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The Trial

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Trial







CHAPTER XIX



Long among them was seen a maiden, who waited and wondered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things;
Fair was she, and young, but alas! before her extended,
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life.--Evangeline.
LONGFELLOW


'Sister, sister! who is it? Going to be married! Oh, do tell us!'
cried Ella Warden--as she now was called--capering round her elder
sister, who stood beneath a gas-burner, in a well-furnished bed-room,
reading a letter, its enclosure clasped within a very trembling hand.

'Mary May, dear Mary,' answered Averil, still half absently.

'And who?'

'Mr. Cheviot,' said Averil, thoroughly rousing herself, and, with a
quick movement, concealing the enclosure in her bosom. 'I remember
him; he was very good, when--'

And there she paused; while Ella chattered on: 'Oh, sister, if you
were but at home, you would be a bridesmaid now, and perhaps we
should. Little Miss Rivers was Mrs. Ernescliffe's bridesmaid. Don't
you remember, Minna, how we saw her in her little cashmere cloak?'

'Oh, don't, Ella!' escaped from Minna, like a cry of pain, as she
leant back in a rocking-chair, and recollected who had held her up in
his arms to watch Blanche May's wedding procession.

'And how soon will she be married, sister, and where will she live?'
asked the much-excited Ella.

'She will be married in Whitsun week, and as he is headmaster, they
will live in Dr. Hoxton's house. Dear, good Mary, how glad I am that
she is so full of happiness--her letter quite brims over with it! I
wonder if I may work anything to send her.'

'I should like to send her some very beautiful thing indeed,' cried
Ella, with emphasis, and eyes dilating at some visionary
magnificence.

'Ah, I have nothing to send her but my love! And I may send _her_
that still,' said Minna, looking up wistfully at Averil, who bent
down and kissed her.

'And Ave won't let me send mine to Mr. Tom, though I'm sure I do love
him the best of them all,' said Ella.

'That wasn't--' half whispered Minna, but turned her head away, with
a sigh of oppression and look of resignation, sad in so young a
child, though, indeed, the infantine form was fast shooting into
tall, lank girlhood. Ella went on: 'I shall send him the objects for
his microscope, when I get into the country; for I promised, so
sister can't prevent me.'

'Oh, the country!--when shall we go there?' sighed Minna.

'Your head aches to-night, my dear,' said Averil, looking anxiously
at her listless attitude, half-opened eyes, and the deep hollows
above her collar-bones.

'It always does after the gas is lighted,' said the child, patiently,
'it is always so hot here.'

'It is just like being always in the conservatory at the Grange,'
added Ella. 'I do hate this boarding-house. It is very unkind of
Henry to keep us here--fifteen weeks now.'

'Oh, Ella,' remonstrated Minna, 'you mustn't say that!'

'But I shall say it,' retorted Ella. 'Rosa Willis says what she
pleases, and so shall I. I don't see the sense of being made a baby
of, when every one else of our age eats all they like, and is
consulted about arrangements, and attends classes. And sister owns
she does not know half so much as Cora!'

This regular declaration of American independence confounded the two
sisters, and made Averil recall the thoughts that had been wandering:
'No, Ella, in some things I have not learnt so much as Cora; but I
believe I know enough to teach you, and it has been a comfort to me
to keep my two little sisters with me, and not send them to be mixed
up among strange girls. Besides, I have constantly hoped that our
present way of life would soon be over, and that we should have a
home of our own again.'

'And why can't we!' asked Ella, in a much more humble and subdued
voice.

'Because Henry cannot hear of anything to do. He thought he should
soon find an opening in this new country; but there seem to be so
many medical men everywhere that no one will employ or take into
partnership a man that nothing is known about; and he cannot produce
any of his testimonials, because they are all made out in his old
name, except one letter that Dr. May gave him. It is worse for Henry
than for us, Ella. and all we can do for him is not to vex him with
our grievances.

Poor Averil! her dejected, patient voice, sad soft eyes, and gentle
persuasive manner, were greatly changed from those of the handsome,
accomplished girl, who had come home to be the family pride and pet;
still more, perhaps, from the wilful mistress of the house and the
wayward sufferer of last summer.

'And shan't we go to live in the dear beautiful forest, as Cora
Muller wishes?'

