Chapter II

“Unless he is in love with some woman there is no believing old
signs.”

_Much Ado About Nothing._

Before the plans for his new school were well settled Lionel’s time was much occupied. The autumn had been rainy, and in a violent storm in the middle of November the river rose above its banks, and the whole low-lying country was flooded. One or two villages belonging to Lord Ashford suffered terribly; and as after the floods abated a hard frost, long and severe, set in, there was great distress in the whole country. It was a poor district, fertile but improvident; and though, because fertile, a moderate share of comfort was generally enjoyed, any casual grievance became a grievance indeed; changing comfortable poverty into beggary.

Lord Ashford could not bear to see distress, and though his finances had suffered in common with those of his poor neighbours, he was anxious to relieve them to the utmost of his power. He did not like trouble, but he gave Lionel a commission to inquire into the circumstances of his tenantry, and to relieve them as he thought best.

Lionel entered zealously into the work, and he found ready help around him.

Mr. Pope was extremely annoyed at the state of things. That distress, distress beyond the power of any man entirely to relieve, should exist in his parish, in that delightful country whose air he breathed, was a circumstance as unforeseen as unpleasing. He felt personally insulted, and could only bear the shame by remarking, three or four times each day, to all who would hear, but especially to Violet, that it was an “exceptional year.” In the whole course of his acquaintance with the country he had never known so much rain to fall, and never had experienced so hard a frost. His injured feelings, however, did not destroy his kindly ones, and he gave liberally both time and money.

Violet felt her poverty, and smarted under the sting. It was long since she had ceased to mourn over the loss of riches for her own sake, but now, had she but been as she once had been, where would poverty have been found? It seemed hard that she who would have melted her own self, had she been made of gold, to give to the suffering, should not now, with all her desires, have more than a mite to give. She sighed, and resolved that since money could not be given she would indeed give herself. Very zealously therefore did she help Lionel in any and every part of his work that could be undertaken by another.

Among other projects, a shop for the sale of provisions at and under cost price was established in Holywell. This was a great boon, for the town was five miles distant, and the small retail shops in the district were short of money, charged high prices, and gave bad goods. The shop was held for some hours three times a week, and was almost entirely managed--accountants and money to provide better ones, both being scarce--by Violet and Ida, with Lionel’s and Mr. Pope’s occasional help.

The frost continued, with one or two breaks, during the whole of December and the early part of January; and with the frost the suffering and distress; and with the distress the hardworking of all who were anxious to relieve it.

The severe weather was at its height when Albert Ellis wrote to propose a few days’ visit. He wrote to Mrs. Osborne, and his letter ended thus:--

“I came back to London from a long visit in Norfolk, where, though cold enough, the sun was brilliant and the sky blue. I found London foggy as well as cold, and as dismal-looking as can be imagined. I thought it unbearable till I heard a piece of good news which made its dull features become charming. Tell Violet that I have a piece of good news to tell her, in which she is interested as well as I.”

Mrs. Osborne read the letter aloud, and without any definite thought, till she saw the crimson glow which dyed her daughter’s cheeks. A definite idea did then present itself, and though she quietly said, “Poor Albert and his news! What can he have to tell?” she, after that one observation, suffered the subject to drop.

But all the day long she questioned with herself what that blush had meant; what Violet could expect, and what Albert intended to convey.

No less perplexed was Violet; yet that Albert should have good news to tell her, that was unconnected with Leicester, never so much as swept over the mirror of her fancy.

“What so sweet,” as the author of “Nathalie” says prettily, “as a nameless joy?” And such a vague inspiring brightness was that which quickened Violet’s elastic step, and shone in her sparkling eye.

Albert arrived just before luncheon, an accident having forced him to lose half a day, and sleep on the road.

Mrs. Osborne and Violet were in the drawing-room, and after they had warmed and comforted the cold traveller, he turned from his seat in the fire, and said,

“Are you not curious, Violet? Don’t you want to hear my news?”

Violet’s heart whirled about. She wished Albert would not speak so openly; but after a moment she conquered, and stilled herself sufficiently to say,

“Oh! yes; very curious. What can it be?”

“Why, it is rather a singular thing, I must tell you; an unexpected thing to hear from a stranger in India.” He rubbed his hands, and Violet’s heart beat as if it would burst. “Now prepare. Well, Violet, it is no less than a legacy of £20,000 between you and me.”

“Is that all?” she said, turning pale with the bitterness of the disappointment.

“That all!” he cried, staring at her; and even Mrs. Osborne opened her eyes. “Why, Violet, our circumstances, yours and mine, are not such, I can tell you, that we need scorn £500 a year; and that is what it will be, for it’s well invested. I can tell you I--though I am not mercenary--was so elated that I could not sleep.”

“Who is it from?” Violet asked, while she was collecting her thoughts.

