Chapter 31 A Very Naughty Girl by L. T. Meade
FOR UNCLE EDWARD’S SAKE
The Squire was a shade better the next morning; but Mr. Leeson, not two miles away, lay at the point of death. Fever had claimed him for its prey, and he continued to be wildly delirious, and did not know in the least what he was doing. Thus two men, each unknown to the other, but who widely influenced the characters of this story, lay within the Great Shadow.
Evelyn Wynford continued to efface herself. This was the first time in her whole life she had ever done so; but when Lady Frances appeared, punctual to the hour, to take her place at her husband’s side, the little girl glided from the room.
It was early on the following morning, when the mistress of the Castle was standing for a few bewildered moments in her sitting-room, her hand pressed to her forehead, her eyes looking across the landscape, tears dimming their brightness, that a child rushed into her presence.
“Go away, Evelyn,” she said. “I cannot speak to you.”
“Tell me one thing,” said Evelyn; “is he better?”
“Yes.”
“Is he out of danger?”
“The doctors think so.”
“Then, Aunt Frances, I can thank God; and what is more, I – even I, who am such an awfully naughty girl – can love God.”
“I don’t like cant,” said Lady Frances; and she turned away with a scornful expression on her lips.
Evelyn sprang to her, clutched both her hands, and said excitedly:
“Listen; you must. I have something to say. It was I who did it!”
“You, Evelyn – you!”
Lady Frances pushed the child from her, and moved a step away. There was such a look of horror on her face that Evelyn at another moment must have recoiled from it; but nothing could daunt her now in this hour of intense repentance.
“I did it,” she repeated – “oh, not meaning to do it! I will tell you; you must listen. Oh, I have been so – so wicked, so – so naughty, so stubborn, so selfish! I see myself at last; and there never, never was such a horrid girl before. Aunt Frances, you shall listen. I loaded the gun, for I meant to go out and shoot some birds on the wing. Uncle Edward doubted that I could do it, and I wanted to prove to him that I could; but I was prevented from going, and I forgot about the gun; and the night before last I ran away. I ran to Jasper. When you locked me up in my room I got out of my sitting-room window.”
“I know all that,” said Lady Frances.
“I went to Jasper, and Jasper took me to The Priory – to Sylvia’s home. Jasper has been staying in the house with Sylvia for a long time, and I went to Sylvia and to Jasper, and I hid there. Audrey came yesterday morning and told me what had happened; and, oh! I thought my heart would break. But Uncle Edward has forgiven me.”
“What! Have you dared to see him?”
“The doctor gave me leave. I stayed with him half last night, until you came at two o’clock; and I told Uncle Edward, and he smiled. He has forgiven me. Oh! I love him better than any one in all the world; I could just die for him. And, Aunt Frances, I did tear the book, and I did behave shockingly at school; and I will go straight to Miss Henderson and tell her, and I will do everything – everything you wish, if only you will let me stay in the house with Uncle Edward. For somehow – somehow,” continued Evelyn in a whisper, her voice turning husky and almost dying away, “I think Uncle Edward has made religion and God possible to me.”
As Evelyn said the last words she staggered against the table, deadly white. She put one hand on a chair to steady herself, and looked up with pathetic eyes at her aunt.
What was there in that scared, bewildered, and yet resolved face which for the first time since she had seen it touched Lady Frances?
“Evelyn,” she said, “you ask me to forgive you. What you have said has shocked me very much, but your manner of saying it has opened my eyes. If you have done wrong, doubtless I am not blameless I never showed you – ”
“Neither sympathy nor understanding,” said Evelyn. “I might have been different had you been different. But please – please, do anything with me now – anything – only let me stay for Uncle Edward’s sake.”
Lady Frances sat down.
“I am a mother,” she said, “and I am not without feeling, and not without sympathy, and not without understanding.”
And then she opened her arms. Evelyn gave a bewildered cry; the next moment she was folded in their embrace.
“Oh, can I believe it?” she sobbed.
Thus Evelyn Wynford found the Better Part, and from that moment, although she had struggles and difficulties and trials, she was in the very best sense of the word a new creature; for Love had sought her out, and Love can lead one by steep ascents on to the peaks of self-denial, unselfishness, truth, and honor.
Sylvia’s father, after a mighty struggle with severe illness, came back again slowly, sadly to the shores of life; and Sylvia managed him and loved him, and he declared that never to his dying day could he do without Jasper, who had nursed him through his terrible illness. The instincts of a miser had almost died out during his illness, and he was willing that Sylvia should spend as much money as was necessary to secure good food and the comforts of life.
The Squire got slowly better, and presently quite well; and when another New Year dawned upon the world, and once again the Wynfords of Wynford Castle kept open house, Sylvia was there, and also Mr. Leeson; and all the characters in this story met under the same roof. Evelyn clung fast to her uncle’s hand. Audrey glanced at her cousin, and then she looked at Sylvia, and said in a low voice:
“Never was any one so changed; and, do you know, since the accident she has never once spoken of being the heiress. I believe if any thing happened to father Evelyn would die.”
THE END