“greater than anger
is love, and subdueth.”
the silence of midnight hung over all the house—there was darkness in all the rooms save one. outside, the rain was falling, but without noise; sometimes the wind blew it against the window-panes in little gusts like the light spray of waves, but for the most part it fell in straight, silent sheets upon the soaking garden and paddocks. now and again the same fitful wind stirred a japanese sun-blind at the end of the side verandah. it had a broken pulley, and was hauled up slant-wise; when the wind stirred, it moaned and creaked like a live creature.
meg was sitting on the drawing-room hearthrug, her head in her hands, her fair hair rumpled back from her forehead, her eyes, intensely thoughtful, fixed on the ashes in the grate. early in the 209evening a fire had been lighted; for, although it was only may, it had been a chilly day. the fire had gone out, however, and meg had not noticed this, though she had been staring hard at it most of the time.
only one gas-jet was alight, and it was turned low—the room had almost an eerie look in the faint light. a great vase of pampas grass and bulrushes loomed tall and ghostly from the corner near the piano; and a wet, dull moon—when the drifting clouds permitted—looked in at a little side window where the blind was not drawn.
every one in the house was asleep but meg.
she was sitting up for nellie.
pip had gone out before she had found the bird was flown from the cage in which he had locked her. there was a smoking concert at one of the colleges, and he had left word that he should not be back that night at all—the last boat left so ridiculously early that one of the men had offered him a bed.
so meg kept her lonely watch with cold feet and low spirits.
she was wondering if it was not very selfish of her to think of being married. alan had given her a year, under protest,—at the end of that time he would assuredly claim her. no one was less conceited than our sweet, pale margaret, but she could 210not help seeing that things would be much worse at misrule when her place knew her no more. there was little, eager poppet with her excitable nature and wonderful capacity for feeling everything,—who would listen patiently to all her funny little plans and thoughts, or take an interest in her keen childish troubles and joys? poor, reclaimed bunty, whose sullen reserve and brooding fits of depression she was just beginning to understand and sympathise with—if the old days of “john” and carping blame began again, his character would be ruined.
and pip, who had just left his glad boyhood paths and was stepping so carelessly into the strange, sorrowful ones of manhood, where there were precipices and pitfalls at every turn,—how she longed to be at his elbow again, giving him the right kind of help! he had spurned her away just now, she knew; but soon, she felt certain, she could slip back to him as if nothing had happened, and keep him from worse things, perhaps.
but not if she made fresh ties for herself.
she told some of her fears, half falteringly, to alan.
“i think you must give me longer,” she said.
but he only laughed at her. men never understand these things.
211“i didn’t think you were conceited, meg,” he said; “why, nellie will make a model eldest sister, by-and-by, of course. and i have far more need of you than these children have. and i’m not going to take you to new zealand or the islands; we shall live somewhere in sydney, and you will still be able to keep your eye on bunty’s collar,—that’s the greatest grievance, isn’t it?”
meg was trying to imagine beautiful, spoilt nell as a model eldest sister this evening as she sat on the hearthrug. why, not one of the young ones would have acted so wrongfully, so utterly foolishly as she had done about these brownes; the girl had no “balance” naturally, and her great beauty already seemed likely to prove as much of a snare as beauty is popularly supposed to be. she was not even decently educated; the daily governess they had had so long had been a person of weak will, and nellie in especial had learned or refused to learn much as she pleased. true, she could play and sing fairly well, and write a ladylike hand; but her french was hopeless, her slate pencil had not travelled beyond discount and the rule of three, and her acquaintance with the great lights of english literature was so restricted that, though she knew shakespeare wrote “romeo and juliet,” and “paradise lost” was composed by one john milton, 212nearly all the other names she met conveyed nothing more to her mind than that they were “men at the end of the history book.”
meg’s lips grew severe as the night wore on. in truth she did not know what to do in this crisis, she felt so young and powerless. if nellie insisted on going to trafalgar house every night of her life, how could she prevent it? she told herself her sister knew this, and was taking advantage of their father’s absence in an exceedingly unworthy way.
