University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XIV.
CHANGE OF PLANS.

A WHOLE month had gone by since Jasper had left Evelyn, and Evelyn after a fashion had grown accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes had taken place in the little girl during that time. She was no longer dressed in an outre style. She wore her hair as any very young girl of her age would. She had ceased to consider herself grown-up; and although she knew deep down in her heart that she was the heiress — that by-and-by all the fine property would belong to her — and although she still gloried in the fact, either fear or perhaps the dawnings of a better nature prevented her talking so much about it as she had done during the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The guests had all departed, and schoolroom life held sway over both the girls. Miss Sinclair was the very soul of order; she insisted on meals being served in the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom work being pursued with regularity and method. There were so many hours for work and so many hours for amusement. There were times when the girls might be present with the Squire and Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed the society of Miss Sinclair. There were masters for several accomplishments, and the girls had horses to ride, and a

pony carriage was placed at their disposal, and the hours were so full of occupation that they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times better and happier than she had done when she first arrived at Castle Wynford, and even Lady Frances was forced to own that the child was turning out better than she expected. How long this comparatively happy state of things might have lasted it is hard to say, but it was brought to an abrupt conclusion by an event which occurred just then. This was no less than the departure of kind Miss Sinclair. Her mother had died quite suddenly; her father needed her at home. She could not even stay for the customary period after giving notice of her intention to leave. Lady Frances, under the circumstances, did not press her; and now the subject of how the two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly discussed. Lady Frances was a born educationist; she had the greatest love for subjects dealing with the education of the young. She had her own theories with regard to this important matter, and when Miss Sinclair went away she was for a time puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, of course, the only thing to be done; but for a time she wavered much as to the advisability of sending Evelyn to school.

"I really think she ought to go," said Lady Frances to the Squire. "Even now she does not half know her place. She has improved, I grant you, but the thorough discipline of school would do her good."

"You have never sent Audrey to school," was the Squire's answer.

"I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different."

"I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn's case which has not been done in Audrey's," was the Squire's reply.

"But surely you cannot compare the girls!"

"I do not intend to compare them. They are absolutely different. Audrey is all that the heart of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn is still — "

"A little savage at heart," interrupted Lady Frances.

"Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has some fine points in her — indeed, I am sure of it. She is, for instance, very affectionate."

Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant.

"I am tired of hearing of Evelyn's good qualities. When I perceive them for myself I shall be the first to acknowledge them. But now, my dear Edward, the point to be considered is this: What are we to do at once? It is nearly the middle of the term. To give those two girls holidays would be ruinous. There is an excellent school of a very superior sort kept by the Misses Henderson in that large house just outside the village. What do you say to their both going there until we can look round us and find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair's place?"

"If they both go it does not so much matter," said the Squire. "You can arrange it in that way if you like, my dear Frances."

Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was much interested in the Misses Henderson; she herself had helped them to start their school. Accordingly, that very afternoon she ordered the carriage and drove to Chepstow House. The Misses Henderson were expecting her, and received her in state in their drawing-room.

"You know what I have come about?" she said. "Now, the thing is this — can you do it?"

"I am, quite certain of one thing," said the elder Miss Henderson — "that there will be no stone left

unturned on our parts to make the experiment satisfactory."

"Poor, dear Miss Sinclair — it is too terrible her having to leave!" said Lady Frances. "We shall never get her like again. To find exactly the governess for girls like my daughter and niece is no easy matter."

"As to your dear daughter," she certainly will not be hard to manage," said the younger Miss Henderson.

"You are right, Miss Lucy," said Lady Frances, turning to her and speaking with decision. "I have always endeavored to train Audrey in those nice observances, those moral principles, and that high tone which befits a girl who is a lady and who in the future will occupy a high position."

"But your niece — your niece, she is the real problem," said the elder Miss Henderson.

"Yes," answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. "When she came to me she was little less than a savage. She has improved. I do not like her — I do not pretend for a moment that I do — but I wish to give the poor child every possible advantage, and I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudice shall not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with her: but she requires very firm treatment."

"She shall have it," said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look of distinct pleasure crossed her face. "I have had refractory girls before now," she said, "and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that I have always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of Miss Wynford."

"Firm discipline is essential," replied Lady Frances. "I told Miss Sinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what her method was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she

learnt her lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust the improvement will continue under your management."

Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours, & c., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House as day-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished school was to begin on the following morning.

Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was to be sent to school. She had cried and flung her arms round Miss Sinclair's neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on the contrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter than usual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess's hand and wrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again on the cheek, Miss Sinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poor Evelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girls looked at each other.

"I did not know you could be so stony-hearted," said Evelyn. She took out her handkerchief as she spoke and mopped her eyes. "Oh dear!" she added, "I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am such an affectionate girl."

"We had better prepare for school," said Audrey. "We are to go there to-morrow morning, remember."

"Yes," answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; "and do you know, although I am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about school. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like mine could never find a proper vent except in school-life. I wonder what sort of girls there are at Chepstow House?"

