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THEO.
_A SPRIGHTLY LOVE STORY._
BY MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
AUTHOR OF "KATHLEEN," "PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON," "LINDSAY'S LUCK," "INCONNECTION WITH THE DE WILLOUGHBY CLAIM," "THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS,""THE METHODS OF LADY WALDERHURST," ETC.
NEW YORKHURST & COMPANYPUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1877By T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.
MRS. BURNETT'S NOVELETTES.
_Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett is one of the most charming among Americanwriters. There is a crisp and breezy freshness about her delightfulnovelettes that is rarely found in contemporaneous fiction, and a closeadherence to nature, as well, that renders them doubly delicious. Of allMrs. Burnett's romances and shorter stories those which first attractedpublic attention to her wonderful gifts are still her best. She has donemore mature work, but never anything half so pleasing and enjoyable.These masterpieces of Mrs. Burnett's genius are all love stories of thebrightest, happiest and most entertaining description; lively, cheerfullove stories in which the shadow cast is infinitesimally small comparedwith the stretch of sunlight; and the interest is always maintained atfull head without apparent effort and without resorting to theconventional and hackneyed devices of most novelists, devices that theexperienced reader sees through at once. No more sprightly novel than"Theo" could be desired, and a sweeter or more beautiful romance than"Kathleen" does not exist in print, while "Pretty Polly Pemberton"possesses besides its sprightliness a special interest peculiar toitself, and "Miss Crespigny" would do honor to the pen of any novelist,no matter how celebrated. "Lindsay's Luck," "A Quiet Life," "The Tide onthe Moaning Bar" and "Jarl's Daughter" are all worthy members of thesame collection of Mrs. Burnett's earlier, most original, best andfreshest romances. Everybody should read these exceptionally bright,clever and fascinating novelettes, for they occupy a niche by themselvesin the world's literature and are decidedly the most agreeable, charmingand interesting books that can be found anywhere._
CONTENTS.
I. PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY
II. THE ARRIVAL
III. THE MEETING
IV. THEO'S DIARY
V. THE SEPARATION
VI. THEO GOES TO PARIS
VII. "PARTING IS SWEET SORROW"
VIII. THEO'S FIRST TROUBLE
IX. WHAT COMES OF IT ALL
"THEO."
CHAPTER I.
PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY.
A heavy curtain of yellow fog rolled and drifted over the waste ofbeach, and rolled and drifted over the sea, and beneath the curtain thetide was coming in at Downport, and two pair of eyes were watching it.Both pair of eyes watched it from the same place, namely, from theshabby sitting-room of the shabby residence of David North, Esq.,lawyer, and both watched it without any motive, it seemed, unless thatthe dull gray waves and their dull moaning were not out of accord withthe watchers' feelings. One pair of eyes--a youthful, discontented blackpair--watched it steadily, never turning away, as their owner stood inthe deep, old-fashioned window, with both elbows resting upon the broadsill; but the other pair only glanced up now and then, almost furtively,from the piece of work Miss Pamela North, spinster, held in her slender,needle-worn fingers.
There had been a long silence in the shabby sitting-room for sometime--and there was not often silence there. Three rampant,strong-lunged boys, and as many talkative school-girls, made the houseof David North, Esq., rather a questionable paradise. But to-day, beinghalf-holiday, the boys were out on the beach digging miraculoussand-caves, and getting up miraculous piratical battles and excursionswith the bare-legged urchins so numerous in the fishermen's huts; andJoanna and Elinor had been absent all day, so the room left to Theo andher elder sister was quiet for once.
It was Miss Pamela herself who broke the stillness. "Theo," she said,with some elder-sister-like asperity, "it appears to me that you mightfind something better to do than to stand with your arms folded, as youhave been doing for the last half hour. There is a whole basketful ofthe boys' socks that need mending and--"
"Pam!" interrupted Theo, desperately, turning over her shoulder a facemore like the face of some young Spanish gipsy than that of a poorEnglish solicitor's daughter. "Pam, I should really like to know if lifeis ever worth having, if everybody's life is like ours, or if there arereally such people as we read of in books."
