Chapter II The Arrival
As it struck five by the drawing-room clock, Lena threw open the hall-door and ran to the gate; and opening it, she went out and gazed eagerly down the road.
Scarsdale Villa, as Aunt Mary’s house was called, was built on the top of a long hill that ran straight down into the town. As Lena now stood, the town itself seemed to be at her feet, and beyond the houses lay the sea, stretching away into the distance, far as the eye could reach, and now sparkling in the bright spring sunshine. But its beauty was quite thrown away upon Lena; her eager gaze was fixed on one particular spot on the road—the turning to the station.
She had not long to wait, for in a very few minutes she was gladdened by the sight of a cab, well covered with luggage, coming round the corner, and commencing the ascent of the hill.
At this sight, she turned and darted back into the house, calling loudly for “Auntie.”
“Do you see them, dear?” Miss Somerville asked.
“There’s a cab coming this way, and it has luggage; it must be them, I am sure. Do come out and look.” Taking her Aunt’s hand, they went out together and watched the well-laden cab as it came slowly up the hill.
Often and often had Lena grumbled at that weary hill, when she came home, tired-out after a long afternoon’s ramble on the sands, or a walk into Meadenham, but never before had she thought it so long and tedious as that day. She watched the cab come “creeping along,” as she called it.
Then as it drew very near, a new fit came over her—a fit of shyness. Clasping Auntie’s hand very tight, she crept very close to her, whispering, “I do hope;” but she had no time to say more, for at that moment a gentleman’s head was put out of the cab window, that Lena instantly recognised as the same face whose photograph she had looked at so often. “Papa!” she almost gasped in her excitement.
“Here they are, waiting to welcome us home,” called out Colonel Graham in a loud, cheery voice, and then the cab stopped, and there came warm, loving greetings. Lena had no very distinct recollection of all that was done or said for the next few minutes, but among all the greetings and fuss of arrival was one remembrance, that Lena thought would never leave her.
It was Mama’s soft voice, that said, “My darling child; thank God for giving you back to me,” so loving and tender, that Lena knew then how dear she was to Mama.
Not till they were all seated quietly in the drawing-room had Lena time to take a good look at these dear ones.
Ah, she would have known Mama anywhere, she was sure, for there was the same sweet gentle face, that had looked at her from her picture, day after day. And Papa did not look one bit stern, or grave, but was just the sort of papa she approved of; and dear, fat, chubby Lucy, with her fair curls and blue eyes—“a perfect pet” was Lena’s verdict of her little sister; but Millicent, who was to be her own particular sister and companion, she was not quite what she expected her to be.
As she sat on the sofa beside Mama, her hand clasped in hers, she heard Aunt Mary say—
“They are very like, really; the same eyes and hair, and the likeness will be more apparent when Milly gets some of Lena’s roses and plumpness.” What Lena saw was a tall slight girl, as tall as herself, though she had two years and five months the advantage in age, with large serious brown eyes, and a pale face.
“No.” Lena thought Auntie mistaken in this matter; surely she and Milly were not alike. As she gazed, or, I might say, stared at her sister, their eyes met, and Milly smiled such a sweet loving smile that lighted up her whole face, and that so altered and improved it, that Lena was not so much disposed to disagree with her Aunt’s opinion as before.
Tea was brought in, and Lena was too busy waiting upon the travellers to think more about the likeness. Milly was shy and quiet; but that Lena did not so much object to, as it would enable her to show her all the more kindness and attention, for of course she was at home here, and the truth must be told, liked doing the honours of the house. Her sudden fit of nervousness soon passed off, and she was giving Mama her tea, and chatting away quite at her ease before very long.
“Milly and I are to stay up and have dinner with you to-night, Mama,” said Lena. “Auntie thought Lucy would go to bed then, for it is not till seven.”
“I hope you have not altered your hours for us, Mary?” said Colonel Graham.
“Now Papa, please,” began Lena.
“No, no, my little girl,” he said very decidedly, “we cannot allow your Aunt to alter her hours; it is very kind of her to have such a large party of us, as it is.”
“We will talk about that to-morrow,” said Miss Somerville with a smile. “Now I think it is time for you all to come and see your rooms; one little pair of eyes is looking very sleepy.”
Lucy, who was alluded to, was sitting by the table, her little head nodding and her eyes half-closed; but at the mere suggestion of bed she protested crossly, “that she did not want to go to bed.”
“We are all going upstairs, darling; you don’t want to stay down here by yourself, do you?”
No, Lucy didn’t want that, so she consented to go up with the others.
“Let me carry you,” proposed Lena, lovingly.
