His Troublesome Sister

Front matter

BY EVA TRAVERS EVERED, POOLE AUTHOR OF " LOTTA'S LIFE MISTAKE," " GOLDEN LINKS IN A LIFE'S CHAIN," "FLOWER STORIES," "SUNBEAMS," ETC, LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. CONTENTS CHAPTER. PAGE I. BROTHER AND SISTER I II. HUGH INGRAM I 5 III. A SAD STORY . . 3 I IV. NEW SURROUNDINGS . . 43 V. HELEN 57 VI. TRIALS 69 VII. LENNOX DERING 82 VIII. AT BAY IOO IX. A FOOLISH STEP I 1 6 X. IN DIFFICULTIES I 28 XI. A TIMELY RESCUE I45 XII. DISCOVERY l68 CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. XIII. TEARS 17^ XIV. TANGLED THREADS 194 xv. cynthia's retreat 209 XVI. CONFESSION 234 XVII. TOO LATE 255 XVIII. NOT her ideal

Chapter I. Brother And Sister

They sat together, brother and sister, in a small dingily-furnished room, dignified in their eyes by the title of "drawingj? room. When Jack had written to his sister and told her that he had taken the "drawing room floor" of No. 5, Eden Place, Cynthia's little heart swelled with delight, and she painted to herself in glowing colours, dear old Jack and his surroundings. And now that she had left school, and was with him for the few weeks during which she was seeking an engagement as governess or companion, she still saw the drab-coloured surroundings of his city life through the roseate haze of her own bright hopes. The small room, fourteen feet square, with its faded curtains, and horse-hair fur niture covered with endless antimacassars, was "home" in her eyes, because Jack lived there, and night by night his tall form fil led one of the great black arm-chairs, which stood like sentinels on either side of the fire place.

And was not Jack her all? — The only creature left to her in the wide world since her father's death? What cared she that No. 5, Eden Place lay in a comparatively poor locality — one in a row of some fifty other houses, built and fashioned on the same precise pattern, and that from its windows she could catch no larger, brighter view than the staring fronts of the opposite houses, or the dull backyards and dingy chimneys of the par allel streets? They sat together to-night — brother and sister, over a tiny handful of fire, burning a solitary gas-light. They had just finished tea, and Jack had pushed away his plate, with the half-eaten, untempting chop upon it ; and drawing the arm-chair closer to the fire, sat stroking his sister's glossy head, which rested lovingly against his knee. The two were like — yet unlike each other.

Jack was very tall and well made, but a slight habitual stoop spoiled his appearance, and took off from his apparent height not a little. The contraction of his shoulders, con sequent upon this, gave him an appearance of delicacy, which otherwise his build hardly warranted. His face looked older than its five-and twenty years, and was lit up with earnest. keen, deep-set eyes ; his features showed refinement and intelligence. His was a face which nobody thought of calling more than "good-looking," yet it was that in more senses than one. He had a very resolute mouth, with the set upon it of one who has had to endure curved into lines that told of a growing habit of repression, caused by too early contact with an unsympathetic world. Cynthia was a little creature, with a pretty lissomness of mould that was pleasant to look upon ; her big brown eyes fired, flashed and sparkled, or melted with every wave of emotion that tossed her childish, ungoverned spirit; the tell-tale colour, soft curving lips, and nervously restless fingers. told their own story of an undisciplined and excitable nature.

Her hair had been for some reason or another cropped quite short, giving a half boyish look to the small well shaped head, but the hair lay upon it glossy, soft and tempting to the touch, in colour and texture like the warm brown of a young thrush's wing. Cynthia's face was too small and colour less for beauty, and yet too changeful for absolute plainness. It was full of undevel oped prettiness of a certain child-like kind ; stray dimples lurking in unexpected places, swift-dropping, soft-shading eyelids and lashes, and wilful lines about the pouting mouth, which was like in shape, but not in ex pression, to her brother's. Cynthia's prettiest possessions were her hands ; they were small, dimpled, baby hands, with a clinging clasp, and tender touch that drew out sympathy, and pleaded for help.