“From that old ... that friend of yours, Aunt Elizabeth ... poor old fellow, he’s dead; Mr. Woodrowffe, his name was, I think. Don’t you remember, Violet?”

“Oh! yes, I remember.”

“He fell in love with you. I saw that at the time; but why he so kindly thought of me is more than I can guess. His will is dated two days after your birthday. But guess or not, I am thankful; which is more than it seems you are.”

But Violet meanwhile had received the import of his words into her heart, and her feelings had undergone a change. She now spoke earnestly enough.

“I am not ungrateful, Albert, but I am overwhelmed and ashamed. I did not deserve this. I was so cross and discontented when the change of fortune came, that I do not deserve this should come to _me_,” and whether from previous agitation, or from the genuine feeling of the moment, a large tear fell from her eye. “Does papa know?” she continued, springing up. “I must go and tell him,” and she left the room.

Albert looked at his aunt, as much as to say,

“That is a curious young woman,” but she did not respond to the gaze.

“He saw she would make a good use of his money,” she said softly. “Poor darling! I am so thankful it has come to her.”

“So am I; and I hope it will make you all comfortable.”

“It will indeed. Now, whether we live or die, she is provided for. My poor old friend! I thank him much. And, dear Albert, I am so glad and so grateful for your good fortune too.”

“Good fortune you may well call it, Aunt Elizabeth. It is a sort of luck I had long given up dreaming of. I can’t say, like Violet, that I don’t deserve it, for I have been very steady and industrious of late; and as much as a poor mortal man can ever be said to deserve anything, I do deserve a little praise. But we don’t always get it, and I am sure I never thought of having it.”

Mr. and Mrs. Osborne were relieved by this event from many anxious parental fears and cares. And seeing their joy, Violet gave a readier admission to rejoicing and gratitude in her own heart. She had learnt by experience something of the dangers of riches, and had a dread of them; she had felt that poverty was a very necessary discipline to her peculiar disposition; necessary for the preservation within her of anything of a lowly mind; and she had tried very sincerely to receive the discipline and profit by it. This sudden accession of wealth (for wealth it was to those who had been rich, and had learnt how to be poor) startled and also humbled her. She no longer felt what once she had felt, and often said that “they must be naturally mean, who by the possession of money were made proud.” She knew better now what the word pride meant, and felt by experience that it was the freedom, the power to please ourselves, whatever that pleasure--selfish or unselfish--may be, which causes the temper of mind which makes riches dangerous. She knew this now, and doubting herself, was humbled, and trembled. But unselfish thoughts forced their way, and soon turned the fears it brought to rapture. The increased good that could be done with it! the added comforts to her parents! Before twenty-four hours were over she was dreaming sweet dreams, and her disappointment, that momentary but bitter disappointment, was chased away under their bright influence.

Albert remained only for two or three days. The last day of his stay was one of the days on which the shop was held in Holywell. He was anxious to walk with Violet to a place at some distance, and she promised, if she could possibly be spared altogether, or as soon as she could be spared, to take a holiday and go with him.

On arriving at the place, a kind of store-house lent by a farmer, and fitted up tolerably comfortably for the purpose, she found that Ida was there alone, and Albert sat down by the fire, patiently to wait till she could be free.

Violet told her wishes to Ida, and asked if Mr. Vane was likely to come, and would be likely to be at liberty to take her work.

“He said yesterday he would look in,” she replied; and then added smiling, “and I think he is sure to come, because he is curious to see your cousin.”

“There is nothing remarkable in poor Albert, is there?”

“Oh! no, Violet, only a new person, you know,” Ida apologized.

There was a great deal of business, and Violet and Ida were soon fully employed. In the midst of it Lionel entered. Violet was occupied with a purchaser, and did not move. Lionel took a slight survey of Albert, bowed to him stiffly but civilly, and went and stood by Ida.

Her account-book was lying open, and as he stood by he ran over it with his eyes.

“This is wrong, Ida,” he said. “You have entered this item twice, and you have put down several shillings too much.”

He spoke with authority.

“How stupid I am!” Ida said without examination or defence. “I will put it right in a moment.”

Violet was always quick to hear when Ida was reproved, and, if need be, to take up the cudgels in her defence. She left her purchaser, and came to Ida’s side.

“Wait a moment, Ida. I don’t think it is wrong, for I looked over the book a quarter of a hour ago.”

“Did you?” Lionel said quickly. “Then I may be wrong.”

“Yes,” Violet showed triumphantly; “Ida is right. That item, as you call it, is _not_ the same, though, I must own, it looks as if it was. See, it is all right.”

“Yes, I see,” he said penitently. “I beg your pardon for having given you so much trouble; and I beg yours, Ida,” he added.

“I make so many mistakes that you have good reason to suspect me, I am afraid,” she said in her usual gentle manner.

