"NOW, Mr. Randolph, you must interfere. I cannot let this go on any longer!" burst forth his wife one morning as he rose from the breakfast-table.
The girls had left the room, and husband and wife were alone, and Mr. Randolph said rather sharply:
"What are you worrying yourself about now, Clara? Isabel is no worse, is she?"—for Isabel's cough had been very troublesome this spring.
"It isn't Isabel at all, but your niece." Mrs. Randolph always said "your niece" when she was angry with Mabel, and so her husband was quite prepared for some complaint.
"What is it now?" he asked.
"Can't you see she is quite a disgrace to us, going about in dowdy winter clothes such weather as this? If her name wasn't Randolph, so that everybody had to know she was a relation, it would not matter so much."
"Would it make the clothes lighter then?" asked her husband in a mocking tone.
"No! But she would not be able to annoy us so much. It is only done to annoy us, I know," added the lady, "for Isabel says she has got the money to buy new things."
Mr. Randolph looked puzzled.
"My dear, I wish you had tried to make things more comfortable for the girl," he said in a vexed tone.
"More comfortable!" repeated the lady. "Why, she is treated like my own daughters. What more would you have?"
"Well, my dear, I don't know how it is; I don't understand woman's ways altogether, but I'm not blind. And I can see that you and Julia are somehow always at enmity with Mabel. It makes me very uncomfortable, I can tell you, sometimes. And if it was not that Isabel had grown very fond of her cousin, so that I cannot think it is wholly her fault, I would send her home at once."
"Then whose fault is it, pray?" angrily demanded the lady. "From the moment that girl came into the house, she tried to set herself up above Julia. And do you think I would let her do that without putting her down?"
"Nonsense, Clara; that is all your fancy. For she knew before she came that she was to be in the school-room with Isabel, to share her lessons and be her companion."
"Yes, and she made up her mind to place herself on a footing with Julia before she had been in the house an hour. I can see as well as you, Mr. Randolph."
"Well, but my dear, is she trying to rival Julia by wearing dowdy dresses?" asked the gentleman.
"No, but that is just one of her whims, to vex and annoy us. It must be, as she has had the money to buy other clothes," concluded the lady.
It certainly was a puzzle, even to Mr. Randolph. He had thought it would be easy enough to remedy this when he first heard his wife's complaint. He would give Isabel a cheque for herself and Mabel to go shopping with, for he could easily understand that in the present critical state of his brother's business, he could not afford to withdraw much money from it, and so Mabel could not have much to spend in dress. But if money had been sent to her for this purpose, and she still chose to wear these winter dresses, then what could he do?
As he drove to the town that day, he half regretted having asked her to pay this visit, for he could not help feeling somewhat disappointed in her, despite Isabel's glowing admiration of her cousin. There had been a feeling of half-suppressed quarrelling and antagonism in the atmosphere of his home since her arrival. And although she and Julia were outwardly civil to each other, still it was the civility of foes rather than friends, and each seemed to be on the watch lest the other should gain some advantage in the undeclared warfare.
Mr. Randolph had not said this to himself in so many words, but it was what had made itself felt almost as tangibly. And thinking over all this, he was the more puzzled to know how to proceed in this delicate matter of Mabel's dress, lest he should do more harm than good. He had the greatest confidence in his sister-in-law's good sense and right judgment, and at last he decided to write to her about it.
He wrote the letter that same afternoon. And then at the last minute, instead of placing it in the basket with others to be posted, he put it into his pocket, for a sudden thought had come to him, that he would talk to Mabel after all, before writing to her mother. This had probably occurred to him through the recollection that his wife and elder daughter were going to a party that evening, and therefore he would have an opportunity of speaking to Mabel without making a fuss about it, for she came to the drawing-room with Isabel as a matter of course now, whenever they had it to themselves.
Now, it must not be supposed that it was at all pleasant for Mabel to wear the dresses she positively hated. But she undoubtedly assumed a rather more haughty air, now that her cousins had donned their pretty spring dresses, lest anyone should dare to think of her as a "poor relation." And this had helped her aunt to form the theory that she was simply doing it to vex and annoy them.
It would, no doubt, have comforted Mabel to have known what her aunt thought about it, and she would have been even more haughty. But as it was, the moment her uncle began to speak about her not changing her winter attire, she burst into tears, exclaiming:
"I cannot, uncle; indeed, I cannot."
Mr. Randolph looked surprised, but he was glad to think that the letter he had written was safe in his pocket, instead of on its way to her mother. Isabel, too, looked surprised—surprised at her cousin's words, and still more so at her troubled manner.
