AS time went on, Mrs. Randolph relaxed her vigilance over Mabel's lessons. And it soon came to be the rule that whenever her aunt and elder cousin spent the evening from home, she went down to the drawing-room with Isabel and her uncle. It was a sort of stolen pleasure that they all enjoyed, and for which Isabel dressed with even more care than usual, wearing a white muslin or light silk dress for these pleasant home evenings.
"Make yourself look as pretty as you can, Mabel," she would say, "for papa likes pretty things." And so Mabel's one light silk dress was frequently donned, and unfortunately soon lost its freshness—a fact, however, that she scarcely noticed until it was announced that her aunt would give a musical party, and her uncle suggested that she should take an active part in it.
"Mabel can play better than most girls," he remarked one morning at breakfast-time, when the musical party was being discussed. "What do you say, Isabel?"
"Yes, indeed, papa, she can," replied the young lady. For Isabel had generously insisted that as her cousin could play better than herself, her father should enjoy the pleasure of hearing her when they all spent the evening together.
Mabel had objected to this at first, knowing the delight her cousin took in playing for her father. But Isabel protested, and it was indeed the fact that Mabel could play with more feeling and expression, as well as with more skill than herself, and, with rare self-denial, she preferred that her father should receive all the pleasure possible, even though that pleasure was ministered by another instead of herself.
And so Mr. Randolph could speak with some authority about Mabel's skill as a musician. Of course she was delighted to be so praised; and it rather added to her enjoyment to see that her cousin Julia looked annoyed.
"I don't think we shall need to trouble Mabel," said that young lady. "A musical party is not an examination of girls strumming."
"I tell you, Mabel does not strum," said Mr. Randolph with some warmth, for he began to see that his niece was being slighted by his wife and elder daughter.
Isabel gave a little nod of approval. She had grown very fond of her cousin, and knew that it would gratify her to take part in this musical display, and was determined that she should, if possible.
"You do not know how beautifully she plays, mamma," she said eagerly. "You must let her take part in your party."
"Yes, yes, my dear; I insist upon that," said Mr. Randolph, without giving his wife time to reply.
And to end the discussion and make this final, he rose from the breakfast-table immediately afterwards and went out.
Mabel was delighted. She had been kept in the background long enough she thought, and it was only fair that her uncle should interfere.
As soon as her music-master arrived, she told him the news, asking him to help her in the selection of a piece that would be suitable for such an occasion that she might begin practising at once. Of course that gentleman was only too willing to help such a promising pupil to display her talent. And knowing something of the company who would assemble, he was not long in fixing upon a piece that he knew Mabel could execute, and would be certain to attract the attention of the company. And Mabel set to work upon it at once. For the next few days every spare moment was given to the study of her music, but a bitter disappointment awaited her.
When the music-master came the following week, her aunt met him at the school-room door with a piece of music in her hand.
"Miss Mabel is to take part in a musical evening, and I wish her to practise this for the occasion," she said when the usual greetings had been exchanged.
"But—but Miss Mabel has already begun to practise a piece," said the gentleman, running his eye over the sheet of music.
"That does not matter in the least. I desire that she shall play this. My elder daughter thinks it most suitable for the occasion." And Mrs. Randolph, with a polite good-morning, went back to the drawing-room, leaving the discomfited schoolmaster in no enviable frame of mind.
Mabel and Isabel heard every word, as they sat in the school-room, and they looked at each other in blank disappointment.
"Let me see it—let me see what Julia has chosen!" exclaimed Mabel, in her usual impulsive fashion, almost forgetting her manners in her excitement.
The gentleman placed the music in her hand.
"It is very beautiful for those who can understand it," he said in a grave tone. He knew that not one person in a dozen could appreciate this sonata, and that in a mixed company, such as Mrs. Randolph would gather round her, its beauties would be utterly thrown away.
"It is very difficult," said Mabel, scanning the intricate passages with some dismay.
"Yes, it is difficult," assented the music-master, "but I think if you give it careful study, you will be able to manage it."
"Will you play it over for us first?" asked Isabel. "I want to know what it is like."
