Airy Fairy Lilian

"Not altogether wasted," sweetly: "it has at least enabled me to discover how it was you eluded the rain this evening."

"You met Mrs. Arlington before to-day?" asks Guy, who is half amused and half relieved, as he remembers how needlessly jealous he has been about his brother's attentions to Lilian. He feels also some vague doubts as to the propriety of Cyril's losing his heart to a woman of whom they know nothing; and his singular silence on the subject of having made her acquaintance is (to say the least of it) suspicious. But, as Cyril has been in a chronic state of love-making ever since he got into his first tall hat, this doubt causes him but little uneasiness.

"Yes," says Cyril, in answer to his question.

"Is she as pretty as Sir Guy says?" asks Lilian, smiling.

"Quite as pretty, if not more so. One may always depend upon Guy's taste."

"What a good thing it was you knew her! It saved you from that dreadful shower," says Lilian, good-naturedly, seeing intuitively he is vexed. "We were not so fortunate: we had to run for our lives all the way home. It is a pity, Florence, you didn't know her also, as, being so near the house, you might have thrown yourself upon her hospitality for a little while."

"I hardly think I see it in that light," drawls Florence, affectedly. "I confess I don't feel exactly ambitious about making the acquaintance of this Mrs. – er – "

"Arlington is her name," suggests Cyril, quietly. "Have you forgotten it? My dear Florence, you really should see some one about your memory: it is failing every day."

"I can still remember some things," retorts Miss Beauchamp, blandly.

By this time it has occurred to Lady Chetwoode that matters are not going exactly smoothly; whereupon she glances at Miss Beauchamp, then at Lilian, and finally carries them both off with her to the drawing-room.

"If there is one thing I detest," says Cyril, throwing himself back in his chair, with an impatient movement, when he has closed the door upon them, "it is a vindictive woman. I pity the man who marries Florence Beauchamp."

"You are rather hard upon her, are you not?" says Guy. "I have known her very good-natured."

"Lucky you! I cannot recall many past acts of kindness on her part."

"So you met Mrs. Arlington?" says Guy, carelessly.

"Yes; one day I restored to her her dog; and to-day she offered me shelter from the rain, simply because she couldn't help it. There our acquaintance rests."

"Where is the rose she gave you?" asks Guy, with a laugh, in which, after a moment's struggle, Cyril joins.

"Don't lose your heart to her, old boy," Guy says, lightly; but Cyril well knows he has meaning in what he says.

* * * * * * *

CHAPTER XI

"There were two cousins almost like to twins;And so they grew together, like two flowersUpon one stem." – Shelley."It was a babe, beautiful from its birth." – Shelley.

The next day awakes calm and fair, and full of the rich ripeness that belongs to August. Lilian, opening her blue eyes upon the world at half-past seven, calls her nurse, and being dressed rushes forth into the garden to drink in all the first sweet freshness of the day.

The dew still lingers upon lawn and blossom; the spiders' webs glisten like jeweled nets in the dancing sunbeams; the exquisite opal flush of the morning sky has grown and spread and deepened, until all the heavens are tinged with warmest carmine.

There is "splendor in the grass," and "glory in the flower," and Lilian, flitting from bush to bush, enjoys everything to its utmost; she plucks two pale roses for her own bosom, and one, deep red and richly perfumed, to lay beside Lady Chetwoode's plate. This is a usual morning offering not to be neglected.

Just as she has made a careful choice, the breakfast bell rings loudly, and, running at her quickest – most reckless – speed through the hall, she barely succeeds in stopping herself as she comes up to Sir Guy at the door of the morning-room.

"Oh," cries she, with a little gasp, "another moment and I should have been in your arms. I never saw you. Good-morning, Guardy," gayly.

"Good-morning, my ward. I beg you to understand I could have welcomed that other moment. Why, what an early little bird you are! How long have you been abroad?"

"For hours and hours, half a day, while you – lazy man – were sound asleep. See what spoil I have gathered: " pointing to the heavy roses at her breast.

"Lovely, indeed," says Guy, who is secretly of opinion that the wild-rose complexion she has snatched from the amorous wind is by far the loveliest spoil of the two.

"And is not this sweet?" she says, holding up to his face the "red, red rose," with a movement full of grace.

"Very," replies he, and stooping presses his lips lightly to her white hand.

"I meant the rose, not the hand," says she, with a laugh and a faint blush.

