Chapter XXXI: Which Way to Turn?

WINTER and early spring were over, and fairly warm weather had set in. The absentees were expected home at last—old Mr. Crosbie, and Millicent Cumming, and Escott with his young wife.

The wedding had taken place soon after Christmas, in the south of France—a very quiet and simple wedding. Diana would not go to Cannes, as invited. She said the journey was too long, and the fatigue too great, and she had "nothing to do with the matter—nothing whatever. All responsibility rested with Millicent."

Neither would she permit Beryl to go. The expense was not to be thought of, she averred.

Millicent then offered to pay Beryl's journey, if an escort could be found; but Diana sharply forbad the plan.

"Pearl has not treated me rightly, and I do not approve of the marriage," she said. "If you go, Beryl, you go against my wish, and you will not come back to live with me."

There could be no doubt that Diana's temper, yielded to unresistingly year after year, was growing steadily worse. Beryl submitted as usual, saying little about the soreness of her disappointment. But her very patience in this and other matters gave the fuller rein to Diana's ill-humours. Pearl had resisted often, had shown wilfulness, had fretted and striven for her own way; but nothing of the kind was seen in Beryl.

Marian marvelled often at the girl's self-command, knowing that the gift of natural serenity was not hers.

It had been a trying winter for Beryl, not alone during the first part. Marian's presence in the house was a help, but Marian had been much away since Christmas, paying a round of visits. Diana had been suffering again from her eyes, and still more from nervous irritability. Pearl's conduct seemed to have had a souring effect upon her. The softness she had at one time showed towards Beryl had entirely ceased, and she indulged often in bitter and cynical remarks about the fickleness and ingratitude of people in general—Pearl in particular being of course implied. She kept Beryl hard at work in attendance upon herself, allowing her scant liberty for intercourse with Miss Carmichael. Beryl had many a struggle against discontent; and as spring drew on, she looked forward with eager pleasure to Pearl's return. That prospect showed as a bright spot ahead in her grey life—grey, so far as outward matters were concerned. But for Miss Carmichael and Hester, it would have been outwardly a cheerless life indeed.

One week more, and the absentees would be in Hurst again. Pearl's home was no longer to be one with Beryl's home. But the delight of meeting would be to Beryl great, and somehow she fancied that Pearl would be more her own now than during many a year past.

A week more only! Beryl was seated in the window one evening, sewing a long seam, and smiling over it unconsciously. Diana, lounging in an easy-chair, watched the square plain face with an uncomfortable contraction of her own brows, almost as if she disliked to see Beryl look so happy.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked sharply and suddenly.

Beryl was surprised into an unhesitating answer,—"Pearl."

"What about Pearl?"

Beryl's manner became unconsciously a little deprecating. "It is only a week before she comes, Aunt Di."

There was a pause of full three minutes. Was Diana making up her mind whether or no to utter just then her next words; or was she actually in that brief space resolving on the course of action which she proceeded to announce?—

"Her coming will make little difference to us. We shall not be in Hurst."

Beryl's work slid from her hands, and dropped to the ground. She gazed fixedly at Diana, in bewilderment.

"Well, you need not stare at me like that! Can't you understand plain English?"

"Not be in Hurst!" faltered Beryl.

"No; we shall not be in Hurst. You don't want me to say it a third time, I suppose."

"But where are we going?" asked Beryl, positively pale.

"London first. I wish to be some weeks near my oculist. After that, to Scotland—and I am not at all sure that I shall not spend the autumn and winter abroad. I am sick of Hurst. I shall consider, while we are in London, whether to let this house furnished for two or three years, or whether to give it up as quickly as I can, and house the furniture. I don't believe I shall ever care to settle down in this stupid place again."

Beryl's next utterance was not her uppermost thought. "And Miss Crosbie?"

"I am not bound to keep a house here merely for Marian's convenience, I suppose."

"And—Pearl?"

"I have nothing to do with Pearl's movements. Next Tuesday I intend to leave."

Tuesday! And the Cummings were expected to arrive on Wednesday.

"Aunt Di, I must see Pearl," spoke Beryl tremblingly. "I must see Pearl. It is so long since we have been together."

"You may take your choice—Pearl or me."

Beryl felt stunned. "Take my choice!" she repeated.

"You have a rude habit of repeating people's words," said Diana tartly. "Yes,—you may take your choice. I mean what I say. If you stay behind to see Pearl, you stay behind altogether. No doubt Mrs. Escott Cumming will offer you a home—if she has the power."

Beryl sat with her hands before her, trying to think. "I cannot give up Pearl," she said, in a pained voice. "She has done nothing really wrong,—nothing deserving of that, I mean,—nothing that ought to make you seem as if you hated her. And you used to love Pearl so much."

