CHAPTER X.--JASPER WAS TO GO.
What will not hunger--real, healthy hunger--effect? Lady Frances, afterher last words, swept out of the room; and Jasper, her bosom heaving,her black eyes flashing angry fire, looked full at her little charge.What would Evelyn do now? The spoilt child, who could scarcely brook thesmallest contradiction, who had declined to get up even to breakfast, todo without Jasper! To allow her friend Jasper to be torn from herarms--Jasper, who had been her mother's dearest companion, who had swornto that mother that she would not leave Evelyn come what might, that shewould protect her against the tyrant aunt and the tyrant uncle, that ifnecessary she would fight for her with the power which the law bestows!Oh, what an awful moment had arrived! Jasper was to go. What wouldEvelyn do now?
Evelyn's first impulse had been all that was satisfactory. Her fury hadburst forth in wild, indignant words. But now, when the child and themaid found themselves alone, Jasper waited in expectancy which wasalmost certainty. Evelyn would not submit to this? She and her chargewould leave Castle Wynford together that very day. If they wereeventually parted, the law should part them.
Still Evelyn was silent.
"Oh Eve--my dear Miss Evelyn--my treasure!" said the afflicted woman.
"Yes, Jasper?" said Evelyn then. "It is an awful nuisance."
"A nuisance! Is that all you have got to say?"
Evelyn rubbed her eyes.
"I won't submit, of course," she said. "No, I won't submit for a minute.But, Jasper, I must have some breakfast; I am too hungry for anything.Perhaps you had better take all my darling, lovely clothes; and if youhave to go, Jasper, I'll--I'll never forget you; but I'll talk to youmore about it when I have had something to eat."
Evelyn turned and left the room. She was in an ugly dress, beyond doubt,but in her neat black shoes and stockings, and with her fair hair tiedback according to Lady Frances's directions, she looked rather morepresentable than she had done the previous day. She entered thebreakfast-room. The remains of a meal still lay upon the table. Evelynlooked impatiently round. Surely some one ought to appear--a servant atthe very least! Hot tea she required, hot coffee, dishes nicely cookedand tempting and fresh. The little girl went to the bell and rang it. Afootman appeared.
"Get my breakfast immediately," said Evelyn.
The man withdrew, endeavoring to hide a smile. Evelyn's conduct indaring to defy Lady Frances had been the amusement of the servants' hallthat morning. The man went to the kitchen premises now with theannouncement that "miss" had come to her senses.
"She is as white as a sheet, and looks as mad as a hatter," said theman; "but her spirit ain't broke. My word! she 'ave got a will of herown. 'My breakfast, immediate,' says she, as though she were the lady ofthe manor."
"Which she will be some day," said cook; "and I 'ates to think of it.Our beautiful Miss Audrey supplanted by the like of her. There, Johnson!my missus said that Miss Wynford was to have quite a plain breakfast, sotake it up--do."
Toast, fresh tea, and one solitary new-laid egg were placed on a trayand brought up to the breakfast-room.
Evelyn sat down without a word, poured herself out some tea, ate everycrumb of toast, finished her egg, and felt refreshed. She had justconcluded her meal when Audrey, accompanied by Arthur Jervice, ran intothe room.
"Oh, I say, Evelyn," cried Audrey, "you are the very person that wewant. We are getting up charades for to-night; will you join us?"
"Yes, do, please," said Arthur. "And we are most anxious that Sylviashould join too."
"I wish I knew her address," said Audrey. "She is such a mystery! Motheris rather disturbed about her. I am afraid, Arthur, we cannot have herto-night; we must manage without.--But will you join us, Evelyn? Do youknow anything about acting?"
"I have never acted, but I have seen plays," said Evelyn. "I am sure Ican manage all right. I'll do my best if you will give me a big part. Iwon't take a little part, for it would not be suitable."
Audrey colored and laughed.
"Well, come, anyway, and we will do our best for you," she said. "Haveyou finished your breakfast? The rest of us are in my schoolroom. Youhave not been introduced to it yet. Come if you are ready; we are allwaiting."
After her miserable morning, Evelyn considered this an agreeable change.She had intended to go up-stairs to comfort Jasper, but really and trulyJasper must wait. She accordingly went with her cousin, and was welcomedby all the children, who pitied her and wanted to make her as much athome as possible. A couple of charades were discussed, and Evelyn wasthoroughly satisfied with the _role_ assigned her. She was a cleverchild enough, and had some powers of mimicry. As the differentarrangements were being made she suddenly remembered something, anduttered a cry.
"Oh dear!" she said--"oh dear! What a pity!"
"What is it now, Evelyn?" asked her cousin.
"Why, your mother is so--I suppose I ought not to say it--yourmother--I---- There! I must not say that either. Your mother----"
"Oh, for goodness' sake speak out!" said Audrey. "What has poor, dearmother done?"
"She is sending Jasper away; she is--she is. Oh, can I bear it? Don't youthink it is awful of her?"
"I am sorry for you," said Audrey.
