Laura gave a gulp. She dropped her little chin on her hands and thought.

Well--why not? It would be all hateful to her--Mr. Helbeck and his house together. She knew very well, or guessed what his relation to her father had been. But what if it made Augustina strong, if in time she could be left with her brother altogether, to live with him?--In one or two of his letters he had proposed as much. Why, that would bring Laura's responsibility, her sole responsibility, at any rate, to an end.

She thought of Molly Friedland--of their girlish plans--of travel, of music.

"All right," she said, springing up. "We will go, Augustina. I suppose, for a little while, Mr. Helbeck and I can keep the peace. You must tell him to let me alone."

She paused, then said with sudden vehemence, like one who takes her stand--"And tell him, please, Augustina--make it very plain--that I shall never come in to prayers."

CHAPTER III

The sun was shining into Laura's room when she awoke. She lay still for a little while, looking about her.

Her room--which formed part of an eighteenth-century addition to the Tudor house--was rudely panelled with stained deal, save on the fireplace wall, where, on either side of the hearth, the plaster had been covered with tapestry. The subject of the tapestry was Diana hunting. Diana, white and tall, with her bow and quiver, came, queenly, through a green forest. Two greyhounds ranged beside her, and in the dim distance of the wood her maidens followed. On the right an old castle, with pillars like a Greek temple, rose stately but a little crooked on the edge of a blue sea; the sea much faded, with the wooden handle of a cupboard thrust rudely through it. Two long-limbed ladies, with pulled patched faces, stood on the castle steps. In front was a ship, with a waiting warrior and a swelling sail; and under him, a blue wave worn very threadbare, shamed indeed by that intruding handle, but still blue enough, still windy enough for thoughts of love and flight.

Laura, half asleep still, with her hands under her cheek, lay staring in a vague pleasure at the castle and the forest. "Enchanted cas.e.m.e.nts"--"perilous seas"--"in fairy lands forlorn." The lines ran sleepily, a little jumbled, in her memory.

But gradually the morning and the freshness worked; and her spirits, emerging from their half-dream, began to dance within her. When she sprang up to throw the window wide, there below her was the sparkling river, the daffodils waving their pale heads in the delicate Westmoreland gra.s.s, the high white clouds still racing before the wind. How heavenly to find oneself in this wild clean country!--after all the ugly squalors of parade and lodging-house, after the dingy bow-windowed streets with the March dust whirling through them.

She leant across the broad window-sill, her chin on her hands, absorbed, drinking it in. The eastern sun, coming slanting-ways, bathed her tumbled ma.s.ses of fair hair, her little white form, her bare feet raised tiptoe.

Suddenly she drew back. She had seen the figure of a man crossing the park on the further side of the river, and the maidenly instinct drove her from the window; though the man in question was perhaps a quarter of a mile away, and had he been looking for her, could not possibly have made out more than a pale speck on the old wall.

"Mr. Helbeck,"--she thought--"by the height of him. Where is he off to before seven o'clock in the morning? I hate a man that can't keep rational hours like other people! Fricka, come here!"

For her little dog, who had sprung from the bed after its mistress, was now stretching and blinking behind her. At Laura's voice it jumped up and tried to lick her face. Laura caught it in her arms and sat down on the bed, still hugging it.

"No, Fricka, I don't like him--I don't, I don't, I _don't!_ But you and I have just got to behave. If you annoy that big dog downstairs, he'll break your neck,--he will, Fricka. As for me,"--she shrugged her small shoulders,--"well, Mr. Helbeck can't break _my_ neck, so I'm dreadfully afraid I shall annoy him--dreadfully, dreadfully afraid! But I'll try not. You see, what we've got to do, is just to get Augustina well--stand over her with a broomstick and pour the tonics down her throat. Then, Fricka, we'll go our way and have some fun. Now look at us!----"

She moved a little, so that the cracked gla.s.s on the dressing-table reflected her head and shoulders, with the dog against her neck.

"You know we're not at all bad-looking, Fricka--neither of us. I've seen much worse. (Oh, Fricka! I've told you scores of times I can wash my face--without you--thank you!) There's all sorts of nice things that might happen if we just put ourselves in the way of them. Oh! I do want some fun--I do!--at least sometimes!"