"Did you? I thought the hand very much the sweeter of the two. Is it for me?"

"No!" says Miss Chesney, with much emphasis; and, telling him he is quite too foolish to be listened to any longer, she opens the door of the breakfast-room, and they both enter it together, to find all the others assembled before them, and the post lying in the centre of the table. All, that is, that remains of it, – namely, one letter for Lilian and two or three for Guy.

These latter, being tinged with indigo, are of an uninteresting description and soon read. Miss Chesney's, on the contrary, is evidently full of information. It consists of two whole sheets closely covered by a scrawling handwriting that resembles nothing so much as the struggles of a dying fly.

When she has read it twice over carefully – and with considerable difficulty – she lays it down and looks anxiously at Lady Chetwoode.

"Auntie," she begins, with a bright blush and a rather confused air.

"Yes, dear?"

"This letter" – touching it – "is from my cousin."

"Yes, – from your cousin? The lad who grew up with you at the Park?" says Lady Chetwoode, with a kindly nod of comprehension.

Then ensues a pause. Somehow every one has stopped talking, and Lady Chetwoode has set down the teapot and turned to Lilian with an air full of expectancy. They all feel that something yet remains to be said.

Possessed with this idea, and seeing Lilian's hesitation, Lady Chetwoode says, in her gentlest tones:

"Well, dear?"

"He is unhappy," says Lilian, running one of her fingers up and down the table-cloth and growing more and more embarrassed: "every year he used to come to the Park for his holidays, and now – "

"And now he cannot go to the Park: is that it?"

"Yes. A little while ago he joined his regiment, and now he has leave of absence, and he has nowhere to spend it except at Colonel Graham's, who is his guardian and his uncle, and he hates Colonel Graham," says Lilian, impressively, looking at Lady Chetwoode with appealing eyes.

"Poor boy," says that kindest of women, "I do not like to hear of his being unhappy. Perhaps, Lilian, you would wish – "

"I want you to ask him here," says Lilian, quickly and boldly, coloring furiously, and fixing her great honest eyes on Lady Chetwoode. "He said nothing about it, but I know he would like to be where I am."

"My dear, of course," says Lady Chetwoode, with most unusual briskness for her, "ask him instantly to come here as soon as you like, to stay as long as you like."

"Auntie Nannie," says Lilian, rising tumultuously from her chair, "you are the dearest, kindest, best of women!" She presses her lips gently, although rapturously, to her auntie's cheek, after which she returns to her seat. "Now I am thoroughly content," she says naively: "I could not bear to picture Taffy wretched, and that old Colonel Graham is a downright Tartar!"

"'Taffy'! what an extraordinary name!" says Florence. "Is it a fancy name?"

"No; it is, I am ashamed to say, a nickname. I believe he was christened James, but one day when we were both almost babies he stole from me my best doll and squeezed the eyes out of it to see what lay behind, and I was very angry, and said he was a regular 'Taffy' to do such a thing. You know the old rhyme?" turning to Lady Chetwoode with a blush and a light laugh:

"Taffy was a Welshman,Taffy was a thief,Taffy came to my houseAnd stole a piece of beef.

There is a good deal more of it, quite as interesting, but of course you know it. Nurse laughed when I so christened him, and after that he was always called 'Master Taffy' by the servants, and nothing else."

"How nicknames do cling to one!"

"I don't believe I should know him by any other now. It suits him much better than his own, as he doesn't look the least in the world like a James."

"How old is your cousin?" asks Florence, with an eye to business.

"A year older than I am."

"And that is – "

"Nineteen."

"Indeed! I should have thought you older than that."

"He is very like me, and he is a dragoon!" says Lilian, proudly. "But I have never seen him since he was gazetted."

"Then you have not seen him in his uniform?" says Guy.

"No. But he tells me," glancing at her letter, "he looks 'uncommonly jolly' in it."

They all laugh. Even Florence condescends to be amused.

"When may we expect this hero?" asks Guy, kindly.

"His leave begins next week," answers Lilian, looking at Lady Chetwoode. "If he might come then, it would be such a comfort to him."

"Of course he must come then," says Lady Chetwoode. "Do not let him lose a day of his precious leave. I remember when Guy was in the army how stingy they were about granting him a few days now and then."

"The Mater's 'few days' always meant eight months out of the twelve," says Cyril, laughing, "and anything like the abuse she used to shower upon the colonel because he didn't see it in the light that she did, was never heard. It is unfit for publication."

