Kitabı oku: «Nan of the Gypsies», sayfa 8

CHAPTER XXV.
NAN’S DECISION

Miss Barrington, who had learned to love Nan as dearly as had her sister, Miss Dahlia, looked admiringly at the beautiful girl, who, having removed her gypsy costume, was clad in a clinging simple white voile.

“Anne,” she said, “will you play for us? The piano has not been touched in many a day.”

And so Nan, always glad to please these two, played and sang the selections chosen by the elderly ladies.

Suddenly the telephone rang and a maid appeared. “Miss Barrington,” she said. Nan ceased playing, and, to her surprise, she heard Miss Ursula replying to someone over the wire, “Yes indeed, you may come. We shall be glad to have you.”

For some unaccountable reason Nan’s heart began to beat rapidly. Could it be Robert who was coming? She wondered as she resumed her playing, but her fingers went at random and then, before it seemed possible, the door bell rang and a moment later Robert in his military uniform, entered the room.

He was gladly welcomed by the two old ladies who had known him since he wore knickerbockers and then when Nan went forward and held out her hand as she said in her frank friendly way, “Robert, forgive me for disappearing, but I suddenly remembered that I had promised your mother that I would never again speak to one of her kind, and I do sincerely wish to keep my promises.”

“But, Miss Barrington,” the lad appealed to the elderly woman, “should one keep a hastily made promise when there is no justice in it? I am sure that my father would approve of my friendship with Nan, and though I regret my mother’s attitude, I do not think that I should be influenced by it. If you and Miss Dahlia will grant me permission to be Nan’s comrade once more, I will promise to care for her as I would wish another to care for a sister of mine.”

They were seated about the wide hearth for the evenings were cool.

“Robert Widdemere,” Miss Ursula said, “if Anne wishes your friendship, we will welcome you into our home whenever you desire to come. We wish Anne to remain at the Pine Crest seminary until June. We are then going to our cottage on the coast of Maine until October, when we will return to San Seritos for the winter.”

The lad’s eyes were glowing. “How I would like to go back there,” he said, then, turning to the girl, he added, laughingly, “I suppose Lady Red Bird is too grown now to climb the pepper tree.”

“I suppose so,” Nan replied merrily. “That is one of the penalties of being civilized.”

Soon the lad rose reluctantly. “I promised Cousin Peggy that I would return for the supper dance at ten o’clock,” he said, “and to keep that promise I must leave at once. But, Nan, you have not yet told me that you care to have my friendship.”

The girl looked thoughtfully into the fire a moment and then replied slowly, “Robert Widdemere, I do want your friendship, but I would be happier if I might have it with your mother’s consent.”

“Then you shall,” the boy replied.

In the meanwhile Peggy had sought Phyllis. “I don’t in the least understand what is happening,” she said. “First your friend, disguised as a gypsy, leaves in a panic, then Cousin Robert insists on knowing where she has gone and follows her, and when his mother heard about it, she became so angry that she went at once to her room and bade us tell Robert to come to her the moment he returns. What can it all mean?”

“It’s just as much a mystery to me, Peg,” Phyllis said. “But there comes Robert now. Perhaps he will explain.”

********

The interview that Robert Widdemere had with his mother on his return from the Barrington home was not a pleasant one for either of them but in the end Robert had said firmly but gently, “I feel sure that my father would approve of my friendship with Nan and, moreover, next summer I will be 21 and I shall consider myself old enough then to choose my own companions. My dad must have expected me to possess good judgment in some degree or his request would not have been that I assume the reins of his business on my 21st birthday.” Then, going to the indignant woman, he put his arm about her as he said lovingly, “Mother, dear, I want you to tell me that you are willing that I may be Nan Barrington’s friend.”

“It is a great disappointment,” Mrs. Widdemere said, “but, since you are soon to be financially independent of me, I suppose that I might as well give my consent. However, do not expect me to receive that gypsy girl into my home as an equal, for I shall not.”

********

The next morning Phyllis and her cousin Robert visited the Barrington home and an hour later the lad accompanied the girls to the station where they were to take the train for Pine Crest.

Robert had told Nan that he had won his mother’s consent to their friendship but he did not tell how reluctantly that consent had been given.

The next day the lad returned to the Military Academy where in another month he would complete his training, but each week he and Nan exchanged letters telling of the simple though pleasant experiences of their school life.

