PENELOPE.
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.
Chapter IV.
Nora never quite understood what prompted her to call out to Penelope in that sudden fashion; it seemed like a dream to her that she found herself walking over the familiar ground to the Deanery garden, Miss Harleford uttering rapid, although but half-intelligible, explanations, and saying, from time to time, "Now don't talk yet, Nora; you are all worn out, I can see."
But how had time passed with her since she and her mother had left Mrs. Bruce's kindly shelter? Nora made no effort to unravel the mystery of her silence until she was seated in the elder Miss Harleford's room.
With her usual impetuosity Penny had gone directly to her aunt, holding Nora by the hand, and introducing her briefly and joyfully as:
"Nora Phillips's daughter. We found each other, aunt," cried Penny, still rather inclined to be tearful.
Then Nora's bonnet and cloak were removed. She was seated in a comfortable chair before the fire, and presently a cozy tea-tray heaped with delicacies was at her side, Penny declaring she was to be feasted on everything good the Deanery larder contained. Neither of her two new friends was surprised to hear that Nora had been violently ill since she bade good-by to Mrs. Bruce. The widow and her daughter had gone to London, trusting to find employment in the large city; but there, in the poor lodging they had found, Nora fell ill, a low fever prostrating her just as her mother most needed her help.
"As soon as I got better," said Nora, "I began to think of seeing Mrs. Bruce—I had a fancy she might give me work in her shop. I was afraid to write, for fear that her hard-hearted son would not let her have the letter, and then—it was queer," added Nora, with a little flickering smile—"I was so sure that screen was bought for you, I made up my mind to try and find you, and perhaps you would let mamma have it again—the loss of it always grieved her—and perhaps you might give her work. Often and often when I was so ill and weak I used to think of the garden here, and fancy I could hear your name, 'Penelope,' and then everything seemed to be confused, and I fancied you were with me. As soon as I was better I persuaded mamma to let me come here. You know we have had to sell nearly everything we own, and to buy my ticket down here I sat up two nights working for our landlady in London. She is an actor's wife, and I helped her in making some costumes; but you don't know the feeling I had about seeing you. I kept saying to myself over and over, 'Penelope, Penelope—I will find her.' And so I did, for I was just coming from the train when I saw you. Oh, I could not help speaking your name aloud!"
"And how glad I am that you did!" cried Penelope, pressing Nora's hand. "Well, I'm sure it has all turned out beautifully, and all through Lion's thought of me—dear old Lion!"
The Deanery was in a state of pleasurable excitement that evening. First of all, a trusted old servant was dispatched to London to bring Mrs. Mayne back with her. What solid comforts went with old Harriet only she and Penelope knew; but certain it is the actor's family feasted on good things for a week to come. Then Penny established Nora in a pretty room near her own, insisting upon her going to bed, as she was so utterly exhausted. Nora lay still in the soft white bed, thoroughly happy, in spite of the queer sense that she must be dreaming. When Penelope left her alone, she raised herself in bed, gazing around at the pretty chintz-hung room, smiling at the reflection of her own face in the long mirror opposite. Finally she fell into a comfortable sleep, that now familiar name mingling with her dreams. Aunt Letitia, coming in to look at the girl, heard the name on her lips, "Penelope," and she said to herself, "Yes, I know Penny is doing just what her dear father would like."
What Penny was doing just then was to make her uncle feel for once he was the guardian of a very self-willed young lady. During dinner-time Penny discoursed eloquently upon the Maynes, repeating Nora's story with many exclamations of her own, and winding up by asking her uncle to grant her an hour alone in his study.
The Dean consented, wondering what his bright, impulsive Penelope had in her mind to say to him, and he was not surprised when she declared her intention of assuming full charge of the Maynes.
"I have nothing in the world to do," said Penny, making a little grimace as she sat in the lamp-light of her uncle's study; "and just reflect, uncle, what a responsibility a fortune like mine is. Why, it ought to be considered in trust, nearly all of it, for other people. I never felt half so interested in any one as I am in Nora Mayne. Now I'll tell you what I propose: I shall ask Nora and her mother to pay me a long visit at Harleford. There I can manage it so that Mrs. Mayne will not feel herself dependent. You know how much there is to do; and I will regularly agree with Nora that she is to be my companion at a fixed salary, don't you see? If it turns out badly, you, are at liberty to send them back to America, if you will manage that they have a sum settled on them which they will never know comes from me. Now, uncle," added Penny, laying her pretty cheek against the Dean's, "you may as well give in first as last."
The Dean had known from the outset that Penelope would have her own way, but I think a few words Miss Letitia spoke to him decided the question in his mind. Something she told him of their elder brother's story. "And he would have cared for her child," said the gentle little lady with a sigh. So Nora Mayne awoke at the Deanery in a new position. She was brought into the breakfast-room by Penelope, who was proud of her new friend, and the Dean welcomed her with gentle courtesy. He was thoroughly pleased, he admitted to Penelope, by the American girl's manner. Evidently her companionship would not be an injury to his beloved niece.
Nora Mayne often speaks of that bewilderingly happy day. By eleven o'clock she and Penelope were in the Deanery carriage on their way to Mrs. Bruce's. The elder girl had made Nora feel thoroughly at ease about the favors lavished upon her.
