It is difficult to conceive of ignorance so utter as hers on all religious subjects. Her mother had not lived long enough to teach her the little that she herself understood of the religion of her people, and her father had had no religion. During the first years of her married life, she had sometimes gone to church with her husband, but she had never been much interested in what she heard, or tried to understand it. It had been a mere form with her; as indeed it had been always with her husband. She knew nothing of the way in which a sinner must be prepared for death, that must come some time, and which might be near, and there were times when the thought of this made her afraid.
Her daughters knew little more than she did. When the idea of sending them to school was first proposed, Mrs Ascot desired that it should be to one of the convents of the city, and probably there they would have been sent, had not Mr St. Cyr earnestly desired it too. His wish was enough to make Mr Vane decide against it, so bitter was his dislike, and they were sent to Mrs Glencairn’s instead. Their religions teaching while there was, at their father’s request, committed to the charge of the English teacher, Miss Pardie, and her instructions were not of a kind to make much impression on the minds of volatile girls, with whom she was not a favourite. The Scripture lessons which they shared with the other pupils, were too often learned and repeated as a task, and forgotten.
So neither the mother nor the children had any knowledge of the true way to find happiness, either in this world or the next. A vague dread and fear had come to Mrs Vane now and then during all the years of her illness, but she had tried to put them from her. They had come oftener of late, but she strove to put them from her still.
“Patient and happy in the midst of great suffering, and not afraid even of death.” Many, many times in the days when the two girls had gone, and she was left to the quiet of their solitary days, did these words come back to her again.
Chapter Six.
The reluctance with which the sisters always left home to return to school, was usually forgotten by them as soon as they found themselves among their companions, and busy with their lessons again. But this time it was not so with Frederica. She was restless and unhappy, finding it quite impossible to interest herself in her school-work, or to settle quietly to anything.
It was all the more difficult for her to do so, that she was in few regular classes in the school. It was quite true as she had told her father, she had gone through and through all the books generally used by Mrs Glencairn’s pupils. This was not saying much, for few of the girls stayed in school so long as they ought to have done—none had been so long as Frederica. Under the guidance of Miss Robina Glencairn, a clever and cultivated woman, she had gone far beyond the usual routine of school lessons, and had taken much pleasure in her reading, though she had read alone, but she could not interest herself in it now. It seemed foolish and wrong for her to be at school, learning things that she could very well do without, when her mother and Selina needed her so much at home. They did need her, she was sure; and she grew irritable and impatient under the restraint that kept her from them, till she was in danger, her sister told her, of losing the reputation for politeness and amiability, which she had been all those years acquiring.
“And where is the good of fretting? If you can end it at the summer holidays, you may be very glad. You may be sure that Prickly Polly will not hear of your coming home just now. If I were you, I would learn the dictionary from the beginning to the end, or do something else to pass the time. Or you might ask Miss Robina for a story-book. She will give you one—you are such a pet of hers, I’m sure.”