Frederica and her Guardians Part 32

"But, indeed, if you knew how anxious and unhappy we had sometimes been about some things, you would not call us altogether foolish," said Selina.

"And it came so suddenly upon us. First we heard that Tessie had been to the convent, and then Dixen told us he had seen Charlie, and then I went away."

"But who has taken the ordering of all these matters?" said Col.

Bentham. "Where is the responsibility? Mr St. Cyr must have known the wishes of your father and mother with regard to these children."

"It was not Mr St. Cyr," said Frederica eagerly. "At least, I don't think it was he. That was worst of all when we thought that he had turned against mama's wishes, because he had always been so kind to us before. But last night I went to see him."

"What! more adventures!" said Edgar. "You went to beard another lion in his den?"

"Oh! I have been there before. But he has been very ill this winter, and they would not let us in. But last night I did not ask leave. I ran upstairs and into the room where he was sitting."

"And was he glad to see you?" asked Selina eagerly, "and did you tell him about Tessie and the boys?"

"No, Lena. He looked so changed and weak, I could not ask him. Was I very foolish? But then I am quite sure he knew nothing about them.

And, Lena, he did not know about mama, though it was so long ago--Mr Jerome had not told him."

"And was he very kind still?"

"Very kind, and he asked about papa, and said he hoped he would come home soon. And he asked about mama--and by-and-by I saw that Mr Jerome had come in, and then I came home."

"And now it does not matter since you have all come to take care of us,"

said Selina.

That their coming would put an end to all cause for apprehension in the settlement of these children's affairs, did not seem by any means certain to those who listened. However, nothing was said to lessen their confidence. Nothing could be certainly known till Col. Bentham should see Mr St. Cyr, and as the arrangements for Mr Vane's burial must be made at once, he determined to lose no time in visiting him, and Edgar Vane went with him.

The interview was necessarily short, but it made Edgar quite sure that Mr St. Cyr knew nothing of the change of arrangements for the children after their mother's death. He spoke as though he supposed the boys to be at a distance, and requested Mr Jerome to take the necessary steps for bringing them home. Mr Jerome a.s.sented at once, but said very little during their stay.

"I wish I could be as sure of his good faith as I am of Mr St. Cyr's,"

said Edgar, when he spoke to his sisters about it afterward. "However, it signifies little to us, as now he need have little to do with their affairs."

"But did he say nothing about the boys being in town when you spoke of their coming home?" asked Mrs Brandon.

"Nothing--and we said nothing to him. But I cannot help wondering what he will say, when little Hubert shall not be forthcoming to-morrow."

"I confess I should like to see that man put to confusion, if such a thing were possible," said Mrs Brandon.

"Which is doubtful," said her husband.

"Still, he will have to account for his non-appearance in some way, which will be rather difficult, I imagine," said Edgar.

But Mr Jerome was not destined to be put to confusion by the non-appearance of little Hubert; for, as they were speaking, he walked in among them.

"You did not come for me, Fred, as you promised. And I thought your old woman had had enough of me, and so I came away," said he.

Mr Jerome had no account to render to any of them. Whatever he said on the subject was said to Mr St. Cyr, not that he considered it necessary to give an account of his actions even to him. He was accountable only to a tribunal, which would acquit him of all wrong-doing in the matter.

He uttered some angry and bitter words, because of his brother's weakness and folly, where poor Mrs Vane and her children were concerned. The children were, in his opinion, in a fair way to be ruined. The only hope for them, both for this world and the next, lay in the proper choice of guardians.

"And for you to tell Colonel Bentham, even before he alluded to the subject, that he was one of the three persons charged with the responsibility of their future welfare was monstrous. If any instrument appointing him to this office exists, you should never let it see the light. I do not believe it exists. It is one of the many dreams of your illness. Why did you not produce it to-day, if it is here?"

"It will be produced at the right time. I scarcely think you know what you are counselling, my brother," said Mr St. Cyr, gravely. "I could not, without committing a villainy, do as you bid me do in this."

"I will take the responsibility. You are not capable of deciding such a question. Your illness has weakened your mind, as well as your body.

You will be wise to let yourself be guided by me!"

"You forget we did not agree about this thing before my illness. I am weak, I know, but I am not weak enough for your purpose. And my yielding would avail nothing. The business is known to others, as well as to me."