"Jasper would be so useful," continued Evelyn. "She is such a splendidactress; she could help me tremendously. I do wish she could stay eventill to-morrow. Cannot you ask Aunt Frances--cannot you, Audrey? I wishyou would."
"I must not, Evelyn; mother cannot brook interference. She would notdream of altering her plans just for a play.--Well," she added, lookinground at the rest of her guests, "I think we have arranged everythingnow; we must meet here not later than three o'clock for rehearsal. Whowould like to go out?" she added. "The morning is lovely."
The boys and girls picked up hats and cloaks and ran out immediatelyinto the grounds. Evelyn took the first covering she could find, andjoined the others.
"They ought to consult me more," she said to herself. "I see there is nohelp for it; I must live here for a bit and put Audrey down--that atleast is due to me. But when next there are people here I shall bearranging the charades, and I shall invite them to go out into thegrounds. It is a great bother about Jasper; but there! she must bear it,poor dear. She will be all right when I tell her that I will get herback when the Castle belongs to me."
Meanwhile Arthur, remembering his promise to Sylvia, ran away from wherethe others were standing. The boy ran fast, hoping to see Sylvia. He hadtaken a great fancy to her bright, dark eyes and her vivacious ways.
"She promised to meet me," he said to himself. "She is certain to keepher word."
By and by he uttered a loud "Hullo!" and a slim young figure, in ashabby crimson cloak, turned and came towards him.
"Oh, it is you, Arthur!" said Sylvia. "Well, and how are they all?"
"Quite well," replied the boy. "We are going to have charades to-night,and I am to be the doctor in one. It is rather a difficult part, and Ihope I shall do it right. I never played in a charade before. Thatlittle monkey Evelyn is to be the patient. I do hope she will behaveproperly and not spoil everything. She is such an extraordinary child!And of course she ought to have had quite one of the most unimportantparts, but she would not hear of it. I wish you were going to play inthe charade, Sylvia."
"I have often played in charades," said Sylvia, with a quick sigh.
"Have you? How strange! You seem to have done everything."
"I have done most things that girls of my age have done."
Arthur looked at her with curiosity. There was--he could not helpnoticing it, and he blushed very vividly as he did see--a very roughlyexecuted patch on the side of her shoe. On the other shoe, too, the toeswere worn white. They were shabby shoes, although the little feet theyencased were neat enough, with high insteps and narrow, tapering toes.Sylvia knew quite well what was passing in Arthur's mind. After a momentshe spoke.
"You wonder why I look poor," she said. "Sometimes, Arthur, appearancesdeceive. I am not poor. It is my pleasure to wea
r very simple clothes,and to eat very plain food, and----"
"Not pleasure!" said Arthur. "You don't look as if it were yourpleasure. Why, Sylvia, I do believe you are hungry now!"
Poor Sylvia was groaning inwardly, so keen was her hunger.
"And I am as peckish as I can be," said the boy, a rapid thoughtflashing through his mind. "The village is only a quarter of a mile fromhere, and I know there are tuck-shops. Why should we not go and have alark all by ourselves? Who's to know, and who's to care? Will you come,Sylvia?"
"No, I cannot," replied Sylvia; "it is impossible. Thank you very muchindeed, Arthur. I am so glad to have seen you! I must go home, however,in a minute or two. I was out all day yesterday, and there is a greatdeal to be done."
"But may I not come with you? Cannot I help you?"
"No, thank you; indeed I could not possibly have you. It is very good ofyou to offer, but I cannot have you, and I must not tell you why."
"You do look so sad! Are you sure you cannot join the charadesto-night?"
"Sure--certain," said Sylvia, with a little gasp. "And I am not sad," sheadded; "there never was any one more merry. Listen to me now; I am goingto laugh the echoes up."
They were standing where a defile of rocks stretched away to their left.The stream ran straight between the narrow opening. The girl slightlychanged her position, raised her hand, and called out a clear "Hullo!"It was echoed back from many points, growing fainter and fainter as itdied away.
"And now you say I am not merry!" she exclaimed. "Listen."
She laughed a ringing laugh. There never was anything more musical thanthe way that laughter was taken up, as if there were a thousand spriteslaughing too. Sylvia turned her white face and looked full at Arthur.
"Oh, I am such a merry girl!" she said, "and such a glad one! and such athankful one! And I am rich--not poor--but I like simple things. Good-by,Arthur, for the present."
"I will come and see you again. You are quite wonderful!" he said. "Iwish mother knew you. And I wish my sister Moss were here; I wish sheknew you."
"Moss! What a curious name!" said Sylvia.
"We have always called her that. She is just like moss, so soft and yetso springy; so comfortable, and yet you dare not take too much libertywith her. She is fragile, too, and mother had to take great care of her.I should like you to see her; she would----"
"What would she do?" asked Sylvia.
"She would understand you; she would draw part at least of the troubleaway."
"Oh! don't, Arthur--don't, don't read me like that," said the girl.
The tears just dimmed her eyes. She dashed them away, laughed againmerrily, and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view.