CHAPTER V.
EFFIE’S HERO.
“I’ve just been telling Effie that we must do something to cheer her up and put heart into her. She’s got the summer before her now, and she’s getting stronger. We can’t let her shut herself up much longer. We must get her out into the fresh air and sunshine, and make a new woman of her.”
Cyril was the speaker, and he looked at Effie with a kindly smile. She smiled back, and her cheek glowed. There was an animation and brightness about her that Sheila had not seen before.
“I should like that,” she said eagerly, “but they will hardly let me do anything. I’m always asking to do things; but I can never get leave—hardly.”
“Then we’ll take French leave,” said Cyril gaily. “Look here, Effie; suppose I dress up in a wig and spectacles, and play the part of a new doctor, will you let me prescribe for you?”
She clapped her hands and laughed.
“I should think I would indeed! Oh, Cyril, do be doctor for a little while and tell me what to do! You have such splendid ideas!”
“Well, my first idea would be to get you out on to horseback. You would like it no end if you once got used to it, and it would be a capital thing for you. Here’s Sheila with her horse to be a companion, and I can always hire a decent hack from Lovejoy and take you out. Your father would make nothing of getting you a little easy-paced cob, gentle, and used to a lady; and there’s the park for you to take your first rides in, till you have got your nerve and seat well assured. It would be no end of a good thing for you; don’t you think so yourself?”
“Oh, yes, Cyril!” cried Effie eagerly, and Sheila’s eyes were shining, for she saw that if Effie once took to riding, she would get her share of her favourite exercise. “You know I used to have my pony, but when I outgrew him they never got me another. Mother is nervous, and there was so much trouble and illness in the house, and then I got ill myself. But I’ll talk to father. I’ll get his leave, and you’ll choose me a cob, won’t you, and teach me how to ride again? I hope I sha’n’t be very stupid; but you know I do get rather nervous sometimes now; I suppose it’s being ill. Things get on my mind and I can’t get them off; but I should feel safe with you.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of you!” answered Cyril. “We shall just have to get the doctor on our side and everything will be right, you’ll see.”
“I don’t care what the doctor says!” cried Effie. “I mean to do as I like now. I’ve obeyed doctors quite long enough, and I’m not a bit better for it. You shall be my doctor, Cyril. I shall obey you and defy everybody else. Won’t it be fun? Do ask about a nice horse for me. Father will give me anything I want, I know. And he thinks such a lot of you, Cyril. If you’ll only be there to help me, he won’t mind what I do.”
“And when once you can ride, there’ll be plenty of fun for us all in the summer,” went on Cyril. “We can get up picnics and water-parties and things like that; and when your birthday comes we might have a regular fête in the park, with sports or mild polo or steeplechase, and you should show off your prowess. Perhaps by the autumn you might be promoted to a hunter and ride to hounds. There’s some very good country all round here, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t take your place as the heiress of Cossart Place, which is what you are, Effie. You ought to be quite a great lady in Isingford and its vicinity.”
When Cyril was gone, after spending an hour with the two girls and leaving them quite roused up and full of pleasureable excitement, Effie turned to Sheila and exclaimed eagerly—
“Isn’t he splendid!”
“He’s very kind and nice,” answered Sheila, “so different from the rest. I don’t mean that they’re not all nice; but Cyril seems to belong to a different world.”
“Yes, doesn’t he? That’s just how I feel. He’s always been so different from the rest. The funny thing is, that father does not think half as much of him as he does of North; but I never could care a bit for North. Cyril is worth ten of him.”
“He has been brought up so differently—has been to public school and college. I like University men; they are quite different from others. I can’t bear that Oscar shouldn’t finish his course there; but still, he always will have the air of an Oxford man everywhere!”
Sheila spoke with sisterly pride, but Effie was not listening. Her thoughts had gone off on their own tack. Presently she asked with a would-be air of carelessness—
“Did Cyril ever talk about me to you, those days you were in River Street?”
Sheila paused and hesitated. Cyril had sometimes spoken of Effie, but always in a rather slighting fashion, not unkindly exactly, but as though he held her in rather small estimation. If Sheila had not hurt Effie’s feelings once already to-day, she might have answered with more truth than diplomacy, but she had had a lesson and was too good-natured to give pain willingly, so she replied after a moment’s pause—
“Yes, he talked about you several times. He is fond of coming here, I think. He likes the house and the park and garden. Are you and he great friends, Effie? I thought you seemed to be.”
“Yes, I think we are,” answered Effie with a pleased and conscious smile. “You see, Raby and Ray aren’t a bit intellectual, they don’t care to read or talk about books, and Cyril is so clever. He reads to me sometimes and lends me books, and we talk about them afterwards. I have a lot of time for thinking about things. Cyril thinks a great deal too. I suppose that’s why he likes coming. Do you think he thinks me clever, Sheila?”