"You have been reading some ridiculous novel again," said Pamela,sententiously. "If you would be a little more sensible, and lessromantic, Theodora, it would be a great deal better for all of us. Whathave you been reading?"
The capable gipsy face turned to the window again half-impatiently.
"I have been reading nothing to-day," was the answer. "I should thinkyou knew that--on Saturday, with everything to do, and the shopping toattend to, and mamma scolding every one because the butcher's bill can'tbe paid. I was reading Jane Eyre, though, last night. Did you ever readJane Eyre, Pamela?"
"I always have too much to do in attending to my duty," said Pamela,"without wasting my time in that manner. I should never find time toread Jane Eyre in twenty years. I wish I could."
"I wish you could, too," said Theo, meditatively. "I wish there was nosuch thing as duty. Duty always appears to me to be the very thing wedon't want to do."
"Just at present, it is your duty to attend to those socks of Ralph andArthur's," put in Pamela, dryly. "Perhaps you had better see to it atonce, as tea will be ready soon, and you will have to cut bread for thechildren."
The girl turned away from the window with a sigh. Her discussions onsubjects of this kind always ended in the same unsatisfactory manner;and really her young life was far from being a pleasant one. As the nextin age to Pamela, though so many years lay between them, a hundred pettycares fell on her girlish shoulders, and tried her patience greatly withtheir weight, sometimes. And in the hard family struggle for everydaynecessities there was too much of commonplace reality to admit of muchpoetry. The wearisome battling with life's needs had left the mother, asit leaves thousands of women, haggard, careworn, and not too smooth indisposition. There was no romance about her. She had fairly forgottenher girlhood, it seemed to lie so far behind; and even the unconquerablemother-love, that gave rise to her anxieties, had a touch of hardnessabout it. And Pamela had caught something of the sharp, harassed spirittoo. But Theo had an odd secret sympathy for Pamela, though her sisternever suspected it. Pamela had a love-story, and in Theo's eyes this onetouch of forlorn romance was the silver lining to many clouds. Ten yearsago, when Pamela had been a pretty girl, she had had a lover--poorArthur Brunwalde--Theo always mentally designated him; and only a weekbefore her wedding-day, death had ended her love-story forever. PoorPamela! was Theo's thought: to have loved like Jane Eyre, and AgnesWickfield, and Lord Bacon, and to have been so near release from thebread-and-butter cutting, and squabbling, and then to have lost all.Poor Pamela, indeed! So the lovely, impulsive, romance-loving youngersister cherished an odd interest in Pamela's thin, sharp face, andunsympathizing voice, and in picturing the sad romance of her youth, wasalways secretly regardful of the past in her trials of the present.
As she turned over the socks in the basket, she glanced up now and thenat Pamela's face, which was bent over her work. It had been a prettyface, but now there were faint lines upon it here and there; thefeatures once delicate were sharpened, the blue eyes were faded, and theblonde hair faded also. It was a face whose youth had been its beauty,and its youth had fled with Pamela North's happiness. Her life had endedin its prime; nay, not ended, for the completion had never come--it wasto
be a work unfinished till its close. Poor Arthur Brunwalde!
A few more silent stitches, and then the work slipped from Theo'sfingers into her lap, and she lifted her big, inconsistent eyes again.
"Pam," she said, "were you ever at Lady Throckmorton's?"
A faint color showed itself on Pamela's faded face.
"Yes," she answered, sharply, "I was once. What nonsense is running inyour mind now, for goodness sake?"
Theo flushed up to her forehead, no half flush; she actually glowed allover, her eyes catching a light where her delicate dark skin caught thedusky red.
"Don't be cross, Pam," she said, appealingly. "I can't help it. Theletter she sent to mamma made me think of it. Oh, Pam! if I could onlyhave accepted the invitation."
"But you can't," said Pam, concisely. "So you may as well let the matterrest."
