CHAPTER I.
BROTHER AND SISTER.
call it cruel of them to separate us! They might at least have let us be together!” cried Sheila, with tears in her voice, if not in her eyes.
“Well, but we shall not be very far apart. We can see each other most days, and you will have a nice home with Uncle and Aunt Cossart—more what you have been used to—a big country house. Uncle Tom lives in the town to be near the works; but he says it is an easy walk to get out to Cossart Place.”
Sheila gave a rather scornful toss to her handsome head.
“Cossart Place! I hate that pretentious way of calling one’s house by one’s own name! Oscar, aren’t these relations of ours rather vulgar, purse-proud people? Papa must have had some reason for keeping us away from them all these years.”
Oscar was silent for a few moments, and then he said slowly—
“You know, Sheila, our father was rather a proud man. He thought a good deal of birth and family, and of being one of the Cholmondeleys of Warwickshire. He married our beautiful mother for love; but he took her right away from her family—he told me so himself as he lay dying—and she never saw any of them again. She had only quite a small fortune then. The Cossarts have got rich since her marriage. But our father’s property has been dwindling and dwindling, and he has dipped again and again into capital, and everything is mortgaged up to the hilt, as Mr. Dart calls it. Sheila, I am afraid there will be very little left for us except the little fortune of our mother’s, which was settled upon her and her children.”
Sheila understood very little of business, and Oscar not much more; but he had received confidences from their dying father, and had had interviews with the family lawyer, so that he was better acquainted with the prospect before them than the sister.
“Father thought at the last that he had made a mistake in holding aloof from the Cossarts. He wrote both to Uncle Cossart and Uncle Tom, and they are our guardians. I think they mean to be kind to us, though they could not at once get away to be here for the funeral. But Uncle Tom will come almost at once to look into things; and he is going to give me a berth at the works. He says that in his letter.”
“I call that the horridest thing of all!” flashed out Sheila. “You to be stuck down at a desk or something, in some chemical works, or whatever it is! Why can’t they let you finish your course at Oxford? Mother’s money would be lots for that!”
“Oh, yes; but then what would be the good?” asked Oscar gravely. “No, Sheila, I have seen too much of what Oxford does for poor men, to want to finish my three years there. I’ve no great gifts. I should only take an ordinary degree. I should have no chance of fellowship or tutorship there, and I’ve no gift for teaching. It’s much better really to go into business young, where one has a chance of pushing one’s way. Lots of fellows would give their ears for my chances at our uncles’ works. As I can’t be a country gentleman like our father, and be master of the dear old place, I’d sooner go right away and start fair at something altogether different.”
Sheila heaved a deep sigh as her eyes travelled from her brother’s grave face, out through the open window and across the familiar landscape of wood and water.
It was a lovely February day—one of those days which come as a foretaste of summer, when the sun shines with power, and all the air is full of scents of spring, and one forgets that winter is not yet gone, and begins to welcome the promise of the year.
“I never thought we should have to leave the dear old home. Is it certain that it must go, Oscar? Surely father could not have meant to leave things so bad for us?”
“Father was not fond of business,” said Oscar slowly. “He did not go into things carefully enough. The property was burdened when he came into it, and, you know, land has been going down ever since. We will not blame him, Sheila; other people have had losses too. Mr. Dart says that hundreds and thousands of people have been placed just as we are these last years. Indeed, we are better off than many; for there is that little fortune of our mother’s—five thousand pounds well invested—which brings us in a little income, and there may be something left from the estate when things are wound up, though it won’t be much, I can see. And we have the Cossarts, who will give us a home each. I think it is rather fine of them to come forward to help us, seeing how their sister was kept quite away from them after her marriage.”
Sheila looked up with a little quick, eager glance in her big grey eyes—those Irish eyes, which, like her name, she had inherited from her grandmother—her father’s mother—who had been a notable beauty in her day. Sheila was not a beauty; but she had an attractive face, and a winning and appealing manner. She had always been the pet and the darling of the house, and she seemed to claim affection and notice as a natural right.
“Couldn’t we live together, Oscar, just you and I together, in some dear little cottage, on our mother’s money? I would keep the house nice, and grow flowers in the garden; and you could find something to do; and we would be so happy in our little home.”
