"It was not for corrupting the boys. That was done-or not done-by my amiable cousin Ted. What harm did her 'baccy do to living soul?"
"It is a risky thing, to say the least of it, for a living soul to defraud the revenue," said Clement.
"Of which probably she never heard."
"She must have seen the terms of her licence," said the General.
"Aye, a way of increasing the revenue by burthens on the chief solace of poverty," said Gerald hotly.
"You'll come to your senses by and by, young man," imperturbably answered the General.
"Is she likely to be able to pay?" asked Gerald in return.
"Oh yes, the policeman said she drove a very thriving trade, both with the boys and with the sailors, and that there was no doubt that she could pay."
Clement was very glad to hear it, for it not only obviated any sense of harshness in his mind, but he thought Gerald, in his present mood of compassion-or opposition, whichever it was-capable of offering to undertake to pay the fine for her.
Poor little Ludmilla was found the next day by Mrs. Henderson, crying softly over her work at the mosaic department-work which was only the mechanical arrangement from patterns provided, for she had no originality, and would never attain to any promotion in the profession.
Mrs. Henderson took the poor girl to her own little office, to try to comfort her, and bring her into condition for the rehearsal of the scene with Ferdinand, which she was to go through in Mr. Flight's parlour chaperoned by his mother. She was so choked with sobs that it did not seem probable that she would have any voice; for she had been struggling with her tears all day, and now, in the presence of her friend, she gave them a free course. She thought it so cruel-so very cruel of the gentlemen; how could they do such a thing to a poor helpless stranger? And that tall one-to be a clergyman-how could he?
Mrs. Henderson tried to represent that, having accepted the licence on certain terms, it was wrong to break them; and that the gentlemen must be right to hinder harm to their nephews.
It seemed all past the poor girl's understanding, since the nephews had taken no harm; and indeed the other boys had only touched the spirits by way of joke and doing something forbidden: it had all come of those horrid young midshipmen, who had come down and worried and bothered her mother into giving them the bottles of spirits which had not been mixed. It was very hard.
"Ah, Lydia, one sin leads no one knows where! Those little boys, think of their first learning the taste for alcohol in secret!"
Lydia did see this, but after all, she said, it was not the spirits, but the tobacco, which the Dutch and American sailors were glad enough to exchange for her mother's commodities. She had never perceived any harm in the arrangement, and hardly comprehended when the saying, "Custom to whom custom," was pointed out to her.
Kalliope asked whether the fine would fall heavily on her mother.
"Oh, that is worst of all. Mother is gone to Avoncester to raise the money. She won't tell me how. And I do believe O'Leary's circus is there."
Then came another sobbing fit.
"But how-what do you mean, my dear?"
"O'Leary was our clown when my father-my dear father-was alive. He was a coarse horrid man, as cruel to the poor dear horses as he dared. And now he has set up for himself, and has been going about all over the county. Mother has been quite different ever since she met him one day in Avoncester, and I fear-oh, I fear he will advance her this money, and make her give me up to him; and my dear father made her promise that I would never be on the boards."
This was in an agony of crying, and it appeared that Schnetterling had really been a very decent, amiable person, who had been passionately fond of his little daughter. Her recollection dated from the time when the family had come from America, and he had become partner in a circus, intending to collect means enough to retire to a home in Germany, but he had died five years ago, at Avoncester, of fever, and his wife had used his savings to set up this little shop at Rockquay, choosing that place because it was the resort of foreign trading-vessels, with whom her knowledge of languages would be available. She had suffered from the same illness, and her voice had been affected at the time, and she was altogether subdued and altered, and had allowed her daughter to receive a good National school training; but with the recovery of health, activity, and voice, a new temper, or rather the old one renewed, had seized her, and since she had met her former companion, Ludmilla foreboded that the impulse of wandering had come upon her, and that if the interference of the authorities pressed upon her and endangered her traffic, she would throw it up altogether, and drag her daughter into the profession so dreadful to all the poor child's feelings.
No wonder that the girl cried till she had no voice, and took but partial comfort from repeated assurances that her friends would do their utmost on her behalf. Mrs. Henderson tried to compose and cheer her, walking with her herself to St. Kenelm's Parsonage, and trying to keep up her earnest desire to please Mr. Flight, the special object of her veneration. But wishes were ineffectual to prevent her from breaking down in the first line of her first song, and when Mr. Flight blamed, and Lady Flight turned round on the music-stool to say severely-"Command yourself, Lydia," she became almost hysterical.
"Wait a minute," said Gerald. "Give her a glass of wine, and she will be better."
"Oh no, no; please, I'm temp-" and a sob.
The five o'clock tea was still standing on a little table, and Gerald poured out a cup and took it to her, then set her down in an arm- chair, and said-
"I'll go through Angus' part, and she will be better," and as she tried to say "Thank you," and "So kind," he held up his hand, and told her to be silent. In fact, his encouragement, and the little delay he had made, enabled her to recover herself enough to get through her part, though nothing like as well as would have been expected of her.
"Never mind," said Gerald, "she will be all right when my uncle comes. Won't you, Mona?"
"I should have expected-" began Lady Flight.
Gerald held up his hand in entreaty.
"People's voices can't be always the same," he said cheerily. "I know our Mona will do us credit yet! Won't you, Mona? You know how to pity me with my logs!"
"You had better go and have some tea in the kitchen, Lydia," said Lady Flight repressively; and Ludmilla curtsied herself off, with a look of gratitude out of her swollen eyelids at Gerald.
"Poor little mortal," he said, as she went. "I am afraid that in her case summum jus was summa injuria."
"It was quite right to prosecute that mischievous woman," said Mr. Flight.
"Maybe," said Gerald; "but wheat will grow alongside of tares."
"I hope the girl is wheat," half ironically and severely said the lady.
Gerald shrugged his shoulders and took his leave.
CHAPTER XVI. "SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES"
And with trumpets and with banners As becomes gintale good manners.-THACKERAY.
A telegram from Sir Jasper brought the good news that Fergus's name was high on the Winchester roll, and that he was sure of entering college after the holidays. Gillian alone was allowed to go up to the station with her uncle Reginald to meet the travellers, lest the whole family should be too demonstrative in their welcome. And at the same time there emerged from the train not only Captain Armytage, but also Lancelot Underwood and his little boy. All the rest of his family were gone to Stoneborough to delight the hearts of Dr. May and his daughter Ethel.
Gillian was in such training that she durst not embrace her brother when he tumbled out of the carriage, though she could hardly keep her feet from dancing, but she only demurely said-
"Mamma and all of them are at Aunt Jane's."
"Come then," said Sir Jasper to Captain Armytage, for which Gillian was not grateful, or thought herself not, for she made a wry face.