Say and Seal Volume Ii Part 78

"Only your eyes, like those power-gla.s.ses.--Not for size!" said Faith, laughing now herself.

"Ah little Mignonette," he said smiling, "some things can be seen without microscopic vision. And do not you know, my child, that carnations must draw attention to the particular point round which they bloom?"

"Endy, you shall know what I was thinking of," she said. "You touched it already. It was only--that perhaps sometime you _would_ be a little proud even of those little things in me--because--Now you can punish me for being proud in earnest!"--It was said in great confusion; it had cost Faith a struggle; the white and red both strove in her downcast face. Mr. Linden might not fathom what was not in a man's nature; but Faith had hardly ever perhaps given him such a token of the value she set upon his pleasure.

"Punish you?" he said, leaving Jerry to find the road for himself for a minute,--"how shall I do it?--so? And how much punishment do you require? I think a little is not enough. 'Because' what, love?"

"Endy!--" she said under her breath,--"you know!--don't ask me."

"Then--if I exceed your limits--you will not blame me?"

"Limits of what?"

"Limits of this species of executive justice."

"I don't think you would keep limits of anybody else's setting," said Faith with a little subdued fun. "Look, Endy!--we are coming to Miss Bezac's."

"Most true," said Mr. Linden,--"now shall you see (perhaps!) one of the innocent sorts of pride that I keep for myself. What have we come for?"

he added laughing, as Jerry trotted up the side hill to the cottage,--"is it b.u.t.ter, or carnations, or dressmaking?--they all make a rare combination in my mind at present."

"She is at home!" said Faith,--"if she wasn't, the window-curtains would be down. Now she is going to be pleased,--and so am I, for she will give me something to eat." Faith looked as if she wanted it, as she softly opened the door of the dressmaker's little parlour, or workroom, and softly went in. The various business and talk of the afternoon had exhausted her.

Miss Bezac, having in her young days been not only rich, but also a firstrate needlewoman, now that she was older and poor plied her needle for a different purpose. Yet something of old habits clung to her still; she would not take the common work of the village; but when Mrs.

Stoutenburgh wanted a gay silk dress, or Miss De Staff a delicate muslin, or Mrs. Somers an embroidered merino--then Miss Bezac was sure to have them go through her hands; and for these ladies she took the fas.h.i.+ons and dispensed them exceeding well. Strangers too, in Pattaqua.s.set for the summer, often came to her,--and had not Miss Bezac made the very first embroidered waistcoat that ever Squire Deacon wore, or Sam Stoutenburgh admired himself in? So her table was generally covered with pretty work, and on this particular afternoon she was choosing the patterns for a second waistcoat for the young member from Quilipeak, a mantilla for his mother, and a silk ap.r.o.n for Miss Essie, all at once. In deep cogitation Faith found her, and Faith's soft salutation,--

"Dear Miss Bezac, will you let strangers come in?" How gloriously Faith blushed.

"Strangers!" cried Miss Bezac, turning round. "Why Faith!--you don't mean to say it's you?--though I don't suppose you mean to say it's anybody else. Unless--I declare I don't know whether it is you or not!"

said Miss Bezac, looking from her to Mr. Linden and shaking hands with both at once. "Though if it isn't I ought to have heard--only folks don't always do what they ought--at least I don't,--nor much of anything."

"It is n.o.body else yet," said Mr. Linden smiling. Whereat Miss Bezac laid one hand on the other, and stepping back a little surveyed the two "as a whole."

"Do you know," she said, "(you wouldn't think it) but sometimes I can't say a word!"

"You must not expect Faith to say much--she is tired," said Mr. Linden putting her in a chair. "Miss Bezac, I brought her here to get something to eat."

"Well I don't believe--I don't really believe that anybody but you would ever do such a kind thing," said Miss Bezac. "What shall I get?

Faith--what will you have? And you're well enough to be out again!--and it's so well I'm not out myself!--I'll run and see if the fire ain't,--the kettle ought to be boiled, for I wanted an early cup of tea."

"No, dear Miss Bezac, don't!" said Faith. "Only give me some bread and milk."

Miss Bezac stopped short.