There was a tap at the door, and the children's faces brightened,
though a shade passed over Averil's face, as if everything at that
moment were oppressive; but she recovered a smile of greeting for the
pretty creature who flew up to her with a fervent embrace--a girl a
few years her junior, with a fair, delicate face and figure, in a
hot-house rose style of beauty.

'Father's come!' she cried.

'How glad you must be!'

'And now,' whispered the children, 'we shall know about going to
Indiana.'

'He says Mordaunt is as tall as he is, and that the house is quite
fixed for me; but I told him I must have one more term, and then I
will take you with me. Ah! I am glad to see the children in white.
If you would only change that plain black silk, you would receive so
much more consideration.'

'I don't want it, Cora, thank you,' said Averil, indifferently; and,
indeed, the simple mourning she still wore was a contrast to her
friend's delicate, expensive silk.

'But I want it for you,' pleaded Cora. 'I don't want to hear my
Averil censured for English hauteur, and offend my country's
feelings, so that she keeps herself from seeing the best side.'

'I see a very good, very dear side of one,' said Averil, pressing the
eager hand that was held out to her, 'and that is enough for me. I
was not a favourite in my own town, and I have not spirits to make
friends here.'

'Ah! you will have spirits in our woods,' she said. 'You shall show
me how you go gipsying in England.'

'The dear, dear woods! Oh, we must go!' cried the little girls.

'But it is going to be a town,' said Minna, gravely.

Cora laughed. 'Ah, there will be plenty of bush this many a day,
Minna! No lack of butternuts and hickories, I promise you, nor of
maples to paint the woods gloriously.'

'You have never been there?' said Averil, anxiously.

'No; I have been boarding here these two years, since father and
brothers located there, but we had such a good time when we lived at
my grandfather's farm, in Ohio, while father was off on the railway
business.'

A gong resounded through the house, and Averil, suppressing a
disappointed sigh, allowed Cora to take possession of her arm, and,
followed by the two children, became parts of a cataract of people
who descended the great staircase, and flowed into a saloon, where
the dinner was prepared.

Henry, with a tall, thin, wiry-looking gentleman, was entering at the
same time, and Averil found herself shaking hands with her brother's
companion, and hearing him say, 'Good evening, Miss Warden; I'm glad
to meet my daughter's friend. I hope you feel at home in our great
country.'

It was so exactly the ordinary second-rate American style, that
Averil, who had expected something more in accordance with the
refinement of everything about Cora, except a few of her tones, was a
little disappointed, and responded with difficulty; then, while Mr.
Muller greeted her sisters, she hastily laid her hand on Henry's arm,
and said, under her breath, 'I've a letter from him.'

'Hush!' Henry looked about with a startled eye and repressing
gesture. Averil drew back, and, one hand on her bosom, pressing the
letter, and almost holding down a sob, she took her accustomed seat
at the meal. Minna, too languid for the rapidity of the movements,
hardly made the exertion of tasting food. Ella, alert and brisk,
took care of herself as effectually as did Rosa Willis, on the
opposite side of the table. Averil, all one throb of agitation, with
the unread letter lying at her heart, directed all her efforts to
look, eat, and drink, as usual; happily, talking was the last thing
that was needed.

Averil had been greatly indebted to Miss Muller, who had taken pity
on the helpless strangers--interested, partly by her own romance
about England, partly by their mourning dresses, dark melancholy
eyes, and retiring, bewildered manner. A beautiful motherless girl,
under seventeen--left, to all intents and purposes, alone in New
York--attending a great educational establishment, far more
independent and irresponsible than a young man at an English
University, yet perfectly trustworthy--never subject to the bevues of
the 'unprotected female,' but self-reliant, modest, and graceful, in
the heterogeneous society of the boarding-house--she was a constant
marvel to Averil, and a warm friendship soon sprang up. The advances
were, indeed, all on one side; for Ave was too sad, and oppressed
with too heavy a secret, to be readily accessible; but there was an
attraction to the younger, fresher, freer nature, even in the mystery
of her mournful reserve; and the two drew nearer together from
gratitude, and many congenial feelings, that rendered Cora the one
element of comfort in the boarding-house life; while Henry in vain
sought for occupation.

