My Lost Manuscript. The romance of a school

Front matter

MY LOST MANUSCRIPT of agcj?<pl. h. ■ JClJLSi^ cWuthor ot 'Working to Win" "Hollyberry Janet "In the World's pardon" it it Conquering fhyseiF, the Conquerors Crowe is gTveJf" L.J.laLOO*M,FlEUD A\OOf^E_ L°N 0 on: Weils Gardner., Dayton &€" 3 pat<jn**)Ogl<>r (g)uildiogs s. TO MRS. BLOOMFIELD MOORE IN LOVING ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE KIND AND HELPFUL SYMPATHY WHICH ENABLED ME TO WRITE Gbfs Stotg TO THE READER Pg||HE "Flower Village," portions of which are intro 1111111 following pages, is the work of a friend. My grateful acknowledgments are due to her for permission to use them. From all who may read my story, I claim for Dame Lamonte the right to her own opinions. Do not impute them to me. I have tried honestly, but still imperfectly, I fear, to show her to you as she revealed herself to me. Truth is one, its aspects many.

What you, and I, are not able to accept, may be true for all that. She has spoken through my pen very candidly ; let us at least respect her convictions, and admire her frankness, even although we may not be able to endorse all her utterances. MAGGIE SYMINGTON. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. " MINE!" I II. MISS BLOSSOM 8 III. SHEILA'S LITTLE GUEST 1 3 IV. I TAKE UP MY PEN 21 V. LADYKIN'S HISTORY 28 VI. "POVEKTY, WHERE ARE THY CHARMS?" . . . -35 VII. DAME LAMONTE'S SYSTEM 41 VIII. AT NUNSHEAD 48 IX. THE POST OF CARLINE 56 X. MISTRESSES AND MAIDS 65 XI. A HOT IRON 74 XII. A GORDIAN KNOT 82 XIII. HALLELUJAH 88 XD7. THE YELLOW GOWN IOI XV. SAINT SIGISMUNDA Ill XVI. FACE TO FACE 119 XVII. COSMETICS AND PEARL POWDER 1 32 XVIII. MISTRESS WENIFREDA'S FOUR O'CLOCK .... 144 XIX. THE SERVICE OF TRANSFER 1 58 XX.

ST. SIGISMUNDA'S LADDER 165 XXI. MAGISTER GREGOIRE 175 XXII. HIGHER THAN I 184 XXIII. IN HOSPITAL 1 92 vn Contents VIII CHAP. PAGE XXIV. THE LIFE RAISED 199 XXV. YELLOW AND GREY 208 XXVI. "LOVE SHALL BE ALL IN ALL" 2l6 XXVII. "WHOM THE QUEEN DELIGHTETH TO HONOUR" . . • 224 XXVIII. "ONE OF THEM" 23O XXIX. FORTUNIA'S QUESTION 236 XXX. EDITOR BOTHA 246 XXXI. BLIGHTED 256 XXXII. PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS 262 XXXIII. A WORM AT THE ROOT 269 XXXIV. BORROWED PLUMAGE 276 XXXV. WAIT ! 285 XXXVI. THE REVIEW 293 xxxvii. sheila's glory day . . 301 XXXVIII. THE ANGEL'S MESSAGE 3 10 XXXIX. BEFORE THE CHRIST-PICTURE 317 XL. IN THE MYSTERY ROOM . MY LOST MANUSCRIPT THE ROMANCE OF A SCHOOL

Chapter I

"MINE!" p"3njfffc]F had just reached the edges of blossom-time 1 1( il 1 w^ien my own little flower fell sick. Ek-BÆ^-IJ Nature was fringing her wintry skirts with starry aconites, pale snowdrops, and royal-hued crocuses, when I learnt from the Doctor's lips the serious nature of the illness of my only child. A fever, caught who could tell how, prostrated her. Possibly it was the result of an utter change of climate and mode of life, for barely three months had passed since she and I, fatherless and widowed, had landed from India ; I to resume my old life, she, my little Sheila, to begin one entirely new, with nine years' experience of one so utterly different upon her. A little olive-skinned maid, with round wondering eyes, wide opened to take in the different phases of an Euglish winter.

