"Fourteen. I was in a naughty fit at her refusing to go to the great

musical meeting with us. We always used to go to stay at one of the

canon's houses for it, a house where one was dull and shy; and I could

not bear going without her, nor understand the reason."

"And was there a reason?"

"Yes, poor dear Ermine. She knew he meant to come there to meet her, and

she thought it would not be right; because his father had objected so

strongly, and made him exchange into a regiment on foreign service."

"And you did not know this?"

"No, I was away all the time it was going on, with my eldest sister,

having masters in London. I did not come home till it was all over, and

then I could not understand what was the matter with the house, or why

Ermine was unlike herself, and papa restless and anxious about her. They

thought me too young to be told, and the atmosphere made me cross and

fretful, and papa was displeased with me, and Ermine tried in vain to

make me good; poor patient Ermine, even then the chief sufferer!"

"I can quite imagine the discomfort and fret of being in ignorance all

the time."

"Dear Ermine says she longed to tell me, but she had been forbidden, and

she went on blaming herself and trying to make me enjoy my holidays as

usual, till this dreadful day, when I had worried her intolerably about

going to this music meeting, and she found reasoning only made me worse.

She still wrote her note of refusal, and asked me to light the taper; I

dashed down the match in a frenzy of temper and--"

She paused for breath, and Grace squeezed her hand.

"We did not see it at first, and then she threw herself down and ordered

me not to come near. Every one was there directly, I believe, but it

burst out again and again, and was not put out till they all thought

she had not an hour to live. There was no pain, and there she lay,

all calmness, comforting us all, and making papa and Edward promise to

forgive me--me, who only wished they would kill me! And the next day he

came; he was just going to sail, and they thought nothing would hurt her

then. I saw him while he was waiting, and never did I see such a fixed

deathly face. But they said she found words to cheer and soothe him."

"And what became of him?"

"We do not know. As long as Lady Alison lived (his aunt) she let us hear

about him, and we knew he was recovering from his wound. Then came her

death, and then my father's, and all the rest, and we lost sight of the

Beauchamps. We saw the name in the Gazette as killed at Lucknow, but

not the right Christian name nor the same rank; but then, though the

regiment is come home, we have heard nothing of him, and though she has

never spoken of him to me, I am sure Ermine believes he is dead, and

thinks of him as part of the sunshine of the old Beauchamp days--the

sunshine whose reflection lasts one's life."




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