Queen Hildegarde | Page 6

in carrying out the odious plan. "The
sooner the better," she said to herself. "I certainly don't want to see any
of the girls again, and the first plunge will be the worst of it."
"What clothes am I to take?" she asked her mother, in a tone which she
mentally denominated "quiet and cold," though possibly some people
might have called it "sullen."

"Your clothes are already packed, dear," replied Mrs. Graham; "you
have only to pack your dressing-bag, to be all ready for the start
to-morrow. See, here is your trunk, locked and strapped, and waiting
for the porter's shoulder;" and she showed Hilda a stout,
substantial-looking trunk, bearing the initials H.G.
"But, mamma," Hilda began, wondering greatly, "my dresses are all
hanging in my wardrobe."
"Not all of them, dear!" said her mother, smiling. "Hark! papa is calling
you. Make haste and go down, for dinner is ready."
Wondering more and more, Hildegarde made a hasty toilet, putting on
the pretty pale blue cashmere dress which her father specially liked,
with silk stockings to match, and dainty slippers of bronze kid. As she
clasped the necklace of delicate blue and silver Venetian beads which
completed the costume, she glanced into the long cheval-glass which
stood between the windows, and could not help giving a little
approving nod to her reflection. Though not a great beauty, Hildegarde
was certainly a remarkably pretty and even distinguished-looking girl;
and "being neither blind nor a fool," she soliloquized, "where is the
harm in acknowledging it?" But the next moment the thought came:
"What difference will it make, in a stupid farm-house, whether I am
pretty or not? I might as well be a Hottentot!" and with the "quiet and
cold" look darkening over her face, she went slowly down stairs.
Her father met her with a kiss and clasp of the hand even warmer than
usual.
"Well, General!" he said, in a voice which insisted upon being cheery,
"marching orders, eh? Marching orders! Break up camp! boot, saddle,
to horse and away! Forces to march in different directions, by order of
the commander-in-chief." But the next moment he added, in an altered
tone: "My girl, mamma knows best; remember that! She is right in this
move, as she generally is. Cheer up, darling, and let us make the last
evening a happy one!"
Hilda tried to smile, for who could be angry with papa? She made a

little effort, and the father and mother made a great one,--how great she
could not know; and so the evening passed, better than might have been
expected.
The evening passed, and the night, and the next day came; and it was
like waking from a strange dream when Hilda found herself in a
railway train, with her father sitting beside her, and her mother's
farewell kiss yet warm on her cheek, speeding over the open country,
away from home and all that she held most dear. Her dressing-bag,
with her umbrella neatly strapped to it, was in the rack overhead, the
check for her trunk in her pocket. Could it all be true? She tried to
listen while her father told her of the happy days he had spent on his
grandfather's farm when he was a boy; but the interest was not real, and
she found it hard to fix her mind on what he was saying. What did she
care about swinging on gates, or climbing apple-trees, or riding unruly
colts! She was not a boy, nor even a tomboy. When he spoke of the
delights of walking in the country through woodland and meadow, her
thoughts strayed to Fifth Avenue, with its throng of well-dressed
people, the glittering equipages rolling by, the stately houses on either
side, through whose shining windows one caught glimpses of the
splendors within; and to the Park, with its shady alleys and well-kept
lawns. Could there be any walking so delightful as that which these
afforded? Surely not! Ah! Madge and Helen were probably just starting
for their walk now. Did they know of her banishment? would they
laugh at the thought of Queen Hildegardis vegetating for three months
at a wretched--
"Glenfield!" The brakeman's voice rang clear and sharp through the car.
Hilda started, and seized her father's hand convulsively.
"Papa!" she whispered, "O papa! don't leave me here; take me home! I
cannot bear it!"
"Come, my child!" said Mr. Graham, speaking low, and with an odd
catch in his voice; "that is not the way to go into action. Remember,
this is your first battle. So, eyes front! charge bayonets! quick step!
forward, march!"

The train had stopped. They were on the platform. Mr. Graham led
Hilda up to a stout, motherly-looking woman, who held out her hand
with a beaming smile.
"Here is my daughter,