“I don’t know. He did not say.”
“I don’t call myself clever,” went on Effie, “but I think in my own way; I don’t go by what other people tell me. I like to have my own ideas about things. One ought to be original, don’t you think? Mother often says I have such an original mind. I think perhaps I shall write some day when I am stronger. I have done a few things. Cyril saw one or two. I think he was rather anxious for me to go on. Perhaps I’ll show them to you some day. I took a prize once at an essay competition; Cyril helped me. He was very proud when I got the prize.”
Effie was quite happy now, fairly launched upon her favourite topic. Sheila listened and tried to be sympathetic, but wished that Cyril had stayed longer. His conversation was more interesting a good deal than Effie’s. Presently there was rather a long silence between the girls, and then Effie asked suddenly—
“Sheila, do you think there’s any harm in cousins marrying?”
“I don’t know,” answered Sheila, waking from her day-dream. “Why should there be? Don’t they often do it?”
“Yes, very often; but some people don’t like it. I never quite know why. I can’t see why they shouldn’t.”
Sheila turned a glance rather full of interest upon Effie.
“Does Cyril want to marry you?” she asked, with the outspoken candour of girlhood.
Effie’s face flamed, but there was a lurking smile in her eyes. She looked down and twisted her hands together.
“I don’t know. He has never said so. Did you think that yourself, Sheila?”
It had not entered Sheila’s head till Effie’s own words had suggested it; but certainly Cyril had paid a good deal of attention to Effie, and had seemed anxious to see more of her.
“I’ve never seen people in love,” she answered; “I don’t know what they do, or how they look. Do you think you would like to marry Cyril, Effie?”
Effie blushed, but looked up with a sparkle of defiance in her eyes.
“He’ll have to fall in love with me first, and then I’ll perhaps think about it. You don’t suppose I’m going to care for anybody in that way if he doesn’t care for me? I’m the heiress of Cossart Place—you heard Cyril say so himself. I believe I shall have a very big fortune some day. You don’t suppose I’m going to be had just for the asking—not even by Cyril!”
Sheila held her peace; her ideas about love and marriage were very elementary and immature, but she did not see that what persons had could make very much difference. It was whether they cared for each other, she thought.
The following weeks were rather amusing ones for Sheila and Effie. Cyril had taken up in earnest his plan for getting Effie to ride again; and Mr. Cossart had been talked over when he found that the doctor approved and that Effie’s heart was set upon it.
Cyril was the master of the ceremonies throughout. He first hired for her a trained circus pony, who would obey at a word, and who carried Effie patiently round and round the sweep of the drive till she had regained some of her former aptitude for the saddle. Meantime he was scouring the neighbourhood in search of a suitable cob for her future use; and when he had heard of a likely animal, he would call for Sheila to accompany him to the place, because, as he said, though she might not know whether the creature were sound or not, she could give a very good opinion as to whether its paces were easy and comfortable, and whether it was the kind of creature Effie would like.
These rides were a source of great enjoyment to Sheila. She found Cyril a delightful companion, and he seemed to find her the same. It was a relief to get away from the atmosphere of Cossart Place for a few hours—away from Effie’s companionship, and the feeling of irritation and constraint which she often experienced there.
“I suppose it is my fault,” she sometimes said to Cyril, if he chanced to find her in one of her stormy moods. “I want to be nice to Effie; but she does aggravate me sometimes! When she is ill, I am really very sorry for her. It must be dreadful to feel as though you couldn’t breathe. But I do think she would be better if she wasn’t always talking and thinking about her symptoms. It’s partly Aunt Cossart. She is always asking her about them. But—oh, dear, I do get so tired of it! And then if I am cross, I get into such disgrace!”
“Poor little thing!” said Cyril kindly. “Yes, it must be a trying life for you; but I will do all I can to brighten it up for you. We will try to get some fun out of the summer. Uncle and Aunt Cossart will do anything and agree to anything if they think it is in the interest of their darling! So we can make a capital stalking-horse of Effie!”
Sheila suddenly raised her clear glance to Cyril’s face. Something in the tone of the last words struck her with a momentary sense of uneasiness. Surely he was sincere in wishing to do Effie good and rouse her up? Anything the least bit untrue went against the grain with Sheila terribly. He seemed to see the question in her eyes, and at once continued—
“You can see for yourself how much she wants taking out of herself; and that will never be done at home. We must get her out into the world amongst other people. As it is, she thinks she is rather a wonderful being. When she goes out more and rubs against others, she will find her level, and it will do her a world of good.”
“Don’t you like Effie, then?” asked Sheila.
“Oh, yes, in a way, poor little thing! I am sorry for her, and we have always been good friends. She was a merry little soul once, though too cheeky for my taste. Perhaps she will be better of that as she grows older. But she has had no advantages. She has never seen society—as you and I call it—and she shows it in every word and thought. She has no charm about her—that great possession of womanhood—and when one sees her beside somebody who has so large a share, one feels the absence of it more than ever.”