"I know I can't," Theo returned, her quaint resignation telling its ownstory of previous disappointments. "I have nothing to wear, you know,and, of course, I couldn't go there, of all places in the world, withoutsomething nice."
There was another silence after this. Theo had gone back to her workwith a sigh, and Miss Pamela was stitching industriously. She was neveridle, and always taciturn, and on this occasion her mind was fullyoccupied. She was thinking of Lady Throckmorton's invitation too.
Her ladyship was a half-sister of their father's, and from the height ofher grandeur magnanimously patronizing now and then. It was during herone visit to London, under this relative's patronage, that Pamela hadmet Arthur Brunwalde, and it was through her that the match had beenmade. But when Arthur died, and she found that Pamela was fixed in herdetermination to make a sacrifice of her youth on the altar of her deadlove, Lady Throckmorton lost patience. It was absurd, she said; Mr.North could not afford it, and if Pamela persisted, she would wash herhands of the whole affair. But Pamela was immovable, and, accordingly,had never seen her patroness since. It so happened, however, that herladyship had suddenly recollected Theo, whose gipsy face had once struckher fancy, and the result of the sudden recollection was anotherinvitation. Her letter had arrived that very morning at breakfast time,and had caused some sensation. A visit to London, under such auspices,was more than the most sanguine had ever dared to dream of.
"I wish I was Theo," Joanna had grumbled. "She always gets the lion'sshare of everything, because Elin and I are a bit younger than she is."
And Theo had glowed up to her soft, innocent eyes, and neglected thebread-and-butter cutting, to awaken a moment later to sudden despair.
"But--but I have nothing fit to wear, mamma," she said, in anguishedtones.
"No," answered Mrs. North, two or three new lines showing themselves onher harassed forehead; "and we can't afford to buy anything. You can'tgo, Theo."
And so the castle which had towered so promisingly in the air a momentago, was dashed to the dust with one touch of shabby gentility'starnished wand. The glow died out of Theo's face, and she went back toher bread-and-butter cutting with a soreness of disappointment whichwas, nevertheless, not without its own desperate resignation. This waswhy she had watched the tide come in with such a forlorn sense ofsympathy with the dull sweep of the gray waves, and their dull, creepingmoan; this was why she had been rash enough to hope for a crumb ofsympathy even from Pamela; and this also was why, in despairing ofgaining it, she bent herself to her unthankful labor again, and patchedand darned until the tide had swept back again under the curtain of fog,and there was no more light, even for the stern taskmaster, poverty.
The silence was effectually broken in upon after this. As soon as thestreet lamps began to twinkle in the murkiness outside, the boys madetheir appearance--Ralph, and Arthur, and Jack, all hungry, anddishevelled, and of course, all in an uproar. They had dug a cave on theshore, and played smugglers all the evening; and one fellow had broughtout a real cutlass and a real pistol, that belonged to his father, andthey had played fighting the coast-guard, and they were as hungry as thedickens now; and was tea ready, and wouldn't Pam let them have somestrawberry-jam?
Pamela laid her work aside, and went out of the room, and then Ralph,who was in the habit of patronizing Theo occasionally, came to hisfavorite corner and sat down, his rough hands clasped round his knees,boy-fashion.
"I say, Theo," he began. "I wonder how much it would cost a fellow tobuy a cutlass--a real one?"
"I don't know," Theo answered, indifferently. "I never bought a cutlass,Ralph."
"No, of course you never did. What would a girl want with a cutlass? Butcouldn't you guess, now--just give a guess. Would it cost a pound?"
"I daresay it would," Theo managed to reply, with a decent show ofinterest. "A good one."
"Well, I'd want a good one," said Ralph, meditatively; "but if it wouldcost a pound, I shall never have one. I say, Theo, we never do get whatwe want at this house, do we?"
"Not often," said Theo, a trifle bitterly.
Ralph looked up at her.