They could be deftly busy too at times, as Jack's wardrobe testified in more ways than one. Just now they were playing in and out of his button hole, as the two talked together of the future, and planned what might some day be. What was their past, and how promised their future? Their father had been a comparatively wealthy man once; a stone merchant, whose business lay in the north of England. Their mother, above him in rank, intel lect and in soul, had died after bearing him these two children. Mr. Cray had lost in his wife the sole check upon his extra vagance, and from the day of her death launched out into endless and ruinous expense ; frittering away in a few years what might have been a life-time's competence. Brother aud Sister. 7 Until Cynthia was twelve and Jack nine teen, not a wish of either had been ungrat ified, nor a taste uncultivated.

Then came a change ; pressing creditors, stormy inter views, recklessness on Mr. Cray's part, the gradual loss of all, and, finally, his sudden death in the prime of life. • Cynthia never forgot that summer day, one of June's most perfect. She had come in from the garden, ready for breakfast, having enjoyed the fresh, yet warm morning breeze, with a wealth of fragrant garden growth in her hands, ready for ar rangement in their crystal vases. Not finding her father in the dining-room, she ran into the study, where she caught sight of his familiar figure filling his easy chair. Entering on tip-toe from behind him, she dropped a rich bunch of dewy, half-blown roses into his lap, and then — when the action remained unnoticed by that curiously motionless figure, she clasped her hands over his eyes, crying ; " Guess, father, guess !

" Starting back with a shrill scream of terror as the death-chill on his brow met her soft, warm fingers, and as the bent head fell suddenly forward. Instinctively she guessed — she knew — that death had been busy there. Never from that fatal day could Cynthia bear the mingled sweet ness of roses and heliotrope ; sorrow was so intertwined with it. There is no association so strangely subtle as that of perfume ; the cold death-chill and the rose-scent seemed ever to cling together in Cynthia's me mory. Then came a trying time. Jack at twenty faced the cold world, and faced it bearing about with him the burden of a dishonoured name ; and without a penny in his pos session but the bare fifty pounds per annum secured to him by the prudent forethought of his mother. He was too generous-hearted to make use of it for his own support, but at once sought for work, all unused to it as he was, and intent upon making provision for his little sister, on whom the calamity and pinchings of poverty would fall more heavily than on his own brave spirit.

Many in the small country town pitied the lad, while blaming his father's extrava gance, and interested themselves on his behalf. The offer of a London clerkship was no sooner made than it was accepted by him. It could never be congenial work, but it was not Jack's way at any time to please himself when duty and inclination ran counter; His Trmiblesome Sister. 10 so very soon he started for busy London, and commenced his strange, new life. Only Cynthia knew his real ambition and the brave way in which he bore its frus tration ; only Cynthia had heard his day dreams and revelled with him in visions of the future, when, as a noted musician, he should surprise the world. His little sister had her share in all his triumphs and forgot to plan for self in weaving a fairy future for Jack. What became of Cynthia while Jack went to work ?

She went to school ; Jack devot ing his fifty pounds a year to her educa tion and necessities. It was done with a definite object. When Cynthia was eighteen, she was to earn her own living, and Jack's small income was to revert to his own use, augmenting his poor salary, and allowing him to do a l little more than eke out the half-starved existence which until then was necessity. But, though Cynthia's future was easily planned out, she herself was anything but easily managed ; she gave her brother great trouble during those years of school life. What it Was about her, no one could tell ; she was such a little embodiment of impulse and passion; had so much of the mischie vous kitten in her disposition that she was for ever in disgrace. Two schools where she had been placed as part pupil and part pupil teacher, returned her on her brother's hand.

