Molly Carew. An autobiography. By A. M. W

Chapter I. Brother And Sister

MOLLY, Molly, you will be late for schooldo unroll yourself, if those long limbs of yours are not too hopelessly entangled." The Molly thus addressed, no other than my self, was curled up in the recess of an old-fashioned window, too deeply engrossed with a book to heed the progress of time. " In a moment, Paul. I cannot leave my hero in the midst of such horrors, — another page or two must end it one way or other." " It is always the same story, Molly, you are quite incorrigible. There is nothing for it but to B burn all the books, or to hand you over entirely to the care of Miss McKann — " But before the dreaded name was quite out of his lips, I sprang to my feet, tossed the book to the farther corner of the room, and my very lank arms were entwined round the neck of Paul, my brother. This was not the first time the suggestion had been made that I should be handed over as a boarder to the tender mercies of the school mistress.

I was easily alarmed on this point, and there was a solemnity in Paul's manner which impressed my youthful mind. " Say you could not part with me, Paul, — say you were not in earnest. You do not wish to break my heart, I am sure." " When your arms are unloosed from my neck I may be able to speak otherwise than in jerks. You must be something akin to an octopus, I think, Molly," and being freed from my embrace, he held me at arm's length, gazing into my crest fallen face. The big tears gathering in my eyes, which were raised imploringly to his face, quite softened him. Ah, Paul, it took but little to touch your tender loving heart. He drew me nearer to him, gently smoothed my dishevelled hair, and kissed me. " Run off, Molly, every minute is only increasing Miss McKann's wrath, and adding to the length of your imposition."

" You are not really angry, Paul ?" I said, doubtfully. " Be off with you, Molly, we will talk about that by-and-by. Oh, that will do," he said, laughing, and shrinking from me, as I showed signs of another embrace. I had but a few yards to go to the school where I received my instruction. I did not love Miss McKann, so did not care much for her anger, but I did regret my dawdling, when I saw how lovely the cloudy dull day had turned out, and knew what my punishment would be. A dictation lesson was going on ; I advanced meekly enough up the room and took my place. A withering glance from the schoolmistress, but not a word, — always a bad sign. The lesson pro ceeded, I acquitted myself well enough, — when once at work I did not dislike it. And so the time passed. The usual dull routine, — one thing suc ceeding another till the clock struck five — when all, with one solitary exception, were formally dismissed.

" Miss Carew, I will trouble you to remain." How I hated Miss McKann at that moment, though it would have been more reasonable to have hated myself, — she was doing her duty, I was not. I only knew that the birds were singing without, that all nature was rejoicing in the sweet sunshine, and that I was to be debarred from all this. We faced each other. Miss McKann was ugly — that day I thought her repulsive-looking. She was tall and large-boned, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a mouth whose hideousness was only made more unpleasant by very large promi nent white teeth. Slowly, leisurely she put by some papers lying before her. Will she never speak ? I thought. At last she said, " It is useless to speak to you, Miss Carew, I must again appeal to your brother." " Oh please, ma'am, don't trouble him, — I am ready to undergo any punishment sooner than he should be worried."

A short dry cough. "You will write out two hundred lines of the ' Paradise Lost/ beginning at v. 440, Book iv. Good afternoon. You know, I think, where to find the book." Only too well, — Milton was the usual instrument of my torture, and I loathed him. " A horrid old puritan," I said half-aloud, as I reached down the big volume, and placed it on the table with a revengeful thump. I was soon hard at work, — the sooner begun, the sooner ended, I thought. The room, bare of all furniture, was cool and shady. A large window opening upon a small garden was covered with honeysuckles ; the bees busily at work among the flowers gathering in their winter store, filled the air with their monotonous humming; and a blackbird was throwing out his sweet luscious notes from an apple tree close at hand. I wrote on, and soon became absorbed in my occupation.

Eve's gracious appearance in Para dise, before sin had touched that fair form,, took my fancy. With her I revelled in the sweet ver dure, the delicious perfumes, the harmonious sounds unmixed with any jarring discord. I did not hear the entrance of some one, the door had not been quite closed, till I was startled by a light touch on my shoulder, a well-known voice pronouncing my name. "Oh, Paul," I said, starting up, "how could Eve — " but I got no farther. Paul was not alone, Miss McKann stood there with him, stately and grim. My heart died within me, — was my brother really come to carry out his threat ? The school mistress's face was inscrutable, but there was a lurk ing smile hovering around Paul's mouth which somewhat reassured me. His speech was formal enough. " Miss McKann will kindly allow you to come with me, Molly, even if you have not quite finished your imposition.