through the rain came the half-deadened sound of wheels along the road. meg stood up, cramped and cold, sick at heart. how she did dread and detest “scenes,” and she knew there must be one!
the gate clicked, but no wheels came up the drive. meg pulled herself together and went out to the front door with a little shiver. she knew exactly how it would all be: nell would be flushed and beautiful and defiant; she would brush past her and go upstairs in her pretty, white trailing gown, her head very high. she would most probably say “mind your own business” or “hold your tongue,” for both these phrases were in miss nellie’s vocabulary of anger. and then she would lock her bedroom door and go to sleep, rebellious as ever.
her cold hand pulled back the heavy fastening of 213the door when light footsteps fell on the verandah. she stood there in silence. but oh! such a little woebegone, dripping wet figure was there, with no wrap on at all, and only a bit of soaking lace on her head!
“oh, meg!” she said, and sprang into her sister’s arms with a hysterical sob of relief. “oh, meg, meg, meg! oh, my darling old meg!”
what could meg do?
be angry when the wilful, beautiful creature was sobbing so pitifully?
shake her aside and speak coldly when she was clinging to her with such a passion of love and relief? she kissed the face, wet with rain and tears.
“come and get your wet things off, dear,” she said; “you should have driven up to the door, the drive’s so long.”
“i was afraid it would wake every one,” was nellie’s answer, broken in three places.
even when meg had taken off, with her own hands, the poor spoiled white dress, and wet white gloves, and little muddy shoes; when she had made up a crackling fire of wood in the bedroom open fireplace, and brought her own cosy red dressing-gown and a white shawl for array, nellie still wept heartbrokenly.
she was overwrought with the excitement of her 214escape, the evening, and her return. and now meg’s tenderness and utter absence of reproach broke her down altogether.
she put her head on the arm of the easy chair, and all her body shook with sobs.
meg only stroked the wealth of beautiful hair she had let down to dry; she felt it better not to speak at all.
by-and-by she slipped out of the room and stole down to the kitchen. when she returned, nellie was a little calmer, and even gave a wet look of interest at the tray she carried. there was a little old saucepan on it, a tin of café-au-lait, two cups, sugar in a saucer, the end of a loaf of bread, and some pineapple jam.
“i couldn’t find the butter,” she said, half apologetically, as she set down her load on the bed edge.
“oh, i don’t deserve it!” wept nellie, meaning less the butter than meg’s kindness.
they had to use the water out of the wash-stand bottle, and in the absence of spoons had to stir their cups with the bone ends of their toothbrushes, but the meal gave them both new life and spirits. meg toasted the bread on the end of her knife and spread a piece thickly with the toothsome jam. she proffered it to nell with burnt cheeks and a gay little laugh.
“oh, meg, you are the best girl on earth!” the 215girl said, flinging her arms impetuously around her sister’s neck. “i’m not fit to black your boots! there’s nobody just like you, meg, in all the world. oh, meg darling, why can’t you make me more like you?”
meg only kissed her for answer, kissed her with a sweet, moved look on her face. and then nellie told everything: how she had dropped from the window on to the tanks and scrambled down from 216there with the help of the creeper, how she had been in time for the brougham they had sent, how utterly miserable she had been all the evening.
she declared their own comparative poverty seemed beautiful against the brownes’ wealth and glaring vulgarity.
meg saw all the girl’s sensitive nature had suffered, and uttered not a word of rebuke; she even said they would keep the affair to themselves, and not tell pip.
but she dropped one little word in season before she went to her own room to bed.
the dressing-gown suited the girl’s exquisite young beauty marvellously; all the time they had talked meg could not help admiring.
when they got up she drew her quietly to the long glass of the dressing-table.
oh the wonderful picture it showed! the rich, warm colouring of the graceful gown, the young sweet face with its dewy eyes and tremulous lips and pink flush, and all the soft great waves of riotous hair one golden splendour to her waist!
“look!” said meg.
the girl looked at her image shyly, almost shamedly, but with a certain little glad quickening at her heart.
“oh, nellie, how good you ought to be!” whispered the elder girl, and kissed her and slipped away.