Cora had been left under the charge of the lady of the boarding-
house, a distant connection, while her father, who had been engaged
in more various professions than Averil could ever conceive of or
remember, had been founding a new city in Indiana, at once as farmer
and land-agent, and he had stolen a little time, in the dead season,
to hurry up to New York, partly on business, and partly to see his
daughter, who had communicated to him her earnest desire that her new
friends might be induced to settle near their future abode.

American meals were too serious affairs for conversation; but such as
there was, was political, in all the fervid heat of the first
commencements of disunion and threatenings of civil war. After the
ladies had repaired to their saloon, with its grand ottomans, sofas,
rocking-chairs, and piano, the discussion continued among them; Cora
talking with the utmost eagerness of the tariff and of slavery, and
the other topics of the day, intensely interesting, and of terrible
moment, to her country; but that country Averil had not yet learnt to
feel her own, and to her all was one dreary whirl of words, in which
she longed to escape to her room, and read her letter. Ella had
joined Rosa Willis, and the other children; but Minna, as usual, kept
under her sister's wing, and Averil could not bear to shake herself
free of the gentle child. The ladies of the boarding-house--some
resident in order to avoid the arduous duties of housekeeping, others
temporarily brought thither in an interregnum of servants, others
spending a winter in the city--had grown tired of asking questions
that met with the scantiest response, took melancholy for disdain,
and were all neglectful, some uncivil, to the grave, silent English
girl, and she was sitting alone, with Minna's hand in hers, as she
had sat for many a weary evening, when her brother and Mr. Muller
came up together, and, sitting down on either side of her, began to
talk of the rising city of Massissauga--admirably situated--excellent
water privilege, communicating with Lake Michigan--glorious primeval
forest--healthy situation--fertile land--where a colossal fortune
might be realized in maize, eighties, sections, speculations. It was
all addressed to her, and it was a hard task to give attention, so as
to return a rational answer, while her soul would fain have been
clairvoyante, to read the letter in her breast. She did perceive, at
last, though not till long after the children had gone to bed, that
the project was, that the family should become the purchasers of
shares, which would give them a right to a portion of the soil,
excellent at present for growing corn, and certain hereafter to be
multiplied in value for building; that Henry might, in the meantime,
find an opening for practice, but might speedily be independent of
it. It sounded promising, and it was escape--escape from forced
inaction, from an uncongenial life, from injury to the children, and
it would be with Cora, her one friend. What was the demur, and why
were they consulting her, who, as Henry knew, was ready to follow him
wherever he chose to carry her? At last came a gleam of
understanding: 'Then, Doctor, you will talk it over with your sister,
and give me your ultimatum;' and therewith Mr. Muller walked away to
mingle in other conversation, and Henry coming closer to his sister,
she again eagerly said, 'I have it here; you shall see it to-morrow,
when I have read it.'

'It--'

'The letter.'

'How can you be so unguarded? You have not let the children know?
Take care then, I will not have the subject revived with them.'

'But Minna--'

'It is this heated stove atmosphere. She will soon forget if you
don't keep it up, and she will be herself when we leave this place,
and it depends on you when we do that, Ave.'

'On me!' she said, with bewildered face.

And Henry, marvelling at her slowness of comprehension, made her
understand that the advance of money, for the purchase at
Massissauga, must come from her means. His own had been heavily
drained by the removal, the long period of inaction, and moreover
what remained had been embarked in shares in a company, absolutely
certain to succeed, but where they were not at once available for
sale. Averil was now of age, her property was in her own power, and
could not, her brother assured her, be better invested, than on
ground certain to increase in value. She looked at him, confused and
distressed, aware that it was too important a step to be taken
without consideration, yet unable to compose her thoughts, or
recollect objections.

'Must I answer to-night?' she said.

'No, there is no need for that. But we must close to-morrow with
Muller, for it is not a chance that will long go begging.'

'Then let me go, please, Henry,' she said, imploringly. 'I will tell
you to-morrow, but I can't now. I don't seem to understand
anything.'