She put her hand upon his, and he stroked it and smiled; but he shook his head too.
“It sounds nice, Sheila; but it wouldn’t really be practicable. You don’t know anything about the worries of small means, and I should get no opening if I refused Uncle Tom’s offer. Besides, you see, we have no choice at present. We are both minors; I sha’n’t be of age for a year, and you are only eighteen. Our uncles are our guardians, and we have to do what they settle for us. Mr. Dart says that what they have suggested is the kindest thing possible. Some day, I hope, if you don’t marry, we shall be able to have a home of our own together. But for the next few years we must make up our minds to let other people settle things for us, and be grateful to them for taking the burden and worry off our shoulders.”
Oscar could be thankful for this. He had seen just enough of life in his year at Oxford, and in the examination, under the lawyer’s direction, into his father’s involved affairs, to be aware that its battle could be a very hard and strenuous matter, and that his father had been carried away by the tide of misfortune instead of seeking to stem it. He could almost feel thankful that he was not called upon to fight any arduous up-hill battle—that things had gone so far that nothing would avail but a clean sweep. Oscar loved his home—loved it almost as well as Sheila did. If he could have lived peacefully and prosperously there, as his fathers had apparently done before him, he would have asked nothing better, and would have sought to do his duty to those about and beneath him. But he had an elastic and hopeful temperament, and he did not dislike the prospect of a complete change in his manner of life. He had a turn for electrical engineering, and his uncle had said something about an electrical branch in the works of Cossart & Sons. Congenial employment might be found for him, he thought. He had been through much sorrow of heart and worry of mind during the past weeks since his father’s death; but now he was beginning to see his way out of the tangle, and to look forward hopefully to what lay beyond.
BROTHER AND SISTER.
Sheila’s thoughts had also gone off on a private expedition. But, after a short pause, she spoke with great decision.
“I shall never marry, Oscar. Marrying makes people stupid. I know that, because all the girls who go and get married are quite spoiled directly. It begins as soon as they are engaged. Besides, most of them go away, and one forgets about them. I shall be an old maid, and keep your house for you. It will be something to look forward to whilst I am living with Uncle Cossart. Why can’t I go to Uncle Tom’s with you? It would be so much more amusing.”
“Well, they seem to have it all arranged for us, and we can’t exactly ask them to alter. But we’ll see all about it when Uncle Tom comes. He’ll tell us everything.”
Mr. Thomas Cossart was the younger of the brothers who now were the heads of a thriving business in one of the eastern counties. Their father had begun from small means; but prudence, upright dealing, and industry, combined with shrewdness and skill, had worked up the business to something very considerable. He had died a wealthy man, but his daughter had not succeeded to any farther portion of his wealth. The old Cossart had been hurt and offended at the way in which his child had been separated from her own people through Mr. Cholmondeley’s pride. He had made no complaint, but he had felt it keenly. The sons took it more quietly. They were busy men, and possibly the knowledge that what would have been their sister’s portion had fallen to their share, disposed them to take the matter with equanimity. They used to write and send presents at Christmas, just to show there was no ill-feeling, and as long as Mrs. Cholmondeley lived she had always done the same. When it was told to the Cossart brothers that Mr. Cholmondeley had died rather suddenly, leaving his affairs in a very involved state, and asking their help and guardianship for his two children, the response had been prompt and kindly.
“I shall come as soon as I can possibly arrange to be away from the works,” Mr. Tom Cossart had written. “My brother is laid up with the gout and is unable to move, and I cannot be present at the funeral as I have too many important engagements to fulfil. But I shall come immediately afterwards and do my best to assist in the winding up of affairs.”
He had written also to his nephew, stating briefly that there would be a home for them with their relatives and a place for him in the works. Now they were waiting with some excitement of mind for the arrival of the unknown uncle, in whose hands their future seemed to lie.
“I hope he will be nice and kind!” cried Sheila, as she paced the big hall with excited steps. “I want to like him if I can; but what shall we do if he is harsh and unkind, or”—here she lowered her voice and added, as if half afraid of her own imaginings—“if he is dreadfully common and vulgar?”
“He is our mother’s brother,” said Oscar gravely. “We must try always to remember that.”