Now Lucy was tired and sleepy, and, as very often happens in these cases, very cross, so instead of responding to Lena’s kindly offer, she pushed her away with, “No, don’t want you; Milly must.”
A shade came over Lena’s face, she had meant so kindly. “O Lucy, what a cross little thing you are,” said Milly. “She doesn’t mean it, Lena, only she is accustomed to me; and last night I had to do it because Nana was gone, and Mama had such a bad headache,” she went on to say, as she followed Lena upstairs with Lucy in her arms.
“I will send Hester to help you, Milly,” said her Aunt; “you must be tired too.”
“And Mama wants Lena to help her this first evening,” said Mrs. Graham, drawing the girl to her side lovingly, for she had seen the shadow that had come to the child’s face at Lucy’s cross words. “You must not mind Lucy being cross, dear, for the child has been excited and wearied with all the changes and strangeness of her life the last few days, and I am sorry to say has been rather spoilt on board ship. It is very difficult to avoid it there.”
“And has not Milly?”
“Ah, Milly is such a quiet, staid little mortal, she is not easily spoiled; she has been the greatest comfort to me during the voyage, and now I have you too, my little one,” was Mrs. Graham’s answer, as she took Lena’s face in both hands and kissed it, then, looking at her lovingly, said, “I think I should hardly have known you for the same white, delicate little thing that I left with such a sad heart all these years ago.”
“Dear Mama,” was Lena’s only answer.
As they entered the bedroom, Mrs. Graham exclaimed, “Ah what sweet violets, my favourite flower! I think I can guess who placed them here.”
“I did not know they were your favourites, but they are so sweet I thought you must like them.”
“Such a pretty, homelike room,” said Mama, looking round. “I often used to try and picture to myself what my little girl was doing, and what her surroundings were like.”
“Wasn’t Aunt Mary living here when you went away?”
“No, dear; she came here in hopes that the sea air would make you strong and rosy again, as it has.”
“O Mama, you can see the sea from the windows in Papa’s dressing-room; do come and look at it.”
Taking her mother’s hand, they went into the dressing-room, the window of which looked over the garden and towards the sea. Here they were joined by Colonel Graham, and as Lena stood between them, a hand clasped in each of theirs, she thought that there was not a happier little girl in the world than herself, and I think she was right. Silence fell upon them as they looked; so long it lasted that Lena looked up at her mother, and seeing her eyes full of tears, asked anxiously—
“Mama, what is it; what are you thinking of; aren’t you happy?”
“Very happy, darling,” said Mama, smiling down on her through her tears. “I was thinking how good and grateful we ought to be to Him, who has guarded us all these long years, and now brought us together again.
“Safely and well,” added Papa.
“And, my Lena, we all must try to show our love and thankfulness not only in words, but in very deed and truth.”
At that moment a knock was heard at the door, and Milly looked in. “As you were not in your room, Mama, I thought you must be in here,” she said.
“Looking at your beloved sea,” said Papa, holding out his hand to her to come and join them.
“Is Milly so fond of it?” asked Lena.
“Yes, so fond that we were thinking of making a present of her to the captain of our ship,” said Papa, laughing.
“I have the sea here, and you as well, and,” she added shyly, “Lena too.”
“True, most sensible of little women; but, Lena, you must not think she is always so alarmingly sensible, for alas!”—and here Papa shook his head with affected sadness,—“she does love fun and romping sometimes.”
Millicent laughed as Lena exclaimed eagerly—
“Oh, I am so glad, for I do, and I do want her to be my companion; we can have such fun on the rocks, Milly.”
“Yes, dear; I trust you will be firm friends as well as companions. Milly has been longing for sister Lena.”
“And I have been longing for her,” was Lena’s answer.
“You have been very quick putting Lucy to bed: was she good?” asked Mrs. Graham.
“Oh, Hester did that; she was quite good with her, and Aunt Mary said I had better not stay, for she wanted her to grow accustomed to Hester.”
“And where are you to sleep?”
“In the room with Lucy. I took off my things there, and I thought you might want me to help you.”
“Oh, let me do that to-night,” pleaded Lena.
“I shall be glad of help from you both. We have been idling our time away here talking instead of getting ready for dinner, and nothing is unpacked.”
So saying, Mrs. Graham returned to her room, followed by the two girls, and very soon they were both busily engaged, undoing parcels, and getting out things that were required for the night. At first they delayed one another by both working at the same box, and strewing its contents over the floor. Such dreadful confusion ensued from this, that Mrs. Graham proposed that one should do the unpacking, while the other put the things away tidily in the drawers.
“Who shall unpack?” asked Lena.
“Well, I think you had better, and Milly can put away, for she knows what we shall require at first.”
