'I like to be alone. Nobody did care for him like me. They were all very kind to him. I don't think he knew the sound of a rough word, my dear little gentle Tedo! but nobody understood him like me, nobody could make him understand—' and she rocked herself backwards and forwards under the load of her first real grief. It was very sad to the young man to watch, and he hardly knew what to say, as again he took her hand. 'Well, now he can't have any troubles, you know, Stella, he's a great deal happier than ever you could make him.'
'Oh yes, I know that. Only it is foolish. I can't think how he gets on all alone! I know it is very wrong, but if Felix or I had gone with him it would not seem so strange for him. Yes, it is very silly,' she added, half laughing, but crying again, 'but it will seem hard to fancy he does not want me.'
'He is not the only one to want you,' muttered Charles.
'Oh no! There are plenty of them. I want to be thankful, indeed I do, but no one ever can be so dear! Never mind,' she added in her unselfishness, perceiving that her exceeding sorrow was causing grief and perplexity, 'it can't be helped; I do know he is happy, and I'll learn to bear the being left alone.'
'Never! if dearest love can make up to you—dearest, sweetest little one!' cried Charles. 'There!' as he took both her hands, and her wistful wondering eyes were raised, 'don't you see some one who wants you every moment, and that all your brothers put together can't love you a quarter as much as I do? There! there! Only do just promise, Stella, never to talk again of being left all alone while you have Charlie.'
'I don't think I can,' said Stella, in a dreamy wondering voice, 'for you are so kind.'
'And you'll let me try to comfort you?'—a dangerous proposal, for he did not in the least know how he should have set about it if she had not answered, 'I think you do,' as if it rather surprised her, bringing such an approach to caressing as would have startled her at any moment when her heart was not so yearning for tenderness and sympathy. And there was a reaction the next moment, as finding herself guilty of forgetting Theodore and his cross, she gave a moan of pain—'Oh, my Tedo!' and went on with her work; but she let him wait on her with the flowers, and now and then a little squeeze of the hand, and he knew he must be content with that much. Presently she said that she ought to make something for 'that other poor one, or it would look so unkind when his mother came.' In this task she could brook more help, and she spoke more over it, with a sweet soft languor that had an infinite pathos, as if somehow the acute anguish of her loss had been softened, and she were resting in the strange new peace which she did not yet know for joy, but which had filled her heart. She was so very young, so very pure, so very unconscious, that Charlie, almost as young and not much less simple and innocent, was as tender and reverent of her and her grief, and the state of her guardian brother, as though she had been one of her own white flowers—those last sprays she let him take from her hand when all was done, and they went together to carry the wreaths and crosses to the Oratory.
The large heavy curtains that separated the hall from the long room were let down, and the screen, a tall wooden one, as usual cut off the Oratory. Here the chairs had been removed to make room; and close under the Cross, to the eastward, were the two tables that had been covered with white to receive the two who had so lately gone forth full of life.
On one of the chairs sat Cherry, endeavouring to obtain some record of that unearthly loveliness of expression, chiefly for Felix's sake. She had just done all she durst, and produced a drawing that would not look like such an utter failure away from the original, when these two came in, Stella leading the way in gentle awe, very sad indeed, but still not with that utterly drooping downcast look of leaden grief which had in the morning shrunk from all comforters who could only believe, not enter into, the intensity of her mourning for her twin.
Cherry, in the corner, almost hidden by the chairs, could not tell whether her presence were perceived; but in truth the child was so simple, that she would probably have done exactly the same whether her sister was present or not, and Charles had no eyes for aught save her. She knelt down for a moment, with her face in her hands; then she kissed the white brow set in fair hair, and seemed to expect Charles to do the same, as a great favour to him, after which she let him help her to lay her cross with the wreath round it on the breast, and change the now closed Star of Bethlehem that lay under the waxen fingers, as well as that withered spray of broom. Once more she knelt, and whispered the Lord's Prayer: and he did the same, imitating her in everything, a grave kind of light on his young brow. It was very solemn and beautiful to see them, and Cherry watched them almost with awe.