The ladies who kept these establish ments were shocked at her frivolity, and wearied by her inveterate scrapes. She was a bad example, they said ; and her storms of passion and tears when re proved and rated, made matters ten times worse. Jack was at his wits' end to know what to do with his wilful little sister. The worst of it was that the winsome culprit was utterly unimpressed with the seriousness of her offences, or what effect they might have upon her future. To her it was a delicious holiday, and capital fun, to find herself free from the trammels of school life, and in the train en route for Jack's little lodgings. To be sure, she would sit and cry herself almost to a shadow when Jack's despairing face and gravely shaken head showed his appreciation of her delinquencies, and she would listen to his expostulations with penitence written on every line of her face.

Then she would beg forgiveness so pitifully, and clasp her baby hands round his so pleadingly, that he did not know what to do but pardon her, and exact a solemn promise that she would really try for the future to be less of a child and more of an earnest woman. His last plan had been to place her in a French school, not only for the sake of acquiring the language , but hoping that the stricter discipline and the strange surround ings might not be without a sobering effect on her singularly volatile nature. The plan had so far succeeded that Cynthia had remained there ; completing her eighteenth year just before the opening of my story. She seemed sobered, and more able to grasp the necessity for endeavour on her part to overcome her faults of character. The sep aration from Jack had given her a little more womanliness ; but still her brother could hardly help smiling when he saw how much of the old, childish Cynthia was hidden under the new assumption of womanhood.

Poor child ! She had had no training during her early years to fit her for facing the world, or the stern realities of life. Jack would fain have shielded her from its rude ways, but fate had ordained it otherwise ; and little Cynthia must fight her own way on life's battle-field.

Chapter II. Hugh Ingram

"Do you think it will do, Jack?" timidly asked Cynthia, as her brother read through the advertisement which she had carefully cut out of the evening paper, in silence, and looking very grave. " Governess-Companion wanted, for an invalid child. Must be young, bright, and companionable. Salary .-£30." "Do you?" repeated Cynthia, glancing up at her brother's troubled face. "Yes, little woman, it may do; but will you do? That is the real question." "What do you mean, Jack?" "Cynthia," he answered very gravely, "your future causes me intense anxiety ; some times I lie awake for hours, wondering what I shall do with you. " My child," he added, very tenderly, as he saw her brown eyes fill with tears, and her full lips tremble, " you must be a woman now ; you are thoughtless still, and seem unable to realise the seriousness of your position in life.

I often despair of impres sing upon you, how important it is for you to learn self-control and self-government. — And, Cynthia," — here his voice lowered, and he spoke with intense feeling — " you have not hidden from me the workings of your heart, and your longings and strivings after better things. Although I know you yearn to be a follower of God, and to count yourself His true disciple, yet I see you fail in like ness to Him. You have no real rest, no Hugh Ingram. 17 joyous victory; and yet He has promised both to those who belong to Him. You have been born with such a fatal inheritance of wilful temper, that you, of all others, need the Christ of God, Who shall ' save His people from their sins.' I do not know what you will do without Him, and His subduing power. Do not be angry with your poor old brother, Cynthia, if he tells you the truth about yourself; perhaps, no one else will ever love you well enough to do so, or talk to you of your wilful, wayward temper, your mingled passion and pride, and the fits of downright naughtiness which seem to come over you at times, and to make you anything but the dear little sister you ought to be.

There,— -do not cry so," — as the girl began sobbing as if her heart would break, making him feel that he could not go on with his lecture. " Indeed, indeed, I will be good ; I will try my very best, dear old Jack," Cynthia cried child-like. "I know I am wicked and horrid; I do not believe I am a Christian at all; if I am, why has not God made me good ? " " Do not blame God for your own faults, Cynthia. He will give you grace and strength to overcome your sins, if you really seek it. He is always true to His word ; but He will work no miracle on your behalf while yow stand by and watch it. No, no ; if He, in his goodness places you in a situation suitable for you, do endeavour by every means in your power to keep it, and so relieve my mind of anxiety respecting you ! My salary will not keep both of us, and I see no prospect of its increase at present."

