CHAPTER XI.
"A NOTICEABLE MAN, WITH LARGE GREY EYES."
"As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low."
WORDSWORTH.
After all, Mollie had her way, and Waveney, in spite of piteous pleadingand remonstrance, became the reluctant possessor of a warm dress andjacket.
Mr. Ward had put his foot down in a most unexpected manner; if Waveneywould not buy her jacket he would go without his great-coat; Barker andChandler had been paid, and there was sufficient money for everything.And when Waveney understood that any shabbiness on her part would begrievous in his eyes, she yielded at once.
"If father wishes it I will get the things," she said to Mollie; "but Inever enjoy anything unless you share it."
But Mollie would not listen to this.
"What does it matter about me?" she said, gaily. "I am only a poorlittle Cinderella whose pumpkin coach has not arrived. My old jacketwill do quite well until Christmas."
And then, when the purchases were made, Mollie was like a sunbeam forthe rest of the day.
Waveney went twice to the Hospital before she started for Erpingham, buteach time she found McGill more rambling and confused; and though heroused at the sound of her voice, he always thought she was Sheila.Corporal Marks looked more dejected than ever, but he maintained thatthe sergeant was doing finely. Waveney thought it was only the littleman's natural pugnacity and habit of arguing, and that he did not reallybelieve his own assertion; but though he pretended to grumble, he nursedhis friend devotedly. "That there corporal never leaves him," one of thepensioners remarked to Waveney. "You would think they were brothers tosee them--and fight they would, too, about those plaguey Sepoys, thatyou might have taken them for a pair of kilkenny cats. But bless you,miss, it was just for the fun of it."
The days slipped away all too fast; and one morning Mollie awoke withthe thought that only one whole day remained before Waveney left home.
They were very busy all the morning, packing her box, and in theafternoon Waveney, who felt restless and rather low-spirited at thesight of Mollie's woe-begone face, proposed they should visit theirfavourite haunts, the lime avenue, old Ranelagh and the Embankment.
"It is so warm, and the house feels so stuffy!" she added; for Waveneyloved air and exercise, and would gladly have been out of doors thegreater part of the day.
Mollie willingly assented to this, but she was languid and out ofspirits, and soon grew tired; so they sat down under an acacia in oldRanelagh and watched the children playing round them. It was one ofthose golden days of September, when the very air seems impregnated withstrange sweet fragrance, when one thinks of waving corn-fields, and howthe wheat ripples in the breeze like a yellow sea; and of deep, quietlanes--with nut copses and blackberry thickets--or, better still, of ahillside clothed with purple heather, as though Nature had flung one ofher royal robes aside. A day when the grand old earth seemed mellow andripe for the sickle of old Time, and a soft sadness and sense of quietbrooding are over everything. "The summer is over," it seemed to say,"and the fleeting shows of youth, and the fruits of the earth aregarnered in Nature's storehouse, and the feast of all good things isready; so eat and enjoy, and be thankful."
The sisters were sitting hand in hand, and Waveney's small face lookedpinched and long from inward fretting, for she was one who took thetroubles of life with outward calmness, and chafed under them inwardly;but the sunshine, and the crisp, sweet air and the soft patter of redand yellow leaves, brought their message of comfort.
"Mollie," she said, trying to speak cheerfully, "I am thinking what abeautiful world it is, and how good life is, after all, in spite ofworries. Here we are, making ourselves miserable because I have to goaway to-morrow. Do you know, we are like those two foolish children wesaw that day when father took us in the country. Don't you remember howthey cried because their nurse wanted them to go down a lane--it was sodark and narrow, they said, and they were sure the wolves would eat themup; but the nurse knew there was that lovely open meadow beyond. Do youread my little parable, dear?"
"Yes, I think so," returned Mollie; but she spoke doubtfully. Waveneywas rather prone to moralise when she found herself alone with Mollie.She called it "thinking aloud." Mollie was her other self. She couldtell her things that she would not have breathed to any other creature.
"Well, you see," went on Waveney, "one has steep little bits of road nowand then, like that poor King of Corinth--Sisyphus--was not that hisname? We have to roll our stone up the hill Difficulty; but one neverknows what may happen next. By the bye, Mollie, I rather fancy thatMonsieur Blackie only pretends to play at things, and that he is reallya clever man. There is something I cannot make out about him. He ismysterious. And then, why did he buy 'King Canute'?"
"Because his friend wanted a historical picture," returned Mollie, whoalways believed what people said.
"I know he told us so," replied Waveney, thoughtfully. "Mollie, I have asort of conviction that you will often see him--that he means to turn uppretty frequently at Cleveland Terrace."
"Whatever makes you think so?" asked Mollie, much astonished at this."What a ridiculous idea, Wave! when you told him yourself that you wereleaving home to-morrow."
"But he does not come to see me," retorted Waveney; and then she added,hastily, "he is a friendly sort of person, and comes to see us all."