"Bread and milk?" she said--"is that good for you? The bread's good, I know, baked last night; and the milk always is sweet, up here with the cowslips--and most things are sweet when you're hungry. But ain't you more hungry than that?--and somebody else might be, if you ain't--and one always must think of somebody else too. But you do, I'll say that for you. And oh didn't I say long ago!--" A funny little recollective pause Miss Bezac made, her thoughts going back even to the night of the celebration. Then she ran away for the bread and milk,--then she came back and put her head in at the door.

"Faith, do you like a cup or a bowl?--I like a cup, because I always think of a cup of comfort--and I never heard of a bowl of anything. But you can have which you like."

"I like the cup too," said Faith laughing. "But even the bowl would be comfort to-day, Miss Bezac."

The cup came, and a little pitcher for replenis.h.i.+ng, and a blue plate of very white bread and very brown bread, and one of Miss Bezac's old-fas.h.i.+oned silver spoons, and a little loaf of "one, two, three, four, cake", that looked as good as the bread. All of which were arranged on a round stand before Faith by Miss Bezac and Mr. Linden jointly. He brought her a footstool too, and with persuasive fingers untied and took off her bonnet--which supplementary arrangements Miss Bezac surveyed with folded hands and great admiration. Which also made the pale cheeks flush again, but that was pretty to look upon. Faith betook herself to the old-fas.h.i.+oned spoon and the milk, then gave Mr.

Linden something to do in the shape of a piece of cake; and then resigning herself to circ.u.mstances broke brown bread into the milk and eat it with great and profitable satisfaction, leaving the conversation in the hands of the other two. The sun sank lower and lower, sending farewell beams into the valleys, and shaking out gold pieces in Miss Bezac's little brown sitting-room like the Will-o'-wisps in the "Tale of tales". Through the open door her red cow might be seen returning home by a winding and circuitous path, such as cows love, and a little sparrow hopped in and out, from the doorstep, looking for "One, two, three, four", crumbs. Faith from her seat near the fire could see it all--if her eyes chose to pa.s.s Mr. Linden,--what he saw, she found out whenever they went that way. It was not wonderful that Faith turned from the table at last with a very refreshed face.

"Miss Bezac, you have made me up," she said smiling.

"Have I?" said her little hostess,--"well that comes pretty near it. Do you know when I saw you--I mean when I saw _both_ of you, I really thought you had come for me to make up something else? And I must say, I wish you had,--not that I haven't dresses enough, and too many--unless I had a new pair of eyes--but I always did set my heart on making that one. And I haven't set my heart upon many things for a good while, so of course I ain't used to being disappointed. You won't begin, will you, Faith?"

Faith kissed her, hastily expressing the unsentimental hope that her tea would be as good as her bread and milk; and ran out, leaving Mr.

Linden to follow at his leisure. Faith was found untying Jerry.

"What do you mean?" said Mr. Linden staying her hands and lifting her in the most summary manner into the wagon. "Bread and milk is too stimulating for you, child,--we must find something less exciting. What will you see fit to do next?"

"I can untie a bridle," said Faith.

"Or slip your head through one. But you should have seen the delight with which Miss Bezac entered upon the year of patience that I prescribed to her!--and the very (innocuous) pride that lay hid in the prescription. Do you feel disposed to punish me for that, Mignonette?"

One of Faith's grave childish looks answered him; but then, dismissing Mr. Linden as impracticable, she gave herself to the enjoyment of the time. It was a fit afternoon! The sunbeams were bright on leaves and flowers, with that fairy brightness which belongs peculiarly to spring.

The air was a real spring air, sweet and bracing, full of delicate spices of May. The apple blossoms, out and bursting out, dressed the land with the very bloom of joy. And through it all Mr. Linden drove her, himself in a "holiday humour." Bread and milk may be stimulating, but health and happiness are more stimulating yet; and Faith came home after a ride of some length looking not a bit the worse, and ready for supper.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

A month pa.s.sed away,--with apple blossoms, strawberry flowers, now with strawberries themselves. Roses coming into splendour, carnations in full force, and both re-established in the cheeks of Faith Derrick.

