Captain Arrows felt strong sympathy for his niece. He saw, perhaps more clearly than did any one else, how painful to her was the change which was coming over her life. Her uncle respected Emmie’s unselfish efforts to hide from her father her reluctance to leave Summer Villa and all its pleasant surroundings. Arrows noticed the shade of sadness on Emmie’s fair face when she received, as she frequently did, congratulations on her father’s accession to property. The acute observer could not fail to see that the acquisition of Myst Court was no source of pride or pleasure to Emmie.
Miss Trevor was perpetually reminded of her approaching departure from the home in which her life had been so much like a summer holiday. Many visits of leave-taking had to be paid, and few could be paid without more or less of pain. Emmie had numerous friends, and to some she could not bid farewell without a sharp pang of regret. Even inanimate things, dear from association, were resigned with sadness. Emmie sighed to take leave of her garden, and spent much time in procuring cuttings from her favourite plants, her geraniums, her fuchsias, her myrtles. With what pleasant memories were those flowers connected in the affectionate mind of Emmie! Summer Villa and her friends seemed dearer than ever when she was about to leave them behind.
Next to the captain, Emmie found her best helper in Susan. Active, thoughtful, the neatest of packers, the most intelligent of maids, Susan was indeed “a treasure” to her young mistress.
“You seem to like the change,” said the cook to Susan, who was humming cheerfully to herself as she knelt beside a hamper which she was packing with china.
Susan did not pause to look up from her work as she answered, “I never ask myself whether I like it or not; my business is to make ready for it, and that is enough for me.”
“How dismal a house looks when everything in it is being pulled down and upset!” remarked the cook, standing with her back to the wall, and watching Susan as she imbedded quaint old china tea-pot and cream-jug in white cotton wool as carefully as she might have laid a baby in a cradle. “The hall all lumbered with luggage; the whole place smelling of matting; things awanted just when they’ve been packed up, corded, and labelled; the walls looking without their pictures as faces would do without eyes,—there is something horrid uncomfortable about a house as has been long lived in when it’s agoing to be left for good. I’m half sorry that I agreed to stay on the extra fortnight; only it was such a convenience to the family. I don’t know what they’d have done had Ann and I taken ourselves off before the move was fairly over.”
Susan went quietly on with her occupation, while Mrs. Mullins went on with her talking.
“P’r’aps master did wisely to keep on Mrs. Myers’ servants, for he’d hardly have got London folk to stay in his dismal country house, even on double wages. We’ll have you at the Soho registry before three months are over.”
“Time will show,” said Susan.
“Them people down at Myst Court are accustomed to the kind of life they lead there,” continued the loquacious Mrs. Mullins, “and that’s the reason they don’t mind it. Frogs like their ditch because they’ve never known anything better; and I suppose that folk in a haunted house get used to ghosts, as eels are used to skinning.”