" said Evelyn then. "It is an awful nuisance."

"A nuisance! Is that all you have got to say?"

Evelyn rubbed her eyes.

"I won't submit, of course," she said. "No, I won't submit for a minute. But, Jasper, I must have some breakfast; I am too hungry for anything. Perhaps you had better take all my darling, lovely clothes; and if you have to go, Jasper, I'll — I'll never forget you; but I'll talk to you more about it when I have had something to eat."

Evelyn turned and left the room. She was in an ugly dress, beyond doubt, but in her neat black shoes and stockings, and with her hair tied back according to Lady Frances's directions, she looked rather more presentable than she had done the previous day. She entered the breakfast-room. The remains of the meal still lay upon the table. Evelyn looked impatiently round. Surely some one ought to appear — a servant at the very least! Hot tea she required, hot coffee, dishes nicely cooked and tempting and fresh. The little girl went to the bell and rang it. A footman appeared.

"Get my breakfast immediately," said Evelyn.

The man withdrew, endeavoring to hide a smile. Evelyn's conduct in daring to defy Lady Frances had been the amusement of the servants' hall that morning. The man went to the kitchen premises now with the announcement that "miss" had come to her senses.

"She is as white as a sheet, and looks as mad as a hatter," said the man; "but her spirit ain't broke. My word! she 'ave got a will of her own. 'My breakfast, immediate,' says she, as though she were the lady of the manor."

"Which she will be some day," said cook; "and I 'ates to think of it. Our beautiful Miss Audrey supplanted by the like of her. There, Johnson! my

missus said that Miss Wynford was to have quite a plain breakfast, so take it up — do."

Toast, fresh tea, and one solitary new-laid egg were placed on a tray and brought up to the breakfast-room.

Evelyn sat down without a word, poured herself out some tea, ate every crumb of toast, finished her egg, and felt refreshed. She had just concluded her meal when Audrey, accompanied by Arthur Jervice, ran into the room.

"Oh, I say, Evelyn," cried Audrey, "you are the very person that we want. We are getting up charades for to-night; will you join us?"

"Yes, do, please," said Arthur. "And we are most anxious that Sylvia should join too."

"I wish I knew her address," said Audrey. "She is such a mystery! Mother is rather disturbed about her. I am afraid, Arthur, we cannot have her tonight; we must manage without. — But will you join us, Evelyn? Do you know any thing about acting?"

"I have never acted, but I have seen plays," said Evelyn. "I am sure I can manage all right. I'll do my best if you will give me a big part. I won't take a little part, for it would not be suitable."

Audrey colored and laughed.

"Well, come, anyway, and we will do our best for you," she said. "Have you finished your breakfast? The rest of us are in my schoolroom. You have not been introduced to it yet. Come if you are ready; we are all waiting."

After her miserable morning, Evelyn considered this an agreeable change. She had intended to go upstairs to comfort Jasper, but really and truly Jasper must wait. She accordingly went with her cousin, and was welcomed by all the children, who pitied her and wanted to make her as much at home as

possible. A couple of charades were discussed, and Evelyn was thoroughly satisfied with the role assigned her. She was a clever child enough, and had some powers of mimicry. As the different arrangements were being made she suddenly remembered something, and uttered a cry.

"Oh dear!" she said — "oh dear! What a pity!"

"What is it now, Evelyn?" asked her cousin.

"Why, your mother is so — I suppose I ought not to say it — your mother — I — There! I must not say that either. Your mother — "

"Oh, for goodness' sake speak out!" said Audrey. "What has poor, dear mother done?"

"She is sending Jasper away; she is — she is. Oh, can I bear it? Don't you think it is awful of her?"

"I am sorry for you," said Audrey.

"Jasper would be so useful," continued Evelyn. "She is such a splendid actress; she could help me tremendously. I do wish she could stay even till tomorrow. Cannot you ask Aunt Frances — cannot you, Audrey? I wish you would."

"I must not, Evelyn; mother cannot brook interference. She would not dream of altering her plans just for a play. — Well," she added, looking round at the rest of her guests, "I think we have arranged everything now; we must meet here not later than three o'clock for rehearsal. Who would like to go out?" she added. "The morning is lovely."

The boys and girls picked up hats and cloaks and ran out immediately into the grounds. Evelyn took the first covering she could find, and joined the others.

