Queechy, Volume I

by Susan Warner

"Just before what?" said he, laying his hand caressingly on his little cousin's shoulder. "Don't grieve so, dear Fleda!"

"It was only just before grandpa died," said Fleda.

Hugh had known of that before, though like her he had forgotten it for a moment. A little while his feeling was too strong to permit any further attempt at condolence; but as he saw Fleda grow quiet, he took courage to speak again.

"Was he a good man?" he asked softly.

"O yes!"

"Then," said Hugh, "you know he is happy now, Fleda. If he loved Jesus Christ, he is gone to be with him. That ought to make you glad as well as sorry."

Fleda looked up, though tears were streaming yet, to give that full happy answer of the eye that no words could do. This was consolation, and sympathy. The two children had a perfect understanding of each other from that time forward, a fellowship that never knew a break nor a weakening.

Mrs. Rossitur found on her return that Hugh had obeyed her charge to the letter. He had made Fleda feel at home. They were sitting close together, Hugh's hand affectionately clasping hers, and he was holding forth on some subject with a gracious politeness that many of his elders might have copied, while Fleda listened and assented with entire satisfaction. The rest of the morning she passed in her aunt's arms, drinking draughts of pleasure from those dear bright eyes, taking in the balm of gentlest words of love and soft kisses, every one of which was felt at the bottom of Fleda's heart, and the pleasure of talking over her young sorrows with one who could feel them all, and answer with tears as well as words of sympathy. And Hugh stood by the while, looking at his little orphan cousin as if she might have dropped from the clouds into his mother's lap, a rare jewel or delicate flower, but much more delicate and precious than they or any other possible gift.

Hugh and Fleda dined alone: for, as he informed her, his father never would have children at the dinner-table when he had company, and Mr. and Mrs. Carleton, and other people were to be there to-day. Fleda made no remark on the subject, by word or look, but she thought none the less. She thought it was a very mean fashion. She not come to the table when strangers were there! And who would enjoy them more? When Mr. Rossitur and Mr. Carleton had dined with her grandfather, had she not taken as much pleasure in their society, and in the whole thing, as any other one of the party? And at Carleton had she not several times dined with a tableful, and been unspeakably amused to watch the different manners and characteristics of people who were strange to her? However, Mr. Rossitur had other notions. So she and Hugh had their dinner in aunt Lucy's dressing-room by themselves; and a very nice dinner it was, Fleda thought, and Rosaline, Mrs. Rossitur's French maid, was well affected and took admirable care of them. Indeed, before the close of the day, Rosaline privately informed her mistress, "qu'elle serait entêtée sûrement de cet enfant dans trois jours;" and "que son regard vraiment lui serrait le coeur." And Hugh was excellent company, failing all other, and did the honours of the table with the utmost thoughtfulness, and amused Fleda the whole time with accounts of Paris, and what they would do, and what she should see; and how his sister Marion was at school at a convent, and what kind of a place a convent was; and how he himself always stayed at home and learned of his mother and his father; "or by himself," he said, "just as it happened," and he hoped they would keep Fleda at home too. So Fleda hoped exceedingly, but this stern rule about the dining had made her feel a little shy of her uncle; she thought perhaps he was not kind and indulgent to children, like her aunt Lucy, and if he said she must go to a convent, she would not dare to ask him to let her stay. The next time she saw him, however, she was obliged to change her opinion again, in part; for he was very kind and indulgent, both to her and Hugh, and, more than that, he was very amusing. He showed her pictures, and told her new and interesting things, and finding that she listened eagerly, he seemed pleased to prolong her pleasure, even at the expense of a good deal of his own time.

Mr. Rossitur was a man of cultivated mind and very refined and fastidious taste. He lived for the pleasures of art and literature, and the society where these are valued. For this, and not without some secret love of display, he lived in Paris; not extravagant in his pleasures, nor silly in his ostentation, but leading, like a gentleman, as worthy and rational a life as a man can lead who lives only to himself, with no further thought than to enjoy the passing hours. Mr. Rossitur enjoyed them elegantly, and, for a man of the world, moderately; bestowing, however, few of those precious hours upon his children. It was his maxim, that they should be kept out of the way whenever their presence might by any chance interfere with the amusements of their elders; and this maxim, a good one certainly in some hands, was, in his reading of it, a very broad one. Still, when he did take time to give his family, he was a delightful companion to those of them who could understand him. If they showed no taste for sensible pleasure, he had no patience with them, nor desire of their company. Report had done him no wrong in giving him a stern temper; but this almost never came out in actual exercise; Fleda knew it only from in occasional hint now and then, and by her childish intuitive reading of the lines it had drawn round the mouth and brow. It had no disagreeable bearing on his everyday life and manner; and the quiet fact probably served but to heighten the love and reverence in which his family held him very high.