Nan and Phyllis were to graduate in June and they were happily busy from dawn till dark. It had been the custom for many years at the Pine Crest Seminary for the pupils to make their own graduating dresses by hand. These were to be of dainty white organdie and the two girls, with their classmates, spent many pleasant hours sewing in one room and another. Tongues flew as fast as the needles while each young seamstress told what she hoped the summer and even the future would hold for her.

Nan was often thoughtfully silent these last days of school.

One twilight Phyllis found her standing alone at their open window watching the early stars come out.

“What are you thinking, dear?” she asked.

“I was wondering about my own mother,” Nan replied. “Next week I will be eighteen and then it was that Manna Lou planned telling me who I am, I never could understand why she did not tell me before, but she said that she had promised, and now, that I might know, I am too far away.”

“Perhaps your mother was a sister of Manna Lou,” her friend suggested.

“Perhaps, but come dear,” Nan added in a brighter tone, “we are due even now at French Conversation.”

Nan did not speak again of the mystery of her birth, but she often wondered about it as her eighteenth birthday neared and she longed to know more of her own mother, who must have loved her so dearly.

CHAPTER XXVI.
NAN’S EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY

Nan Barrington’s eighteenth birthday dawned gloriously and as soon as they were dressed Phyllis disappeared to return a moment later with an armful of wonderful red roses.

“It’s a happy birthday greeting from a cousin of mine,” she laughingly told the surprised girl.

“Oh, are they from Peggy Dorchester?” Nan exclaimed as she took them.

Her friend’s eyes twinkled. “No,” she said “this cousin’s name is not Peg. Guess again.”

Nan’s dark eyes were glowing above the beautiful bouquet. “Oh, then they are from Robert. How kind of him to remember my birthday.”

Lovingly she arranged the fragrant roses in a large green jar and, selecting a bud, she placed it in her friend’s belt and fastened another at her own. Then slipping her arm about Phyllis and chatting happily, they went down the broad front stairway to the refectory.

When they were returning, half an hour later, Mrs. Dorsey was in the corridor and she smiled lovingly in response to the girls’ morning greeting.

“Anne,” she said, “this is your eighteenth birthday, is it not? Can you spare a few moments for a visit with me?”

Nan’s face brightened. “Oh yes, indeed, Mrs. Dorsey,” she replied. Phyllis went on to the library and the gypsy girl entered the office with the kindly principal.

“Be seated, dear,” Mrs. Dorsey said. “I have long planned having this visit with you and now that you are soon to leave us, I must no longer delay. Miss Dahlia Barrington, who, as you know, was a schoolmate of mine, told me how you chanced to come into their lives. Miss Dahlia is very proud of you and Miss Ursula is also. I, too, am proud of your splendid accomplishments, Anne. I feel that you have made much progress in the three years that you have been with us and I deeply regret that you are about to graduate. I know nothing of your plans for the future but, if the time ever comes when you wish to be self-supporting, I will be glad to give you a position as a teacher of languages and music for the younger pupils.”

“Oh, Mrs. Dorsey!” Nan exclaimed gratefully, “how very kind of you to make me such an offer. If Miss Dahlia will permit me to do so, I will gladly start teaching the little ones at the beginning of the fall term. I have hoped that I might find some way to repay my benefactors, for, of course, I have been a great expense to them.”

Mrs. Dorsey smiled and, as she stood, Nan also arose. “I shall indeed be glad to have you with us, Anne,” the kind woman said as she kissed the girl on each cheek, then she added brightly. “Happy birthday, dear, and may each coming year find you as unspoiled and lovable as you are today.”

Nan flushed happily at this praise and then she sought Phyllis to tell her the wonderful news.

“You, a teacher!” her friend cried in dismay. “Oh Nan, I did so want you to go to college with me next year. Your aunts are very rich, I am sure, and I just know that they will not think of permitting you to earn your own living.”

Nan stood looking thoughtfully out of the open library window. “I would rather be independent,” she declared. Then, noting her friend’s dismal expression, she laughingly caught her hands as she said, “Well, we won’t decide the matter, now. I’ll talk it over with Aunt Dahlia when she comes.”

The two girls spent a happy morning together and in the afternoon Nan said, “I wonder why Aunt Dahlia and Aunt Ursula do not come. They wrote that they would be here early and take us both for a long drive.”

Another half hour passed and then there was a knock at the door.

Nan sprang up joyously. “It’s Marie to tell me that my dear aunts have arrived.”

It was indeed Marie, who held out a yellow envelope as she said, “This telegram just came, Miss Anne. Mrs. Dorsey isn’t in, so I thought I’d better bring it right up to you.”