Mr Jerome gave him an evil look. Mr St. Cyr was much weakened by his illness, and a terrible thought, that he was not safe in his brother's hands, came into his mind, and showed in his face.

"The business is now in other hands," said he feebly.

"I do not believe you," said Jerome, restraining himself with a great effort. The look of terror in his brother's face shocked him. The tacit accusation was an awful one, but that it was not altogether unjust, he could not but acknowledge. For in his heart at that moment he was saying, "If Cyprien had died, all might have been made to go well."

"A further discussion of this subject can do no good now. But I warn you that whatever can be done to save these children and their wealth to the Church shall be done. It is not I who say it. A power which it is impossible to defeat or circ.u.mvent, stands pledged for a successful issue. It will be wise for you to yield before a heavy hand is laid upon you."

"An idle threat," said Mr St. Cyr.

"No threat, my brother. That power, as you know, never yields. Its triumph is certain. It may come to-morrow, or ten years hence, or twenty, but ultimate triumph is certain."

"An idle threat," repeated Mr St. Cyr.

And probably it was only a threat. If anything was done to bring into the life and destiny of these children the change which Father Jerome so earnestly desired, it was done in secret, and it failed. If the "power," with whose heavy hand he had been threatened ever touched him to his hurt, Mr St. Cyr never complained of it, or revealed it.

Certainly he never yielded to it, in the matter of the trust which Mrs Vane had given him.

With more promptness and decision than he might have considered necessary had he been in perfect health, or had the circ.u.mstances been different, he transferred to the guardians whom the mother had appointed for her children, all the responsibility which their acceptance of the office involved. The responsibility was not a light one, but it was a.s.sumed cheerfully and faithfully, and successfully borne; and as yet no harm has come, either from Father Jerome, or from the power he serves, to Mrs Vane's children.

But all this took time, and of the details they who were most interested in the matter knew nothing, and thought nothing, except that it was a happy thing for them that to Colonel Bentham, and not to Father Jerome, the arrangement of their affairs had been committed.

Tessie came home from the convent none the worse for her fortnight's seclusion. For a little while his sisters found that the same thing could not be said of Charlie. Poor Charlie had rebelled, and had been hardly dealt with, though he said little about it for a time. Into his eyes came now and then the look, half-deprecating, half-defiant, which they have who are only learning to yield obedience to the government of a strong hand and will, which no love softens.

He had gone into the strange uncongenial world of the great school, with his heart sore with the thought of his mother's death, and angry with the suspicion that he who had brought them there had done so less for their good than for his own pleasure; and, child though he was, he suffered terribly. Grief, and home sickness, and disgust at many things which now became part of his daily experience, made him irritable and rebellious, and would have made him difficult to manage anywhere else.

There the "strong hand" touched him, and a few months longer of the discipline he underwent would doubtless, in all things, have moulded him to the will of those who taught and governed him. As it was, those at home believed that he had come back to them none too soon for his good.

As for Tessie, though she indignantly resented having been taken away without her own consent, she had nothing to complain of with regard to the treatment she had received. Indeed, she had been flattered and made much of by all with whom she had come in contact, and doubtless would, in time, have yielded with pa.s.sable grace to the necessity of submission, and contented herself with her circ.u.mstances. But she was glad enough to find herself at home again, and to make the acquaintance of their elder brother and sister, whose coming was as joyful an event to her, and as unexpected as it had been to them all.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

The brothers followed their father to the grave, and the sisters sat at home waiting, as they had done when their mother was carried away. But this time Cecilia was with them, and that made a wonderful difference.

She read with them the beautiful burial service of their Church, and comforted them sweetly with words which were not her own, showing them how they, being fatherless and motherless, could claim in a new way the love and care of their Father in Heaven, because of His promise to the orphan. There was no room for fear, or even for doubt, in their future, she told them, because of this; and it was the easier for them to believe it, and rejoice in it; coming from her loving lips.

Before they saw the graves of their father and mother, they were beautiful with soft green turf and the fairest of spring flowers.

They all went there together, on one of the loveliest and last of the April days; and though their tears fell fast for a little while, there was no bitterness in them; and the elder brother and sisters, sitting a little apart, saw smiles on their faces before their tears were dry.

"It is all past for them," said Frederica; "the troubles of their life, I mean. And now mama is as strong and well as the other happy people up there, and not anxious or afraid any more."

"And papa is satisfied, and does not mind things now, I suppose," said Tessie. "For my part, I cannot think what heaven is like."