"I don't know anything about it," said Audrey.

"Are you sorry to go, Audrey?"

"Yes — rather. I have never been to school."

"How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you be shy and awkward?"

"I don't think so. I hope not."

"It would be such fun to see it, all the same," said Evelyn. "But there, I am going for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often and often I ran a whole mile without stopping. Good-bye for the present. I suppose I may do what I like to-day."

Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speed through the shrubbery on her way to a big field, which was known as the ten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came full tilt against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly at her.

"Do you know, Uncle Edward," she said, "that I am going to school to-morrow?"

"So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there."

Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly:

"I am glad; mothery wished me to go."

"You love your mother's memory very much, do you not, Eve?"

"Yes," she said.; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. "I love her just as much as if she were alive," she continued — "better, I think. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me."

"You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?"

"Yes," answered the child.

"Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when you came here, but I think to a certain extent you have conquered. Our ways were

not your ways — everything was strange — and at first, my dear little girl, you rebelled, and were not very happy."

"I was miserable — miserable!"

"But you have done, on the whole, well; and if your mother could come back again she would be pleased. I thought I should like to tell you."

"But please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery be pleased? She often told me that I was not to submit; that I was to hold my own; that — "

"My dear, she told you those things when she was on earth; but now, in the presence of God, she has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure, could she now speak to you, she would tell you that you did right to submit, and were doing well when you tried to please me, for instance."

"Why you, Uncle Edward?"

"Because I am your father's brother, and because I loved your father better than any one on earth."

"Better than Aunt Frances?" said Evelyn with a sparkle of pleasure in her eyes.

"In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I loved him well, and I would do my utmost to promote the happiness of his child."

"I love you," said the little girl. "I am glad — I am glad that you are my uncle."

She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the next moment was lost to view.

"Queer, erratic little soul!" thought Squire Wynford to himself. "If only we can train her aright! I often feel that Frank is watching me, and wondering how I am dealing with the child. It seems almost cruel that Frances should dislike her, but I trust in the end all will be well."

Meanwhile Evelyn, having tired herself racing round the ten-acre field, suddenly conceived a daring

idea. She had known long ere this that her beloved Jasper was not in reality out of reach. More than once the maid and the little girl had met. These meetings were by no means conducive to Evelyn's best interests, but they added a great spice of excitement to her life; and the thought of seeing her now, and telling her of the change which was about to take place with regard to her education, was too great a temptation to be resisted. Evelyn accordingly, skirting the high-roads and making many detours through fields and lanes, presently arrived close to The Priory. She had never ventured yet into The Priory; she had as a rule sent a message to Jasper, and Jasper had waited for her outside. She knew now that she must be quick or she would be late for lunch. She did not want on this day of all days to seriously displease Lady Frances. She went, therefore, boldly up to the gate, pushed it open, and entered. Here she was immediately confronted by Pilot. Pilot walked down the path, uttered one or two deep bays, growled audibly, and showed his strong white teeth. Whatever Evelyn's faults were, she was no coward. An angry dog standing in her path was not going to deter her. But she was afraid of something else. Jasper had told her how insecure her tenure at The Priory was — how it all absolutely depended on Mr. Leeson never finding out that she was there. Evelyn therefore did not want to bring Mr. Leeson to her rescue. Were there no means by which she could induce Pilot to let her pass? She went boldly up to the dog. The dog growled more fiercely, and put himself in an attitude which the little girl knew well meant that he was going to spring. She did not want him to bound upon her; she knew he was much stronger than herself.

"Good, good dog — good, good," she said.

But Pilot, exasperated beyond measure, began to bark savagely.

Who was this small girl who dared to defy him? His custom was to stand as he stood to-day and terrify every one off the premises. But this small person did not mean to go. He therefore really lost his temper, and became decidedly dangerous.

Mr. Leeson, in his study, was busily engaged over some of that abstruse work which occupied all his time. He was annoyed at Pilot's barking, and went to the window to ascertain the cause. He saw a stumpy, stout-looking little girl standing on the path, and Pilot barring her way. He opened the window and called out:

"Go away, child; go away. We don't have visitors here. Go away immediately, and shut the gate firmly after you."

"But if you please," said Evelyn, "I cannot go away. I want to see Sylvia."

"You cannot see her. Go away."

"No, I won't," said Evelyn, her courage coming now boldly to her aid. "I have come here on business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let your horrid dog spring on me; and I am going to stand just where I am till Sylvia comes."

These very independent words astonished Mr. Leeson so much that he absolutely went out of the house and came down the avenue to meet Evelyn.

"Who are you, child?" he said, as the bold light eyes were fixed on his face.

"I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford Castle."

A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson's eyes.

"And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford Castle?"

"Yes, I want to speak to her."

"She is not in at present. She is never in at this hour. Sylvia likes an open-air life, and I am glad to encourage her in her taste. May I show you to the gate?"

