In love's hands

by Bertha M. Clay

“Well, it may be so, my dear, for I remember when he first came to England that he used to ride out sometimes with a Major Dawson and his daughters. Pretty young creatures they were! Too young then for anything of the kind, but they must be growing quite fine women now.”

After hearing such remarks as these, Florence would grow eager for her aunt’s reply; and she certainly had some cause for her impatience in the length of time she had to wait before it arrived. Mrs. Blunden was in Paris, and apologized for her silence by saying that she had been greatly worried by the loss of her jewel box and the subsequent arrest of the thief.

“I could not settle down to anything,” she said, “until this matter was over, for between my dread of an innocent person being falsely accused and unwillingness to let the guilty one escape unpunished, my mind has been greatly excited. I’m very angry with you, Florence; it’s my duty to be so, for though I freely forgive you for the wicked falsehoods you wrote to me about your poor uncle’s legacy, I cannot pardon the folly that has made you penniless and a dependent. As to coming to me, it is what you ought to have done directly upon the decease of my poor, foolish brother. But as I am in dear and uncomfortable lodgings, and fully resolved to leave this nasty, frivolous city as soon as the weather permits of the journey, why, don’t come. You are in good hands, and can stay quietly at Orwell Court until I join you there. You don’t seem to be aware that I know Mr. Aylwinne. I met him in Italy when I was on my way to Nice, and fairly harassed to death with the extortions of the innkeepers. I had provided myself with a tariff of the charges made at a respectable London hotel, and I was as firmly resolved to abide by this as the horrid, chattering Italians were to cheat me. After I had explained myself to Mr. Aylwinne, I had no more trouble, as he paid the bills for me. They could not take the same advantage of a resolute man as they had been attempting with an unprotected female. How did you make Mr. Aylwinne’s acquaintance? I found that he knew your father, but he so evidently avoided speaking of him that I was obliged to conclude he had lost money through some of my brother’s mad speculations. Is it so? And to what amount? And why do you thank me for sending you a hundred pounds while your father was ill at Brompton? I did not send it. No one had the grace to write and acquaint me with his illness. I shall come to England as soon as I can; so au revoir,” etc.

There was nothing for it, then, but to await Mrs. Blunden’s arrival. Ardently Florence hoped that it might take place before Mr. Aylwinne came back, and already she had mentally written that note of thanks which would tell him that she had quitted his roof. She would not think of the real sorrow it would cost her to do this, nor of the blank her life would be when the loving faces of her young pupils no longer met hers, and she could nevermore linger stealthily in the corner where stood their guardian’s favorite chair, and draw her fingers with tender touch over the books he had last read, or the paper knife he used, or sit in the twilight dreamily fancying that his earnest eyes were following her movements, as she had so often detected them in doing when he thought himself unobserved.

Meanwhile time fleeted on. The spring was merging into summer, and she was often glad to forget herself in long walks to the many lovely spots in the neighborhood. In these her pupils were generally her companions, and they had been urging her for some time to indulge them with a trip to an isolated hill some three or four miles distant, celebrated for the beauty of the views to be obtained from its summit.

Mrs. Wilson made many objections on the score of the length of the walk, the fatigue they would undergo in climbing so steep an eminence, and the danger of rain, or of encountering tramps or gypsies. But the eager Walter overruled them all; and on a brilliantly sunny morning the trio started, accompanied by a lad in Mr. Aylwinne’s service, who was a favorite with both the boys, and who carried a good-sized basket of edibles.

Avoiding the dusty highroad, they permitted Tom, to whom every part of the country was familiar, to guide them across fields, through copses, and over strips of moorland until they reached the foot of Insley Hill. Here the ground was so thickly covered with bluebells and orchids that it was not until huge bunches had been gathered that the delighted boys could be prevailed upon to commence the ascent. It proved more difficult than Florence had anticipated, for there was no actual path to be found, and it was one continued and steep climb, till, hot and breathless, they threw themselves on the dry moss beneath the fir trees that crowned the flat top of the hill.

But the glorious prospects amply repaid their toil; and the sweet odor emitted by the resinous trees, the freshness of the air, and the soft murmur of the breeze that soughed through the treetops, were all delicious. Their luncheon, washed down as it was by the water from a spring in the hillside, was discussed with a relish; and then Tom was sent back to Orwell Court with the empty basket, to carry Mrs. Wilson the tidings of their safe arrival at their destination, and a renewal of their promise to be home before evening set in.

When they had rambled round the top of the hill, and Florence had sketched one of the prettiest points of view, a favorite book was brought out, and the boys seated themselves at her feet to listen while she read aloud.

They had perched themselves on a part of the hill that jutted out, commanding an uninterrupted prospect of the highroad, which wound round the foot immediately beneath them; and it was at first an amusement to Fred to note how small the few figures looked which had passed along it.