I am anxious to get into the woods as soon as possible." " I have not quite done," I said meekly. " I will overlook it this once, Miss Carew, at your brother's request, for whom I have so much respect. You can put up your book. May I hope that the offence of to-day will not often be re peated. Unpunctuality in youth is much to be deplored — " " Indeed you are right," answered Paul — the hypocrite. I could hardly hold my tongue. Were you ever ready for a meal ? was not the faithful Susan sometimes driven to despair when cooking our frugal repast ? But I looked demure and humble while Paul courteously shook hands and made his adieux. I got out somehow in my usual ungraceful awkward manner, " Oh, Paul, how good of you to come for me," I exclaimed, squeezing the hand I held, and then rais ing it up I imprinted a kiss upon it.

" The last time that I shall dare to draw you from the clutches of Miss McKann, — but the even ing was so lovely, — and somehow, I could not bear to think of you shut up in that dismal school room." " Are we really going up the hill ?" "Yes, — we are going to have our tea in the wood. Susan has got everything ready — " "Down, down, Patch," as my devoted canine friend, in his joy at seeing me, almost upset me ; " yes, you shall go with us, you dear old thing." Another bound, and we rushed helter-skelter into the garden, Patch, afraid of losing sight of me for a moment, poking his nose everywhere, getting under my feet at every step, and otherwise testify ing his joy and impatience. Patch was a most sagacious fox-terrier, well bred, powerful, and af fectionate, — and, must I add, greedy. I loved all animals, but Patch was my chief friend and com panion, since the day when Paul brought him to me, a little troublesome round ball of a puppy.

He was the terror of Susan's cats, — but on the whole they had the best of it, for Patch feared their claws. We all have our weaknesses, why not Patch ? He was often impertinent and provoking in interfering with big dogs, and got the worst of it, and repeated the offence and the punishment, but he certainly did avoid a quarrel with the Tabby. We were at last en route, Paul, myself, and Patch, and a basket of provisions. How well I remember every incident of the day, — a memorable one to me, — for was I ever again the same happy thoughtless child ? I think not. Many joys have come to me, for which I bow my head in thankfulness, but a shadow, slight indeed, fell across my path that evening, scarcely fully realised then, till the shadow took shape and form, and darkened many a suc ceeding day.

How lovely everything looked, as we toiled up the hill between fields of waving corn, ripening in the July sun, a soft breeze playing amongst their brown heads ; Patch, wild with joy, disappearing for a while in the tall corn, to re appear on the path, with tongue out, and gasping breath ; the larks, soaring upwards with their un utterably joyous song, — sweeter to my fancy than the most luscious note of the nightingale, bearing their tribute of praise and adoration to " Heaven's gate." A walk of about twenty minutes brought us to the outskirts of a wood well known to us, for here we passed many a summer's evening. Paul with a book, Patch and myself seldom quiet for long, wandering deeper into the wood in search of wild flowers and moss. Or I would clamber up a tree to startle Paul by letting fall on his book or hand some tiny cone or twig, when he would jump up, and flinging book aside, would join in a scramble amongst bushes and under trees, till the slanting rays of the sun warned us it was time to return home.

This evening Paul was silent and preoccupied, even I noticed this. He did not always answer me, indeed did not seem to have heard what I said. " You are tired, Paul," I remarked at last. " Why did you come ? You would rather have remained quietly in the garden. I should have been quite happy there with you, dear," and I squeezed the hand I held. " Poor little woman, have I been absent and not heard or answered your questions ? Well, Molly, you must forgive me. I think the hot sun has melted my brains. But here we are at the end of our walk, let us see what tea will do for my in tellect." We seated ourselves under a shady tree, not too far in the wood to impede our view into the valley where lay the small village of Carlton, — a strag gling street with thatched cottages on either side, — a village green, beneath whose shady elm trees stood the remains of the stocks, the favourite ren dezvous for all the children of the place, — an old, very old church, with round tower surrounded by chestnut trees, the ground at the back sloping down towards green meadows, — a tiny stream wandering among them.