The snows of December, the frosts of January, the sunshine without warmth in it that February A " flbine ! " 2 brought, were a curious change to Sheila. She wondered at the woollen garments I bought for her, the exercise I encouraged her to take, the ways of our cottage home, the one servant in place of the many native ones, and delighted in them all, for, to a child, change is more enjoyable than luxury. When the Earth lifted her long closed eyelids, and the first little blossom appeared, Sheila was 'entranced. All the glories of a tropical flower-world paled before the marvels of that fair little flower. Her feverish hand held the first snowdrop in it when the first pang of alarm darted through my own heart, and I sent off our little maid, Nancy, post-haste for the nearest doctor. With the exception of Nancy, whose loving devotion to Sheila made me regard her with friendly eyes, Doctor Philbrick became our first, and, for some time, only English friend.

My husband had been an only child. His parents died during our ten years' residence in India ; I had never had any intercourse with the less near rela tives of his, though I believe some such existed in the North of England. My own relatives also were few in number, and I returned to find them dead and scattered. I had chosen a little village in Ardenshire as a resi dence, because within a mile or two of it was the school where the happiest days of my life had been passed, and I had a hope to procure for Sheila such exceptional training as my own had been. In saying this, I am not meaning to set aside even the experience of my married life, whose higher lights and deeper shadows lifted it above, and sank it below, the even tenor of the school-days I had always looked back to with regret and longing.

Through Sheila I might, perhaps, live them over again ; that is, if I were fortunate enough to obtain admission for her into that little exclusive world of young spirits, which had its High Priestess whose "/Ibtne!" 3 good-will was not to be bought with any ordinary cur rency. Therefore, although I lacked everything which may be usually reckoned upon as motive power — influence and means — I cherished a secret hope in my heart that my dream would not be found impossible of fulfilment. With Sheila tossing between life and death through long days and weary nights, all thoughts for the future fell into abeyance. A solemn hush came down upon my life ; all plans hung upon the present ; I could neither look forward nor back. Every hope, every fear, resolved itself into this — " Did God mean to strip me of all ?

Must I yield the only possession of value that remained ? " As I hung over the little bed, watching the fluctua tions of rose and white in my darling's face, counting with strained attention each heart-throb, catching at every evidence of hope, closing my eyes to the painful symptoms, I prayed, as only mothers do pray, counting life all, annulling self for the preservation of another. Doctor Philbrick was a fatherly little man, having a wife and small family of his own. He watched Sheila with a growing parental fondness, and was unremitting in his care and attention. He assured me from the very first that the only danger on my child's behalf lay in the constitutional delicacy, fostered by the passing of her early years in India. For a robust English child it would be easy to battle through such an attack of fever as this.

" Do not leave her to-night," said the good little man, as he drew on his gloves after his customary visit one evening. " The crisis is near. I will look in again as early as possible in the morning, unless you see reason to send for me sooner." As a matter of fact I never had left her any night, taking such broken rest as I could get on a little couch by her side. I did not consider it necessary to tell him " flbfne ! " 4 this, because his approval or disapproval could make no difference. I saw him depart with great sinking of heart, long ing to keep him, yet acknowledging the selfishness of the desire. Doctors are but human, although in the supreme crises of life we are apt to credit them with superhuman powers. He turned in the doorway, filled with compassion for me in the agony of suspense I was enduring.

" I have no power to save," he said hurriedly ; " with God are the issues of life and death. Go to Him, my dear Mrs. Dennison. If you need help, send for me at any hour of the night." " But you do not anticipate " I began, then stopped, unable to pronounce the one word that quivered and died without utterance. "I anticipate nothing. Even we poor doctors, from whom so much is expected, cannot dare to gauge the elasticity of a child's tenure of life. The most delicate among them will pull through what older people would sink under. I have seen it many a time." " Have you no more directions to give me, Doctor ? " " None but this one. She will most likely sleep past the crisis. When she awakes, avoid anything likely to startle her. Whatever fancy may possess her, fall in with it. Yield your will to hers, however erratic hers may be in its weakness.