The gentleman sat down to the piano and played the piece through.
"I don't like it much—I don't understand it," frankly confessed Isabel when he rose for Mabel to sit down and begin to practise it.
Mabel said nothing, but the tears rose to her eyes and she could scarcely see the notes as she laid her fingers on the keys.
"Julia is afraid I should play too well, I suppose," she said after she had stumbled through the first few bars. It would be impossible to play this properly she thought, and a bitter feeling rose in her heart against both her aunt and elder cousin.
"Never mind, dear," said Isabel soothingly, after the music-master had gone and they were left to themselves. "I think I shall like it better as I begin to understand it."
"I don't care a bit who likes it or dislikes it, I 'will' play it properly," said Mabel fiercely. And she sat down to the piano again to go over the more difficult passages.
But all the pleasure and delight in the music practice was gone, and the bitter feeling against Julia grew and intensified. If she ever thought of the old lady's rendering of the parable of the sower, she put away the thought and nourished the weeds and tares that were so rapidly growing in her heart. So much attention was given now to her music that she forgot all about the question of dress for this important occasion, until Isabel one day asked her what she was going to wear.
"Going to wear!" repeated Mabel. "Oh, dear, I forgot all about that!" And she suddenly remembered that her blue silk was beginning to look decidedly soiled.
"I must write to mamma, I suppose," she said with a sigh, wishing she had never heard of this musical party, for she knew her mother had no money to spare to buy her a suitable dress.
"Yes, that will be best, I suppose," said Isabel, who had no experience of want of money, and who had but to ask and have whatever she desired. Her own dress had been ordered from a fashionable dressmaker, and a few days afterwards, Mabel went with her to have it tried on. While this was being done, the thought suddenly crossed her mind that her cousin could not do better than have one made for herself just like it, and she at once suggested it to her.
"It will save your mamma a great deal of trouble," said Isabel, "and I should so like you to have a dress like mine."
Mabel looked dubious. She did not like to confess that she was afraid of the expense, and so murmured something about not feeling sure that it would suit her.
"Oh, yes, miss, it would suit you even better than your cousin," interposed the dressmaker, "for you have more colour. I am sure you could not do better than have a dress like this. Let me take your pattern at once," she added as she released Isabel from the pins and pleatings.
"You really ought to order it at once, Mabel, or there will not be time to get it made," whispered Isabel, coming to her side.
Thus persuaded she could not do otherwise than yield, she thought. Besides, she must have a new dress, and this of Isabel's was very pretty, and would certainly suit her. And as her cousin had bought a brown dress to match her dowdy ones, why should they not have these pretty ones alike? So the order was given and Mabel's pattern taken, without any questions being asked as to what the probable cost would be.
She had no time to think much about this just now, for all her attention was occupied by the sonata she was to play. Every minute that could be spared from her other lessons was given to her music, for she was determined to surprise and vex her aunt and cousin by her proficiency. Whether it was true or not, she certainly believed that this piece of music had been selected for her on purpose that she might fail—that after the first few bars had been played, Julia might come and whisper, "That will do—" and sit down herself and rattle off some brilliant showy piece. And she was determined to defeat her, and wring a triumph out of this very disappointment. I need scarcely say she was anything but happy under the influence of such feelings.
Captious and querulous, poor Isabel scarcely knew what to do or say for fear of offending her cousin. And a casual remark she made about going to see her old nurse and her lodger brought a storm of reproaches down upon her head.
"But why should you feel so angry, Mabel?" expostulated her cousin. "I thought she was a nice old lady; and she seemed to understand so much about what that parable meant. Don't you like old ladies to teach you?" she added.
Mabel murmured something about hearing all that before, but the fact was, she did not like to be reminded of the old woman's lesson just now. It brought to her mind too vividly the conversation she had had with her mother upon worldliness, and she knew she was growing worldly. But she persuaded herself that she could not help it. Julia and her aunt were to blame for that.
At length the day for the party arrived, and she surveyed herself in her new dress with no small complacency. Isabel was in raptures over her.