"Look here," he said, sagaciously. "I know what you are thinking of. Ican tell by your eyes. You're thinking about having to stay at home fromLady Throckmorton's, and it is a shame too. If you are a girl, you couldhave enjoyed yourself in your girl's way. I'd rather go to their placein Lincolnshire, where old Throckmorton does his hunting. The governorsays that a fellow that was a good shot could bag as much game as hecould carry, and it wouldn't take long to shoot either. I can aim firstrate with a bow and arrow. But that isn't what you want, is it? You wantto go to London, and have lots of dresses and things. Girls always do;but that isn't my style."
"Ah, Ralph!" Theo broke out, her eyes filling all at once. "I wish youwouldn't! I can't bear to hear it. Just think of how I might haveenjoyed myself, and then to think that--that I can't go, and that Ishall never live any other life than this!"
Ralph opened his round Saxon eyes, in a manner slightly expressive ofgeneral dissatisfaction.
"Why, you're crying!" he said. "Confound crying. You know I don't crybecause I can't go to Lincolnshire. You girls are always crying aboutsomething. Joanna and Elin cry if their shoes are shabby or their glovesburst out. A fellow never thinks of crying. If he can't get the thing hewants, he pitches in, and does without, or else makes something out ofwood that looks like it."
Theo said no more. A summons from the kitchen came to her just then. Pamwas busy with the tea-service, and the boys were hungry--so she must goand help.
Pamela glanced up at her sharply as she entered, but she did not speak.She had borne disappointments often enough, and had lived over them tobecome seemingly a trifle callous to their bitterness in others, and, asI have said, she was prone to silence. But it may be that she was not socallous after all, for at least Theo fancied that her occasionalspeeches were less sharp, and certainly she uttered no reproof to-night.She was grave enough, however, and even more silent than usual, as shepoured out the tea for the boys. A shadow of thoughtfulness rested onher thin sharp face, and the faint, growing lines were almost deepened;but she did not "snap," as the children called it; and Theo was thankfulfor the change.
It was not late when the children went to bed, but it was very late whenPamela followed them; and when she went up-stairs, she was sopreoccupied as to appear almost absent-minded. She went to her room andlocked the door, after her usual fashion; but that she did not retirewas evident to one pair of listening ears at least. In the adjoiningbedroom, where the girls slept, Theo lay awake, and could hear her everymovement. She was walking to and fro, and the sounds of opening drawersand turned keys came through the wall every moment. Pamela hadunaccountable secret ways, Joanna always said. Her room was a sanctuary,which the boldest did not dare to violate lightly. There were closetsand boxes there, whose contents were reserved for her own eyes alone,and questions regarding them seldom met with any satisfactory answer.She was turning over these possessions to-night, Theo judged, from thesounds proceeding from her chamber. To be truthful, Theo had somecuriosity about the matter, though she never asked any questions. Theinnate delicacy which pro
mpted her to reverence the forlorn aroma oflong-withered romance about the narrow life had restrained her. Butto-night she was so wide-awake, and Joanna and Elin were so fast asleep,that every movement forcing itself upon her ear, made her morewide-awake still. The turning of keys and unlocking of drawers rousedher to a whimsical meditative wonder. Poor Pam! What dead memories andcoffined hopes was she bringing out to the dim light of her solitarycandle? Was it possible that she ever cried over them a little whenthere was no one to see her relaxing mood? Poor Pam! Theo sighed again,and was just deciding to go to sleep, if possible, when she heard a dooropen, which was surely Pamela's, and feet crossing the narrow corridor,which were surely Pamela's own, and then a sharp yet soft tap on thedoor, and a voice which could have been no other than Pamela's, underany possibility.
"Theo!" it said, "I want you for a short time. Get up."
Theo was out upon the floor, and had opened the door in an instant,wider awake than ever.
"Throw something over you," said Pamela, in the dry tone that alwayssounded almost severe. "You will take cold if you don't. Put on a shawlor something, and come into my room."