Her little feet will be treading the brink of the vast unknown ; follow them, do not strive to be yourself her guide." His solemn words inspired me ; who could have thought this little, ordinary-looking man could have spoken such? I went back to the little room, all white and warm, which my loving heart and hand had provided for my darling. Her little dark head rested on the pillow, and " flbine ! " 5 the slumber in which the Doctor had found her, still held her eyelids closed. Nancy, warm-hearted and rough, sat by the little bed, great tears brimming over her ruddy cheeks in the light from the shaded lamp. She was just beginning to sob with ungovernable emotion when I took her by the shoulder and pushed her quickly from the room. " Hush, hush, child; do not cry out or speak." " Oh, Ma'am ! oh, Ma'am !

" in a spasmodic whisper, " she looks exactly like my little brother did the night he died. 0 — o — o — o ! " " Go down, Nancy, quick ; take me some supper into the parlour. You must learn to control yourself, or I cannot allow you again in Miss Sheila's room." This threat had the desired effect. She choked back her tears with a glance of desperate appeal, under which I swiftly retreated and noiselessly closed the door. I arranged everything for the night, then rang the bell, whose distant tinkle could hardly be heard here. I met Nancy outside on the landing, scanning inquiringly her good-natured little face. So? Well! She had really made efforts at self-restraint. " If you can keep from crying, or making the least sound, you may go in and sit by Miss Sheila till I come." I went down and tried to eat, but the food felt dry in my throat, and my efforts to swallow it were unavail ing.

I went back to my darling's room. Nancy had screwed herself into a rigidity of posture and there re mained, her mouth pursed up, her brows drawn. Poor girl, she had obeyed me to the best of her ability, and Sheila's light slumbers were undisturbed. I released her with a kindly good-night, and took up my post. The quiet hours wore on, velvet-footed, heavy-winged, with no change to mark them save that my little one's breathing seemed to my anxious ears to grow lighter and more regular. " flbtne ! " 6 Now and then I varied my strained watch by going to the window and looking out upon the thick mantle of darkness in which the February night had clothed herself. The outside air was still and warm for the season, no wind was stirring ; and when I admitted the air, as I did now and again, it stole in like some ghostly presence.

Still the child slept calmly, her pretty hair tossed back over the pillow, her flower-like face lifted, the fringed lids resting darkly on her cheeks. As the night crept on, the tension of my mind re laxed ; the effect of the Doctor's bracing words passed away. Depression laid her chill fingers on my heart. What if my child's true self never looked out upon me again through those fringed lids, the little innocent loving spirit whose gentle hold had been sufficient to call me back to life when my husband was taken ? My child ; she was mine, Mine ! Cruelty only could call her away. The orthodox reader will be amazed at the unre generate state of my heart. I am not writing of how one ought to feel under such circumstances as it has been given me to describe ; I am trying to tell honestly of what actually was.

For many days I had seemed to myself to be struggling with an invisible power for possession of my one little ewe lamb. " Mine," I reiterated constantly ; " mine, by rights human and divine. I will not give her up ; I will enforce my claim, even in the very jaws of death." And here, with hot rebellion seething in my blood. the Doctor's caution came back to me. " I am not master of myself just now," I said, " and if she should wake ? " I crept again to the window, and stooped my burnin° brow to the sill. The Night laid her cooling fingers upon me. Outside, " /ibine ! " 7 pitchy darkness ; inside, Life and Death stood side by side. Which would be compelled to depart, vanquished ? " God," I murmured, calling upon that High and Holy Name, not with the tender voice of love, nor with the clinging tones of trust, but as one invokes a power in whose grasp one is compelled to acknowledge one's own impotence.

I knew Him but as Creator and Supreme Ruler of this awful Universe, awful in its complicity when the clue is not with us. " God, oh God — Thou who knowest the innermost depths of a mother's heart, spare me ! " Was there no voice of comfort in all the pitiless dark ? I lifted my eyes. One star gleamed mistily, like an eye shining through unshed tears, and at the same moment a faint little voice reached me — " Mother ! " An invisible grasp held my heartstrings. I, who had shaken Nancy into self-control, needed now that some one should teach me the same lesson with equal promptitude. " My darling ! " " You did not finish telling me about Miss Blossom." It was au old story of sunshine, of flowers, and insects which I had invented for her amusement when the sick ness first came upon her. Shaking as one with the palsy beneath the tremor of relief and gladness under which I forgot the Holy Name which despair and defiance had brought to my lips, I turned and went quietly back to the little bed, trying to seem as though nothing more significant than our customary morning greeting had passed between us.