“You depreciate yourself,” Violet observed. “You are not very quick yet; that only comes with practice; but you are _very_ correct.” And she returned to her purchaser.

Lionel leaned on the counter which had been erected, and watched idly for a few moments the various groups in the room. Ida then touched his arm, and asked in a low voice if he could stay and take Violet’s place.

“If you can, Violet wishes very much to go and walk with her cousin.”

He looked round quickly and curiously again at Albert; but after a moment’s consideration said--

“Oh! yes.” And walked across the room to Violet.

“You wish to be released, Miss Osborne? Pray do not stay one moment longer than you please. I will take your place, and fill it as well as I can.”

“Can you really stay? Thank you, then. I shall certainly be glad to have this one holiday. I hope it is not inconvenient.”

“No, it is not. But if it were, you have done so much for me and all my plans, that I should only be thankful to feel a little inconvenience for you in return.”

Violet laughed and thanked him, then showed him her book.

“This poor woman is buying for several families, she says. It will be a long sum when it is done. I hoped to finish with her, but there seems no end to her wants.”

“You distrust my powers for the long sum,” he said playfully, as he took her place.

Violet spoke a few words to Ida, put on her bonnet, and she and Albert set off for their walk.

“That is a nice girl, Violet,” he observed as they walked along. “My uncle tells me that a marriage is projected between her and Mr. Vane.”

“So papa told me. I cannot think where he hears his news.”

“Mr. Vane will be lucky if it is so. I have seen very little of her, but I think I am a pretty good judge, and I think she is a thoroughly good girl.”

“She is indeed,” Violet said warmly. “She is the sort of girl that would suit you, Albert.”

“So I was thinking. If I was not pre-engaged I should be afraid to be much in her company.”

“Engaged! My dear Albert, are you engaged?”

“Not bodily; I meant in my thoughts, my fancy, or whatever you please to call it. Have you no guess to whom my thoughts are engaged?”

“None whatever. How should I? Oh! yes,” with a sudden thought, and a sudden flush overspreading her cheeks, “I do guess. Margaret Leicester. I remember I used to think of that.”

“Right. Of course I should not have dreamed of mentioning it if I had been as I was; but this poor old fellow’s kindness gives me the power of making a settlement, and if she comes back to England free, I shall take my chance.”

“You have still some time to wait,” Violet said constrainedly.

“Not long, I hope. I expect them home this spring or summer.”

Violet’s heart stood still with rapture and surprise. For a moment she could say nothing; but strong effort, and the determination to show no emotion, drew from her the observation, in an indifferent tone--

“So soon.”

“The six years will be out in June--six since Leicester left England at least. How time passes! I once thought those six years would never be gone. I believe there have been deaths and changes, and that Leicester was offered a better thing if he would stay out there. However, he has made up his mind to come home.”

Leicester returning, and Albert possibly becoming his brother-in-law! How radiant looked the future to Violet! How far more glorious than summer sunshine the cold frosty light of the closing January day!

“You are sure Margaret is unmarried?” Violet asked after a short pause.

“Yes; one or two are married, but she is not--was not, at least; man is sure of nothing: and now let us have done with it. I thought I would mention it before I went; but the less said on such things the better. What were we saying before? Oh! I know! Miss Hamilton and Mr. Vane. My dear Violet, will you, without thinking me interfering, allow me to give you a small piece of advice.”

“Most certainly,” she said gaily, “anything you will.”

“Well, then, it struck me, I hardly know why, it just passed through my head as I was sitting there, that Mr. Vane is or might be in love with you. And if you don’t intend to have it so, I advise you not to encourage him.”

“Mr. Vane in love with me! My dear Albert, what an idea!”

“I don’t say it is so. I only say it struck me, and I could not be easy without giving you a hint. Don’t be angry, it is well-meant advice.”

“I am not angry--much more amused than angry. I am very much obliged for advice when there is reason in it. But this--there is really no sense in the idea.”

“I cannot see any want of reason or sense. You are a young woman, and he is a young man; and I believe it is not usually considered very nonsensical when young men and young women take to each other.”

“Young men and young women have nothing to do with this question. It is _impossible_ what you think can be true. I cannot tell you my reasons, but I have reasons for saying so.”

“If you have that is enough. I do not want to set myself up as an infallible judge. I merely spoke my thought, and let us change the subject. How cold it is! I always heard Devonshire had a mild climate, but this evening surpasses the cold of Siberia. Can you step out a little?”

“As fast as you please. Don’t let Mr. Pope hear your complaints.”

And they walked at a pace which brought them to the cottage with tingling feet and cheeks glowing, as in the days of infancy.

With so much that was of a more interesting nature to occupy her thoughts and dreamings, it was not strange that Albert’s piece of advice was forgotten. The quick walk effaced it from her memory, and it did not so much as once recur again.