"Papa will be pleased when he sees you," she exclaimed. "I declare you look quite beautiful. Now, let me put this rose in your hair, just to finish you off. There! Now you will do, and you may begin to think about the music. Oh, Mabel! Papa will have a treat to-night for there will be some very sweet music, so many good players are to be here. I shall just settle down in some quiet corner, and give myself up to enjoy everything."
And in truth it seemed that Isabel, in her self-forgetfulness, could and did "enjoy everything." The envyings, and jealousies, and rivalries that had sprung up between her sister and cousin never touched her—she knew nothing even of their existence. Julia was "disagreeable sometimes, she knew," and Mabel "worried herself" about her music, but that these two were cherishing such feelings as they did, she had not the slightest comprehension. She believed that everybody coming there was bent upon enjoying the music and each other's society, and she hoped that when Mabel had got through her task, she would be ready to enjoy herself too. She could understand her feeling anxious and nervous until this was over, but she could not understand the frown that rested on her cousin's face when, having at length played her piece, she came and sat down beside her.
"What is the matter, dear?" she whispered, slipping her hand into Mabel's.
"Need you ask?" said Mabel fiercely. "I knew how it would be."
"But—but I thought you played very well, indeed," exclaimed Isabel.
"What did it matter how I played in such a babel? Everybody began talking after the first few bars. If I could have had the piece I first chose, everybody would have listened instead of chattering."
"But papa listened and enjoyed it, dear, and I would not mind about the rest."
In truth, Isabel would not have minded. To have given pleasure to one person would have satisfied her meek little heart. And if that one had forgotten to applaud or appreciate her efforts, it would have made no difference to her. But not so Mabel. She had failed to score a triumph, and felt that she had been defeated, and so she sat stolid and indifferent beside her cousin, making no reply to her pleasant speeches.
She was not the only one who could justly complain of the "babel." And under cover of the general chatter, Isabel at length made another effort to rouse her cousin to a more animated interest in the scene.
"Do you know what I have been thinking of?" she said. "Picturing everybody's heart as a field, with tiny blades of corn springing up, just as Mrs. Barker told us. And I have been wondering how everybody kept their field—whether they cleared the weeds away as they sprang up, or whether they were letting them grow high and thick until the tender green blades, or ears of corn, could not be seen."
"Don't," said Mabel, in a gasping voice.
Isabel looked at her cousin. "Mustn't we talk about such things?" she said.
"I think we ought to mind our own business in this as well as everything else," said Mabel sharply. She had taken her cousin's speech as a reproof to herself, and she was in no mood to endure that from anybody to-night.
"I see," said Isabel meekly. "We are to give all our attention to our own weeds, and see that they do not choke the seed in us."
"If we have the seed, that is," said Mabel, rather less sharply.
"But—but will not God plant this seed, if we ask it, in all of us?" said Isabel, in some bewilderment.
Mabel shook her head. "I don't know," she said. And again came the words to her mind, "'Tis a point I long to know." "Yes, I wish I did know," she added aloud.
"But I thought it was quite certain that God would give us this good seed, his Holy Spirit, and that we were to root out the weeds that it might not be choked," said Isabel.
It was clear that she had been thinking a good deal about the matter, and Mabel was vexed that she had no answer ready for what seemed such a very simple question—she, who had been a Sunday-school teacher and had set herself to teach Mrs. Barker this parable of the sower, did not know what reply to give to her ignorant little cousin.
At last she took refuge in the unseemly surroundings for such a conversation:
"People will wonder what we are talking about," she said. "A gay musical party like this is not the right place for a religious conversation."
This silenced Isabel, but did not prevent her thinking.
Neither could Mabel prevent her own thoughts from being occupied in a similar way. No one thought it worth while to disturb them with conversation. They were the youngest of the party, and so they sat together in their corner almost unnoticed and quite undisturbed, except as Mr. Randolph found time occasionally to come and say a few words to them about the music or the players. So Mabel had plenty of time to meditate over the question that had disturbed her more than once since her visit to the old woman's cottage.
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