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Little Queen of Hearts

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<h2> CHAPTER IX.—GETTING OUT OF IT. </h2> <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/9090.jpg" alt="9090 " width-obs="100%" /> <ANTIMG src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </div> A whole chapter just with grown-up people, and not a very pleasant chapter at that! For one, I had a deal rather be with certain little friends of ours up at Windsor, but we cannot go yet a while; and having seen the little Berkshire cottage turned inside out, as it were, there is nothing for it but to wait and see it put to rights again. Besides, when all is said, Ted is Harold's brother, so that, scapegrace or no, we ought not to deliberately turn our backs, at a time too when matters have reached a crisis, and one wonders how they will go with him. But fortunately they went far better than even the doctor dared to hope, and with the morning came consciousness, and all the dazed bewilderment as well, of one who finds himself in wholly new surroundings, with no idea whatever of how he came there. Everybody was early astir in the cottage, and quite ready to forget the anxiety and excitement of the night in the doctor's glad assurance that the young gentleman certainly was not “done for.” As for the other young gentlemen, who had been allowed to sleep off their indisposition in Mrs. Hartley's best room, it was agreed between the doctor and Harry Allyn that the sooner they took their departure the better. Breakfast for two was therefore first made ready, and the young fellows, who had gotten up and dressed—somewhat against their will, it must be confessed—finally took their seats at the places set for them. Martha, who had no notion of waiting on such sorry customers, was careful to place everything within arm's reach on the table and then to disappear, and the meal was eaten in silence, with no one in the room save the doctor, who kept pacing up and down in a manner that was intended to expedite their departure. The two fellows seemed to realize that they were considered responsible for the whole unhappy affair; indeed, the doctor had told them so pretty plainly, and they were themselves rather anxious to be off and away from such an accusing and uncomfortable atmosphere. “I suppose the old lady ought to be paid something,” said one of them, pushing back his chair. “You can't very well pay for such trouble as you have given,” said the doctor curtly. “It might not be out of the way though for you to thank Mrs. Hartley for the night's shelter and your breakfast,” but Mrs. Hartley was nowhere to be found—indeed, to all appearances the cottage was quite deserted; and, accompanied by the doctor, they made their way out of the house and down the lane. Not a word was spoken until they reached the road, and then Dr. Arnold, stopping squarely in front of them, said: “I have one thing to say to you two fellows, and that is this—that you are not to tell a living soul of last night's adventure. You have deliberately set about to entrap and disgrace two men vastly your superiors, but so far as in me lies I am going to do all in my power to free them from your clutches and save them from the scandal of this thing, and if I hear of its becoming known through you I'll—” “There isn't any use in your threatening us like that,” interrupted the older, his heavy face glowing angrily. “We'll tell as much or as little as we like.” “Hadden,” said the doctor sternly, “I know more of your history than you think. You were mixed up in a more shameful scrape than this not long ago up at Nuneham, and if you and your friend here do not keep close-mouthed about this whole affair, I will tell some of the Oxford officials just what I know as sure as my name is Joseph Arnold. Does that alter the case any?” “Yes, rather,” drawled the other with cool effrontery; and knowing he had scotched his man, the doctor turned on his heel, and the two men started off in the direction of the Nuneham station, neither sadder nor wiser, it is to be feared, for the lesson of the night's experience. No sooner had these two unwelcome guests vanished from the precincts of the little cottage than Mrs. Hartley reappeared from some mysterious corner and Martha from another, and preparations were at once put forward for the most inviting breakfast the little house could command. Notwithstanding the wretched company in which they had been found, Mrs. Hartley was confident that her remaining guests were surely “gentlemen;” and as, in addition to this, no one through all the countryside was as widely loved and honored as Dr. Arnold, was not there occasion for elaborate preparation? All this, of course, involved considerable delay, which Chris and the doctor would have gladly foregone; but it gave Harry Allyn a sorely coveted opportunity for an early talk with Mrs. Hartley. “Is your mistress in the kitchen?” he asked of Martha, who was arranging some sweet peas in a celery glass as a decoration for the table. “Yes, Mr. Allyn,” very respectfully, for in the mind of the little maid, as in the mind of all the others, there was the conviction that this Mr. Allyn had very little in common with the company in which he had been found. “Shall I call her for you?” she added. “Would there be any harm in my going in there?” as though he were entreating a favor of a queen. “Not a bit in the world, Mr. Allyn;” and thus reassured Harry at once made his way into the sunny and spotless little kitchen. Mrs. Hartley was so preoccupied in giving the final stirring to a golden mixture in a great yellow bowl that she did not hear Harry as he came toward her, and so gave a little start when he spoke. “Martha told me it would be all right,” he explained. “Oh, yes, certainly,” quickly recovering herself, “you'll excuse me if I go right on.” “You never can know, Mrs. Hartley,” he said, taking his stand at the end of the table, and leaning a little wearily against the wall at his back, “how mortified I am about what has happened, and how sorry that we should have put you to all this trouble; and the bother of it is, Mrs. Hartley, it isn't over yet. The doctor says Ted will not be able to get about for two or three weeks at least. Do you think”—a world of entreaty in his voice—“you can ever manage to keep him as long as that?” “Yes—I think—I can,” but very slowly and thoughtfully, as though half afraid of promising more than she could perform. “It will be a great care for you, Mrs. Hartley.” “There's no denying that, Mr. Allyn; I