The Long Vacation | Page 4

mother was more and more of an invalid, and dreaded that their father
should take umbrage at the least expense that they caused; so that they
were scrupulously kept out of his way, fed, dressed, and even educated
as plainly as possible by a governess, cheap because she was passe, and
made up for her deficiencies by strictness amounting to harshness,

while they learnt to regard each new little sister's sex as a proof of
naughtiness on her part or theirs.
The first time they ever heard a man's step in the school-room passage
was in those days of undefined sorrow, alarm, and silence after the
governess had despatched the message to the only relation whose
address she knew. The step came nearer; there was a knock, the sweet,
strong voice asked,
"Are the poor little girls here?" and the tall figure was on one knee
among them, gathering as many as he could within his loving arms.
Perhaps he recollected Sister Constance among the forlorn flock at
Bexley; but these were even more desolate, for they had no past of love
and loyalty. But with that embrace it seemed to the four elders that their
worst days were over. What mattered it to them that they- —all eight of
them-—were almost destitute? the birth of the poor little male heir
preventing the sale of the property, so terribly encumbered; and the
only available maintenance being the £5000 that Mr. Thomas
Underwood had settled securely upon their mother.
They began to know what love and kindness meant. Kind uncles and
aunts gathered round them. Their mother seemed to be able to live
when her twin-sister hung over her, and as soon as she could be moved,
the whole party left the gloom of Ironbeam for Vale Leston, where a
house was arranged for them. Lady Vanderkist continued a chronic
invalid, watched over by her sister Wilmet and her excellent young
daughter Mary. Robina, who had only one girl, and had not forgotten
her training as a teacher, undertook, with the assistance of Sophia, the
second daughter, the education of the little ones; and the third and
fourth, Emilia and Anna, were adopted into the childless homes of Mrs.
Travis Underwood and Mrs. Grinstead, and lived there as daughters.
Business cares of the most perplexing kind fell, however, on Clement
Underwood's devoted and unaccustomed head, and in the midst arrived
a telegram from Charles Audley, summoning him instantly to Munich.
Angela was in danger of fulfilling her childish design of marrying a
Duke, or at least a Graf. Diplomates could not choose their society, and
she had utterly disdained all restraints from "the babies," as she chose
to call Mr. and Mrs. Audley, and thus the wunderschones madchen had
fascinated the Count, an unbelieving Roman Catholic of evil repute,
and had derided their remonstrances.

Clement hurried off, but to find the bird flown. She had come down in
the morning, white and tear-stained, and had told Stella that she could
stay no longer, kissed her, and was gone out of the house before even
Charles could be called. Stella's anxiety, almost despair, had however
been relieved just before her brother's arrival by an electric message
from Vale Leston with the words, "Angela safe at home."
Letters followed, and told how Robina had found her sobbing upon her
brother Felix's grave. Her explanation was, that on the very night
before her proposed betrothal, she had dreamt that she was drifting
down the Ewe in the little boat Miss Ullin, and saw Felix under the
willow-tree holding out his bared arms to her. She said, "Is that the scar
of the scald?" and his only answer was the call "Angela! Angela!" and
with the voice still sounding in her ears, she awoke, and determined
instantly to obey the call, coming to her, as she felt, from another world.
If it were only from her own conscience, still it was a cause of great
thankfulness to her family, and she soon made herself very valuable at
Vale Leston in a course of epidemics which ran through the village, and
were in some cases very severe. The doctors declared that two of the
little Vanderkists owed their lives to her unremitting care.
Her destiny seemed to be fixed, and she went off radiant to be trained at
a London hospital as a nurse. Her faculty in that line was undoubted.
All the men in her ward were devoted to her, and so were almost all the
young doctors; but the matron did not like her, and at the end of the
three years, an act of independent treatment of a patient caused a
tremendous commotion, all the greater because many outsiders
declared that she was right. But it almost led to a general expulsion of
lady nurses.