Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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      ‘I’d no spirits for mischief,’ she answered, with mock pitifulness, twinkling up her eyes, and rubbing them with her knuckles as if she were crying.  ‘You barbarous wretch, taking Phœbe to feast on strawberries and cream with Miss Charlecote, and leaving poor me to poke in that stupid drawing-room, with nothing to do but to count the scollops of mamma’s flounce!’

      ‘It is your turn.  Will Miss Fennimore kindly let you have a walk with me this evening?’

      ‘And me,’ said Maria.

      ‘You, of course.  May I come for them at five o’clock?’

      ‘I can hardly tell what to say about Maria.  I do not like to disappoint her, but she knows that nothing displeases me so much as that ill-mannered habit of giggling,’ said Miss Fennimore, not without concern.  Merciful as to Maria’s attainments, she was strict as to her manners, and was striving to teach her self-restraint enough to be unobtrusive.

      Poor Maria’s eyes were glassy with tears, her chest heaved with sobs, and she broke out, ‘O pray, Miss Fennimore, O pray!’ while all the others interceded for her; and Bertha, well knowing that it was all her fault, avoided the humiliation of a confession, by the apparent generosity of exclaiming, ‘Take us both to-morrow instead, Robin.’

      Robert’s journey was, however, fixed for that day, and on this plea, licence was given for the walk.  Phœbe smiled congratulation, but Maria was slow in cheering up; and when, on returning to the schoolroom, the three sisters were left alone together for a few moments, she pressed up to Phœbe’s side, and said, ‘Phœbe, I’ve not said my prayers.  Do you think anything will happen to me?’

      Her awfully mysterious tone set Bertha laughing.  ‘Yes, Maria, all the cows in the park will run at you,’ she was beginning, when the grave rebuke of Phœbe’s eyes cut her short.

      ‘How was it, my dear?’ asked Phœbe, tenderly fondling her sister.

      ‘I was so sleepy, and Bertha would blow soap-bubbles in her hands while we were washing, and then Miss Fennimore came, and I’ve been naughty now, and I know I shall go on, and then Robin won’t take me.’

      ‘I will ask Miss Fennimore to let you go to your room, dearest,’ said Phœbe.  ‘You must not play again in dressing time, for there’s nothing so sad as to miss our prayers.  You are a good girl to care so much.  Had you time for yours, Bertha?’

      ‘Oh, plenty!’ with a toss of her curly head.  ‘I don’t take ages about things, like Maria.’

      ‘Prayers cannot be hurried,’ said Phœbe, looking distressed, and she was about to remind Bertha to whom she spoke in prayer, when the child cut her short by the exclamation, ‘Nonsense, Maria, about being naughty.  You know I always make you laugh when I please, and that has more to do with it than saying your prayers, I fancy.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ said Phœbe, very sadly, ‘if you had said yours more in earnest, my poor Bertha, you would either not have made Maria laugh, or would not have left her to bear all the blame.’

      ‘Why do you call me poor?’ exclaimed Bertha, with a half-offended, half-diverted look.

      ‘Because I wish so much that you knew better, or that I could help you better,’ said Phœbe, gently.

      There Miss Fennimore entered, displeased at the English sounds, and at finding them all, as she thought, loitering.  Phœbe explained Maria’s omission, and Miss Fennimore allowed her five minutes in her own room, saying that this must not become a precedent, though she did not wish to oppress her conscience.

      Bertha’s eyes glittered with a certain triumph, as she saw that Miss Fennimore was of her mind, and anticipated no consequences from the neglect, but only made the concession as to a superstition.  Without disbelief, the child trained only to reason, and quick to detect fallacy, was blind to all that was not material.  And how was the spiritual to be brought before her?

      Phœbe might well sigh as she sat down to her abstract of Schlegel’s Lectures.  ‘If any one would but teach them,’ she thought; ‘but there is no time at all, and I myself do not know half so much of those things as one of Miss Charlecote’s lowest classes.’

      Phœbe was a little mistaken.  An earnest mind taught how to learn, with access to the Bible and Prayer Book, could gain more from these fountain-heads than any external teaching could impart; and she could carry her difficulties to Robert.  Still it was out of her power to assist her sisters.  Surveillance and driving absolutely left no space free from Miss Fennimore’s requirements; and all that there was to train those young ones in faith, was the manner in which it lived and worked in her.  Nor of this effect could she be conscious.

      As to dreams or repinings, or even listening to her hopes and fears for her project of pleasure, they were excluded by the concentrated attention that Miss Fennimore’s system enforced.  Time and capacity were so much on the stretch, that the habit of doing what she was doing, and nothing else, had become second nature to the docile and duteous girl; and she had become little sensible to interruptions; so she went on with her German, her Greek, and her algebra, scarcely hearing the repetitions of the lessons, or the counting as Miss Fennimore presided over Maria’s practice, a bit of drudgery detested by the governess, but necessarily persevered in, for Maria loved music, and had just voice and ear sufficient to render this single accomplishment not hopeless, but a certain want of power of sustained effort made her always break down at the moment she seemed to be doing best.  Former governesses had lost patience, but Miss Fennimore had early given up the case, and never scolded her for her failures; she made her attempt less, and she was improving more, and shedding fewer tears than under any former dynasty.  Even a stern dominion is better for the subjects than an uncertain and weak one; regularity gives a sense of reliance; and constant occupation leaves so little time for being naughty, that Bertha herself was getting into training, and on the present day her lessons were exemplary, always with a view to the promised walk with her brother, one of the greatest pleasures ever enjoyed by the denizens of the west wing.

      Phœbe’s pleasure was less certain, and less dependent on her merits, yet it invigorated her efforts to do all she had to do with all her might, even into the statement of the pros and cons of customs and free-trade, which she was required to produce as her morning’s exercise.  In the midst, her ear detected the sound of wheels, and her heart throbbed in the conviction that it was Miss Charlecote’s pony carriage; nay, she found her pen had indited ‘Robin would be so glad,’ instead of ‘revenue to the government,’ and while scratching the words out beyond all legibility, she blamed herself for betraying such want of self-command.

      No summons came, no tidings, the wheels went away; her heart sank, and her spirit revolted against an unfeeling, unutterably wearisome captivity; but it was only a moment’s fluttering against the bars, the tears were driven back with the thought, ‘After all, the decision is guided from Above.  If I stay at home, it must be best for me.  Let me try to be good!’ and she forced her mind back to her exports and her customs.  It was such discipline as few girls could have exercised, but the conscientious effort was no small assistance in being resigned; and in the precious minutes granted in which to prepare herself for dinner, she found it the less hard task to part with her anticipations of delight and brace herself to quiet, contented duty.

      The meal was beginning when, with a very wide expansion of the door, appeared a short, consequential-looking personage, of such plump, rounded proportions, that she seemed ready to burst out of her riding-habit, and of a broad, complacent visage, somewhat overblooming.  It was Miss Fulmort, the eldest of the family, a young lady just past thirty, a very awful distance from the schoolroom party, СКАЧАТЬ