"Oh, yes, of course," returned Mollie, perfectly satisfied with thisview of the case. "Then I daresay he will come sometimes when father isat home. He asked me very particularly when he was likely to be in, andif I went out in the afternoon, and I said, 'Oh, dear no, I always goout early to do the marketing, and then I am too tired to go out again.'Waveney, he did look so kindly at me, when I said that. 'Walking tiresyou, then. What a pity!' and he seemed quite sorry for me."
"He is a nice little Black Prince," replied Waveney, rather absently.The children had left the gardens with their nurses, and the place wasnow quite deserted. The next moment a gentleman crossed the lime avenue,and walked slowly down the path. As he passed their bench, he looked atthe two girls in a quiet, observant way, and passed on.
As soon as he was out of hearing, Waveney said, a little wickedly,"Mollie, we have found him at last, 'the noticeable man, with large greyeyes.'"
For this was an old joke of theirs. They had been reading Wordsworthtogether one summer's day on this very bench, and when Waveney had cometo this stanza she had laid down the book. "I like that description,Mollie," she had said; "it gives one a pleasant idea of a person. 'Anoticeable man, with large grey eyes.' Now, I wonder if we shall eversee any one answering to that description."
Mollie laughed, and looked interested when Waveney said this; but amoment later she whispered, "Hush! he is coming back;" and then, toMollie's alarm--for she was very shy and timid--he stopped and liftedhis hat.
"Will you have the kindness to inform me," he said, addressing Mollie ina peculiarly clear, mellow voice, "if this path will take me to DunedinTerrace. I am not well acquainted with Chelsea."
Mollie blushed and looked confused. Topography was not her strong point."I think so. I am not quite sure. Do you know, Waveney?"
"Yes, but it is rather a roundabout way. Dunedin Terrace is quite half amile away;" and then Waveney rose from the bench and considered herbearings, while the stranger quietly awaited her decision.
He was a tall man, and though his face was plain, there was something inhis expression that attracted notice, an air of unmistakable refinementand culture. The keen grey eyes had already noted Mollie's lovely face;now they were fixed on the plainer sister.
"I think I can direct you properly now," observed Waveney, with herusual brightness; "but it is just a little complicated. You must go outof this gate, and cross Cleveland Terrace, take the second turning tothe right, and the first to the left, and you will be in Upper DunedinTerrace."
"Thank you very much;" and then he repeated her directions gravely andslowly; and then, liftin
g his hat with another "Thank you," walkedquickly away.
"Yes, I was right," continued Waveney; "he is certainly a noticeableman; and what large, clear eyes." But Mollie shrugged her shoulders alittle pettishly.
"I think he was rather ugly," she remarked, "and he is quiteold--five-and-thirty, at least; and did you notice his shabby coat--why,it was almost as shabby as father's."
"No," returned Waveney; "I did not notice that. I was only thinking whata grand-looking man he was, and he spoke so nicely, too!" Then, asMollie was evidently not interested, she changed the subject; and theysat talking until it was time for them to go home to tea.
It was a melancholy evening, in spite of all Waveney's efforts. Mr. Wardwas tired and dull, and Noel was out of humour; but his sisters, whounderstood him thoroughly, knew that this was only his mode ofexpressing his feelings.
So he drew up his coat-collar and answered snappishly whenever Waveneyaddressed him; and grew red, and pretended to be deaf, when she alludedto her going away.
And when she was bidding him good-night, and her fingers touched hisrough hair caressingly, he threw back his head with an annoyed jerk.
"I hate having my hair pulled," he said, crossly; "so give over, oldStorm-and-Stress;" and then he whistled and walked out of the room withhis chin in the air; but not before Waveney saw that his glasses weremisty.
"Mollie, darling, remember I shall be home on Sunday, and it is Tuesdaynow," were Waveney's last words as she jumped into the train, and herfather closed the door.
Waveney stood at the window until the dark tunnel hid them from hersight. Mollie's sweet face was swollen with crying, and her father'scountenance was sad and full of care; the child whom he had cherishedwith peculiar tenderness was leaving his roof because he was incapableof providing for his household properly. He had been a failure all hislife, and he knew it; but it was bitter to him that his old friendAlthea should know it, too.
Waveney took a cab when she reached Dereham. The driver touched his hatwhen she told him to drive to the Red House, Erpingham.
"I know it," he said, as he took off his horse's nose-bag. "There ain'ta cab-driver in Dereham that don't know the ladies at the Red House;they give us a supper in Christmas week, and there is another for thecosters that use their donkeys well--and it is a rare spread, too;" andthen he smacked his lips and jumped on the box.
Waveney looked out and tried to interest herself in the various objectsthey passed; but her head felt heavy as lead. The common looked lovelyin the afternoon sunshine, and, as before, the children were dancing inand out the trees. Some little boys were sailing a boat on the pond, anda Newfoundland was swimming across it with a stick in his mouth. Someriders were cantering over the grass. Every one seemed gay and animatedand full of life; dogs barked, children laughed, and the cawing of rooksfilled the air.
