CHAPTER XX.
RACHEL.
“Yes, I only came to-day,” said Rachel, who kept her eyes wistfully upon Mrs Atheling, though she spoke to Agnes. “They made me go to town after you left, and then kept me so long at the Willows. Next season they say I am to come out, and somebody has offered me an engagement; but indeed, indeed,” cried Rachel, suddenly firing with one of her outbursts of unexpected energy, “I never will!”
The girls scarcely knew what answer to make in presence of their mother. They had not been trained to have independent friendships, and now waited anxiously, turning silent looks of appeal upon Mamma. Mamma all at once had become exceedingly industrious, and neither looked up nor spoke.
“But then you might live in London, perhaps, instead of here; and I should be very glad if you were near us,” said Agnes, with a good deal of timidity. Agnes, indeed, was not thinking what she said—her whole attention wandered to her mother.
“I do not mind for myself,” said Rachel, with a deep sigh. “I do not think I should care if there were a hundred people to hear me sing, instead of a dozen, for I know very well not one of them would care anything for me; but I have to remember Louis. I cannot disgrace Louis. It is bad enough for him as it is, without adding any more.”
Again there was a pause. Rachel’s poor little palpitating heart beat very loud and very high. “I thought I should be welcome when I came here,” she said, freezing half into her unnatural haughtiness, and half with an unconscious and pitiful tone of appeal; “but I never intruded upon any one—never! and if you do not wish me to be here, I can go away.”
She turned to go away as she spoke, her little figure rising and swelling with great subdued emotion; but Mrs Atheling immediately rose and stretched out her hand to detain her. “Do not go away, my dear; the girls are very fond of you,” said Mrs Atheling; and it cost this good mother, with her ideas of propriety, a very considerable struggle with herself to say these simple words.
Rachel stood before her a moment irresolute and uncertain, not appearing even to hear what Agnes and Marian, assured by this encouragement, hastened to say. The contest was violent while it lasted between Louis’s sister, who was his representative, and the natural little humble child Rachel, who had no pride, and only wanted the kindly succour of love; but at last nature won the day. She seized upon Mrs Atheling’s hand hastily and kissed it, with a pretty appealing gesture. “They do everything you tell them,” cried Rachel suddenly. “I never had any mother—never even when we were babies. Oh, will you tell me sometimes what I ought to do?”
It was said afterwards in the family that at this appeal Mamma, fairly vanquished and overcome, “almost cried;” and certain it was that Rachel immediately took possession of the stool beside her, and remained there not only during this visit, but on every after occasion when she came. She brightened immediately into all her old anxious communicativeness, concealing nothing, but pouring out her whole heart.
“Louis told me he had seen you in the garden,” said Rachel, with a low laugh of pleasure; “but when I asked which it was, he said he knew nothing of Agnes and Marian, but only he had seen a vision looking over the old gate. I never know what Louis means when he speaks nonsense,” said Rachel, with an unusual brightness; “and I am so glad. I never heard him speak so much nonsense since we came to the Hall.”