'I'm much mistaken if you won't be hearing something in a day or two that'll cheer you up. But I mustn't tell you about it.'

And Ruth could not persuade her to say more.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER III.--THE OLD CABINET IN THE Pa.s.sAGE.

The very day that Ruth was crying about the broken basin, a conversation which concerned her, though she little knew it, was going on a good many miles away.

In a pretty room in a large country-house--a much larger and 'grander'

house than the Towers, a lady, sweet and young, was lying on a sofa.

In front of her stood a little girl--a pretty little creature of eight or nine. She had a bright expression usually, but just now she seemed uncomfortable and ill at ease. She fidgeted from one foot to the other, and frowned as she looked down, and her face was flushed.

'Tell me, Flossie,' said the lady. 'You're quite old enough to explain.

Why don't you want to go to grandmamma's? I should feel so happy about you with her while I am away, and then papa and I will come to fetch you when I am quite strong again.'

'Mayn't I go with you, mamma?' said the child.

Mrs. Vyner shook her head.

'No, dear, it is impossible. You must either go to grandmamma's or stay here with Miss Kelly. And if you don't go to the Towers, I must tell grandmamma that you don't want to go.'

'No, no,' said Flossie, 'don't do that, mamma; I'll go, but please don't be long away. And please tell grandmamma that I'm too little to be always in her room. Mayn't I have a nursery, like at home?'

'I thought you loved being a great deal with grandmamma,' said Mrs. Vyner in a disappointed tone. 'I don't understand you, Flossie. However, you are to have a sort of nursery, and there is a very nice young servant there who is to take you out and amuse you. For I should be sorry to disappoint Miss Kelly of her holiday when she has had none for so long.'

Florentia's face brightened a little.

'I'll go into the boudoir as seldom as I can, and _never_ along the pa.s.sage to the book-room,' she murmured to herself, but her mother did not catch the words.

It was a week or so after this--fully a week, it may have been ten days, after Ruth's accident--that Lady Melicent sent for her one morning to speak to her. Ruth felt just a little frightened; surely nothing was going to be said about the basin _now_, so long after?

But the old lady's kind face rea.s.sured her.

'I sent for you, Ruth,' she said, 'to tell you that for a few weeks your work is going to be a little changed. Not disagreeably so, I hope. My little grand-daughter, Miss Vyner--Miss Flossie they generally call her--is coming to stay with me while her parents are abroad. Her nursery governess is to have a holiday, so we must take care of her ourselves.

Mossop will superintend, but you, Ruth, will be with her altogether. You will dress her, and take her out and amuse her. I feel that I may have confidence in you, for you have been carefully brought up, and you have shown that you are obedient and straightforward. I was sorry for my bowl to be broken, and I hope in future you will be more careful, but I was very glad you told about it.'

Ruth flushed a little; partly with shame, for she did feel she had been careless, but more with pleasure. She was glad to have pleased Lady Melicent, and she was delighted to hear the news. To be under Cousin Ellen instead of Naylor was nice of itself, and to have the care of little Miss Flossie _would_ be a treat!

'Thank you very much, my lady,' she said timidly. 'I will do my best, and indeed I will try to be more careful.'

She felt in such good spirits the next day or two, that she did not mind the _rather_ grim looks she got from Naylor. Not that Naylor minded a little extra work to oblige my lady, but she felt sure Ruth would have her head turned once she was removed from _her_ authority, even for a time.

A week, then a fortnight, pa.s.sed. All was ready for the little visitor.

Two days before her arrival Ruth was sweeping the pa.s.sage leading to the book-room early one morning, when her glance again fell on the cabinet and its contents. It was a very sunny day, and the bright rays showed off as before the green casket, and revealed at the same time that the cabinet was very dusty indeed. Ruth drew near. To a very tidy, expert housemaid there is a sort of fascination in dust. Her fingers quivered.

'I'm _sure_ Naylor often forgets that cabinet,' she said. 'She'd much better let me do it. And what's more, I will, just for this once.'