As they drove in at the lodge gates the two little Yorkshire terriersran out barking, and the elderly maid Mitchell came to the door.
"My mistresses are out, ma'am," she said, pleasantly, "but Nurse Markshas orders to make you comfortable. Will you please to go in, and I willsee to the box and pay the cabman. No, ma'am," as Waveney timidlyoffered her some money. "Miss Harford always pays the cabmen herself."
"Aye, and pays them well, too," observed the driver, with a complacentgrin. "No arguing with a poor chap who has to work hard for his livingabout an extra sixpence."
Waveney felt very strange and forlorn as she stepped into the hall, withFuss and Fury barking excitedly round her, and then she saw a little oldwoman with a very long nose, and hair as white as snow bundling down thewide staircase to meet her; for no other word could describe NurseMarks's rolling and peculiar gait.
"She is the most wonderful little old woman I have ever seen," wroteWaveney, in her first letter home. "If you were to dress her in a redcloak and peaked hat she would make an excellent Mother Hubbard, or the'old woman who lived in her shoe,' or that ambitious old person whotried to brush the cobwebs from the sky. To see her poking that longnose of hers into corners is quite killing. She has bright eyes like adormouse, and a cosy voice--do you know what I mean by that?--and shewears the funniest cap, with a black bow at the top. But there! you mustsee her for yourself."
"My ladies are out, dearie," she began at once, rather breathlessly."Miss Doreen is at the Home, and Mrs. Mainwaring has sent for MissAlthea unexpectedly, to go to some grand At Home; but she will be backto dinner, and she begged that you would excuse her absence, and I amgoing to take you to my room and give you some tea; for you are tired,dearie, I know;" and then Nurse Marks led the way upstairs, and Waveneyfollowed, feeling as though she were the heroine of a fairy-story andthat some benevolent fairy had her in tow.
"My ladies always calls this the Cubby-house," observed Nurse Marks, ina proud tone, "and to my thinking it is the nicest room in the house,though it is odd-shaped, as Mitchell says, and a trifle low."
It was oddly shaped indeed. One corner had been cut off, and the window,a wide one, had been set in an extraordinary angle, so that part of theroom was insufficiently lighted. Here there was a large Japanese screen,which hid the bed and washstand.
A round table was in the centre of the room, and an old carved wardrobeand a nursery cupboard occupied the wall space. Some comfortable-lookingrocking chairs, and a worn old couch, gave it a cosy aspect; but thechief feature of the room was the number of photographs and water-colourpaintings that covered the walls, while framed ones stood by dozens onthe mantelpiece and chest-of-drawers.
One of them at once attracted Waveney. "Why, that is the corporal," shesaid, in surprise. "Corporal Marks, I mean;" and she spoke in puzzledtones.
"Aye, that's Jonadab," returned Nurse Marks, complacently. "It is agrand picture, and his medals come out finely. Dinah thought a heap ofthat photo;" and then the bright dormouse eyes looked at Waveney,curiously. "Well, it beats me that you should know brother Jonadab.After all, the world is not so big as we think it."
"Of course I know Corporal Marks," returned Waveney, excitedly; butthere was a lump in her throat, too, at the sight of the littlecorporal's familiar face, with its round, surprised eyes and shock ofgrey hair. "And I know Sergeant McGill, too."
Then, at the mention of McGill, Nurse Marks sat down and indulged in ahearty laugh.
"Well, now, if that is not like a book! And you are the young lady thatJonadab is always telling about! Is it not comfortable to know that'their good works do follow them'? That's true, even in this world, forit stands to reason that things can't be hidden for ever. Sit down,dearie, and I will pour you out some tea. You are a bit homesick andstrange, but that will pass, so keep up your heart, dear lamb;" andNurse Marks poked her long nose into the tea-pot, for she wasshort-sighted; and Waveney watched her a little anxiously; but she neednot have feared: Nurse Marks was a clever woman, and could alwaysmeasure her distances accurately.
"Aye, he is a grand man, McGill," she remarked, as she cut some delicatebread-and-butter with a practised hand. "But he is not long for thisworld. Jonadab will miss him sorely, I fear; they are a queer pair tolook at them, but they are just bound up in each other. They are like acouple of old children, I tell them; they quarrel just for the sake ofmaking it up. But there, as Dinah used to say--poor thing!--her man wasfine at argifying."
"Was Dinah your brother's wife?"
"Aye, dearie, and Jonadab thought a deal of her, and grieved sore whenthe dear Lord took her. You will be wondering at his name, maybe, for itis out of the common, is Jonadab; but mother used to tell us that whenthe boy came, father was so proud and pleased that he went at once tothe Bible for a name. And presently he came to mother, looking aspleased as possible, as though he had found a treasure. 'Rachel,' hesays, in a loud voice, 'there is not a finer fellow to my thinking thanJonadab, the son of Rechab, and he was dead against the drink, too, andit is Jonadab that we will call him;' and so Jonadab it was," finishedNurse Marks, complacently.