When the door had again closed, Nan turned toward her friend with startled eyes.

“Oh Phyllis,” she said fearfully, “do you suppose that Aunt Dahlia is ill?” Then, tearing open the yellow envelope, the two girls read the few words that the message contained. “Miss Ursula Barrington died last night. Miss Dahlia wishes you to come at once.” The signature was that of a stranger.

“Aunt Ursula dead!” Nan repeated in dazed uncomprehension. “It can’t be. It must be a mistake, for only day before yesterday I received a long letter from her and she wrote that she was feeling unusually well.”

“I fear that it cannot be a mistake,” her friend said tenderly, “but you must be brave and strong, Nan, for your Aunt Dahlia will need you to comfort her.”

“You are right, Phyllis, I will go to her at once. Have I time to get the three o’clock train?”

“I think so, dear. You pack what we will need in your satchel and I will go and ask Patrick to bring around the school bus.”

“Why, Phyllis, are you going with me? Mrs. Dorsey is not here to ask.”

“I know Mrs. Dorsey would wish me to go with you. I would not think of permitting you to go alone.”

A few hours later these two girls entered the city home of the Barringtons. The lower hall seemed strangely silent, and at once they ascended the stairway to Miss Dahlia’s room. They found her sitting there alone and when they entered she hurried toward the girl whom she so loved. “Oh Nan darling,” she said with tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks. “I can’t understand it. I can’t believe that it has really happened. It was all so sudden.”

The young girl held the feebled old lady in a close embrace, then leading her to a wide lounge, she sat beside her, taking the frail hands in her strong ones. “Dear Aunt Dahlia,” she said, “tell me what has happened. Has Aunt Ursula been ill?”

“No, not at all. Yesterday morning a business-like looking envelope was in the mail for her. She took it at once to her study and remained there until noon, continually writing, and when at last she came to lunch, she looked worn and haggard, but when I asked her if she felt ill, she said no, and then she did something very unusual for her. She kissed me, saying in an almost pitying tone, ‘Poor little sister Dahlia.’

“Directly after lunch she returned to her study and continued writing. In the afternoon she sent Dorcas to the postbox with several letters. Last night we sat by the fireplace reading when suddenly her book slipped to the floor. I looked up and saw that she seemed to be asleep. This was so very unusual that I tried to waken her, but could not.

“The doctor whom I had Dorcas summon, said that my sister must have had some great and sudden shock. What it could have been, I do not know. I searched in her desk for that business-like envelope, but it was gone.”

Then leaning against the girl, she added, “Oh, Nan darling, how thankful I am that you came to us so long ago. If I did not have you, I would now be all alone in the world.”

The girl kissed the little old lady tenderly as she said, “Dear Aunt Dahlia, I, too, am thankful.”

Half an hour later Nan went to her own room and on her desk she saw a large envelope addressed, “To my beloved niece, Anne Barrington.” The writing was Miss Ursula’s.

CHAPTER XXVII.
NAN’S SUDDEN RESPONSIBILITY

With a rapidly-beating heart Nan sat at her desk and opened the large envelope in which there was a letter and another envelope that was evidently the one to which Miss Dahlia had referred as businesslike.

“My dear Anne,” the girl read, “I am prostrated with grief today and you will not wonder when I tell you that I was wrongly advised by one whom I considered a trustworthy friend, and I invested, not only my own fortune but also Sister Dahlia’s in securities that I am now informed are absolutely worthless.

“I did this, I assure you, with my sister’s permission, for, as you know, she had great faith in my business ability and good judgment. The result is that we are suddenly reduced to straitened circumstances which will necessitate an entire change in our mode of living.

“I am indeed glad that our Anne has been able to complete the course of studies at Pine Crest Seminary before this calamity befell us. There is one other thing which in this hour of humiliation and grief is a consolation to me, and that is that our home in San Seritos is in no way effected. It is in my sister’s name and cannot be taken from her.”

A blot followed and then with an evidently shaking hand had been written: “Anne, a sharp pain in my heart warns me that I must cease writing for awhile and rest. I had intended mailing this letter to you, but, remembering that it would reach you on your eighteenth birthday and shadow the happiness which is rightfully yours at that time, I have decided to place it on your desk and when you come on Sunday, you and I will retire to your room and discuss the matter.

“As you know, my dear Anne, it is difficult for me to express in words the emotions that I may feel, but I want you to know how proud I am of the little girl who came to us three years ago. You have brought a new happiness into my life and I must confess, that, though my original thought was merely to Christianize one whom I called a heathen, I myself have become more sympathetic and loving, more truly a Christian.