What a month it had been!--of weather, of work, of society. Lessons after the old fas.h.i.+on, reading aloud, talking; going round the country at Jerry's heels, or on the back of Mrs. Stoutenburgh's pony--for there she was put, just so soon as she could bear it, pa.s.sing by degrees from a gentle trot on level ground to a ladylike scamper over the hills.

Faith had not been so strong for many a day as the longest day of that summer found her.

Coming home from their afternoon ride by the way of the postoffice, Mr.

Linden found there a letter from Europe; the seal of which he broke as they entered, the house, just in time to give Faith a little enclosed note to herself as she went up stairs to change her dress. Its words were few. Referring Faith to Mr. Linden for particulars, it asked her to let him come to Germany without delay. The aunt with whom Miss Linden lived was at the point of death, apparently--she herself in danger of being left quite alone in a strange land. Yet with all the urgency of the case, the whole breathing of Miss Linden's note was, "Faith--can you spare him?--will you let him come?"

The question was settled before it was asked, in Faith's mind; but what a laying down of pleasure and what a taking up of pain was there! The rest of the vacation was gone at once; for Mr. Linden could not go to Europe and come back, even on the wings of steam, and have a day left before study would begin again. No more of him--except, at the best, s.n.a.t.c.hes--till next year; and next year was very far off, and who could tell what might be next year? But at the best, she must see little more of him until then; and in the mean time he must put half the world between them. n.o.body saw how fast the roses faded on Faith's cheek; she sat and looked at the matter all alone, and looked it through. For one few minutes; and then she rose up and began dressing slowly, looking at it still, but gathering all her forces together to deal with it. And when her dressing was done, she still stood leaning one hand and her head on the dressing table, thinking over all that was to do. She had remembered, as with a flash of remembrance, what day the next steamer would sail--from what port--she knew the hour when Mr. Linden must leave Pattaqua.s.set. And when her mind had seen all the preparations to be made, and she thought she was strong enough, she turned to go down stairs; but then feeling very weak Faith turned again and kneeled down to pray. And in a mixed feeling of strength and weakness, she went down stairs.

First to the kitchen, where she quietly looked after the state of the clothes in the wash, and desired Cindy to have all Mr. Linden's things ready for ironing that evening. Then attended to the supply of bread and the provision for breakfast; saw that one or two things about the supper were in proper order and progress; asked Mrs. Derrick to make the tea when it was time, and finally, as quietly as if the afternoon's ride had been the only event of the afternoon, opened the door of the sitting-room and softly went in.

For a while after reading his own letter Mr. Linden had sat absolutely still,--then with a sort of impatience to see Faith, to give her what comfort he could, at least to have her with him every minute, he had paced up and down the sitting-room till she appeared. Now he took her in his arms with all sorts of tender caresses--with no words at first but, "My little Mignonette!" Faith herself was quite still and wordless; only once, and that suddenly and earnestly, she gave his cheek the salutation she had never given him before unbidden. From her it was a whole volume, and thoroughly peace-speaking, although it might intimate a little difficulty of words.

Keeping one arm round her, Mr. Linden began again his walk up and down the room; beginning to talk as well--telling her what was in his letter, how long the journey would take, and more than all, what she must do while he was away. How long the absence would be--when he should be at home again, that was little touched upon by either; the return might be very speedy--that seemed most probable, but neither he nor Faith cared to put in words all the uncertainties that hung about it. From every point he came back to her,--with injunctions about her strength, and directions about her studies, and charges to take care of herself _for him_--with other words of comfort and cheering, spoken cheerfully from a very sorrowful heart. One other charge he gave--

"My little Sunbeam, my dearest Faith, keep both your names unclouded!"

"I have had one lesson, Endy"--

She was a little pale, but had listened to him quietly as intently; voice and smile both ready to do their part, albeit gravely, whenever there was a part for them.

"I shall not forget--" she added now with a smile, a rare one, after a little pause.

He brought her back to the sofa then, kissing the pale cheeks as if he missed their carnations. Yet--with the stringency of the old law which saith that "Doublet and hose must shew itself courageous to petticoat"--Mr. Linden gave her bright words, although they were words of a very grave brightness--not contradicted, but qualified by his eyes.