And Cynthia promised, begging Jack to kiss and forgive her. Jack as he complied could not help an Hugh Ingram. 19 involuntary sigh. He had heard like pro mises before, and keenly felt the want of ballast in Cynthia's character. To be sure, she was very young, and youth must have its spring-like freaks. Perhaps, he ought to have more patience with her, and to be less Mentor and more mother-like in his man agement of her ? No wonder he sighed ! The best woman in the world is a strange problem to a young man of five-and-twenty. That night Cynthia lay awake, thinking over her brother's words to her, and almost came to the conclusion that after all her trying and hoping she was not a Christian. Surely she did not possess the " new heart, and right spirit." The terrible old faults haunted her, and were every whit as bad to-day as they had been a year ago.

She did pray — yes, and earnestly too — resolving against wrong-doing, and longing to be holy; yet every day failing, every day falling, until she almost despaired, and cried to God and herself that she was the same old Cynthia, not one whit changed, or bet tered by Him. Yet, was she quite the same as last year ? Nay, I think not. Her sins and failings were more hateful to her ; her self-despair deeper; her sense of absolute helpless need, more overwhelming. Each prayer, each sigh, lifted her soul as the wave lifts the sea-drift, higher, closer to the Rock. Per haps some day, Cynthia, a wave mightier than the last will lift you right on to the Rock, and leave you there, stranded -yet safe ! The poor child knew not what was wrong with her ; God knew. Her heart had never fully opened out to Him, welcoming His entrance within its secret recesses.

Hugh Ingram. 21 Nor had the young yearning spirit felt such a sense of utter self-abandonment as would lead it to take hold of infinite strength. That was yet to come in Cynthia's experience. She duly made application for the post of "governess-companion" to Mrs. Graham Fortescue's invalid daughter. She was not a little surprised to receive a prompt and favourable reply to her letter, which was written at Jack's dictation. She was still more surprised, and not a little delighted when, with very few questions as to her capabilities, and references, Mrs. Fortescue engaged her. Although the lad}*' lived in London, and one would have thought that a personal interview with her daughter's future companion would have been desirable, Mrs. Fortescue did not ask for one, and Cynthia dared not suggest it. ■> o Jack ascertained that Mrs. Fortescue was ot good position, and wealthy.

Her house was large, and situated in a fashionable quarter, so that, as far as he could judge, Cynthia had every prospect of a comfortable home. She was to enter on her new duties as soon as possible. Her charge, Helen Fortescue, was a child of twelve, hopelessly crippled, so her mother wrote. Her education had necessarily been much neglected, and must always be a secondary consideration. What was needed for her, was bright, cheerful companionship. She did not object to Cynthia's youth ; indeed she seemed rather to think it an advantage, as bringing her more into sym pathy with Helen. The child was fanciful, her mother wrote, must not be unneces sarily thwarted or unduly forced in any way : but she declared herself sure that High Ingram. 23 Miss Cray would prove both judicious and kind, and that, consequently all would be well.

And then the date was fixed for Cynthia's entry upon her new duties. With this important letter in her hand, Cynthia stood, one winter evening impatiently watching for Jack's return. She could not see out for the darkness of the night, although she stood close to the window, tapping the glass impatiently with her restless little fingers. The day had been bitted}' cold, for a sharp north-east wind had been blowing throughout it : but this had gone down with the light, and snow had come on — heavy, settled snow, in large flakes, which lay thick on the pavements and streets hushing the tread of the passers-by, and deadening the rattle of the wheels. Cynthia heard the nearest church clock strike seven, its sweet, sonorous chime responded to by every church as far as ear could reach, in tones of different depth and music, and she wondered why Jack was so late that evening.

She tried to see by the dull glare of the street lamp, if she could distinguish his tall figure, noticeable for its stoop, emerg ing from the gloom of the opposite street. Then tired of watching for him, she busied herself, for the twentieth time, with the tiny tea-pot standing on the hob, and turned its other side to the warm, fireside blaze. For want of something better to do, she turned on another gas-light, a piece of un wonted extravagance, but she wanted to make the room bright and cheerful for Jack's home-coming. She finally re-arranged some bunches of fragrant, purple violets, which had been bought that day to decorate the little tea-table, knowing how Jack would Hi oh Ingram. 25 enjoy the flowery sweetness with which the room was filled. She had scarcely finished before she heard the sound of his latch-key in the lock, and his welcome voice below.