"You see," she said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "I was just needing some companion. Here in England we always engage companions for lonely sisterless girls like me" (a firm pressure of Nora's hand followed this), "and yet it is so hard to find just the right person. It has to be"—Penny hastily reviewed what she knew of Nora's capabilities—"it has to be a young girl who is fond of music, and charity visiting, and walking, and driving, and studying a great deal. Perhaps you wouldn't like the place, Nora? Of course you have only to say so, dear. And the salary I meant to give isn't very large—about £250 a year. Perhaps your mother and my aunt will decide about it."
What could Nora do but fling her arms around her new friend's neck and burst into happy tears? And what could she find to say when, an hour later, as they started for Mrs. Bruce's shop, Penelope placed a little purse in her hands, whispering, "I thought, dear, you'd like some of your salary in advance, as you said it worried you so much to owe Mrs. Bruce."
Mary Jane was busily engaged sorting wools when the Deanery carriage appeared and its occupants descended. She gave a little scream that brought her aunt from the back parlor. Through the glass of the door Mrs. Bruce recognized Nora, and flung the door open widely.
"My bonny lamb!" she cried out, and folded Nora in her arms warmly. What an hour that was! To behold Nora as Miss Penelope Harleford's chosen friend was to make her more than ever dear to Mrs. Bruce. The two young people sat down in Mrs. Bruce's parlor, Mary Jane hovering in the background, her broad face fairly shining with smiles. But I think the final triumph was when Mr. James Bruce's swaggering figure appeared in the doorway, his eyes lighting first upon Nora.
"Well, miss," he said, coarsely, "I hope you've come with our money—our honest due." He proceeded no further, for the young lady of the Manor stood up, saying, quietly:
"Miss Mayne has settled with your mother, Mr. Bruce."
His tone changed at once, profuse apologies and the most servile manner only half covering his mortification. He seemed glad to disappear, and Nora and her friend enjoyed a hearty laugh over his discomfiture when they were once more in the carriage. Their next stopping-place was at Searle's, the grocer, where Penelope insisted that Nora should order various delicacies to be sent for Mrs. Mayne to the Deanery. Mr. Searle was all good-humor, and his sharp-faced wife came out of the parlor rubbing her hands, and bowing a dozen times to the heiress of the Manor, who was so evidently the friend of their late unprofitable customer. Penelope took great pains to consult Nora's wishes or opinions on every point, saying, "Nora dear, shall you care for any more grapes?" or, "Nora, didn't we decide upon apricot jam?"
Such judicious remarks impressed Mrs. Searle deeply, and of course she soon learned that the young lady of the Manor was Miss Mayne's dearest friend.
Nora's joy was complete when, on returning to the Deanery, she found her mother established in Miss Harleford's room, the two ladies discussing "old times" with many sighs and pressures of the hand, and many glances at the two girls who seemed to be living over again the happy past. And when, before the spring had fairly set in, the party were fairly settled at Harleford Manor, the Dean himself declared there was nothing to find fault with in the new arrangement. Penelope's restless little brain had found something to think about peacefully. Nora's good sense and American ways made her companionship most desirable. Penelope had no more hours of nothing to do; Nora gave a stimulus to all the two girls shared together, and before a year was over the people about Harleford had learned to acknowledge and respect Miss Mayne almost as completely as they did Miss Penelope.
"THE MANOR-HOUSE YOUNG LADIES."
The great grief of Nora's life—her mother's death—was softened by Penelope's gentle sympathy; and how tenderly were the widow's last days guarded! After that the bond was permanently strengthened between the two girls who visit the Deanery as sisters, who are known everywhere as the "Manor-House young ladies." Even Penelope's marriage, when it occurs, which every one says will be next year, after "Lion's" Indian days are over, will not separate the two girls, for Nora is to remain as "housekeeper and manager" of Harleford. "The consoler-general," Penelope calls her, and Aunt Letty declares she could not live without her "American niece."
Mrs. Bruce is a trusty friend of the Manor House, and it is astonishing how often the young ladies have to buy wools and silks in the little shop, and how often Mrs. Bates, the real housekeeper at the Manor, requires the good woman's company to tea. Mary Jane occupies a position of honor as Miss Harleford's own maid. If ever Nora requires a champion, she will find one in the honest-hearted country girl.
There is one treasure Nora guards always with a loving care. It is the little screen, with its faded colors and pretty lettering, and which her mother's hand held almost in dying. The other day, as I stood in Penelope's sitting-room, she and Nora and I talked over the story I have been telling you. Nora was called away, and Penelope followed her with a loving glance.
"Yes," she said, smiling, "that screen gave me a sister, and taught me what I never knew before—that even trouble, want, and sorrow can perfect our natures, and that there is no deeper satisfaction than in helping one another."
When Penelope had said this, I suddenly realized how my young friend had changed since she was in London two years ago. All the brightness and prettiness remained, but she had gained something higher. That evening dear old Miss Harleford held my hand while the two girls played a duet in the long old-fashioned drawing-room.
"Nora Phillips's daughter!" she whispered. "She has proved my Penelope's blessing."