She lifted off carefully some of the ornaments, and placed them safely on the floor. Then she raised the green casket, admiring it as she did so, when, oh horror! The lid seemed in some extraordinary way to detach itself, and fell to the ground with a sharp sound; and when the girl, trembling with fear, stooped to pick it up, she saw it was in two pieces; a corner, a good-sized corner, was broken off! For a moment or two, Ruth was really too appalled to move; then she looked at it closely. It was a neat fracture, by replacing it on the box, and 'standing' the whole on the cabinet again, the breakage did not show. Just then Ruth heard Naylor's voice; quick as thought she put back the two or three uninjured ornaments beside the casket as usual, and flew down the pa.s.sage to the book-room, and there Naylor found her a few minutes later, quietly dusting. The temptation to conceal this new misfortune was too great, and Ruth yielded to it.

At first she only said to herself she would wait till the evening--Naylor was in a fussy humour, she could see. But evening came, and then next morning, and her courage grew ever fainter, till at last came the day Miss Flossie was expected, and _then_ Ruth felt it was too late.

She could not tell _now_, and have a scene like the last time, just as the little lady arrived. And evidently Naylor had not discovered the breakage, though the cabinet and the ornaments were carefully dusted. This puzzled Ruth a little; she could only suppose that the upper-housemaid dusted with her feather brush without moving the things about. And she tried to put the matter altogether out of her mind, though there were times--when she knelt to say her prayers, morning and evening, was the worst time--that she could not succeed in doing so, and more than one night she cried herself to sleep, crying more bitter tears than even the day Naylor had been so harsh and unkind. For _then_ Ruth's conscience was clear. Ah, the difference that makes!

Florentia proved to be a quiet, easily-managed child. Indeed she was rather too quiet in the opinion of her grandmother and the old servants, who had known her much more lively.

'Are you quite well, darling?' asked Lady Melicent one day. 'I never hear you racing about and laughing as you did in the winter. Wouldn't you like a nice game of ball in the long pa.s.sage? You could play with Ruth at the end near the book-room where there is no furniture.'

'No, thank you, Granny,' the little girl replied. 'I'd rather go out a walk with Ruth. I like best playing in the garden.'

'And you like Ruth, dear? She is kind to you, I am sure?'

'Yes, thank you, grandmamma. I like Ruth, and she likes playing in the garden best too.'

A sudden thought struck Lady Melicent. 'Flossie,' she said, 'will you run and fetch me the atlas which you will see lying on the side-table in the book-room. Your mother wants me to show you where they are now, on the map.'

Flossie hesitated. Lady Melicent and she were in the boudoir.

'In the book-room?' she repeated.

'Yes,' said her grandmother decidedly, 'in the book-room. Be quick, dear.'

Flossie went. But she was not quick, and when after some minutes she returned, she seemed rather out of breath.

'Why have you been so long? It doesn't take a minute to run down the pa.s.sage,' said the old lady.

Flossie grew red.

'I went the other way,' she said. 'I don't like the pa.s.sage. I went down-stairs, and up the back-stairs.'

Her grandmother looked at her keenly.

'What a strange idea!' she said. 'Do you think there is an ogre in the pa.s.sage?'

But Flossie did not laugh or even smile. And just then Ruth came to fetch her. Lady Melicent sighed when she was left alone. 'I wonder,' she thought, 'if I took Ruth into my confidence, if perhaps she might help to make Flossie tell. I can see the child will not be happy till she does, and I do not want to ask her. I should be so afraid of making her deny it. Ruth behaved so well about my beef-tea bowl, I am sure she has nothing underhand about her.'

And the old lady looked quite anxious and depressed.

Ruth and her little charge meanwhile were sauntering slowly up and down the garden. In spite of Flossie's saying that it amused her to 'play'

in the garden, it did not look very like it. She seemed spiritless and dull, and Ruth too appeared to have lost her usual bright happy eagerness.

Neither spoke for some time; at last Ruth half started, as it suddenly struck her that she was scarcely fulfilling her duty.

'Miss Flossie, dear,' she said, 'wouldn't you like a game? It's not warm to-day, and we're walking along so slowly. Shall I fetch your ball or your hoop? Or would you like to run races?'

'No, thank you; I'd rather just walk along,' said the child. Then after a moment's silence she went on. 'I don't like much being at the Tower House now. Do you like it, Ruth? Would you not rather be at your own home?'