Diana's expression changed slightly, just for a moment.

"Aunt Di, do wait. If once you saw Pearl's sweet face, I know you would feel the same that you used to feel about her."

"I do not feel anything particular about Pearl. She is a fickle little creature, not worth troubling oneself about. I have done my duty, and I wash my hands of her for the future. Certainly I do not intend to change my plans, on Pearl's account. I shall start next Tuesday; and if you travel with me at all, you go with me then."

"And if not—where shall I live?"

"That will be your concern, not mine. If I undertake your support, I expect that you will do as I choose. You will manage for yourself otherwise."

"When shall I see Pearl—how soon, I mean—if I do go with you?"

"I have no definite plans for the present. I do not intend to return to Hurst in a hurry. You may think the matter over, and tell me your decision to-morrow."

Beryl was thankful for the respite. Her thoughts were in a whirl, and she could see nothing clearly. The first impulse which came to her was to seek Miss Carmichael's advice, but she dared not attempt to go just then. The second impulse was a wiser one. She stole away upstairs to her own room, locked the door, and knelt down beside the bed. If ever Beryl had prayed earnestly to have her way shown, she prayed then.

The guidance would be sent. Beryl's trust was simple, and she felt no doubt there. By one means or another, her path would become plain.

It was not plain yet. She was in a very tangle of perplexity throughout the remainder of the day. How ought she to decide? Where lay her duty? Was she bound by ties of gratitude to remain, at any cost, with Diana? Ought she and could she give up Pearl? How far would it be a giving up, and not merely a somewhat longer separation? Diana's fickleness of mood and will might incline her to return much earlier than she now intended. But suppose it were not so, would Beryl ever be free to return without her? Should she be right now to follow her own inclinations? And, after all, where did her inclinations really point? She longed to see Pearl, and she dreaded to be away from Miss Carmichael; but also she shrank from finding herself homeless, and foreign travel had a tempting sound.

Beryl had never in her life before spent an entirely wakeful night. This night she gained no sleep, and counted the strokes of the clock each hour in succession. She rose in the morning, unrefreshed, and still troubled and bewildered.

Diana seemed to be bent on preventing an interview with Miss Carmichael. She was captious and irritable, and kept Beryl incessantly busy.

The second post brought a letter from Pearl, addressed to her sister. Beryl happened to be alone at the moment it arrived, but this mattered less, since Diana had of late ceased to show any desire for a sight of Pearl's letters. She had never written to Pearl, or Pearl to her, since Marian's return from abroad.

"MY DEAR BERYL,—" the letter ran:

"We are coming home on the day we intended, and everything is pretty well settled. I have been wondering whether I ought to send a few lines to Aunt Di. I don't want to have things unpleasant between us, and perhaps she would like to hear from me. But I feel lazy, and I don't know what to say to her. Never mind,—things are sure to come right when we meet.

"I am looking forward so much to seeing you. There will be all sorts of matters to talk about. I know you used to think I did not care for you, dear, but I do. I was a stupid little thing in those days, and now I feel different—so 'much' older. Being married makes one older, I suppose. Not that I have any of the cares of married life, for mother and Escott manage everything, and we are to live all together at home, just the same. Mother asked me what I would like, and I said I did not mind in the least. I don't think I should be a good hand at managing a house. I should have to make you come and do it for me. Aunt Di is sure to get tired of you some day, and then, perhaps, by and by, Escott and I might have our own home, and you could live with us; but that is only a private little dream of my own. There is not room in Uncle Josiah's house—at least, I know he would say so. And I do think it would be cruel to take Escott away from mother. She is just wrapt up in him.

"He is so good and kind,—I am sure nobody ever had a better husband. And the mother is only 'too' good. She quite frightens me, she is so unearthly. I am afraid they are both too good for me, and they must think me silly and flippant sometimes.

"But I am really not so flippant as I seem, perhaps—and I want you to show me how to be better. I think I want something to make me different. And I can't speak about it to anybody else. But I know you have always felt just the same for me all along, even when I was most cold to you, and I do so look forward to having you again. I think you will understand me, more than anybody. I can say things to you that I could not say to anybody else—hardly. I know all this is safe with you. Ever since you refused to show that letter to Aunt Di, I have felt that I might say anything I liked to you—and I am glad it happened, though of course I am sorry she was so angry.

"Mother and Escott send love, and I am ever your own sister,—

"PEARL."

"I am so glad, oh, so glad, I never changed to Pearl," murmured Beryl, clasping the letter tightly. "If I had, she might never have turned to me, or trusted me again. But I 'have' felt the same all along. Pearlie, my own darling, I think you are going to be my own again. I don't see how I can leave you just now, Pearlie."

Diana appeared in the doorway, and Beryl was suddenly cool and stolid.