The Trial [65]
he were admiring. No; Harry was bringing in a hall arm-chair in the background, for a vary large, heavy, vulgar-looking old man, who seemed too ponderous and infirm for a place on the benches. Richard made one of a black mass of clergy, and Aubrey and Gertrude had asserted their independence by perching themselves on a window-seat, as far as possible from all relations, whence they nodded a merry saucy greeting to Ethel, and she smiled back again, thinking her tall boy in his gray tunic and black belt, and her plump girl in white with green ribbons, were as goodly a pair as the room contained. But where was the Doctor? Ethel had a shrewd suspicion where she should find him; and in the nursery he was, playing at spillekens with his left hand. It was not easy to persuade him that the music would be wasted on her, and that he ought to go down that it might receive justice; but Margaret settled the question. 'You may go, grandpapa. Aunt Ethel is best to play at spillekens, for she has not got a left hand.' 'There's honour for me, who used to have two!' and therewith Ethel turned him out in time for the overture. Margaret respected her aunt sufficiently not to be extra wayward with her, and between the spillekens, and a long story about Cousin Dickie in New Zealand, all went well till bed-time. There was something in the child's nervous temperament that made the first hours of the night peculiarly painful to her, and the sounds of the distant festivity added to her excitability. She fretted and tossed, moaned and wailed, sat up in bed and cried, snapped off attempts at hymns, would not listen to stories, and received Ethel's attempts at calm grave commands with bursts of crying, and calls for mamma and papa. The music had ceased, tuning of violins was heard, and Ethel dreaded the cries being heard down-stairs. She was at her wits' end, and was thinking who would most avail, and could be fetched with least sensation, when there was a soft knock at the door, and Harry's voice said, 'Hollo, what's the matter here?' In he came with his white glove half on, and perceiving the state of the case said, 'Can't go to sleep?' 'Oh, Uncle Harry, take me;' and the arms were stretched out, and the tear-stained face raised up. 'We'll put you to sleep as sound as if you were in a hammock just off middle watch,' said Harry; and the next moment he had her rolled up in her little blue dressing-gown, nestling on his broad shoulder, while he walked up and down the room, crooning out a nautical song, not in first-rate style, but the effect was perfect; the struggles and sobs were over, and when at the end of a quarter of an hour Harry paused and looked at the little thin sharp face, it was softened by peaceful sleep. Ethel pointed to the door. There stood Flora, her eyes full of tears. Harry laid the little sleeper on her bed, and covered her up. Flora laid her arm on his shoulder and gave him such a kiss as she had not given even when he had come back as from the dead. Then she signed to them to come, but sped away before them, not trusting herself to speak. Ethel tarried with Harry, who was in difficulties with gloves too small for his broad hand, and was pshawing at himself at having let Tom get them for him at Whitford. '0, Harry,' said Ethel, 'you are the most really like papa of us all! How did you come to think of it!' 'I'd have given a good deal if any one would have walked quarter-deck with me some nights last summer,' said Harry, still intent on the glove. 'What is to be done, Ethel! that rogue Tom always snaps up all the beauty. I dare say he has engaged Miss Ward and the widow both.' It was no time for sentiment; so Ethel suggested getting half into one glove, and carrying the other. 'You'll be quite irresistible enough, Harry! And if all the beauty is engaged, I'll dance with you myself.' 'Will you?' cried the lieutenant, with sparkling eyes, 'then you are a jolly old Ethel! Come along, then;' and he took her on his arm, ran down-stairs with her, and before she well knew where she was, or what was going on, she found herself