Theodora caught up a shawl, and, stepping across the landing, stood inthe light, the flare of the candle making a queer, lovely picture ofher. The shawl she had wrapped carelessly over her white night-dress wasone of Lady Throckmorton's gracious gifts; and although it had been wornby every member of the family in succession, and was frayed, and torn,and forlorn enough in broad daylight, by the uncertain Rembrandt glareof the chamber-candle, its gorgeous palm-leaf pattern and soft foldsmade a by no means unpicturesque or unbecoming drapery, in conjunctionwith the girl's grand, soft, un-English eyes, and equally un-Englishebon hair.
"Shut the door," said Pamela. "I want to speak to you."
Theo turned to obey, wonderingly, but, as she did so, her eyes fell uponsomething which made her fairly start, and this something was nothingless than the contents of the opened boxes and closets. Some of saidcontents were revealed through raised lids; but some of them were lyingupon the bed, and the sight of them made the girl catch her breath. Shehad never imagined such wealth--for it seemed quite like wealth to her.Where had it all come from? There were piles of pretty, lace-trimmedgarments, boxes of handkerchiefs, ribbons, and laces, and actually anumber of dresses, of whose existence she had never dreamed--dressesquaint enough in fashion, but still rich and elaborate.
"Why, Pam!" she exclaimed, "whose are they? Why have you never--"
Pamela stopped her with an abrupt gesture.
"They are mine," she said. "I have had them for years, ever sinceArthur--Mr. Brunwalde died. They were to have been my bridal trousseau,and most of them were presents from Lady Throckmorton, who was very kindto me then. Of course, you know well enough," with dry bitterness, "Ishould never have had them otherwise. I thought I would show them to youto-night, and offer them to you. They may be of use just now."
She stopped and cleared her throat here, with an odd, strained sound;and before she went on, she knelt down before one of the open trunks,and began to turn over its contents.
"I wish you to go to Lady Throckmorton's," she said, speaking withoutlooking at the amazed young face at her side. "The life here is a wearyone for a girl to lead, without any change, and the visit may be a goodthing for you in many ways. My visit to Lady Throckmorton's would havemade me a happy woman, if death had not come between me and myhappiness. I know I am not at fault in saying this to you. I mean it ina manner a girl can scarcely understand--I mean, that I want to save youfrom the life you must lead, if you do not go away from here."
Her hands were trembling, her voice, cold and dry, as it usually was,trembled too, and the moment she paused, the amazed, picturesque youngfigure swooped down upon her as it were, falling upon its knees,flinging its white-robed arms about her, and burying her in anunexpected confusion of black hair and oriental shawl, showering uponher loving, passionate little caresses. For the first time in her life,Theo was not secretly awed by her.
"Why, Pam!" she cried, the tears running down her cheeks. "Dear, old,generous Pamela! Do you care for me so much--enough to make such asacrifice! Oh, Pam! I am only a girl as you say; but I think that,because I am a girl, perhaps I understand a little. Do you think that Icould let you make such a sacrifice? Do you think I could let you givethem to me--the things that were to have belonged to poor, dead Arthur'swife? Oh, my generous darling! Poor dead Arthur! and the poor young wifewho died with him!"
For some time Pamela said nothing, but Theo felt the slender, worn form,that her arms clasped so warmly, tremble within them, and the bosom onwhich she had laid her loving, impassioned face throb strangely. But shespoke at length.
"I will not say it is not a sacrifice," she said. "I should not speaktruly if I did. I have never told you of these things before, and why Ikept them; because such a life as ours does not make people understandone another very clearly; but to-night, I remembered that I was a girltoo once, though the time seems so far away; and it occurred to me thatit was in my power to help you to a happier womanhood than mine hasbeen. I shall not let you refuse the things. I offer them to you, andexpect you to accept them, as they are offered--freely."
Neither protest nor reasoning was of any avail. The elder sister meantwhat she said, with just the settled precision that demonstrated itselfupon even the most trivial occasions; and Theo was fain to submit now,as she would have done in any smaller matter.
"When the things are of no further use, you may return them to me,"Pamela said, dryly as ever. "A little managing will make everything asgood as new for you now. The fashion only needs to be changed, and wehave ample material. There is a gray satin on the bed there, that willmake a very pretty dinner-dress. Look at it, Theo."