This was the old familiar scene that our eyes rested on, but not quite all, for about half a mile from the village was to be seen standing in a small but well-wooded park, the old home of the Carews, my ancestors. The Court had been tenantless for years. I only knew that the master was away, a voluntary exile, not likely to return ; my curiosity had not been much excited on the subject. I wondered as I rambled over the park, and wandered up and down the gallery and rooms, that the owner should love anything better. When I spoke of it to Paul, he said but little, and the old housekeeper did not refer to her master. Mrs. Evans, grown grey in the service of the Carews, was a great ally of mine. I was always welcome at the Court, but she did not discuss the affairs of her employers. We had finished tea.

I had cleared away, and Patch, satisfied with his portion of the good things, was rummaging about in the wood on his own account, when I was startled by Paul saying to me, rather abruptly, " Molly, have you no wish to hear about the possessors of that old house ?" " There does not seem much to hear," I said. " I wish you and I were there, but one might as well wish for the moon, I suppose ; and after all I am not sure that the cottage is not quite as pleasant. I should not see half as much of you if you had a great house and property to manage, so as far as that is concerned I am content." " There is not the slightest chance of your ever seeing me the master of the Court, but I might, under certain circumstances, see you the mistress." " What do you mean, Paul ? I really think the sun must have affected your brain."

I had started to my feet almost breathless with astonishment, and now kneeling down before Paul so as to bring my face even with his, I said, " Paul, you are jesting. But what is the matter ? you look so odd." " Sit down, Molly, I have a long story to tell you. You have often asked me about your mother and mine, and now I am going to tell you of your babyhood, and what preceded it. I have not cared to do so sooner. I have been foolishly supersti tious, I don't know why, about raking up old days, old troubles ; but the time has come now, and it would be injustice to you not to speak." " Oh, Paul, please don't. I am sure it will give you pain by your look, and I don't care so long as I have you : that is all I care about." " Perhaps you won't always think so, Molly, and it is quite natural and quite right too that you should know something of your own history.

Why I believe you are twelve years old." "Thirteen next birthday, 29th of September. But please, Paul" — I said rather dolefully. "Now don't make mountains out of molehills, and look so dismal, or we shall have Patch howl ing," for that sagacious animal had returned to us, and was endeavouring to lick my cheek, without, for a wonder, much encouragement from me. He subsided at last with his chin on my lap, and I, nestled close up to Paul, his hand in mine, heard the following details, which I will shorten as much as possible : very interesting they were to me, but might be tedious to others. " Well, Molly, to begin from the very beginning," said my brother, in a cheerful, reassuring tone, " there lived in Carew Court yonder a certain Mr. Norman Carew." " Our grandfather ? Was he like any of the Carews in the gallery ?"

" He is there, I think, but if not, the one he is most like is a Judge Carew, who lived somewhere about the time of the Commonwealth. He was a stern, reserved man with an inflexible will. He was an only son, and his parents dying when he was very young, he had been too much his own master. I have heard but little of his early life, but I know he married when no longer young a gentle, pretty girl of good family, but poor. They had two sons, our father, Norman, and the present owner of the Court, Francis, who was the younger by two years." " He is our uncle, then, Paul. But why did not our father have the property.?" " Wait a bit, Molly, and don't stop me more than you can help, or we shall not have finished to night. " Our father was never from the first the favourite. Neither in appearance nor manners was he in the least a Carew.

Francis possessed both these quali fications, and it grieved and irritated his father that he was the younger of the two, for though the estate was not entailed, he was a just man, and did not wish to alienate the property from his first born. Had our grandmother lived things might have turned out differently. She had a certain quiet influence over her husband, and he loved her in his cold, reserved way. But she died when the boys were twelve and fourteen, and then everything seemed to go wrong. Our grandfather lived almost the life of a recluse, and the restraint and dulness of the holidays were almost unbearable to Norman's bright and volatile nature. The old man's attempts to bend him to his wishes generally ended in an estrangement, and at last when school and college days were over, and my father requested to be allowed to travel on the Continent, on being harshly refused and ordered to study for the bar, he threw off all restraint, left the Court, and without a word of leave-taking, rushed off into Italy.