“Good night, Anne. If I should be taken away before my dear sister Dahlia, I will go with far greater willingness knowing that you will care for her and comfort her as long as she shall live.

“Your loving,

Aunt Ursula.”

The postscript had evidently been written much later. The writing was easily legible. “Anne, another of those sharp heart attacks warns me that I would better place in your care the money that we have on hand. I sent Dorcas to the bank this afternoon to draw it out and I have locked it in my desk; the key I am enclosing. There will be sufficient to care for you and sister Dahlia for at least a year; after that I am sure that my brave Anne will find a way.”

********

Phyllis quietly entered the room a few moments later and saw Nan seated at her desk, her head on her arms.

“Oh, Phyllis,” she sobbed, as her friend sat beside her and tried to comfort her, “how Aunt Ursula must have suffered. If only I had been here. Perhaps if we had talked it over together, it might have been a help to her.”

Nan then gave the letter to Phyllis to read, and after a thoughtful moment, added, “I must be worthy of the trust that splendid woman has placed in me. How glad I am that I will be able to teach. I shall not tell Aunt Dahlia of the financial loss until it is necessary. She is very frail and it might be more than she could stand. Come dear, let us go to her. I do not want to leave her alone.”

A week later Nan returned to Pine Crest Seminary and Miss Dahlia was with her. Mrs. Dorsey had at once visited the Barrington home and had insisted that her old friend share her pleasant apartment at the school until Nan had successfully passed the final examinations and had received her diploma.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE VALEDICTORIAN

A few days before the closing exercises at Pine Crest Seminary, Phyllis entered their room and exclaimed jubilantly to the girl who was seated at the writing desk. “Nan Barrington, you never can guess who passed with the highest marks and is to be chosen class valedictorian.”

The other girl looked up brightly. “It was Phyllis Dorchester, I do believe,” she declared.

“No, indeed. That guess is far afield. The successful maiden is Anne Barrington. There, now, what do you think of that? Mrs. Dorsey just told me and I simply couldn’t walk upstairs demurely, I was so eager to tell you. How proud I will be at the closing exercises to see my room-mate standing before a crowded assembly room reading her graduating essay on ‘Comrading With Nature.’ It’s poetry in prose, Nan, and I am glad that you are to read it.”

“But I will not be here for the closing exercises, and so if that essay is read, you will have to do it for me.”

“Nan Barrington! Not be here, and the closing exercises less than a week away! Why, where are you going?”

“Sit down and I will tell you. I would love to stay, as you well know, if I had only my own wishes to consider, but each day Aunt Dahlia seems to grow more frail. Naturally Mrs. Dorsey and I have been much occupied and Aunt Dahlia has often been left alone with her sorrow in a strange apartment. Each time that I go to her, she clings to me as a frightened child would, and over and over again she tells me that she knows she will be strong again as soon as we are back in the gardens at San Seritos, then she always ends by asking in a pathetic tone, ‘Nan, do you think that we will be able to go tomorrow?’ and today my answer was ‘yes, Aunt Dahlia, we will go tomorrow.’”

Phyllis reached for her friend’s hand and held it in a sympathetic clasp and tears sprang to her eyes. She knew what a sacrifice Nan was making, for they had often talked of the happy time they would have at their graduation.

“How disappointed Robert will be,” Phyllis said at last, “but, dear, of course it is right that you should go. How I do wish that I might go with you, but Mother and Dad and I are leaving for England in another month. However, if you remain in California, do not be surprised next winter to see me appearing, bag and baggage.”

Nan smiled lovingly at her friend. “No one could be more welcome,” she said, then she added thoughtfully, “I have indeed a difficult problem to solve for I want to live as economically as we possibly can and yet not disclose to poor Aunt Dahlia the truth concerning the lost fortune.”

Phyllis sprang to her feet and kissed her friend on the forehead, as she exclaimed, “And you will be able to do it, Nan darling, I’m sure of that! Now I must depart, and you must finish that letter if it is to go on the next mail.”

When Nan was alone, she continued writing until several sheets of note paper had been covered. She was telling her comrade all that had happened and explaining why she would not be able to attend her own graduating party.

Two days later the letter reached Robert Widdemere, and, after reading it, he sat for a long time gazing thoughtfully into space. In another month he would be of age and master of his own actions and possessed of a goodly income. He sprang to his feet at the call of a bugle summoning him to drill, but in his heart there was a firm resolve.