"Archibald Chesney is coming here the twenty-ninth," says Guy. "So you will be able to make choice between your two cousins."

"Is Archibald coming?" surprised. "But my choice is already made. No one shall ever get inside Taffy in my affections."

"Thrice blessed Taffy," says Cyril. "See what it is to be a young and gallant plunger!"

"That wouldn't weigh with me," says Lilian, indignantly.

"Would it not?" asks Guy. "I was hoping otherwise. I was a plunger once. What is the renowned Taffy's other name?"

"Musgrave," says Lilian.

"A very pretty name," remarks Miss Beauchamp, who has received an unexpected check by the morning's post, and is consequently in high good humor.

"I think so too," returns Lilian.

"Five distinct blushes, and all about Taffy," says Cyril, meditatively. "Happy Taffy! I have counted them religiously. Are you very much in love with him, Lilian?"

"'In love'! nonsense!" laughing. "If you only saw Taffy! (But," with a glad smile, "you soon will.) He never remembers anything half an hour after he has said it, and besides," scornfully, "he is only a boy."

"'Only a boy'! Was there ever such willful waste! Such reckless, extravagant, woful waste! To throw away five priceless, divine blushes upon 'only a boy'! Oh, that I were a boy! Perhaps, Lilian, when you come to know me longer I shall be happy enough to have one whole blush all to myself."

"Be consoled," says Miss Chesney, saucily: "I feel assured the longer I know you, the more reason I shall have to blush for you!"

* * * * * * *

All through the day Miss Chesney's joy makes itself felt. She is thoroughly happy, and takes very good care every one shall know it. She sings through the house, "up-stairs, down-stairs, and in my lady's chamber," gay as any lark, and inundates her nurse with vain conjectures and interrogations; as for example, whether she thinks Taffy will be much changed, – and whether twelve months could possibly produce a respectable moustache, – and if she really believes the fact of his being a full-blown dragoon will have a demoralizing effect upon him.

"An' no doubt it will, ninny," says nurse, shaking her beribboned head very solemnly, "I have no opinion of those soldiering ways myself. I fear me he will be growing wilder an' wilder every day."

"Oh! if that's all!" says Miss Lilian, with a relieved sigh. "I am only afraid he will be growing steadier and steadier; and Taffy would be ruined if he gave himself airs. I can't endure dignified young men."

"I don't think you need fret about that, my dear," says nurse, with conviction. "I never yet saw much signs of it about him."

Having used up all nurse's powers of conversation, Lilian goes on to Lady Chetwoode's boudoir, and finds out from her the room Taffy will be likely to occupy. Having inspected it, and brought up half the servants to change every article of furniture in the room into a different position, and given as much trouble as possible, and decided in her own mind the precise flowers she will place upon his dressing-table the morning of his arrival, she goes back to her auntie to tell her all she has done.

In fact, any one so busy as Miss Chesney during all this day can scarcely be imagined. Her activity is surprising, and draws from Cyril the remark that she ought to go as hospital nurse to the wounded Turks, as she seems eminently fitted for an energetic life.

After luncheon she disappears for a while, so that at last – though not for long – something like repose falls upon the house, which sinks into a state of quietude only to be equaled by that of Verne's "Van Tricasse."

Miss Beauchamp is in her room, studying art; Cyril is walking with a heart full of hope toward The Cottage; Lilian is absent; Guy is up-stairs with his mother, relating to her a new grievance anent poachers.

The lad now in trouble is an old offender, and Guy is puzzled what to do with him. As a rule all scamps have something interesting about them, and this Heskett is an unacknowledged favorite of Sir Guy's.

"Still I know I ought to dismiss him," he says, with a rather troubled air, and an angry, disappointed expression upon his face.

"He is young, poor lad," says Lady Chetwoode.

"So he is, and his mother is so respectable. One hardly knows what to do. But this last is such a flagrant act, and I swore I would pack him about his business if it occurred again. The fact is, I rather fancy the boy, and his wild ways, and don't like driving him to destruction. What shall I do, mother?"

"Don't do anything, my dear," replies she, easily.

"I wish I could follow your advice," – smiling, – "but, unfortunately, if I let him off again I fear it will be a bad example to the others. I almost think – "

But what he thinks on this particular subject is never known.