How he regretted this act of disobedience, and how it darkened his after-life, I know only too well. When he came to himself he wrote to his father asking his forgiveness. He received no an swer to his letter, but through the family lawyer a communication to the effect that he would receive every quarter an allowance sufficient to live upon. He wrote to his brother, for the boys, though dis similar in nature, were fond of each other. He got no reply from him, but in his correspondence with the lawyer was told that his brother was positively forbidden to write to or receive letters from him. A less formal postscript said that Francis sent him his love. " A little patience and a rather different line of conduct might in time have brought things round, but that was not in my father's nature. Home ties snapped asunder, his loving disposition must form others, and just at this time he became ac quainted with Lenore Marini.

The Signor Marini was an artist of small celebrity, but devoted to his art, and with him my father lodged. He fell despe rately in love with Lenore, and they were married." " Your mother, Paul ?" " Yes. She was very handsome I am sure, very, and very sweet and good, and a Roman Catholic. My poor father had certainly put an extinguisher upon his future prospects. He could scarcely have done anything more hateful in his father's eyes. And the day after the old man received his son's letter telling him of his marriage, keeping back no particulars, for he said it would be dishonourable to do so, the will was made which left everything to Francis. " The only part of the property which could not be alienated was the small cottage in which we now live. He was informed of this by the lawyer; the kind old man who had tried in vain to soften my grandfather, wrote these evil tidings most un willingly.

He exonerated Frank from having had any share in the matter, even thought that he regretted it. My father in writing to the lawyer thanked him for his sympathy, and said that while he bitterly regretted the separation from his father and brother, he could never repent a marriage which had made him so happy, nor a life which was far more congenial to him than that which he must have led as the future heir of Carew Court. He sent a loving message to his brother, and begged to hear from time to time from Mr. Jones. My birth was duly announced to him, and doubt less to my grandfather, without any notice being taken." " I would rather hear about you and your mother, and what you remember of your childhood, Paul." " It seems all like a dream, Molly ; so very very far off. Some day perhaps we may visit those places together.

I have dreamed of this, but now that day appears more distant. However, you must let me go on. My father was a fair copyist, and our slender income was increased by his earnings. Signor Marini died soon after my birth, leaving nothing to his daughter, but we were happy. In that lovely climate, under such blue skies and amidst perpetual sunshine, care seems held aloof. My mother looked after our little household, while my father painted in the galleries. I am sure he had no regrets in those days, and the evenings were passed in lovely gardens, or wandering on the banks of the Arno. " When the extreme heat drove us from the city we pitched our tent in some lovely village, leading a peasant's life among peasants. But those peace ful days were not to last for ever. " We had lingered rather too long in Florence, owing to some childish illness of mine, and we were just about to migrate as usual into cooler regions, when my mother was stricken with fever.

Oh, the misery of those days. I was ten years old, and can remember them well, — each day seems indelibly marked on my memory. My father never left the sick room, — but no care, no love, could avail. I had been kept from the room partly from fear of infection, partly from the need of great quiet, but at the last my mother craved to see me. How lovely she looked ; her large, soft, dark eyes, were fixed fondly on me. I sprang to her side. Alas ! no excitement could harm her now. We were locked in each other's arms. She murmured my name with sweet words of endearment. ' My Paul, you will love, and be good and obedient to your father, and we shall meet again under lovelier skies even than these, never, never more to be parted. Addio, my darling.' I was gently withdrawn, weeping from her arms. Father Ambrose made me kneel with him by the bedside, and so with whispered words of love to my father she passed away."

I did not speak, but I pressed Paul's hand. The whole scene was visibly before me, and I was so lost in its contemplation that I was almost startled, when my brother began again. " The next four years were passed in wandering from place to place. My father did not seem to be able to settle c anywhere. He attended to my education, but it was rather a desultory one. I became a good linguist, and acquired more general knowledge than most boys. Ever and anon we returned to Flo rence to visit my mother's grave, but not to remain there. " I was just fourteen ; we were passing the winter at Bordighera, where we first met your mother. She was a sweet, fair English girl, governess in a French family. I first made her acquaintance on the shore of the blue Mediterranean. My father had not been well for some weeks, and I was much alone, and spent most of my time, when not reading to him, out of doors.