"Thank you," replied Evelyn, who felt considerably crestfallen.

Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied the little girl to the high iron gates. These he opened, bowed to her as she passed through them, and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar inside as he did so.

"Good Pilot — excellent, brave, admirable dog!" Evelyn heard him say; and she ground her small white teeth in anger.

A moment or two later, to her infinite delight, she saw Jasper coming up the road to meet her. In an instant the child and maid were in each other's arms. Evelyn was petting Jasper, and kissing her over and over again on her dark cheek.

"Oh Jasper," said the little girl, "I got such a fright! I came here to see you, and I was met by that horrible dog; and then a dreadful-looking old man came out and told me I was to go right away, and he petted the dog for trying to attack me. I was not frightened, of course — it is not likely that mothery's little girl would be easily afraid — but, all the same, it was not pleasant. Why do you live in such a horrid, horrid place, Jasper darling?"

"Why do I live there?" answered Jasper. "Now, look at me — look me full in the face. I live in that house because Providence wills it, because — because — Oh, I need not waste time telling you the reason. I live there because I am near to you, and for another reason; and I hope to goodness that you have not gone and made mischief, for if that dreadful old man, as you call him, finds out for a single moment

that I am there, good-bye to poor Miss Sylvia's chance of life."

"You are quite silly about Sylvia," said Evelyn in a jealous tone.

"She is a very fine, brave young lady," was Jasper's answer.

"I wish you would not talk of her like that; you make me feel quite cross."

"You always were a jealous little piece," said Jasper, giving her former charge a look of admiration; "but you need not be, Eve, for no one — no one shall come inside my little white Eve. But there, now; do tell me. You did not say anything about me to Mr. Leeson?"

"No, I did not," said Evelyn. "I only told him I had come to see Sylvia. Was it not good of me, Jasper? Was it not clever and smart?"

"It was like you, pet," said Jasper. "You always were the canniest little thing — always, always."

Evelyn was delighted at these words of praise.

"But how did you get here, my pet? Does her ladyship know you are out?"

"No, her ladyship does not," replied Evelyn, with a laugh. "I should be very sorry to let her know, either. I came here all by myself because I wanted to see you, Jasper. I have got news for you."

"Indeed, pet; and what is that?"

"Cannot you guess?"

"Oh, how can I? Perhaps that you have got courage and are sleeping by yourself. You cannot stand that horrid old Read; you would rather be alone than have her near you."

"Read has not slept in my room for over three weeks," said Evelyn proudly. "I am not at all nervous now. It was Miss Sinclair who told me how silly I was to want any one to sleep close to me."

"But you would like your old Jasper again?"

"Yes — oh yes; you are different."

"Well, and what is the change, dear?"

"It is this: poor Miss Sinclair — dear, nice Miss Sinclair — has been obliged to leave."

"Oh, well, I am not sorry for that," said Jasper. "I was getting a bit jealous of her. You seemed to be getting on so well with her."

"So I was. I quite loved her; she made my lessons so interesting. But what do you think, Jasper? Although I am very sorry she has gone, I am glad about the other thing. Audrey and I are going to school as daily boarders, just outside the village; Chepstow House it is called. We are going to-morrow morning. Mothery would like that; she always did want me to go to school. I am glad. Are you not glad too, Jasper?"

"That depends," said Jasper in an oracular voice.

"What does it all depend on? Why do you speak in that funny way?"

"It depends on you, my dear. I have heard a great deal about schools. Some are nice and some are not. In some they give you a lot of freedom, and you are petted and fussed over; in others they discipline you. When you are disciplined you don't like it. If I were you — "

"Yes — what?"

"I would stay there if I liked it, and if I did not I would not stay. I would not have my spirit broke. They often break your spirit at school. I would not put up with that if I were you."

"I am sure they won't break my spirit," said Evelyn in a tone of alarm. "Why do you speak so dismally, Jasper? Do you know, I am almost sorry I told you. I was so happy at the thought of going and now you have made me miserable. No, there is

not the slightest fear that they will break my spirit."

"Then that is all right, dear. Don't forget that you are the heiress."

"I could let them know at school, could I not?"

"I would if I were you," said the injudicious woman. "I would tell the girls if I were you."

"Oh yes; so I can. I wonder if they will be nice girls at Chepstow House?"

"You let them feel your power, and don't knock under to any of them," said Jasper. "And now, my dear, I must really send you home. There, I'll walk a bit of the way back with you. You are looking very bonny, my little white Eve; you have got quite a nice color in your cheeks. I am glad you are well; and I am glad too, that the governess has gone, for I don't want her to get the better of me. Remember what I said about school."

"That I will, Jasper; I'll be sure to remember."

"It would please her ladyship if you got on well there," continued Jasper.

"I don't want to please Aunt Frances."

"Of course you don't. Nasty, horrid thing! I shall never forgive her for turning me off. Now then, dear, you had best run home. I don't want her to see us talking together. Good-bye, pet; good-bye."