The Long Vacation | Page 3

and deserted his father, the
ne'er-do-weel second son of an old family. When Gerald was five years
old his father was killed, and he himself severely injured, in a raid of
the Indians far west, and he was brought home by an old friend of the
family. His eldest uncle's death made him heir to the estate, but his life
was a very frail one till his thirteenth year, when he seemed to have
outgrown the shock to spine and nerves.
Much had befallen the house of Underwood since the days when we
took leave of them, still sorrowing under the loss of the main pillar of
their house, but sending forth the new founders with good hope.
Geraldine had made her home at St. Matthew's with her brother
Clement and the little delicate orphan Gerald; but after three years she
had yielded to the persevering constancy of Mr. Grinstead, a sculptor of
considerable genius and repute, much older than herself, who was
ready and willing to be a kind uncle to her little charge, and who
introduced her to all at home or abroad that was refined, intellectual, or
beautiful.
It was in the first summer after their marriage that he was charmed with
the vivacity and musical talent of her young sister Angela, now upon
the world again. Angela had grown up as the pet and plaything of the
Sisters of St. Faith's at Dearport, which she regarded as another home,
and when crushed by grief at her eldest brother's death had hurried
thither for solace. Her family thought her safe there, not realizing how
far life is from having its final crisis over at one-and-twenty. New
Sisters came in, old ones went to found fresh branches; stricter rules
grew, up, and were enforced by a Superior out of sympathy with the
girl, who had always rebelled against what she thought dictation. It was
decided that she could stay there no longer, and her brother Lancelot
and his wife received her at Marshlands with indignant sympathy for
her wrongs; but neither she nor her sister-in-law were made to suit one
another. With liberty her spirit and audacity revived, and she showed so
much attraction towards the Salvation Army, that her brother declared
their music to have been the chief deterrent from her becoming a
"Hallelujah lass." However, in a brief visit to London, she so much
pleased Mr. Grinstead that he invited her to partake in the winter's
journey to Italy. Poor man, he little knew what he undertook. Music, art,
Roman Catholic services, and novelty conspired to intoxicate her, and

her sister was thankful to carry her off northward before she had
pledged herself to enter a convent.
Mountain air and scenery, however, proved equally dangerous. Her
enterprises inspired the two quiet people with constant fears for her
neck; but it was worse when they fell in with a party of very Bohemian
artists, whom Mr. Grinstead knew just well enough not to be able to
shake them off. The climax came when she started off with them in
costume at daybreak on an expedition to play the zither and sing at a
village fete. She came back safe and sound, but Geraldine was already
packed up to take her to Munich, where Charles Audley and Stella now
were, and to leave her under their charge before she had driven Mr.
Grinstead distracted.
There was a worse trouble at home. Since the death of his good old
mother and of Felix Underwood, Sir Adrian Vanderkist had been
rapidly going downhill; as though he had thrown off all restraint, and as
if the yearly birth of a daughter left him the more free to waste his
patrimony. Little or nothing had been heard direct from poor Alda till
Clement was summoned by a telegram from Ironbeam Park to find his
sister in the utmost danger, with a new-born son by her side, and her
husband in the paroxysms of the terrible Nemesis of indulgence in
alcohol.
Sir Adrian had quarrelled with all the family in turn except Clement,
and this fact, or else that gentleness towards a sufferer that had won on
old Fulbert Underwood, led him in a lucid interval to direct and sign a
hurried will, drawn up by his steward, leaving the Reverend Edward
Clement Underwood sole guardian to his children, and executor,
together with his lawyer. It was done without Clement's knowledge, or
he would have remonstrated, for never was there a more trying bequest
than the charge which in a few days he found laid on him.
He had of course already made acquaintance with the little girls. Poor
children, they had hitherto led a life as dreary as was possible to
children who had each other, and fresh air and open grounds. Their