Victorian Short Stories, Vol. 2 | Page 9

down on his knees by the bedside, and buried his
face in the clothes. Little Ailsie stirred uneasily. Norah pulled him up in
terror. She could afford no more time, even for prayer, in her extremity
of fear; for surely the next moment would bring her mistress home. She
took him forcibly by the arm; but, as he was going, his eye lighted on
the other bed; he stopped. Intelligence came back into his face. His
hands clenched.
'His child?' he asked.
'Her child,' replied Norah. 'God watches over him,' she said
instinctively; for Frank's looks excited her fears, and she needed to
remind herself of the Protector of the helpless.
'God has not watched over me,' he said, in despair; his thoughts
apparently recoiling on his own desolate, deserted state. But Norah had
no time for pity. Tomorrow she would be as compassionate as her heart
prompted. At length she guided him downstairs, and shut the outer door,
and bolted it--as if by bolts to keep out facts.
Then she went back into the dining-room, and effaced all traces of his
presence, as far as she could. She went upstairs to the nursery and sat
there, her head on her hand, thinking what was to come of all this
misery. It seemed to her very long before her master and mistress
returned; yet it was hardly eleven o'clock. She heard the loud, hearty
Lancashire voices on the stairs; and, for the first time, she understood
the contrast of the desolation of the poor man who had so lately gone

forth in lonely despair.
It almost put her out of patience to see Mrs Openshaw come in, calmly
smiling, handsomely dressed, happy, easy, to inquire after her children.
'Did Ailsie go to sleep comfortably?' she whispered to Norah.
'Yes.'
Her mother bent over her, looking at her slumbers with the soft eyes of
love. How little she dreamed who had looked on her last! Then she
went to Edwin, with perhaps less wistful anxiety in her countenance,
but more of pride. She took off her things, to go down to supper. Norah
saw her no more that night.
Beside having a door into the passage, the sleeping-nursery opened out
of Mr and Mrs Openshaw's room, in order that they might have the
children more immediately under their own eyes. Early the next
summer's morning, Mrs Openshaw was awakened by Ailsie's startled
call of 'Mother! mother!' She sprang up, put on her dressing-gown, and
went to her child. Ailsie was only half awake, and in a not unusual state
of terror.
'Who was he, mother? Tell me!'
'Who, my darling? No one is here. You have been dreaming, love.
Waken up quite. See, it is broad daylight.'
'Yes,' said Ailsie, looking round her; then clinging to her mother, 'but a
man was here in the night, mother.'
'Nonsense, little goose. No man has ever come near you!'
'Yes, he did. He stood there. Just by Norah. A man with hair and a
beard. And he knelt down and said his prayers. Norah knows he was
here, mother' (half angrily, as Mrs Openshaw shook her head in smiling
incredulity).
'Well! we will ask Norah when she comes,' said Mrs Openshaw,
soothingly. 'But we won't talk any more about him now. It is not five
o'clock; it is too early for you to get up. Shall I fetch you a book and
read to you?'
'Don't leave me, mother,' said the child, clinging to her. So Mrs
Openshaw sat on the bedside talking to Ailsie, and telling her of what
they had done at Richmond the evening before, until the little girl's
eyes slowly closed and she once more fell asleep.
'What was the matter?' asked Mr Openshaw, as his wife returned to
bed.

'Ailsie wakened up in a fright, with some story of a man having been in
the room to say his prayers--a dream, I suppose.' And no more was said
at the time.
Mrs Openshaw had almost forgotten the whole affair when she got up
about seven o'clock. But, by and by, she heard a sharp altercation going
on in the nursery--Norah speaking angrily to Ailsie, a most unusual
thing. Both Mr and Mrs Openshaw listened in astonishment.
'Hold your tongue, Ailsie! let me hear none of your dreams; never let
me hear you tell that story again!'
Ailsie began to cry.
Mr Openshaw opened the door of communication, before his wife
could say a word.
'Norah, come here!'
The nurse stood at the door, defiant. She perceived she had been heard,
but she was desperate.
'Don't let me hear you speak in that manner to Ailsie again,' he said
sternly, and shut the door.
Norah was infinitely relieved; for she had dreaded some questioning;
and a little blame for sharp speaking