Theo rose from her knees with the tears scarcely dry in her eyes. Shehad never seen such dresses in Downport before. These things of Pamela'shad only come from London the day of Arthur's death, and had never beenopened for family inspection. Some motherly instinct, even in Mrs.North's managing economy, had held them sacred, and so they had rested.And now, in her girl's admiration of the thick, trailing folds of thesoft gray satin, Theodora very naturally half forgot her tears.
"Pamela!" she said, timidly, "do you think I could make it with a train?I never did wear a train, you know, and--"
There was such a quaint appeal in her mellow-lighted eyes, that Pamelaperceptibly softened.
"You shall have half a dozen trains if you want them," she said; andthen, half-falteringly, added, "Theo, there is something else. Comehere."
There was a little carven ebony-box upon the dressing-table, and shewent to it and opened it. Upon the white velvet lining lay a pretty setof jewels--sapphires, rarely pellucid; then clear pendants sparklinglike drops of deep sea-water frozen into coruscant solidity.
"They were one of Mr. Brunwalde's bridal gifts to me," she said,scarcely heeding Theo's low cry of admiration. "I should have worn themupon my wedding-day. You are not so careless as most girls, Theodora,and so I will trust them to you. Hold up your arm and let me clasp oneof the bracelets on it. You have a pretty arm, Theo."
It was a pretty arm in truth, and the flashing, rose-tinted pendants setit off to a great advantage. Theo, herself, scarcely dared to believeher senses. Her wildest dreams had never pictured anything so beautifulas these pretty, modest sapphires. Was it possible that she--she was towear them? The whole set of earrings, necklace, bracelets, rings, andeverything, with all their crystallized drops and clusters! It was asudden opening of the gates of fairyland! To go to London would havebeen happiness enough; but to go so like an enchanted princess, in allher enchanted finery, was more than she could realize. A color asbrilliant as the scarlet in Lady Throckmorton's frayed palm-leaf shawlflew to her cheeks, she fairly clapped her hands in unconscious ecstasy.
"Oh, Pam!" she cried, with pathetic gratitude. "How good you are--howgood--how good! I can't believe it, I really can't. And I will take suchcare of them--such care of everything. You shall see t
he dresses are noteven crushed, I will be so careful." And then she ended with anotherlittle shower of impulsive caresses.
But it was late by this time, and with her usual forethought--aforethought which no enthusiasm could make her forget--Pamela sent herback to bed. She would be too tired to sew to-morrow, she said,prudently, and there was plenty of hard work to be done; so, with atimid farewell-kiss, Theo went to her room, and in opening her door,awakened Joanna and Elin, who sat up in bed, dimly conscious of a whitefigure wrapped in their august relative's shawl, and bearing a candle tolight up scarlet cheeks, and inconsistent eyes, and tangled back hair.
"I am going to London," the voice pertaining to this startling figurebroke out. "Joanna and Elin, do you hear? I am going to London, to LadyThrockmorton's."
Joanna rubbed her eyes sleepily.
"Oh, yes!" she said, not too amiably by any means. "Of course you are.I knew you would. You are everlastingly going somewhere, Theo, and Elinand I stay at home, as usual. Lady Throckmorton will never invite us, Iknow. Where are your things going to come from?" snappishly.
"Pamela!" was Theo's deprecating reply. "They are the things thatbelonged to her wedding outfit. She never wore them after Mr. Brunwaldedied, you know, Joanna, and she is going to lend them to me."
"Let us go to sleep, Elin," Joanna grumbled, drowsily. "We know allabout it now. It's just like Pam, with her partiality. She never offeredto lend them to us, and we have wanted them times and times, worse thanever Theo does now."
And then Theo went to bed also; but did not sleep, of course; only laywith eyes wide open to the darkness, as any other girl would have done,thinking excitedly of Pamela's generous gifts, and of Lady Throckmorton,and, perhaps, more than once the strange chance which had brought tolight again the wedding-day, that was never more than the sad ghost of awedding, and the bridal gifts that had come to the bride from a deadhand.