doubt if I could get along with it but for Chris being home this summer. Has Mr. Harris any folks?” “No father or mother, only a younger brother, and I want him never to know about last night's business if I can help it.” “I am glad you're ashamed of it, Mr. Allyn. It's the best sort of a sign, sir.” “Ashamed!” sighed Harry; and Mrs. Hartley, looking at the white face, with the great dark circles under eyes that during the night had known no wink of sleep, felt sorry in her heart of hearts that she had uttered a single word that would seem to imply reproof. “Of course you will let us pay you liberally for the expense we shall put you to, but I cannot bear to speak of money in connection with something that can never be paid for at all, in any true sense.” “The board will not come amiss,” and then, straightening herself up a little, “though we have no need of being beholden to anybody.” “That is very evident, Mrs. Hartley, and makes it all the kinder for you to take us in. Does Mr. Hartley know,” he asked after a pause, “that Ted ought not to be moved? Will he be willing that he should stay?” for Harry stood in considerable awe of the master of the house, who, it could not be denied, was conducting himself through this whole affair with no little austerity of deportment. “Never you fear,” answered Mrs. Hartley, with a significant smile that was very becoming to the dear old face; “I think I can manage Mr. Hartley.” <div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/0093.jpg" alt="0093 " width-obs="100%" /> </div> <h5> <ANTIMG src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </h5> By this time the contents of the yellow bowl were not only in the oven, but sending out of it the most savory of odors; and a few moments later the little household sat down to such a delicious breakfast as the doctor and Harry repeatedly declared they never before had eaten; so that Mrs. Hartley sat proud and radiant behind the plated coffee-urn, and Martha passed the Sally Lunn with indescribable complacency. Indeed, there was reaction on every side from the night of anxiety and foreboding. Even Mr. Hartley could not hold out against the general atmosphere of good cheer, and falling into a friendly discussion with the doctor, forgot to wear for a while a certain uncompromising look, intended to impress Mr. Allyn with the simple enormity of his transgression. But happily Harry Allyn needed no such impressing. It was impossible for any one to regard this adventure in any graver light than he, and yet, strange to say, he was happier than he had been for many a day. It had taken a pretty terrible experience to bring him to his senses; perhaps nothing less terrible would have answered; but he saw plainly enough now what a down-hill road he and Ted had been travelling, and with the realization came the decision to “right about face,” and with the decision an old-time sensation began to assert itself, and there lay the secret of the happiness. It is an intangible, uplifting something, that sensation that men call self-respect, and when they lose it they seem to lose the capacity for any happiness worth the name, and when they cannot be persuaded to make an effort to get it back again, there seems to be little enough that they're good for. Harry, however, with grateful heart found himself ready for the effort, and, fully aware at last of how much he had been risking, was resolved that regain his self-respect he would, let it cost what it might. He only hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that Ted would come to see matters in the same honest light, and be ready to make the same effort. Soon after breakfast the doctor took his departure, and then Harry had a quiet little talk with Ted. “You're not to speak a word, old man,” he said, as he stood beside the bed; “the doctor says so; but there are one or two things he is willing I should say to you. In the first place, Ted, we've had a very narrow escape, and we've no one to blame but ourselves. And the truth is, Ted, we've been a pair of incomparable fools, you and I, and if we don't take this lesson to heart, there's no hope for either of us. In the second place, we can't be too thankful we've fallen into the hands of these good people here. You couldn't be better cared for anywhere, and the best of it is, no one need know where you are, and they need never hear of this disgraceful adventure up at Windsor. Indeed, for the sake of shielding you, I have told the Hartleys that your name is Morris, and it rests with you to tell them your right name some day if you choose; hut the doctor knows the truth about things—he had to know.” A look of inexpressible relief had been stealing over Ted's face, and he started to make some reply, but Harry shook his head in most determined fashion, and was off before the words could get themselves into line. Ted found, too, that his brain responded very slowly to any sort of demand upon it, and was willing enough to be spared the exertion. A little later Harry set off for Oxford, to bring certain necessities for Ted and himself down to Nuneham, for he meant to take up his abode at the inn, so that he would be near the Hartleys, and be able to render every possible service to them and to Ted. Before he started, however, he underwent quite an ordeal. Feeling he had no right to assume that Ted would stay until he had that permission from Mr. Hartley personally, he sought him out, where he was at work in a corner of the meadow, and the result, as he had anticipated, was a very plain talk—so unsparingly and pointedly plain that Harry winced a good deal in the process, and once or twice came near resenting a mode of procedure that seemed very much akin to knocking a fellow when he's down. But, after all, what did he not deserve, and as Mr. Hartley said, among other things, that he was not the man to turn a body out of his house, and that Mr. Morris was welcome to stay, he felt he ought to be able to bear with the rest, no matter how humiliating and, in a measure, unmerited. Mrs. Hartley, standing in the kitchen door, imagined from Harry's flushed face, as well as from life-long acquaintance with Mr. Hartley's temperament, that he had been pretty severely dealt with, and so said as he passed, “My gude man's a gude man, though,” Mr. Allyn and Harry, amused at the loyalty to her husband and kindliness to him combined in the speech, had the grace to answer, “Indeed I believe you, Mrs. Hartley.” <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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