Chapter 19 A Young Mutineer by L. T. Meade
GOOD OMENS
And so the shadows fall apart,
And so the west winds play;
And all the windows of my heart
I open to the day.
--WHITTIER.
Mildred Anstruther was paying a visit at the Rectory on the day that Rivers and Judy walked in. Rivers was a very striking-looking man, and all the Rectory people were so devoured with curiosity about him, and so interested in all he said and did--in his reasons for coming down to Little Staunton, and in his remarks about the Quentyns--that Judy's own return to the family circle passed into utter insignificance. She was there--they had none of them expected her, and as she chose to come back, she was welcome of course.
It was a lovely day, and the whole party were out in the garden, when Rivers and his little charge entered their midst.
Judy wore her green cloak and pretty black shady hat. There was a new sort of picturesqueness about her, which Aunt Marjorie noticed in an abstracted way; she put it down to "the polish which even a short residence in the metropolis always gives;" she had not the faintest idea that it was due to the dignity which a noble action can inspire.
Judy greeted everyone quite in her old manner, and was rather glad that she was not fussed over, but taken quite as a matter-of-course.
Aunt Marjorie was too anxious about the cream for Rivers' tea to give serious thoughts to anyone else just then. But when the young man had departed to catch the return train to London, then a few questions were asked of Judy.
"I thought you were going to live with Hilda," said Mildred, looking curiously at the child.
Mildred was standing a little apart from the others, and Judy, whose face was pale, for the suffering of her self-sacrifice was still causing her heart to ache horribly, looked full at her, and said in a low voice:
"That turned out to be a mistake, so I've come home."
"You brave little darling!" said Mildred, understanding everything like a flash; she stooped and kissed Judy on her forehead.
Babs came rushing into the midst of the group.
"Judy, Judy, I want you," she cried.
"What is it?" asked Judy.
"There's a butterfly coming out of a chrysalis in the butterfly-case; come quick--he's moving his tail backward and forward--he'll soon be out; come quick and see him."
The dull look left Judy's eyes; they sparkled with a sudden, swift, childish joy.
She took Babs' hand, and they rushed away, right round to the back of the house where the butterfly-case stood.
"Let's take him out, poor darling," she said; "let's put him on a leaf, and watch him as he gets out of his prison."
Her eyes grew brighter and brighter; she bent low to watch the resurrection which was going on.
After all the chrysalis and the butterfly were emblems. They were good omens to Judy that love and hope were not dead.
THE END.