There is a step outside the door, – a step well known to one at least of those within, – the "soft frou-frou and rustle" of a woman's gown, – and then the door is pushed very gently open, and Lilian enters, with a curious little bundle in her arms.

"See what I've got!" she cries, triumphantly, going over to Lady Chetwoode, and kneeling down beside her. "It's a baby, a real live baby! look at it, auntie; did you ever see such a beauty?"

"A baby," says Lady Chetwoode, fearfully, putting up her glasses, and staring cautiously down upon the rosy little fellow who in Lilian's encircling arms is making a desperate effort to assert his dignity, by sitting up and glaring defiantly around him.

"Yes, indeed; I carried him away when I found him, and have been playing with him for the last ten minutes in my own room. Then I began to think that you might like to see him, too."

"That was very nice of you, my dear," with some hesitation. "It is certainly a very clean baby, but its dress is coarse. Whose baby is it?"

"He belongs to the laundress, I think," says Lilian, "but I'm not quite sure. I was running through the kitchen when I saw him; isn't he a rogue?" as baby puts up a chubby hand to seize the golden locks so near him: "look at his eyes, as big as saucers."

She laughs delightedly, and baby laughs back at her again, and makes another violent jump at her yellow hair. Sir Guy, gazing intently at the pretty picture, at Lilian's flushed and lovely face, thinks he has never before seen her look half so sweet. Gay, merry, fascinating she always is, but with this new and womanly tenderness within her eyes, her beauty seems trebled. "See, he wants my hair: is he not a darling?" she says, turning her face, rose-red with pleasure, up to Sir Guy.

"The laundress's child, – Lilian, my dear!" says Lady Chetwoode, in a faint tone of expostulation.

"Well, Jane was holding it in her arms, but it can't be hers, decidedly, because she hasn't got one."

"Proof positive," says Guy.

"Nor can it be cook's, because hers is grown up: so it must be the laundress's. Besides, she was standing by, and she looked so glad about it and so pleased when I took it that I am sure she must be his mother. And of course she is proud of you, you bonny boy: so should I be, with your lovely face. Oh, look at his little fists! he is doubling them up just as though he were going to fight the world. And so he shall fight it, if he likes, a darling! Come; your mammy is pining for you."

As she speaks she rises, but baby is loath to go yet awhile. He crows so successfully at Lady Chetwoode that he makes another conquest of her, and receives several gentle pats and a kiss from her, to Lilian's great gratification.

"But he is too heavy for you," says her ladyship, addressing Lilian. "Guy, ring the bell for one of the servants to take him down."

"And offend his mother mortally. No indeed, auntie. We should get no clothes fit to wear next week if we committed such a betise. As I brought him up, so I shall carry him down, though, to do him justice, he is heavy. No servant shall touch him, the sweet boy," – this to baby in a fond aside.

"I will carry him down for you," says Guy, advancing slowly from the window where he has been standing.

"You! Oh, Sir Guy, fancy you condescending to touch a baby. Though I forgot," with a quick, mischievous look at him from her azure eyes, "I believe there once was a baby you even professed to be fond of; but that was long ago. By the bye, what were you looking so stern about just as I came in? Were you passing sentence of death on any one?"

"Not quite so bad as that," says Lady Chetwoode. "It is another of those tiresome poachers. And this Heskett, is certainly a very naughty boy. He was caught in the act last night, and Guy doesn't know what to do with him."

"Let him off, forgive him," says Lilian, lightly, speaking to her guardian. "You can't think how much pleasanter you will feel if you do."

"I believe you are right," says Guy, laughing, "and I dare say I should give him a last chance, but that I have passed my word. Give me that great heavy child: he looks as though he were weighing you down to the ground."

"I think she holds him very prettily," says Lady Chetwoode: "I should like to have a picture of her just so."

"Perhaps some day she will gratify you," returns Guy, encouragingly. "Are you going to give me that enfant terrible, Miss Chesney, before you expire?"

"I am stronger than you think. And are you quite sure you can hold a baby? that you won't let it fall? Take care, now, and don't look as though you thought he would break. That will do. Auntie, don't you think he would make a capital nurse?"

"I hope that child will reach its mother alive," says auntie, in a tone suggestive of doubt, after which Guy, escorted by Lilian, leaves the room.

Half-way down the stairs this brilliant procession meets Florence coming up.