" Let me give you something to drink, and then I will sit down and tell you the whole story, my lambie." So stimulated, she took both nourishment and medicine, then her little head fell like a weary flower to the pillow, and, with ten thousand pulses throbbing fire through my veins, I began to tell her how —

Chapter II Miss Blossom

P|j||IjISS BLOSSOM sat in her window talking village Iff si) J matters over with her friends, and little thought s^i^a what tender nothings were being said to each other by the flowers outside. " The Canary in his cage of stained glass and wire had a more philosophic eye. He often looked through the sunbeams to the diamond patch on the lawn, and saw the Tulip kiss the Daisy, and the Rose sheath her thorns while the beard of the climbing honeysuckle swept her cheek. " Morning and evening Miss Blossom tended her nurs lings as they crept up through the soil, but she never once thought they could love each other. "Walled in by hedges smooth and green, this Flower Village looked a very Eden. There were soft voicings under green leaves, with no jealousy to burn, for all was love-lighted and beautiful.

" But though there was no jealousy to burn, no pride to hold itself apart, still I must confess that all were not equally sweet and good. As with life in the race human, so it was with life in the Flower Village, there were vessels of honour and vessels of dishonour. Some loved truly, lived long, and bloomed brilliantly ; others loved less, and their lives were of shorter duration, being unworthy even of a capital letter to emphasise them. flbfss asiossom 9 " The Diamond Patch was not only a village ; it was a metropolis too, having its Temple, its Palace Royal, its Premier, its Cabinet Council, its Court, its Halls for Entertainment, its Schools, Castles, and Promenades, and, beyond all — its Queen." I paused, having drawn out the last words lingeringly. The heavy lids were lifted, a weary little voice mur mured — " Now, go on about Redcap and Blue Eye."

How I blessed the involuntary invention of this story as I noted the slumberous effect of the telling ! " Just beneath the ledge of Miss Blossom's window a family of violets formed a circle sacredly their own, with a root of daisies in their midst. " The Violet family was a very select one ; they never associated with the more beautiful, but less gifted, occupants of the garden. They were very short-lived, too ; and if it had not been for the shelter of a Rose-bush near, would not have been able to see the June rose month come in. In the rambling old Violet Mansion several elderly matrons were now passing away in their chambers. The mansion itself was sinking earthwards, although it was not untenanted. A green couch and bending foliage often testified to the presence of some one, seldom seen, but surely there.

Redcap knew it, though he never saw more of that presence than a sweet Blue-Eye, or heard more of its voice than a sigh which sent forth perfume more delicious than the scent of roses." There was something in the mention of Redcap that seemed to fill my little listener with a sufficiency of content. A fluttering sigh of pure enjoyment just reached my ear as the little cheek pressed more restfully against the pillow. " Redcap had learnt to love the couch and its green leaf curtains, and thirstily to drink in the breeze that /Ibiss Blossom 10 bore the scent of her garments towards him. The heiress of the Violet Family was indeed very solitary, but very, very beautiful as well ; but none saw her beauty with so keen a delight as did Redcap, the son of the Patriarch Daisy. Every time she felt him glance that way, the shy Blue-Eye took care to creep more closely behind the green leaf curtains; for, you know, flowers possess the rare faculty of being able to feel, where humau beings can only use their eyes and ears."

My voice dropped in silence ; the little eyes and ears to which it had appealed were fast sealed. The grey dawn was on the window, and in my heart — peace. There was no place in it for gratitude to Him who had rebestowed the gift of my darling's life. She was spared to me, but by a miracle almost, as the long days of weakness and convalescence proved. For weeks the ebb and flow of the little life thus drawn back from the brink of the grave, seemed pretty equal ; then the steps backward became perceptibly shorter than those taken forwards. When the fits of restlessness came upon her, nothing soothed her like the telling, or retelling, of the story of the Flower Village. She often put me back to the very beginning, and sometimes would complain if I introduced any additional detail ; at others, the introduction of a fresh incident, especially if Redcap were the hero, pleased her.