“Yes, but mother had been sent away to a good school, and father saw her and fell in love with her when she was on a visit just after she left. She had scarcely lived at home at all. I don’t think that is any proof. Oscar, shall I have to kiss him when he comes?”
“I think you had better, Sheila. He is our uncle. I think he will expect it.”
Sheila made a little grimace; but she had been petted all her life, and kissing came easily to her.
“I wonder why girls are expected to kiss everybody and be kissed? Boys get off. It isn’t quite fair. But I’ll try to be as good as I can.”
Sheila was trying to keep a brave face, though her heart was heavy to-night. The coming of Uncle Tom seemed to emphasise the fact that the father’s place was for ever empty; that it was a stranger who must in future rule their lives for them—at any rate, for the next year or two. The blank in the house was keenly felt at all times, although perhaps a little less keenly than it would have been had Mr. Cholmondeley not been much of a recluse during the latter years of his life. It seemed so strange that a visitor should be arriving, and that there should be only the son and daughter to welcome him.
Sheila choked back a sob more than once, as she stood listening for the crunch of wheels upon the gravel, which would herald the approach of the carriage.
It was like the beginning of the end. When once Uncle Tom had arrived, the old home would not seem like their own any longer. The guardian would be there to look after and arrange everything; and before very long they would have to leave—never to return.
As that thought come into Sheila’s mind, she ceased her excited pacing and came and stood beside the glowing hearth, her eyes full of unshed tears as she gazed into the heart of the fire.
Oscar saw the tears and came and put his arm about her. He knew very well the nature of the thoughts within her.
“Sheila,” he said softly, “we must try to be brave and good. We know that God will take care of us as much in one place as another.”
She nodded her head, and a great drop fell glistening down. She pulled Oscar’s hand more closely round her.
“I don’t think things are as real to me as they are to you, Oscar. I like to be taken care of by somebody I can see. Papa always did, and now he is gone, and they are going to take you away from me too.”
“I shall be quite near, Sheila; we shall always be meeting.”
“It isn’t like being in the same house.”
“You will have Uncle and Aunt Cossart, and I think there will be some cousins too. I know Uncle Tom has children; I’m not quite so sure about Uncle Cossart.”
“Perhaps I sha’n’t like them. I don’t like everybody,” began Sheila; but then she caught herself up quickly and added, “But I am going to try and be good, Oscar, I really am. Perhaps I’ve been too happy all this time—made too much of. It may be good for me to have some snubbing now. I’ll try not to mind very much—to take it patiently—like the early Christians, you know. When I was little I used to think it might be rather nice to be persecuted.”
Oscar smiled a little, and over Sheila’s face there glimmered a flickering smile, as though she were half amused at her own fancies. The firelight played over her face and form as she stood in its rosy glow. She was a little over the average height, and was growing graceful and maidenly, though a year or two back she had been rather a hoyden in appearance, with long limbs and a good many angles, and a mane of wavy brown hair tumbling over her shoulders. Now the long plain black dress, a little open at neck and wrists—for it was close upon dinner-time—seemed to give grace and dignity to the figure, and to heighten the clearness of the girl’s complexion. The plentiful brown hair was coiled about the head. The big grey eyes were arched over by brows of the same dusky tint, and the features of the face were well cut, though not quite regular, and very mobile in their play of expression. It was the constantly varying expression which gave to Sheila’s face its chief charm. It was like an April morning—always changing from gay to grave and from grave to gay. Gaiety certainly predominated in the play of lips and eyes; but there were many stormy or appealing or wistful expressions flitting constantly over the face. Sheila was accustomed to get her own way with everybody about her; and her big appealing eyes were answerable for a good deal of the spoiling she received.
Oscar was slight and tall, well-featured and very gentlemanly in appearance, with a quiet, attractive face and a very bright smile, which was, however, much more rare than Sheila’s. They were not much alike; but that seemed only to strengthen the bond between them.
“Hark!” cried Oscar quickly. “I hear the carriage!”
Sheila turned a little pale, and took a step or two forward.
“It is Uncle Tom!” she said; and the next minute the butler had thrown open the door and a figure well wrapped up for the wintry journey was seen entering the hall.
Mr. Thomas Cossart had come!
(To be continued.)