It was late, and he released her, with a kind good night, though
still with a sign of caution. Cora, however, hastened to join her,
and walk up the stairs with her, eagerly inquiring into the success
of the negotiation, and detailing what she had gathered from her
father as to the improvements he had been making. She would fain
have made Averil come into her bedroom to build castles there; but
this was more than could be borne, and breaking from her at last,
Averil reached her own room, not to think of Mr. Muller's project,
but to cast an anxious glance at each of the little beds, to judge
whether the moment had come when that famishing hunger might be
appeased by the crumb which for these mortal hours had lain upon her
craving heart--the very first since the one on the arrival at
Milbank.

Each brown head was shrouded in the coverings, the long dark fringes
rested safely on the cheeks, and Averil at length drew out the
treasure, and laid it on her hand to dwell on its very sight. The
address needed to be looked at with lingering earnestness, as if it
had indeed been a missive from another world; she looked, and was
tardy to unfold it, as though, now the moment was come, the sense of
being in communication with her brother must be tasted to the utmost,
ere entering on the utterances that must give pain; and when she did
open the envelope, perhaps the first sensation was disappointment--
the lines were not near enough together, the writing not small
enough, to satisfy even the first glance of the yearning eye. It was
cheerful, it spoke of good health, and full occupation, with the use
of books, daily exercise, the chaplain's visits, schooling and
attendance at chapel, and of the great pleasure of having heard from
her. 'And that good Dr. May inclosed your letter in one written to
me with his own hand, a kindness I never dared to think of as
possible, but which he promises to repeat. Your letter and his are
the continual food of my thoughts, and are valued beyond all power of
words. I only hope you knew that I have not been allowed to write
sooner, and have not expected letters.' Then came a few brief
comments on her last inquiries, and entreaties that she would give
him full information of all details of their present life: 'It will
carry me along with you, and I shall live with you, both as I read,
and as I dwell on it afterwards. Do not indulge in a moment's
uneasiness about me, for I am well, and busy; every one is as kind to
me as duty permits, and Dr. May is always ready to do all in his
power for me.' There were a few affectionate words for Henry, and 'I
long to send a message to the children, but I know it is better for
them to let me drop from their minds, only you must tell me all about
them; I want to know that the dear little Minna is bright and happy
again.'

No confidences, only generalities; not even any reference to the one
unbroken bond of union, the one support, except in the three scanty
final words, the simplest of blessings. It was not satisfying; but
Averil recalled, with a start, that no wonder the letter was meagre,
since it was necessarily subject to inspection; and how could the
inner soul be expressed when all must pass under strangers' eyes, who
would think such feelings plausible hypocrisy in a convicted felon.
Again she took it up, to suck to the utmost all that might be
conveyed in the short commonplace sentences, and to gaze at them as
if intensity of study could reveal whether the cheerfulness were real
or only assumed. Be they what they might, the words had only three
weeks back been formed by Leonard's hand, and she pressed her lips
upon them in a fervent agony of affection.

When she roused herself and turned her head, she perceived on Minna's
pillow two eyes above the bed-clothes, intently fixed on her. Should
she see, or should she not see? She believed that the loving heart
was suffering a cruel wrong, she yearned to share all with the child,
but she was chained by the command of one brother, and by that
acquiescence of the other which to her was more than a command. She
would not see, she turned away, and made her preparations for the
night without betraying that she knew that the little one was awake,
resuming the tedious guard on the expression of her face. But when
her long kneeling had ended, and with it that which was scarcely so
much conscious intercession as the resting an intolerable load on One
who alone knew its weight, just as she darkened the room for the
night, the low voice whispered, 'Ave, is it?'--

And Averil crept up to the little bed: 'Yes, Minna; he is well! He
hopes you are bright and happy, but he says it is best you should
forget him.' The brow was cold and clammy, the little frame chill
and trembling, the arms clasped her neck convulsively. She lifted
the child into her own bed, pressed tight to her own bosom, and
though no other word passed between the sisters, that contact seemed
to soothe away the worst bitterness; and Averil slept from the
stillness enforced on her by the heed of not disturbing Minna's
sleep.

