A Fair Barbarian. Frances Hodgson Burnett

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СКАЧАТЬ as she put it, and sign her own death-warrant. Consequently, it is easy to imagine what a tremor and excitement seized her when, one afternoon, as she sat waiting for her tea, a coach from the Blue Lion dashed—or, at least, almost dashed—up to the front door, a young lady got out, and the next minute the handmaiden, Mary Anne, threw open the door of the parlor, announcing, without the least preface—

      "Your niece, mum, from 'Meriker."

      Miss Belinda got up, feeling that her knees really trembled beneath her.

      In Slowbridge, America was not approved of—in fact, was almost entirely ignored, as a country where, to quote Lady Theobald, "the laws were loose, and the prevailing sentiments revolutionary." It was not considered good taste to know Americans—which was not unfortunate, as there were none to know; and Miss Belinda Bassett had always felt a delicacy in mentioning her only brother, who had emigrated to the United States in his youth, having first disgraced himself by the utterance of the blasphemous remark that "he wanted to get to a place where a fellow could stretch himself, and not be bullied by a lot of old tabbies." From the day of his departure, when he had left Miss Belinda bathed in tears of anguish, she had heard nothing of him; and here upon the threshold stood Mary Anne, with delighted eagerness in her countenance, repeating—

      "Your niece, mum, from 'Meriker!"

      And, with the words, her niece entered.

      Miss Belinda put her hand to her heart.

      The young lady thus announced was the prettiest, and at the same time the most extraordinary-looking, young lady she had ever seen in her life. Slowbridge contained nothing approaching this niece. Her dress was so very stylish that it was quite startling in its effect; her forehead was covered down to her large, pretty eyes themselves, with curls of yellow-brown hair; and her slender throat was swathed round and round with a grand scarf of black lace.

      She made a step forward, and then stopped, looking at Miss Belinda. Her eyes suddenly, to Miss Belinda's amazement, filled with tears.

      "Didn't you," she said—"oh, dear! Didn't you get the letter?"

      "The—the letter!" faltered Miss Belinda. "What letter, my—my dear?"

      "Pa's," was the answer. "Oh! I see you didn't."

      And she sank into the nearest chair, putting her hands up to her face, and beginning to cry outright.

      "I—am Octavia B-bassett," she said. "We were coming to surp-prise you, and travel in Europe; but the mines went wrong, and p-pa was obliged to go back to Nevada."

      "The mines?" gasped Miss Belinda.

      "S-silver-mines," wept Octavia. "And we had scarcely landed when Piper cabled, and pa had to turn back. It was something about shares, and he may have lost his last dollar."

      Miss Belinda sank into a chair herself.

      "Mary Anne," she said faintly, "bring me a glass of water."

      Her tone was such that Octavia removed her handkerchief from her eyes, and sat up to examine her.

      "Are you frightened?" she asked, in some alarm.

      Miss Belinda took a sip of the water brought by her handmaiden, replaced the glass upon the salver, and shook her head deprecatingly.

      "Not exactly frightened, my dear," she said, "but so amazed that I find it difficult to—to collect myself."

      Octavia put up her handkerchief again to wipe away a sudden new gush of tears.

      "If shares intended to go down," she said, "I don't see why they couldn't go down before we started, instead of waiting until we got over here, and then spoiling every thing."

      "Providence, my dear"—began Miss Belinda.

      But she was interrupted by the re-entrance of Mary Anne.

      "The man from the Lion, mum, wants to know what's to be done with the trunks. There's six of 'em, an' they're all that 'eavy as he says he wouldn't lift one alone for ten shilling."

      "Six!" exclaimed Miss Belinda. "Whose are they?"

      "Mine," replied Octavia. "Wait a minute. I'll go out to him."

      Miss Belinda was astounded afresh by the alacrity with which her niece seemed to forget her troubles, and rise to the occasion. The girl ran to the front door as if she was quite used to directing her own affairs, and began to issue her orders.

      "You will have to get another man," she said. "You might have known that. Go and get one somewhere."

      And when the man went off, grumbling a little, and evidently rather at a loss before such peremptory coolness, she turned to Miss Belinda.

      "Where must he put them?" she asked.

      It did not seem to have occurred to her once that her identity might be doubted, and some slight obstacles arise before her.

      "I am afraid," faltered Miss Belinda, "that five of them will have to be put in the attic."

      And in fifteen minutes five of them were put into the attic, and the sixth—the biggest of all—stood in the trim little spare chamber, and pretty Miss Octavia had sunk into a puffy little chintz-covered easy-chair, while her newly found relative stood before her, making the most laudable efforts to recover her equilibrium, and not to feel as if her head were spinning round and round.

CHAPTER II. — "AN INVESTMENT, ANYWAY."

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      The natural result of these efforts was, that Miss Belinda was moved to shed a few tears.

      "I hope you will excuse my being too startled to say I was glad to see you," she said. "I have not seen my brother for thirty years, and I was very fond of him."

      "He said you were," answered Octavia; "and he was very fond of you too. He didn't write to you, because he made up his mind not to let you hear from him until he was a rich man; and then he thought he would wait until he could come home, and surprise you. He was awfully disappointed when he had to go back without seeing you."

      "Poor, dear Martin!" wept Miss Belinda gently. "Such a journey!"

      Octavia opened her charming eyes in surprise.

      "Oh, he'll come back again!" she said. "And he doesn't mind the journey. The journey is nothing, you know."

      "Nothing!" echoed Miss Belinda. "A voyage across the Atlantic nothing? When one thinks of the danger, my dear"—

      Octavia's eyes opened a shade wider.

      "We have made the trip to the States, across the Isthmus, twelve times, and that takes a month," she remarked. "So we don't think ten days much."

      "Twelve times!" said Miss Belinda, quite appalled. "Dear, СКАЧАТЬ