How I wished that Emma, the partner of those dark days, had been alive to enjoy the sunshine of my present prosperity!
I have not forgotten Stonebrook—nor has it forgotten me. I send punctual remembrances to Mrs. Gabb and the Mounds; and Miss Skuce clings to me. She favors me with long letters (crossed) and elaborate Christmas cards, and receives in return hampers of game and hothouse fruit. Uncle Chalgrove calls her “a kind, good, warm-hearted old soul!” and I leave him in his ignorance. I have steadily turned a deaf ear to her continual importunities and eager appeals for my photograph, and she mentions that she would “prefer a large one, in my court train!” She shall never possess a picture of mine, large or small, plain or colored, for I well know how it would stand on her mantelpiece, to be criticised, explained, and talked over, and have all its poor little history garrulously related. No, never, never!
Everard, my cousin and fiancé, spends most of his time at the Chase. We are to live there altogether in the coming by and by. He and I often walk out beside Dolly’s invalid chair, and accompany her round the park, the grounds, gardens, or to her favorite haunt, the paddocks, to see the pensioners and the young horses. Among the former is Diable Vert (fat, lazy, and dead lame). Dolly was firm with respect to her former favorite, and obtained a reprieve for him, as he was being led forth to execution. He also had suffered in that dreadful accident, and is worthless as a hunter; but he hobbles up to the gate whenever he hears the voice of his comrade in misfortune.
I know that Everard often—nay, perhaps always—wonders why I am not more cordial to his mother. She knew my own mother intimately long ago, and has repeatedly assured me, with what poor Emma called her “irresistible” manner, that she will take her old friend’s place, and be more than a mother to me! Naturally, I have never once referred to our unpleasant little encounter in Mrs. Gabb’s lodgings, nor to Emma, nor to India, nor to any delicate subjects. I am always civil and—I hope—agreeable. I shall never tell tales to Everard. Perhaps he may have his suspicions—who knows? Perhaps Miss Skuce took all Stonebrook into her confidence—perhaps not. But it is a curious fact, that latterly he has ceased to urge me to pay visits to the Abbey, or to inquire why I invariably decline his mother’s continual and pressing invitations to stay with her for a week or two—or even to spend Christmas!
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes
[Page 70]— chimmey changed to chimney.
[Page 94]— charperon changed to chaperon.
[Page 98]— breakast changed to breakfast.
[Page 177]— my fine eathers changed to my fine feathers.