Her quick ear at once detected that he was not alone, and caught the sound of another foot ascending the stairs. Cynthia at first felt curious to know who was coming, then pleased, and finally vexed. She wanted Jack all to herself that evening, to tell him her good news and to discuss the future ; and how could she possibly do this before a third person? And girl-like, she glanced down hurriedly at her shabby black dress, wishing she had changed it. She was left no time for further thought, for Jack entered the room, and as Cynthia met him at the door with her face uplifted for her usual kiss, he put his hands beneath her chin, and drew her head back upon his breast, stroking and fondling her cheek. It was one of his caressing ways with Cynthia which the child dearly loved. Closely following him was a young man of middle height, somewhat strongly and broadly built, with a florid face, and a thick, red, curly beard.

His eyes were clear, well set under heavy eyebrows, dark lashes giving depth to their grey hue. It was a face with a certain strength and a power about it, that indicated well-developed self-respect, and self-reliance. The brow bore marks already of the battle against circumstances and the world ; furrows which are not pleasant to see upon the face of one hardly numbering six-and-twenty years. " This is my friend, Hugh Ingram, Cyn thia. Have you some tea ready for us?" Cynthia glanced shyly up at Hugh In gram, and came to the conclusion that Jack's High Ingram. 27 friend was a very plain, commonplace young man with odiously red hair, and of all things that she disliked—a beard! And in her quick, impulsive way she determined unreasonably that she should never like him. She turned away after a silent hand-shake giving no word of welcome to her brother's guest, and busied herself behind the tea tray, with its simple furnishing of blue and white.

She was quite content to sit at the head of the tea-table, and watch Jack enjoying himself, and to listen to his merry talk with Hugh Ingram who, if commonplace in out ward appearance, seemed cultured in mind and tastes. They drifted on to the subject of music, and Cynthia gathered that Jack's friend was an organist at some church near by. She guessed that kindred tastes had drawn the two together. She felt surprised at Jack's fancy, for to her mind Hugh In gram had little or nothing to recommend him, and suffered greatly by comparison with her idolised brother. "Why, little woman, you are very quiet to-night," said Jack, trying to rouse her into her usual pretty animation, as after tea her silence was noticed by him, and he wondered at its cause. "Am I?" said Cynthia and blushed, laughed, and went on with her knitting most energetically, letting her laugh be her answer.

She was not looking pretty to night ; her small, wistful face was pale, and her eyes impatient; the dingy black dress did not suit her, and sorely needed some bright relief of flower or ribbon. She was determined not to talk, and found plenty of excuse in controlling the antics of the black kitten on her knee, which was having a Hugh Ingrain. 29 splendid game with her ball of wool, and getting her work into irretrievable confusion. More and more strongly the feeling grew upon her of dislike to Hugh Ingram. His slow way of speaking irritated her ; his pene trating grey eyes constantly scanned her face and embarrassed her. Surely he must know he was unwelcome to her ; and in her way, Cynthia showed herself a spoiled child that evening, selfishly unrea sonable in wanting her own way, and angry with anything, or anybody that thwarted her.

She had done little else but please herself all her life long, so not feeling in the humour to make Ingram's visit wel come, she took no pains to disguise it. Those who knew her best, often thought that her tell-tale face would never learn to hide pain or pleasure, interest or ennui. Whether Ingram read the latter too plainly in it that evening for his comfort, I cannot say; certain it is, that he took his departure very shortly, much to Jack's loudly expressed disappointment. It was hardly flattering to the young man's vanity (if he possessed any) to catch the gleam of pleasure in the girl's eyes as he rose to leave, and to notice the glad alac rity with which she helped him find his hat and umbrella, standing at the head of the staircase to watch him go.