"What is that?" she asks, stopping short in utter amazement, and staring blankly at the baby, who is blinking his great eyes in a most uncompromising fashion and is evidently deriving much refreshment from his little fat, red thumb.

"A baby," says Guy, gravely.

"A real live baby," says Lilian, "a real small duck," giving the child's plump cheek a soft pinch over Guy's shoulder. "Don't be frightened, Florence; he don't bite; you may give him a kiss in all safety."

"Thanks," says Florence, drawing her skirts closer round her, as though the very idea has soiled her garments. "I don't care about kissing promiscuous babies. Really, Guy, if you only knew how ridiculous you look, you would spare yourself the humiliation of being so seen by your servants."

"Blame Lilian for it all," returns Guy. "I know I shall blush myself to death if I meet any of the women."

"I think Sir Guy never before looked so interesting," says Miss Chesney, who is making frantic play all this time with the baby; but its mood has changed, and now her most energetic efforts are received – not with smiles – but with stolid indifference and unblinking contempt by the young gentleman in arms.

"I cannot say I agree with you," Miss Beauchamp says, with much subdued scorn, "and I do not think it is kind to place any one in a false position."

She lets a little disdainful angry glance fall upon Lilian, – who unfortunately does not profit by it, as she does not see it, – and sweeps up the stairs to her aunt's apartments, while Guy (who is not to be sneered out of his undertaking) stalks on majestically to the kitchen, followed by Lilian, and never pauses until he places the chubby little rogue he carries in its mother's arms, – who eventually turns out to be the laundress.

"I am not a judge," he says to this young woman, who is curtsying profusely and is actually consumed with pride, "but Miss Chesney has declared your son to be the loveliest child in the world, and I always agree with Miss Chesney, – for reasons of my own."

"Oh, thank you, Sir Guy; I'm sure I'm much obliged to you, Miss Chesney," says the laundress, turning the color of a full-blown peony, through excitement.

"What is his name?" asks Lilian, giving the boy a last fond poke with her pretty slender finger.

"Abiram, miss," replies the mother, which name much displeases Lilian, who would have liked to hear he was called Alaric, or Lancelot, or any other poetical appellation suitable for the most beautiful child in the world.

"A very charming name," says Guy, gravely; and, having squeezed a half-sovereign into the little fellow's fat hand, he and Lilian go through the passages into the open air.

"Guardy," says Lilian, "what is a 'promiscuous baby'?"

"I wish I knew," replies he: "I confess it has been puzzling me ever since. We must ask Florence when we go in."

Here they both laugh a little, and stroll on for a time in silence. At length, being prompted thereto by her evil genius, Lilian says:

"Tell me, who is the Heskett you and auntie were talking about just now?"

"A boy who lives down in the hollow beneath Leigh's farm, – a dark boy we met one day at the end of the lawn; you remember him?"

"A lad with great black eyes and a handsome face with just a little soupçon of wickedness about him? of course I do. Oh! I like that boy. You must forgive him, Sir Guy, or I shall be unhappy forever."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, well. And his mother, too: she is a dear old thing, and but that she has an undeniable penchant for tobacco, would be perfection. Guardy, you must forgive him."

"My dear child, I can't."

"Not when I ask you?" in a tone of purest astonishment.

"Not even then. Ask me something else, – in fact, anything, – and I will grant it, but not this."

"I want nothing else," coldly. "I have set my heart on freeing this poor boy and you refuse me: and it is my first request."

"It is always your first request, is it not?" he says, smiling a rather troubled smile. "Yesterday – "

"Oh, don't remind me of what I may have said yesterday," interrupts Miss Chesney, impatiently: "think of to-day! I ask you to forgive Heskett – for my sake."

"You should try to understand all that would entail," speaking the more sternly in that it makes him positively wretched to say her nay: "if I were to forgive Heskett this time, I should have every second man on my estate a poacher."

"On the contrary, I believe you would make them all your devoted slaves.

'The quality of mercy is not strain'd;It droppeth, as the gentle dew from heaven,Upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd.'"

"I have said I would not, and even you can hardly think it right that I should break my word."

"No, you would rather break his mother's heart!" By this time the spoiled Lilian has quite made up her mind to have her own way, and is ready to try any means to gain it. "Your word!" she says disdainfully: "if you are going to emulate the Medes and Persians, of course there is no use of my arguing with you. You ought to be an ancient Roman; even that detestable Brutus might be considered soft-hearted when compared with you."