Esther | Page 4

mine.
Miss Majoribanks was seated in state, in her well-preserved black satin gown, with her black gloves reposing in her lap, looking rather like a feminine mute; but on this occasion I took no notice of her. I actually forgot my courtesy, and I am afraid I made one of my awkward rushes, for Miss Majoribanks groaned slightly, though afterward she turned it into a cough.
"Why, Esther, you are almost a woman now," said my uncle, putting me in front of him, and laying his heavy hand on my shoulder. "Bless me, how the child has grown, and how unlike she is to Carrie!"
"I was seventeen yesterday," I answered, pouting a little, for I understood the reference to Carrie; and was I not the ugly duckling? --but I would not keep up the sore feeling a minute, I was so pleased to see him.
No one would call Uncle Geoffrey handsome--oh, dear, no! his features were too rugged for that; but he had a droll, clever face, and a pair of honest eyes, and his gray hair was so closely cropped that it looked like a silver cap. He was a little restless and fidgety in his movements, too, and had ways that appeared singular to strangers, but I always regarded his habits respectfully. Clever men, I thought, were often eccentric; and I was quite angry with my mother when she used to say, "Geoff was an old bachelor, and he wanted a wife to polish him; I should like to see any woman dare to marry Uncle Geoff."
"Seventeen, sweet seventeen! Eh, Esther?" but he still held my hand and looked at me thoughtfully. It was then I first noticed how grave he looked.
"Have you come from Combe Manor, Uncle Geoff, and are they all quite well at home?" I asked, rather anxiously, for he seemed decidedly nervous.
"Well, no," he returned, rather slowly; "I am sorry to spoil your holiday, child, but I have come by your mother's express desire to fetch you home. Frank--your father, I mean--is not well, and they will be glad of your help and--bless me"--Uncle Geoff's favorite exclamation--"how pale the girl looks!"
"You are keeping something from me--he is very ill--I know he is very ill!" I exclaimed, passionately. "Oh, uncle, do speak out! he is --" but I could not finish my sentence, only Uncle Geoffrey understood.
"No, no, it is not so bad as that," putting his arm round me, for I was trembling and shaking all over; "he is very ill--I dare not deny that there is much ground for fear; but Esther, we ought to lose no time in getting away from here. Will you swallow this glass of wine, like a good, brave child, and then pack up your things as soon as possible?"
There was no resisting Uncle Geoffrey's coaxing voice; all his patients did what he told them, so I drank the wine, and tried to hurry from the room, only my knees felt so weak.
"Miss Martin will assist you," whispered Miss Majoribanks, as I passed her; and, sure enough, as I entered the dormitory, there was Belle emptying my drawers, with Jessie helping her. Even in my bewildered state of wretchedness I wondered why Miss Majoribanks thought it necessary for me to take all my things. Was I bidding good-by to Redmayne House?
Belle looked very kindly at me as she folded my dresses, but Jessie came up to me with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Esther!" she whispered, "how strange to think we were talking as we were, and now the opportunity has come?" and though her speech was a little vague, I understood it; she meant the time for me to display my greatness of mind--ah, me! my greatness of mind--where was it? I was of no use at all; the girls did it all between them, while I sat on the edge of my little bed and watched them. They were as quick as possible, and yet it seemed hours before the box was locked, and Belle had handed me the key; by-and-by, Miss Majoribanks came and fetched me down, for she said the fly was at the door, and Dr. Cameron was waiting.
We girls had never cared much for Miss Majoribanks, but nothing could exceed her kindness then. I think the reason why schoolmistresses are not often beloved by their pupils--though there certainly are exceptions to that rule--is that they do not often show their good hearts.
When Miss Majoribanks buttoned my gloves for me, and smoothed my hair, and gave me that motherly kiss, I felt I loved her. "God bless you my dear child! we shall all miss you; you have worked well and been a credit to the establishment. I am sorry indeed to part with you." Actually these were Miss Majoribanks' words, and spoken, too, in