"Do you mind telling me what you mean by 'you cannot?' I understand you have had some money sent to buy new dresses."
"Yes, uncle, but—but I owed the dressmaker all that money," she stammered.
"Owed the dressmaker that money!" repeated Mr. Randolph in a puzzled tone. "But how could that be, Mabel?"
"Oh, I see, I know," exclaimed Isabel, upon whom the truth had suddenly dawned. "You did not send that dressmaker's bill to your mother, Mabel?"
Mabel shook her head. "I couldn't," she said, "after the letter I had from her."
"But what dressmaker's bill is it?" asked Mr. Randolph, who was determined to get to the bottom of the business before offering any help.
Then together the girls explained how the dress had been bought for the party, Isabel generously taking all the blame when she saw her father was inclined to find fault with Mabel for not consulting somebody before incurring such a heavy debt.
"You should have gone to your aunt, my dear," he said, "and asked her about the dress before ordering it."
"Oh, but Julia had said her old dress would do, and it wouldn't," said Isabel, determined to defend her cousin.
"What do you know about it, Pussy Paleface?" said her father tenderly, drawing her on to his knee and kissing her.
"Why, I know you are going to make out a cheque for us to go shopping with to-morrow," said Isabel in a tone of mock solemnity.
"I perceive you are a witch, madam, young as you are, or you could not have read my thoughts so accurately."
"You dear old dad! I knew you would help Mabel out of her trouble."
"Yes, but only for this time, remember. For I don't approve of young girls ordering dresses without consulting older and wiser people. I wonder what your mother would think of this business, Mabel?" he said, turning to her.
Mabel's heart was too full for her to speak, for her uncle's last words had lifted such a lof care from her mind. But her tearful, grateful face spoke more eloquently than words.
"Well, well," said her uncle, "I don't think Mabel will be in a hurry to go into debt again, and so we'll say no more about it."
"Indeed—indeed, uncle, I shall never forget it, I have been so miserable lately," gasped the poor girl, trying to keep back her tears.
"Oh, Mabel, and you never told me about it!" said her cousin reproachfully.
"Why, what could you have done, Pussy?" said her father.
"I would have brought that horrid dressmaker's bill to you, of course, long, long ago, if I had only known about it," said Isabel.
But her father shook his head. "It would not have done, Pussy. I don't think I should have paid it. Girls must learn, as well as other people, the true value of money. Mabel has had her lesson, and a rather painful one it has been. Yours will come some day."
But even as he said the words, a doubt crept into the father's heart whether such a lesson would ever be needed for his younger daughter—whether the training for life here was not wholly unnecessary, for of late she had grown even more delicate and frail-looking.
By a certain intuition Isabel seemed to guess the drift of her father's thoughts, and she whispered:
"I am laying up treasures for by and by."
"Treasures for by and by!" he repeated, putting from him the thought that her words implied, and pretending not to understand what she meant.
"Yes! I shall need the other sort of wealth most. The minister preached about it on Sunday—'Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal.' Treasures of the soul, the minister said it meant—treasures of knowledge and truth concerning God and the Lord Jesus—treasures of love, our loving others—treasures of service. I sha'n't have much of that," said Isabel, "for I'm such a poor thing—of so little use to anybody, but I can love them. Oh, you dear dad, how I love you—best of all, I think; and after you, everybody I know. I should like to help them in all sorts of ways, but as I can't do that, I can love them and pray for them—ask God to help them more than I can."
'Mr. Randolph looked dumbfoundered. All the repressed fear and dread that he had stifled and subdued in his own heart sprang into life as he listened to Isabel.
"My dear, my darling," he gasped, "how long is it since you felt worse?"
"Worse, papa! I am not worse," said Isabel. "My cough is a little troublesome at night that is all. Only—only, I thought you knew I should never be a very old woman."
Her father looked at her earnestly. "You are sure you are no worse, Isabel?"
"No, no, dear papa. Why do you look so frightened? You know I promised a long time ago that I would tell you or mamma the moment I felt the least bit worse."
But although she thus assured him in the full sincerity of her heart, the anxious father could not feel satisfied. His fears had been awakened, and these told him that there was a change in his beloved child. She looked more ethereal, and the light as of a higher world shone in her eyes and played about the smile that wreathed her lips. She looked so much more animated and happy, too, than she did a few months before. And he looked from her to Mabel, as if mutely asking what she had done to bring about such a change.
"My dear, you look very happy," he said.
