Amethyst. Christabel R. Coleridge
influence. The younger sisters were not so brought up as to make her think the mother—whose right over her child must needs be recognised—a wise guide for a beautiful girl. A kindly woman, without much strength of purpose, she had, spite of later influences, never quite outgrown the code of her youth, and it had never occurred to her as possible that her brother’s daughter should not be “introduced” at eighteen in London, as she herself had been. She had felt it a duty, now that she could not herself give the girl this advantage, to let her have what opportunities her parents could give her.
And, though this interview showed her how much her standard had changed from that of her family, though she felt many misgivings as to the future, though she could not respect or trust her brother, even while she had never ceased to feel a fondness for him, she had not courage to fight the battle out; and when she finally consented to go with him to Cleverley to consult “my lady,” she knew quite well that she had put the decision out of her own hands, and that Amethyst would enter on grown-up life under her mother’s auspices.
Chapter Two.
In the Shade.
Two days later, Miss Haredale came back from her visit to Cleverley, and reached her pretty cottage at Silverfold with a sad heart and many misgivings.
How gay the garden was, with its spring flowers, how successful her hyacinths and tulips, how comfortable her little drawing-room as she sat down by the fire! There would be no more little floral triumphs for her now, the cheerful home would be beyond her means, and her peaceful, useful life in it must be given up.
And Amethyst, who had been at her school during her aunt’s absence, had still to be told of what had happened, of the new life in store for her. How could the fond aunt bring herself to tell her darling that their life together must end?
A rapid footfall came along the garden and across the hall, and Amethyst burst into the room.
“Auntie, auntie! The list has come from Cambridge.—And what do you think?”
As she dropped on her knees on the rug at her aunt’s feet, waving a pamphlet before her eyes, Miss Haredale looked at her, but in a preoccupied, inattentive way.
“What list, my dear?”
“What list, auntie! Why, the Cambridge Examination list, of course. And I’m in it! And I have a class—a second class; and, auntie—I’m ‘distinguished in literature.’ There! Oh the relief to one’s mind! Did you ever know anything so delightful?”
“It won’t make any difference, my dear, I’m afraid, to the trouble that has come upon us,” said Miss Haredale, too deeply disturbed even to think of how she was dashing a pleasure, which seemed to her to bear little more relation to the realities of life than if Amethyst had shown her a new doll.
“What is the matter?” said the girl, startled. “Is anything wrong? Father—or mother?”
“No, my dear. But—but I have fallen into great misfortune; I would not tell you while there seemed a chance of its being a mistake. I hope I shall be enabled to bear it—but it is more than I can face now.”
“What—what, auntie?” cried Amethyst, pressing close to her aunt’s knees and seizing the trembling hands clasped on them.
It took some talking and explaining before Amethyst could be made to comprehend the situation; but when she did understand how entirely the circumstances of their two lives were altered, her young soft face assumed a resolute expression. She stood up by the fireplace, and once more took the examination list in her hand.
“Auntie,” she said, “it is very sad, of course, but it would have been much worse yesterday. Now, I don’t think you need be anxious about me, at any rate. I am worth something now. I shall go to Miss Halliday; I think she will let me have Miss Hayne’s situation at Saint Etheldred’s. At least, I know that a girl, with so good a certificate as this, can always get employment. So, dear auntie, I can do for myself, and help you perhaps a little too.”
“Be a school-teacher?” exclaimed Miss Haredale, in horror. “You, at your age! with your family, and your appearance!—Perfectly impossible.”
“I could begin as a student-teacher, if I’m too young,” said Amethyst coolly. “And it would be no disgrace to a princess to earn her living, if she was poor. And, as for looks—it’s a great advantage, auntie, to be rather nice-looking. It makes the girls like one.”
“My dear, don’t talk of it,” said her aunt. “You have a right to the advantages and opportunities of other girls, and you must have them. Besides, it is settled otherwise.”
“Of course,” said Amethyst, “I should have liked the balls and everything very much. But I hope you don’t think, dear auntie, that I’m such a selfish girl as to think of that when you are in trouble. Besides, if we can’t afford them, it would be wrong of course to go in for them. I like teaching, I shouldn’t be dull. There would be garden-parties in the holidays. My cream muslin will do all this summer. And as for opportunities—if you mean about marrying—I’m sure, auntie, I’ve heard you say, over and over again, that if they are to come, they will come, wherever one may be. And if not—why, I can be quite happy as I am.”
As the girl spoke, in her fresh cool young voice, Miss Haredale felt that her line of education had been very successful since Amethyst could think thus, and also that it was incumbent on Amethyst’s guardians to think otherwise.
She did not much enjoy, nor greatly value beauty. She had deep reasons for distrusting the kind of beauty which Amethyst inherited. But she was perfectly aware that her young niece was beautiful, and that, whatever Amethyst might think at eighteen, the matter would look very different to her at eight and twenty.
“My dear,” she said, “it can’t be. Your parents would never consent, and you don’t know what you are talking of. There’s only one right thing to do. As I can no longer do my duty by you, or give you proper advantages, I—I—must give you up, and let you go home. Indeed, I have agreed to do so.”
Miss Haredale turned her face away in the struggle to control her tears, so that she did not see the look that was not sorrow on Amethyst’s face. But in another moment the girl’s arms were round her neck.
“No—no, auntie,” she said, “that would not be right at all. You often say how poor my father is for his position, and how he let me go because there were so many girls to provide for. It wouldn’t be at all right for me to go back on his hands now, and to leave you in your trouble. I won’t do it, auntie.”
“My dear,” said Miss Haredale, “you will be a great deal more on his hands if you don’t get a chance of settling yourself. If only I knew better—if only I thought that all was as it should be! You are a dear good affectionate child, and I’ve kept you too innocent and ignorant. But you will be a good girl, Amethyst, wherever you may be. I am sure I could trust you.”
“Oh yes, auntie, I think you could,” said Amethyst, simply. “But I should be helped to be good if I went on at Saint Etheldred’s.”
“I will talk to you presently,” said Miss Haredale, after a tearful pause. “Run away, my darling, and leave me to compose myself.”
Amethyst, with the despised list in her hand, went away into her own bedroom, and sat down by the window to think on her own account. She had been taken from her home at seven years old, and since then, her intercourse with it had been confined to short visits on either side, and even these had ceased of late years, as Lord and Lady Haredale had lived much on the continent. She knew that her father’s affairs were involved, that the heir, her half-brother, was in debt, and, as Miss Haredale put it, “not satisfactory, poor dear boy.” She knew also that her half-sister, Lady Clyste, lived abroad apart from