The Spanish Chest | Page 2

The silence in the little drawing-room had lasted for some moments
before being broken by the man seated in the big wicker chair. His
dress indicated a clergyman of the Church of England, his face
betrayed lines of kindliness and forbearance, but its present expression
showed a perplexity not unmixed with disapproval.
"I suppose, Miss Pearce," he said at length, "there is no use in trying
further to dissuade you from your plan, and of course it may work out
for the best. But--you will excuse me, my dear, for I have daughters of
my own--you seem too young to undertake a lodging-house. Now a
position as governess in a nice family--"
Estelle Pearce interrupted him quickly.
"There is Edith, you know. Should I try teaching, it would mean
separation from her. And I must keep Edith with me. We have only
each other now. No, Mr. Angus, I thank you from the bottom of my
heart for your interest in us, but I am sure it is best to try my plan. You
see I have the house on my hands. When we came to Jersey, Father
leased it for the winter and I can't afford to forfeit thirty pounds. And
there is Nurse as well as Annette. Surely Nurse lends dignity to any
family. But I am older than you think," she ended with a smile and a
pretty blush. "I am twenty- four, Mr. Angus."
A kindly look came into the eyes bent on her slender, black-robed

figure. "You do not look it, my dear," her visitor said after a pause.
"Well, with two good servants, the plan may be successful. Much
depends on what class of lodgers comes your way. I am told that
Americans are rather desirable inmates, that they pay well and are not
exacting. If you could let your rooms to some refined American ladies,
things might adjust themselves very satisfactorily. To be sure, few
Americans visit the Channel Islands; they are given to wandering
farther afield. But I will speak of your plans to the postmaster and one
or two others. It might be advisable to put a card in the circulating
library at St. Helier's. Rest assured that both Mrs. Angus and I will do
all we can for your father's girls. Lionel and I were good friends at
Oxford though we saw so little of each other afterwards. I did not think
when he wrote me scarcely six weeks ago that it was to be Hail and
Farewell.
"I must go," he added quickly, seeing that Estelle's eyes were brimming.
"Where is Edith? I hoped to see her also."
"She has gone to the sands," replied Estelle. "It is dull for her, moping
here, so I sent her for an errand and told her to run down and see
whether the tide had turned. She begins school on Monday."
Mr. Angus took his leave, and still looking doubtful, went down the
steps of Rose Villa, a quaint little house, covered with tinted plaster, as
is the pretty custom of the Channel Islands, and appearing even to a
masculine ignorance of details much more neat and attractive than its
neighbors.
So Mr. Angus thought, as he turned from his puzzled survey of its
exterior, to walk slowly down the short street at the end of which
glittered the waters of the English Channel.
The tide was on the turn but the expanse of sandy beach lay yet broad.
Far toward St. Helier's the curve of the port showed the high sea-wall,
for this same innocent-looking tide that ebbs and leaves behind miles of
sandy stretches and rocks, can return with force sufficient to dash over
even the lofty breakwater and surprise the placid Jerseymen at times,
by scattering large stones in the esplanade.

But here at St. Aubin's the curve of Noirmont Point sheltered the little
town from the full force of the waves. Dr. Angus looked from the end
of Noirmont Terrace straight down to the sands and saw in the distance
the sunset air filled with wheeling gulls, a group of boys playing
football on the wide level, and somewhat nearer, a slender girl of
fourteen, dressed in black, with long fair hair floating over her
shoulders.
She was walking slowly and the kind clergyman attributed her leisurely
pace to dejection, but as a matter of fact, Edith was feeling quite happy
and much interested in the tiny bright yellow snail shells the beach was
providing for entertainment. She had been spared all that was possible
of the depression and sorrow of the past weeks. Daddy had been poorly
for years and Edith could not remember him as ever well and strong.
His loss affected her more because it grieved Estelle, the only mother
she had known.
There had been a