Arabella | Page 6

It
was when Arabella was alone in her little room that she fully realized
the strangeness of her surroundings.
She lay quite still in that little bed, which fitted her as closely, almost,
as if she had been in a box, and which was snowy white and soft as
down, and into which Miss Norris had tucked her with a good-night
kiss. And lying there thus, she listened to the roar of the electric trains
rushing by, and the ceaseless din of the thoroughfare, and looked at the
electric light, which seemed to her so wonderful after the pitchy
darkness of night in the country, shining in through the figured curtains
of chintz upon the window. Gradually the noises became indistinct to
her ears, the lights began to grow blurred and faint, and she forgot her
wonder, her delight, and, in fact, all her rapidly succeeding impressions,
in a sound and dreamless sleep, whence she awakened with a start, and
in the manner hereafter to be described.

CHAPTER IV.
THE EXCHANGE OF CONFIDENCES.

Mrs. Christie, tired as she was, remained up an hour or so later than
Arabella, chatting with her sister before the fire, that was constantly
replenished with shovelfuls of coal. She, too, like her young companion,
enjoyed the rest, the quiet, so foreign to her ordinary laborious and
drearily monotonous existence, though she did not yield herself thereto
with the same completeness as did Arabella. Habit was too strong for
her, and during her brief visit she was perpetually looking about for
something to do. However, on that first night of her arrival she
permitted herself the untroubled enjoyment of the arm-chairs the
stillness-- within doors, at least-- which the noises of the thoroughfare
only accentuated, and her sister's society. Having ascertained, by
tiptoeing to the door, that Arabella was really sound asleep, she
proceeded to give Alicia, in her own terse and forcible way, the chief
points in Arabella's history. These were almost entirely new to Miss
Norris, who had been aware only in a general way that her sister had
adopted an orphan.
"Yes," said Mrs. Christie, "we got her from the Sisters when she was
little more than a baby. She didn't know anything about that. I guess
you remember when that was-- near thirteen years ago."
Alicia agreed that she did.
"Well, there ain't much more to tell concerning that part of it," Mrs.
Christie declared. "She lived with us ever since. When she got big
enough she helped with the work."
"Did you ever find out who she was?"
"Well," answered Mrs. Christie, "the Sisters were most sure she had
some rich relations because of a locket and ring that were left with her,
and a few lines in writing. The jewelry was to identify her, if ever she
was wanted. Mr. Christie, he never believed that anyone would come
after her. He always said he guessed somebody was well rid of her."
"And did anyone ever come?" Alicia inquired, eagerly. The little
woman had in her composition a strong flavor of romance, and she was
always weaving stories to herself there in her tiny rooms, as fairies

weave beautiful fabrics out of sunbeams.
"I'm coming to that!" declared Mrs. Christie, settling herself
comfortably in her chair, "But first I must tell you, the Sisters bound
me to bring up the child a Catholic."
"Why, of course!" Alicia assented.
"Well, it was not so very easy," Mrs. Christie said, shifting
uncomfortably in her chair and unwilling, just then, to meet the bright,
dark eyes that were fixed upon her.
"You couldn't have brought her up anything else, dear," piped Alicia,
"since you were a Catholic yourself, and such a good one, when we
went to the Sisters' school long ago."
Mrs. Christie's face took on something of defiance, though her dull
eyes softened, too, as she remembered the days when she used to take
her little sprite of a sister by the hand and proceed to the school near the
church.
"Oh, then it was easy enough," she answered, "but when I married Silas
Christie he wasn't a Catholic. I thought at the first go-off it would be
kind of easy to make him one. I tried, but it didn't work worth a cent.
He ain't nothing in particular now."
"But as long as you are," Alicia interposed, mildly.
Mrs. Christie sighed.
"Well, to tell you the honest truth," Mrs. Christie said, "the church is
far off, and I've got lots of work to do on Sunday morning, and-- and
Silas didn't care very much about seeing me go there. Most of his folks
are Methodists, and there ain't no Catholics around except a few farm
hands and such like, and so-- "
She paused. Alicia's quaint little face was puckered and the