"Happy! Oh yes, papa. Haven't I everything to make me happy—everything in earth and heaven!" she said with a look of rapturous joy. "Do you know, papa, what the minister said on Sunday? That the kingdom of heaven must come to us, be begun in our own hearts here in this world, in this life, or we should never come to the kingdom beyond the gates of death. And it's true, papa. I feel it and know it; and, oh! I do wish everybody else could know it too—know it the same way that I do."
"Oh Bella, Bella, are you going to slip away and leave your poor dad all alone here?" exclaimed Mr. Randolph in an agony of despair.
It was the beginning of the end, he felt sure, or timid, gentle Isabel would never have the courage to talk like this.
A shadow came over her bright eager face for a minute or two, and the tears slowly welled into her eyes as she threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming:
"Oh papa, papa, I cannot leave you!"
"Hush! Hush! Darling, we won't talk about it—we won't think about it—we will be very happy together."
"Yes, we will," said Isabel slowly, "but—but it can't last for ever, papa—one of us must go some time."
"Yes, some time," admitted Mr. Randolph.
And then he asked Mabel to go to the piano and play some of their favourite music. But instead of going with her cousin to turn the music as usual, Isabel still sat on her father's knee until the French clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour for them to go up-stairs.
Mabel had been scarcely less surprised than her uncle at the turn the conversation had taken. For although they often talked over their Scripture reading together, she had never obtained such a glimpse of what was going on in her cousin's heart as this afforded. And she, too, wondered whether Isabel's health was worse.
The next day, however, all such fears were put to rest in Mabel's mind, for Isabel was eager with delight at the anticipation of the shopping expedition. Her father had written out the cheque and given it to her before they went to bed. And before Mabel was up the next morning, Isabel came tripping into her room in her pretty pink dressing-gown.
"Get up, dear, it is the most lovely morning, and I want to look over my German before Herr Muller comes, that we may be ready to go shopping the moment our lessons are over," exclaimed Isabel.
Mabel rubbed her eyes sleepily. She had been dreaming that her cousin lay dying, and this vision of her, flushed and excited over the prospect of turning over pretty dress goods, was so absurd a contrast, that as she realized it, she could not help laughing.
"What are you laughing at?" asked her cousin.
"At you, to be sure," answered Mabel.
"Am I such a figure, then?" said Isabel, going to the looking-glass and surveying herself.
"No, no, it was not that. But my dreams and your talk last night have got mixed up somehow, and I wondered how you could be so eager about this shopping."
"But why shouldn't I be eager?" said Isabel. "I could dance for joy about it, because we are going to make so many people happy and comfortable again who have been very uncomfortable lately."
"So many people!" repeated Mabel.
"Yes, dear. To begin, there was dear papa, the dearest father that ever a girl had. Well, I began to see that he looked uncomfortable when you came into the breakfast-room of a morning in such a warm dress—the sight of it seemed to make him hot," laughed Isabel. "Then mamma would frown and look across at Julia, and Julia would shake her head at me as though she thought it was all my fault."
"And you, what did you feel?" laughed Mabel, for she could laugh about it now.
"Oh, I don't know what I felt. But make haste and dress, Mabel. We must be in good time this morning, for I am going to ask mamma to go with us."
But when they descended to the breakfast-room, they heard that Mrs. Randolph was not well, and would not get up until the middle of the day. Isabel looked dismayed at the news:
"Oh, papa, we wanted to go shopping."
"Well, dear, I will arrange that for you with mamma. I should think you might be trusted to buy a dress or two after such a lesson—eh, Mabel?"
"Yes, uncle, I will be very careful not to spend more than I ought to do. Mamma sent me a list of what she thought I should require, and the probable cost, so I will take that with me as a guide."
"That's right, dear. Then I am sure you and Bella might come to the town by yourselves, and when you have done your shopping you can drive round to my office and we will all come home together."
This was an arrangement that delighted Isabel.
But the shopping itself was not such an unmixed pleasure, for she found that her aunt's list did not embrace anything very costly or elaborate, and her plan of persuading Mabel to order an outfit the counterpart of her own did not succeed at all.
Mabel carefully counted the cost of every article, and compared it with her mother's list, and Isabel could not but own she was right.
"Yes, yes, you are right, Mabel. But I cannot help feeling disappointed, for I thought that cheque would have bought so many more things. I wonder whether I should ever learn the value of money?" she added musingly.
"To be sure you will when it is needful."
"Ah, when it is needful! But perhaps it never will be needful, and that is why I am so slow at learning."
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