Sheila felt Cyril’s eyes upon her, and blushed crimson. She was not used to compliments, yet there was no misunderstanding the meaning of his words. She could not help quivering with a sort of pleasure, yet felt as though it were somehow treachery to her cousin. For that Cyril was Effie’s hero Sheila could not doubt, though she would never exactly admit as much.
The cob was selected at last, had up on trial, and finally purchased; and Cyril was to be found at Cossart Place most mornings in the week to take the girls out for a ride.
Effie could only go short distances as yet, and her steady cob did not require more exercise than the daily amble. But Shamrock was young and mettlesome, and so was the horse Cyril had hired for his own use; and often, after Effie had dismounted and gone in, the other two would betake themselves for a canter across the park, or a ride on some errand or other, generally of Cyril’s devising.
The Cossart cousins had always been on brotherly and sisterly terms, and nobody took exception to this arrangement. Sheila was delighted to get the long breezy canters through the budding lanes or across a stretch of park-land, and Cyril’s companionship was always pleasant. Her little worries seemed to smooth themselves down when he was near; and he had a way of saying flattering things, which, if a little embarrassing sometimes, was rather delightful too.
The only thing that Sheila did not quite like or understand was his way of half laughing at Effie behind her back—making out that what he did for her was a kind of duty and treadmill, whilst he was all the while longing to be off with Sheila.
Effie did not take this view of matters. To her he professed himself the most devoted of knights. She fully believed that he enjoyed riding beside her more than anything in the world, and he certainly seemed to profess as much. But when off and away with Sheila, he would give her a laughing look, and say—
“There, now we can enjoy ourselves. Aren’t we good to be so patient over our task? But it’s worth it, for what we get afterwards. Don’t you find it so too, little cousin?”
And then Sheila would feel guilty and uncomfortable, and ask herself if she were being hypocritical. But surely Cyril could not be that, and she quickly drove away the unwelcome misgiving.
Once rather a strange thing happened whilst they were riding together. A man on horseback suddenly joined them—rather as though he were waiting for them. She thought Cyril changed colour and looked angry; and he said to her at once—
“Ride on, Sheila. I will join you almost at once. I have a little business to talk over with this gentleman.”
Sheila did as she was bid. She rode ahead; but she heard the voices of the men behind in argument, and what sounded rather like disagreement. At least, the other man seemed angry. Sometimes he spoke quite loud and roughly, and once Sheila heard him say—
“Is that the heiress you are riding with, then?” But she could not hear Cyril’s reply; and when he came back to her, his face was pale and very much clouded over.
“Is anything the matter, Cyril?” she asked. But he tried to laugh as he answered in an off-hand way—
“Oh, we all have our little worries, Sheila! It’s nothing much! It’s nothing to bother over! I’ve squared the fellow for the present. He won’t trouble us again; and don’t you say anything about this to anybody! It’s nothing to anybody but myself!”
(To be continued.)
[VARIETIES.]
“Mother” in fourteen languages.—Here are fourteen varieties of the word “Mother,” all bearing a distinct resemblance—Anglo-Saxon, Modor; Persian, Madr; Sanscrit, Matr; Greek, Meter; Italian, Madre; French, Mère; Swedish, Moder; Danish, the same; Dutch, Moeder; German, Mutter; Russian, Mater; Celtic, Mathair; Hebrew, Em; Arabic, Am.
Don’t be Indiscreet.—An indiscreet girl does more harm than an ill-natured one, for the latter will only attack her enemies and those she wishes ill to, but the other injures indifferently both friends and foes.
Ladies and Gentlemen.—Coolness and absence of heat and haste indicate fine qualities. A gentleman makes no noise; a lady is serene.—Emerson.
The Greatest Event in Life.—Marriage is the greatest event in life. It is also a new beginning of life. It is a home for the lonely, a haven of rest for those who have been too much tossed by the storms of life. It is the best and most lasting thing. It is heaven upon earth to live together in perfect amity and disinterestedness and unselfishness to the service of God and man until our life is over.—Jowett.
Words for Music.—Too much thought in words intended for music has a disturbing and over-weighting effect. Music does not only deepen emotion, it sometimes obscures the meaning. Hence the poet must meet it with a concession. The most effective words for songs are simple, slight, lucid, with unity—a simple idea worked out to one climax.
Avarice.—A neighbour once refused another the loan of his well. The latter was thus compelled to sink one himself, and in so doing he tapped his neighbour’s spring, so that his neighbour’s well ran dry. Thus avarice ofttimes defeats itself and benefits its enemy.
[THE PLEASURES OF BEE-KEEPING.]
By F. W. L. SLADEN.