Chapter III

A SAD STORY. " I'm glad he has gone !" burst from Cynthia in a relieved tone, as her brother slowly returned from seeing Ingram out, and took his seat once more by the fire. "Why, Cynthia?" said Jack surprised, " Ingram is a right good fellow. Do you not like him?" "No," perversely answered Cynthia. "I think he is plain and commonplace, and stupid." " Cynthia !" expostulated her brother, " you speak very foolishly. You can read Ingram's character in his face -resolute, fear less, honest, self-reliant. You do not know him until you have watched the drollery creep into his grey eyes when he finishes a sen tence or argument with a keen touch of north-country humour; or seen his kind face, and heard his manly voice bright and trem ulous with womanly tenderness, speaking to the weeping child, or consoling the dying.

He is a fine fellow. My little sister must not take foolish prejudices." " But I do not like him," pouted Cynthia, "and I am sure I never shall. He has no mind." Jack looked at his sister half pityingly, half puzzled at her mood. " He has a grand mind, that has fought its way into the light of God's truth," he answered. " He is too direct, too positive, to long remain content with the twilight of half belief. Definite opinions, earnest beliefs, are intense necessities to him, and he enforces and preaches what he believes. He is a living power in the parish where he works. I wish you wrould like him, Cynthia, and that you had made him more welcome, for my sake." Then Cynthia begged pardon, and promised so prettily to like Jack's friends for the future, that he forgave her on the spot. But naughty little Cynthia, in her secret heart, declared to herself that red-haired Hugh Ingram was ugly and commonplace, and dull, and not a bit "nice;" and felt sure it was only Jack's kind generous heart that invested his friend with such wonderful virtues.

Hugh Ingram, as he walked home through the slush of the now quickly melting snow, gathered up in his memory the first im- His Trmiblesome Sister. 34 pressions of his friend's sister — a petite crea ture, dressed in black, with a mass of dark hair framing a small colourless face : all the features childish in their shape and delicacy, but for the full, wilfully-curved lips. He had only heard her speak half-a dozen words, but her voice was not to be forgotten ; soft, well modulated, yet with a curious under-current of fervour, which cor responded with the character so clearly written in her face. He shrined the memory in his heart of hearts with a sigh, and drew a sacred veil over it to shield it from gaze. Although Jack's sister had taken no fancy to Hugh Ingram, he knew he was not likely to forget her while life should last.

But she must be only a memory — nothing more — and he sighed more heavily still. "I've been longing to have you to my self, Jack, and to tell you the good news — I am engaged by Mrs. Fortescue. I am to go there next Tuesday, and I am so very ; very glad, dear Jack, except for leaving you, and this dear, sweet place," and the girl glanced regretfully round the small room. It was common and bare enough, but Cynthia cared nothing for that, for it was home to her. "I am glad you have been so fortunate," said her brother. "Let me see Mrs. Forte scue's letter." And with Cynthia standing by his side, Jack read the letter. " Strange she should never have asked to see you! I wish you had had an inter view first. But I suppose it is all right. I am sure you ought to be very thankful, Cynthia; situations like this are not easily got; so many girls are seeking them, and have probably applied for this, and you have no special qualifications that I know of to cause you to be selected."

" No, I have not," humbly answered Cynthia ; " but I mean to try my very best to keep this situation, and never to be a trouble, or burden to you any more." " All right, little woman," answered Jack cheerfully, kissing her. Then came a long silence. " I wish In gram had not been in such a hurry to go," he said presently. " There is a good deal I wanted to talk over with him about the schools, and Mr. Forrest's Temperance Meet ing next Thursday evening. I suppose he could not leave that brother of his any longer. What a tie he must be!" "Has he a brother? Tell me all about him," asked Cynthia, trying to force herself to show an interest in Ingram for Jack's sake. "Yes," began Jack animatedly, "the story is quite worth telling. He has a brother, about twelve years old, hopelessly imbecile. Ingram's mother, unfortunately for herself and family, became a slave to drink after this boy's birth.