Kitabı oku: «Maud Florence Nellie: or, Don't care!», sayfa 12

Chapter Twenty Three
The Colour of the Jewels

Before the Confirmation day came the lost jewels were safely restored to Lady Carleton’s keeping, and the diamonds that had been hidden for eight years in a hollow tree were likely to be handed down as heirlooms to her children with additional care and interest.

But over the bent heads of the three young people who had had so much interest in their loss and their recovery, there flashed a glory of mystic light and colour. For the great west window of Ashcroft Church was filled with painted glass, jewel-like in pattern and colour. In the centre was the form of Him who made the lame to walk, and, as the winter afternoon sun streamed through the window, the earthly colours seemed transmuted into heavenly jewels.

Underneath was an inscription: —

“To the glory of God, in memory of Edgar Cunningham, and in thanksgiving for undeserved mercies, this window is given by all concerned in the losing and the finding of the jewels hidden in Ashcroft Wood.”

Lilian Carleton, Alwyn Cunningham, Harry Whittaker, Florence, and Wyn had all in their very different proportions contributed to the offering.

When in after life the three children looked back on their Confirmation day, it was lighted up for them by that wonderful colouring, and sweet with the recollection, for Florence, of the first person she had eared to please; for Geraldine, of the first she had much eared to help; and for Wyn, with a far deeper, tenderer memory of one who had not perhaps had the best things to give him, but who had given him all he could, the love of the beautiful things of Nature, and the example of uncomplaining courage and endurance.

Before that day came Alwyn had gone back to Boston, intending to return in the spring and bring his wife to visit Ashcroft. There was a great deal in his future life that would be difficult of adjustment, and perhaps those parts of it which he would spend under his father’s roof would not be the easiest to manage. But pardon and reinstatement were worth much, and he knew well that if his father had really disinherited him, apart from the obvious loss, the bitterness would have been unspeakable. And, as the sorrow of his brother’s loss turned into a sweet and tender memory, he felt that those three months with him had been worth any pain. He might well say:

My days with others will the sweeter be For those brief days I spent in loving thee.

To Mr Cunningham the reconciliation had cleared away a cloud of which he had never acknowledged the blackness. It was perhaps inevitable that the sense that poor Edgar had no more to suffer should transcend the grief for his loss; but Geraldine had a much kinder father in the future, and her welfare became his chief consideration, as she tried to brighten his home. She rode and walked with him; the occasional visits of Alwyn and his lively, earnest-tempered wife would oblige society and friendly intercourse, and Miss Cunningham of Ashcroft bade fair as time went on to find her life full of interest and occupation.

Sir Philip and Lady Carleton settled permanently at Ravenshurst, and one great anxiety was lifted off Wyn Warren’s shoulders when a happy home was found there for poor Dobbles, who drew the nursery donkey-cart or carried little Lily on his back through the woodland walks once so familiar to his steady feet.

For Wyn will never forget Mr Edgar, though he prospered at school, and found many hopes and interests open to him. He treasured the botany books that had been given to him as a remembrance; and if, as his new masters think, a career as a naturalist should be open to him in the future, he will never make a new discovery in wider fields, never see with his own eyes the wonders he has read of, without feeling an echo of Mr Edgar’s pleasure when some specimen which he was sure could be found in the wood actually came to light there.

When Florence went home to Rapley before she sailed for America, her father said that she had grown into a woman. The naughty-girl period was over. She looked at everything from a different standpoint; and Miss Mordaunt never received such a surprise in her life as when Florence Whittaker called to say good-bye, and to thank her, with manners learnt at Ravenshurst, for all past kindness. Now that she knew how to be polite her broad and genial smile and warm-hearted, outspoken voice were pleasant, and in after days it is not certain that Miss Mordaunt did not look back on Maud Florence Nellie as having had her good points after all. She had a satisfactory parting also with Mrs Lee. She was not so entirely a changed character as to receive her Aunt Stroud’s good advice with perfect submission, and the form in which she couched her excellent resolutions for the future was:

“Well, I shall be as meek as any lamb to Alberta, and ‘fly round,’ as Harry calls it, whenever she tells me, just because Aunt Stroud declares I shall make them repent of their kindness! And if I were you, Mattie, I’d say yes to Mr Clements to-morrow, for the very reason that Aunt Stroud says you’ll never have the sense to see which side your bread’s buttered.”

Whether Mattie availed herself of this ingenious excuse, whether on a closer acquaintance Mr Clements developed traits in common with her favourite heroes, or whether, as was most probable, fiction finally faded before fact, Mattie did bring herself to a favourable answer before Florence sailed.

“And who’s going to look after Sybil and Ethel?” said Florence virtuously. “My lady and Aunt Charlotte would say it was a great disadvantage to them to be left to themselves.”

“Well, Florrie,” said the aggravated Sybil, “I don’t see as you were much the better for having Mattie to look after you.”

“Florrie is just like Aunt Stroud,” said Ethel. “She’ll be just as good advicey when she’s old enough.”

For energy will have a vent, and Florence had expended some of her new-found wisdom in endeavouring to regulate her younger sisters’ conduct.

“Don’t quarrel, girls,” said Mattie, “when Florrie’s going away so soon. I’m not going away from you yet – perhaps not till Sybil’s near as old as I was when Aunt Stroud married.”

Nobody expressed a desire that Florence should give up her new prospects to undertake the responsibility.

“No, Martha Jane,” said Mrs Stroud, “that would never do. I grant that Florrie’s a much better girl than I ever thought to see her. But nothing ever will eradicate the snap and the bounce of her altogether. It’s very well for Henery that he has his hands full, and I hope he’ll fill up hers. She’ll do a turn of work in her day. But young people should be managed quiet and peaceable, and as for the girls – George may marry or Mary Whittaker, your cousin, might want a home. Or, at any rate, there’ll be my eye and your eye on them, to keep them straight.”

But on the evening before she was to start – she was to go to Ashcroft for a day, and meet her escort in London afterwards – Florrie, as she stood in her little room for the last time, felt the awe of a great change coming over her. If he came back after long years as Harry had done, perhaps the younger ones wouldn’t know her; perhaps she would feel strange and uncomfortable as he did.

Florrie went downstairs and back into the sitting-room, acting at once, as was her way, on the thought that came into her mind. “Father,” she said, “I’m very sorry I was such a naughty girl. Harry and Mr Alwyn came home to say they were sorry – but – but – I’d rather say it before I go. And please, father, don’t forget what I’m like. I’ll have my photo took every year and send you.”

“My dear, I didn’t forget Harry,” said her father; “you mistake – and certainly I’m not going to forget you.”

“Oh, Florrie dear,” said Mattie, taking her in her arms and crying, “I thought you didn’t care a bit about leaving us all.”

“Oh yes, I do,” said Florrie, sobbing; “I never said I didn’t care. But when things have got to be done they’ve got to be gone through with whether people care or not!”

And with this sentiment, which no one could say was not a turning of her bold spirit to the use for which it was given to her, Maud Florence Nellie Whittaker went out to her new life.