Through all the cold and wearisome days of March her life and mine were absorbed in the Flower Village, and the story grew and unfolded itself in my mind, every chapter being associated with some fresh step, forwards or backwards, in her progress to recovery. " The circle formed by the Violet Mansion was in one of the groves of the Flower Village. Above the grove was Miss Blossom's parlour wiudow. To the left of the /ibtss Blossom 11 window was the ancestral palace of the Queen — a magni ficent Rose-bush. " To any one coming iu through the Iron Gate, or looking at the Diamond Patch from Miss Blossom's window, this flower metropolis looked like a large village surrounded by many smaller hamlets, whose dwellers all stood on their doorsteps, decked out in holiday costume. Looked at as the Canary viewed the Tulip and the Daisy, it was altogether another thing.

You look at a glass of water with your natural eyes and say it is nothing else ; but if I show it you through a microscope, you would call it, and rightly, a world of wonders. " So it was with the Diamond Patch. " The Palace was, of course, the grandest building there, and the Queen the fairest of all the flowers. Fragrant as a honeycomb, red-lipped, stately. Her sub jects fed upon her fragrance. Each time the June winds visited her cheeks, incense rose heavenward, then, descending, bathed every plant, and flower, and leaf as dew. " The Royal Line had always been in the Rose Family, and when Queen Fairbrow ascended the throne of her ancestors, all hailed her with joy. Her court was held high up, around, and beneath Miss Blossom's parlour window. Many subjects did homage with a bow from a distance.

The Crocus, Tulip, Pansy, Lily, Hyacinth, were her heralds, or Maids of Honour; and their duties placed them always at the feet of their Queen. " The aristocracy of the metropolis was composed of the Ivy that draped the front of Miss Blossom's house, the Dahlia that grew as tall as Miss Blossom herself, the Sweet Peas that covered the arbour, the Blue-bells and Chrysanthemums by the Iron Gate. These were all sweet-mannered, and never presumed upon their high position." /Ibtss Blossom 12 'The Doctor, Ma'am." Into the midst of our Flower Village walked this stout, comfort-bearing little man, with beaming face, and words of ever welcome kindness. " You promised to send your little girl, Alma, to see me ! " was Sheila's greeting. " And so I will, but " he looked at the window, and shrugged his shoulders.

Outside, the March winds were driving the sleet and hail in gusts. The young Spring was being nipped, and held back by her scanty skirts. " Yes, it is stormy ; but she would like to hear Mother tell about our Flower Village, and I want her to know about Queen Fairbrow, and my own dear, funny little Redcap." The Doctor looked puzzled, as well he might, until I explained that Sheila alluded to a story of whose telling she never wearied. " Good," said he, sitting down by the child's couch, and taking her fragile little hand in his. " Keep her interested, but do not stimulate her imagination too strongly while she is so weak" " Oh, it is a sleepy little place, our Diamond Patch," said Sheila sagely ; " and I often nod my head while mother is telling about the Institutions of the Metropolis, and go on with the story in dreams.

But I never go to sleep when she has anything to say about Redcap, and I am sure you would not either." " Not so sure of that," laughed the Doctor. When he was gone, Sheila remarked — " I think he is like Miss Blossom. He couldn't look at our Diamond Patch through Canary's eyes, as we do. Go on, Sweetest."

Chapter III Sheila's Little Guest

i^^gp S the story developed, insensibly to myself il35 i almost, the fluctuations of my own spirit were HBm reflected in it. Now lifted high into breezy brightness upon some inflowing wave of hope, then plunged into gloom by the outward rolling ebb of un spoken dread. It was in one such darker moment that the idea of the awful Prison House of the Snapdragon Family grew, a fancy which laid firm hold of Sheila's imagination, without seeming to inspire her with any unwholesome fear, however. She was thrilled into inquiring, with eager eyes and voice — " Don't you think Alma Philbrick would like to hear about the Snapdragon Prison House, Sweetest ? " I had conceived a mental picture of the ten-year-old daughter of our medical adviser, born of his frequent allusions to her on Sheila's account. A practical little person, I felt sure, sturdy aud strong, whose education so far had excluded all culture of the imaginative faculty.