I had been of use to Miss Lewis one day, helping her with a tire some spoilt child, one of her pupils, and from that time we became great friends. I talked of her to my father, of her sweetness and prettiness, and was sure she was not happy, and when he was well enough to go out I introduced her to him." " How nice of you, Paul. I am so glad ; go on." " Mary Lewis was not happy in her situation ; indeed it came to my father's ears that the people she lived with were not fit associates for her. Of course I was too young to know how it all came about, but one day my father told me he was going to marry Mary. I was rejoiced, for time had failed to remove the look of care from his face, and I felt that Mary's bright presence might do much. I know, Molly, that he loved your mother well during the short period of their married life, and she did not grudge him the memory of his first love.

And I, oh, I was so happy, she was so good to me, and I was devoted to her. My father once more wrote to the family lawyer to tell him of his second marriage. The reply was that the intelligence had been duly forwarded to Mr. Carew, but no notice had been taken of it. Mr. Jones added that he believed the old man was in failing health. My father then wrote to his brother, entreating to be allowed to see his father, but received a formal refusal. I know now how bitterly he reproached himself for his act of disobedience, and how sad and downcast he looked for some time. But soon there came into our home another element of hap piness. One bright autumn day a little sister was placed in my arms. How we all three worshipped the fair, soft little morsel. I had been confirmed, and was allowed as you know to be your godfather, and very proud I was, and as if your mother had some prescience of her early death, she commended you to my care and love.

" ' Come what may, Paul, I know you will love and cherish my little Molly.' " Have I fulfilled the sacred trust ? I have tried, and GOD helping," he added almost passionately, " I will at any cost continue to do so." I could not speak, tears were rolling down my cheeks. "Oh, my mother," I thought, "that I should never have known your love." "Well," continued Paul, "let me hurry over the last sad details. " Your mother never seemed quite to recover her strength after your .birth, and when you were only two years old she too was laid in her grave. " Not long after this, came a strange letter from Mr. Jones. I had just returned from a solitary walk on the shore, and meeting the postman, took some letters from him, which I listlessly handed over to my father, for we were a sad household now. You had clambered up on to my knees, when I was aroused by an exclamation, and looking up saw my father, looking so strange and agitated, I thought he must be ill. ' Father, can I get you anything ?

Is anything the matter ?' ' No, my boy, no. You shall hear presently.' " Well, when I did hear,— and it was not till the evening that my curiosity was gratified, — it was this. My grandfather made the offer to take the entire care of you, Molly, to bring you up as the future heiress of Carew Court, in the event of my uncle not marrying, or in any case, he undertook to leave you amply provided for. " Hush, Molly, do not stop me," for I had turned round with an eager exclamation, " the conditions were the entire surrender of you, the entire exclusion of me. " I gazed in agony on my father's face. How had he decided ? A fair curly head was laid against my arm, a little dimpled hand clasped mine. You had fallen asleep in my arms, after a game of romps. I had watched the long, dark lashes close over the blue eyes.

I dared not speak, — how could I ? It might be thought that I envied you the inheritance denied to me. " ' Well, Paul,' said my father at last, ' are we to part with our Molly ?' I repeated his words in a stunned manner, as if I did not grasp their meaning. ' Part with our Molly !' ' My boy, do you think I could ever consent to such an arrangement ? Give up our darling, and let her be a party to the unjust exclusion of yourself, never, — I would it were possible, for I would gladly do anything to atone for the past, only not this, not this.' And so it was decided." " I should think so," I said indignantly ; " to be separated from you and my father would have been bad enough, but to take your place, never, Paul, never." " You must hear the end, Molly, though there is little more to say, and darkness is coming on, and Patch very tired of being quiet so long.

" After a lingering illness my father died when you were six years old. You remember him a little, do you not ? But for many weeks he was too ill to bear any noise or excitement, so it was only occasionally that you were admitted into the room. His last wishes, nay, commands to me were, after his death to take you to England, and to make our home in the small cottage we live in now. He said, ' Paul, you will do your best to make up for my disobedience. Sometimes I think that I ought to have given up Molly, as my father wished, as some atonement for the past. I cannot think much now, but this doubt troubles me. I meant to do what was right by you both. My life has been full of errors. I leave all in perfect trust to you.' He was much exhausted, and lay silent for some time. Then I thought he was speaking to me again.