"They ought to consult me more," she said to herself. "I see there is no help for it; I must live here for a bit and put Audrey down — that at least is due to me. But when next there are people here I

shall be arranging the charades and I shall invite them to go out into the grounds. It is a great bother about Jasper; but there! she must bear it, poor dear. She will be all right when I tell her that I will get her back when the Castle belongs to me."

Meanwhile Arthur, remembering his promise to Sylvia, ran away from where the others were standing. The boy ran fast, hoping to see Sylvia. He had taken a great fancy to her bright, dark eyes and her vivacious ways.

"She promised to meet me," he said to himself. "She is certain to keep her word."

By-and-by he uttered a loud "Hullo!" and a slim young figure, in a shabby crimson cloak, turned and came towards him.

"Oh, it is you, Arthur!" said Sylvia. "Well, and how are they all?"

"Quite well," replied the boy. "We are going to have charades to-night, and I am to be the doctor in one. It is rather a difficult part, and I hope I shall do it right. I never played in a charade before. That little monkey Evelyn is to be the patient. I do hope she will behave properly and not spoil everything. She is such an extraordinary child! And of course she ought to have had quite one of the most unimportant parts, but she would not hear of it. I wish you were going to play in the charade, Sylvia."

"I have often played in charades," said Sylvia, with a quick sigh.

"Have you? How strange! You seem to have done everything."

"I have done most things that girls of my age have done."

Arthur looked at her with curiosity. There was — he could not help noticing it, and he blushed very vividly as he did see — a very roughly executed patch

on the side of her shoe. On the other shoe, too, the toes were worn white. They were shabby shoes, although the little feet they encased were neat enough, with high insteps and narrow, tapering toes. Sylvia knew quite well what was passing in Arthur's mind. After a moment she spoke.

"You wonder why I look poor," she said. "Sometimes, Arthur, appearances deceive. I am not poor. It is my pleasure to wear very simple clothes, and to eat very plain food, and — "

"Not pleasure!" said Arthur. "You don't look as if it were your pleasure. Why, Sylvia, I do believe you are hungry now!"

Poor Sylvia was groaning inwardly, so keen was her hunger.

"And I am as peckish as I can be," said the boy, a rapid thought flashing through his mind. "The village is only a quarter of a mile from here, and I know there are tuck-shops. Why should we not go and have a lark all by ourselves! Who's to know, and who's to care? Will you come, Sylvia?"

"No, I cannot," replied Sylvia; "it is impossible. Thank you very much indeed, Arthur. I am so glad to have seen you! I must go home, however, in a minute or two. I was out all day yesterday, and there is a great deal to be done."

"But may I not come with you? Cannot I help you?"

"No, thank you; indeed I could not possibly have you. It is very good of you to offer, but I cannot have you, and I must not tell you why."

"You do look so sad! Are you sure you cannot join the charades to-night?"

"Sure — certain," said Sylvia, with a little gasp. "And I am not sad," she added; "There never was

any one more merry. Listen to me now; I are going to laugh the echoes up."

They were standing where a defile of rocks stretched away to their left. The stream ran straight between the narrow opening. The girl slightly changed her position, raised her hand, and called out a clear "Hullo!" It was echoed back from many points, growing fainter and fainter as it died away.

"And now you say I am not merry!" she exclaimed. "Listen."

She laughed a ringing laugh. There never was anything more musical than the way that laughter was taken up, as if there were a thousand sprites laughing too. Sylvia turned her white face and looked full at Arthur.

"Oh, I am such merry girl!" she said, "and such a glad one! and such a thankful one! And I am rich — not poor — but I like simple things. Good-bye, Arthur, for the present."

"I will come and see you again. You are quite wonderful!" he said. "I wish mother knew you. And I wish my sister Moss were here; I wish she knew you."

"Moss! What a curious name!" said Sylvia.

"We have always called her that. She is just like moss, so soft and yet so springy; so comfortable, and yet you dare not take too much liberty with her. She is fragile, too, and mother had to take great care of her. I should like you to see her; she would — "

"What would she do?" asked Sylvia.

"She would understand you; she would draw part at least of the trouble away."

"Oh! don't, Arthur — don't don't read me like that," said the girl.

The tears just dimmed her eyes. She dashed them

away, laughed again merrily, and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view.