" Perhaps she would ; I can hardly tell. We can go over it again for her benefit." " And do not change one word, Sweetest. You do that sometimes wheu you have to go back." " I am very sorry. I suppose I forget." '3 Sbetla's Xlttle (Bnest 14 " But why do you forget ? I do not." I could not tell why. This was one of the pertinent questions with which Sheila often startled and confounded me. Why should the words which fell without any pre arrangement from my lips as the natural clothing of the fanciful thoughts — generated, as I then believed, in my own brain — not become the essential part of the story to me they were to her ? " When will Alma come to us ? " " To-morrow, perhaps, if the weather changes. The Doctor's house is a good long drive from this ; he is afraid of the cold and rain for his little girl."

" As you would be for me ? " " Not quite so much ; Alma is stronger, and more used to English cold and wet, so she is sure to come long before I dare let you go out." The sun shone warmly upon the window of Sheila's room the next morning, and when I went in with her little breakfast tray, there lay on it a pale yellow primrose, the first of the year, which Nancy had found in one sheltered corner of the garden. Sheila greeted it with wonder and delight ; she had never seen a primrose before, and would have neglected her meal altogether if I had not reminded her of it. "Now eat your breakfast. I have some news to tell you about Miss Blossom." Her eyes brightened in anticipation. " Oh ! Has anything happened to her ? " " Something wonderful. I know you will be as astonished as the Canary was."

" Do be quick and tell me. I love Miss Blossom next best to yourself, Sweetest." "There, I have chipped your egg. Now, take some toast, my news will not keep." She held the primrose in one hand, twirling it to Sbefla's Xfttle ©nest 15 aud fro by the stalk, while she fed herself with the other. " It was June in the Flower Village, not March as it is with us. Sunbeam proclaimed this long before breakfast. Miss Blossom sat in her bay window, radiant and smiling. She was dressed in a stiff silk frock, that made the Canary start and stare every time she got up and rustled round the room. This time she was not talking love matters with her gossiping friends. No, it was a tall, remarkably fine-looking man who sat beside her, with a moss-rose in his button-hole from quite another garden." "Oh!" cried Sheila, her strip of toast dipped in the golden yolk held in suspense midway to her mouth in intense astonishment.

" What did he want ? " " He wanted Miss Blossom, nothing less." In went the toast and the egg, while the little teeth met through it with doubtful satisfaction. "The Canary. liked the stranger very well, though he would have thought better of his love-making if he had learned to twitter and frisk about, instead of talking in that buzzing, Blue-Bottle kind of way, holding Miss Blossom's hand all the while as if he was afraid she would fly off. " The Flowers liked him less than the Canary did. They all agreed that so much hair about the face was a bad sign, and shook their little heads, and hoped in their little hearts that the village would never belong to him. They had no time to think much about it one way or the other, because it was a very busy day in the Diamond Patch. Every day is not a holiday even in a garden of flowers.

Roses, Lilacs, and even the clear browed Camelias, work to live, and live to work. Life cannot be happy and sinless without labour. Late though it was in the year, they were just going to Sbefla's Xtttle ©nest 16 celebrate Violet-Tide, so they had no time to cherish fears of the stranger." " Sweetest, do not let him spoil the Flower Village." " Of course not. Loving Miss Blossom, he must love that, too." " What is Violet-Tide ? " " A great Festival. When you are dressed I will tell you all about it, and many new things too about Redcap and Blue-Eye." " Be quick and dress me then, Sweetest." I carried off the tray, and sent Nancy up with warm water. A joy as great as Miss Blossom's, only differing in kind, was in store for my darling that day. The warm sunshine tempted the Doctor to bring his own little maid with him and leave her with us whilst he made his round of visits, calling for her again on his way home.