But again the voice dropped suddenly; the big greenish eyes filled in a moment with inconsistent tears, and Laura sat staring at the sunshine, while the drops fell on her white nightgown.

Meanwhile Fricka, being half throttled, made a violent effort and escaped. Laura too sprang up, wiped away her tears as though she were furious with them, and began to look about her for the means of dressing.

Everything in the room was of the poorest and scantiest--the cottage washstand with its crockery, the bare dressing-table and dilapidated gla.s.s.

"A bath!--my kingdom for a bath! I don't mind starving, but one must wash. Let's ring for that rough-haired girl, Fricka, and try and get round her. Goodness!--no bells?"

After long search, however, she discovered a tattered shred of tapestry hanging in a corner, and pulled it vigorously. Many efforts, however, were needed before there was a sound of feet in the pa.s.sage outside.

Laura hastily donned a blue dressing-gown, and stood expectant.

The door was opened unceremoniously and a girl thrust in her head. Laura had made acquaintance with her the night before. She was the housekeeper's underling and niece.

"Mrs. Denton says I'm not to stop. She's noa time for answerin bells. And you'll have some hot water when t' kettle boils."

The door was just shutting again when Laura sprang at the speaker and caught her by the arm.

"My dear," she said, dragging the girl in, "that won't do at all. Now look here"--she held up her little white hand, shaking the forefinger with energy--"I don't--want--to give--any trouble, and Mrs. Denton may keep her hot water. But I must have a bath--and a big can--and somebody must show me where to go for water--and then--_then_, my dear--if you make yourself agreeable, I'll--well, I'll teach you how to do your hair on Sundays--in a way that will surprise you!"

The girl stared at her in sudden astonishment, her dark stupid eyes wavering. She had a round, peasant face, not without comeliness, and a l.u.s.treless shock of black hair. Laura laughed.

"I will," she said, nodding; "you'll see. And I'll give you notions for your best frock. I'll be a regular elder sister to you--if you'll just do a few things for me--and Mrs. Fountain. What's your name--Ellen?--that's all right. Now, is there a bath in the house?"

The girl unwillingly replied that there was one in the big room at the end of the pa.s.sage.

"Show it me," said Laura, and marched her off there. The rough-headed one led the way along the panelled pa.s.sage and opened a door.

Then it was Laura's turn to stare.

Inside she saw a vast room with finely panelled walls and a decorated ceiling. The sunlight poured in through an uncurtained window upon the only two objects in the room,--a magnificent bed, carved and gilt, with hangings of tarnished brocade,--and a round tin bath of a common, old-fashioned make, propped up against the wall. The oak boards were absolutely bare. The bed and the bath looked at each other.

"What's become of all the furniture?" said Laura, gazing round her in astonishment.

"The gentleman from Edinburgh had it all, la.s.st month," said the girl, still sullenly. "He's affther the bed now."

"Oh!--Does he often come here?"

The girl hesitated.

"Well, he's had a lot o' things oot o' t' house, sen I came."

"Has he?" said Laura. "Now, then--lend a hand."

Between them they carried off the bath; and then Laura informed herself where water was to be had, and when breakfast would be ready.

"T' Squire's gone oot," said Ellen, still watching the newcomer from under a pair of very black and beetling brows; "and Mrs. Denton said she supposed yo'd be wantin a tray for Mrs. Fountain."

"Does the Squire take no breakfast?"

"Noa. He's away to Ma.s.s--ivery mornin, an' he gets his breakfast wi'

Father Bowles."

The girl's look grew more hostile.

"Oh, does he?" said Laura in a tone of meditation. "Well, then, look here. Put another cup and another plate on Mrs. Fountain's tray, and I'll have mine with her. Shall I come down to the kitchen for it?"

"Noa," said the girl hastily. "Mrs. Denton doan't like foak i' t'

kitchen."

At that moment a call in Mrs. Denton's angriest tones came pealing along the pa.s.sage outside. Laura laughed and pushed the girl out of the room.

An hour later Miss Fountain was ministering to her stepmother in the most comfortable bedroom that the house afforded. The furniture, indeed, was a medley. It seemed to have been gathered out of many other rooms. But at any rate there was abundance of it; a carpet much worn, but still useful, covered the floor; and Ellen had lit the fire without being summoned to do it. Laura recognised that Mr. Helbeck must have given a certain number of precise orders on the subject of his sister.