“I shall know soon, too, shan’t I?” asked Lena; “but I like unpacking best, and seeing what you have got.”
“You will never get through your work if you stop to examine and admire everything,” said Mrs. Graham, as she watched her taking a good look at each thing she brought out of the box.
Milly took the opportunity while she was stooping down to take some clothes out of Lena’s arms, to whisper, “I like the flowers so much.”
“Do you know which are meant for you?” she asked, stopping in her work for a reply.
“Yes, the primroses, Aunt Mary told me. I think them lovely.”
After this they worked away busily until dinner-time. Then, when the bell sounded, Lena rushed off to tell Aunt Mary what she had been doing, and also to inform her that they were all dear darlings; and, “what did Auntie think of Milly?”
Auntie’s opinion was very favourable.
Then Lena suggested, “But don’t you think she is very quiet?”
“She is very sweet and gentle, and I think very shy; but as you know, Lena, I do not dislike a little bit of shyness in children; it is far, far better than being forward.”
“But not too shy?”
“Milly is not that; and I feel sure that you will be great friends as well as loving little sisters before long.”
This conversation took place as they went down to the drawing-room, Lena hanging on to her Aunt’s arm, as she eagerly questioned her. Finding no one in the drawing-room, Lena began again—
“Isn’t she tall, Auntie, nearly as tall as I am?”—the “she” alluded to being, of course, Milly.
“Quite as tall as you are, I think, though that is not such an enormous height, for”——
“No, I know,” burst in Lena; “I wish I was taller, because people will never believe that I am so much older than she is.”
Miss Somerville laughed as she answered, “I do not think that that need cause you unhappiness, dear.”
The entrance of Mrs. Graham and Milly put an end to their conversation; then Colonel Graham came in, and they all went into the dining-room.
After dinner the two sisters went off together to Lena’s room, to see all her treasures. There had been a certain constraint and shyness between them, as is so often the case with children in the presence of their elders. When they were alone, this wore off very quickly, and soon they were chatting away together, the best of friends; and although Lena’s tongue was going at a gallop, Milly managed to keep up a very good second.
When Aunt Mary came to tell them it was time to go to bed, she found them seated, side by side, on the floor, Milly clasping in her arms “Millicent Lucy,” while Lena held forth on the doings and sayings of Aunt Mary and herself; and promising Milly all sorts of delights, in both their names.
“O Auntie, we are having such a nice talk.”
“Which I have come to put an end to.”
“Already?”
“Yes, dears; it is prayer-time now.”
At this both girls jumped up, and Dolly being put away carefully, the two girls followed their Aunt downstairs, hand clasped in hand.
Later, Mama went up with her two girls to see Lucy. Such a pretty picture she made, Lena thought, as she looked down on the chubby little face, all flushed with sleep, one small arm thrown over her head, and the fair curls all tossed about in confusion. As Mrs. Graham looked down on her little one, her heart swelled with love and gratitude at once more having all her children with her. Putting an arm round each of the others, she said in a low voice, “I trust, darlings, that you both thanked Him to-night for His great mercy to us all?”
“Yes, Mama,” Milly whispered, shyly. “And for letting Lena be so nice and kind, and Aunt Mary too.”
“And, Mama, I have to thank Him for double as much as Milly has, for I have four of you all at once, and you are all just as nice as I hoped and expected.”
“I am glad you are not disappointed in any of us, darling,” answered her mother with a smile; “but we must not talk any more beside Lucy or we shall awake her.”
“I may give her one kiss, please, Mama,” said Lena; “she does look such a sweet!”
“Only one, and try and not to awake her, dear,” was the answer. Then they left Milly, and Mama took Lena to her room, and said good-night.
Aunt Mary had been in and given her good-night kiss, and Lena was just falling off to sleep, all sorts of pleasant happy thoughts passing through her mind, in the confused sort of way that so often happens after anything pleasant has occurred—thoughts half real, half dreams, all jumbled up together in hopeless confusion, but very sweet withal,—when the door of her room opened very gently, but still making just noise enough to call forth the sleepy question, “Auntie, is that you?”
“No, darling, it’s Mama.”
“Mama!” she exclaimed, raising her head and rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“I could not go to sleep without one more look at my newly restored treasure.”
Throwing her arms round her mother’s neck, she said fervently, “I am so glad to have you, Mama; and I will be a treasure to you and be so good, indeed I will.”
“God grant it, my darling,” was Mama’s answer to her as she laid the sleepy little head on the pillow again. Then kneeling beside her child’s little bed she thanked Him, in a few heartfelt words, for having watched over and guarded her little one, during those six long years of separation.