Little that night had she recked of the plan needing so much
deliberation! When she awoke it was to the consciousness that
besides the arrival of Leonard's letter, something had happened--
there was some perplexity--what was it? And when it came back she
was bewildered. Her own fortune had always appeared to her something
to fall back on in case of want of success, and to expend it thus was
binding the whole family down at a perilous moment, to judge by the
rumours of battle and resistance. And all she had ever heard at
home, much that she daily heard at New York, inclined her to distrust
and dislike of American speculations. It was Cora's father! Her
heart smote her for including him in English prejudice, when Henry
liked and trusted him! And she had disobeyed and struggled against
Henry too long. She had promised to be submissive and yielding. But
was this the time? And the boarding-house life--proverbially the
worst for children--was fast Americanizing Ella, while Minna drooped
like a snowdrop in a hot-house, and idleness might be mischievous to
Henry.

Oh, for some one to consult! for some one to tell her whether the
risk was a foolish venture, or if the terms were safe! But not a
creature did she know well enough to seek advice from! Even the
clergyman, whose church she attended, was personally unknown to her;
Cora Muller was her sole intimate; there was a mutual repulsion
between her and the other ladies, and still more with the gentlemen.
A boarding-house was not the scene in which to find such as would
inspire confidence, and they had no introductions. There was no one
to turn to; and in the dreary indifference that had grown over her,
she did not even feel capable of exerting her own judgment to the
utmost, even if she had been able to gather certain facts, or to know
prudent caution from blind prejudice--often woman's grievous
difficulty. What could a helpless girl of one-and-twenty, in a land
of strangers, do, but try to think that by laying aside the use of
her own judgment she was trusting all to Providence, and that by
leaving all to her brother she was proving her repentance for her
former conduct.

There, too, were her sisters, clamorous with hopes of the forest
life; and there was Cora, urging the scheme with all the fervour of
girlish friendship, and in herself no small element in its favour,
engaging for everything, adducing precedents for every kind of
comfort and success, and making Ave's consent a test of her love.
One question Averil asked of her--whether they should be utterly out
of reach of their Church? Cora herself had been bred up to liberal
religious ways, and was ready to attend whatever denomination of
public worship came first to hand, though that which had descended
from the Pilgrim Fathers came most naturally. She had been at
various Sunday schools, and was a good conscientious girl, but had
never gone through the process of conversion, so that Rosa Willis had
horrified Ella by pronouncing her 'not a Christian.' She had no
objection to show her English friends the way to the favourite
Episcopal Church, especially as it was esteemed fashionable; and her
passion for Averil had retained her there, with growing interest,
drawn on by Averil's greater precision of religious knowledge, and
the beauty of the Church system, displayed to her as the one joy and
relief left to one evidently crushed with suffering. The use of
Averil's books, conversations with her, and the teaching she heard,
disposed her more and more to profess herself a member of the
Episcopal Church, and she was unable to enter into Averil's scruples
at leading her to so decided a step without her father's sanction.
'Father would be satisfied whatever profession she made. Did people
in England try to force their children's consciences?' Cora, at
Averil's desire, ascertained that Massissauga had as yet no place of
worship of its own; but there was a choice of chapels within a
circuit of five miles, and an Episcopal Church seven miles off, at
the chief town of the county. Moreover, her father declared that the
city of Massissauga would soon be considerable enough to invite every
variety of minister to please every denomination of inhabitant.
Averil felt that the seven miles off church was all she could
reasonably hope for, and her mind was clear on that score, when Henry
came to take her out walking for the sake of being able to talk more
freely.

No longer afraid of being overheard, he gave kind attention to
Leonard's letter; and though he turned away from the subject sooner
than she wished, she was not exacting. Again he laid before her the
advantages of their migration, and assured her that if there were the
slightest risk he would be the last to make the proposal. She asked
if it were safe to invest money in a country apparently on the eve of
civil war?

He laughed the idea to scorn. How could the rebel states make war,
with a population of negroes sure to rise against their masters?
Where should their forces come from? Faction would soon be put down,
and the union be stronger than ever. It was what Averil had been
hearing morning, noon, and night, so no wonder she believed it, and
was ashamed of a futile girlish fear.

And was Henry sure it was a healthy place? Had she not heard of
feverish swamps in Indiana?

Oh yes, in new unsettled places; but there had hardly been an ailment
in the Muller family since they had settled at Massissauga.

And Averil's last murmur was--Could he find out anything about other
people's opinion of the speculation? did they know enough about Mr.
Muller to trust themselves entirely in his hands?

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