"The people that drive such coaches drive "em to town for a wedding dress," said Miss Bezac sagely. "There"s a blue bird getting out of this one, to begin with."
While she spoke, a tiny foot emerged from the coach, and after it a dress of blue silk, which so far from "standing alone" followed softly every motion of the wearer. A simply plain shirred spring bonnet of blue and white silk, made the blue bird comparison not altogether unapt,--the bird was hardly more fair and dainty in his way than the lady in hers. She stood still for a minute, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking off down the road; a slight, delicate figure, with that sort of airy grace which has a natural poise for every position,--then she turned abruptly and knocked at the door.
Now it was Miss Bezac"s custom to let applicants open and shut for themselves, her hands being often at a critical point of work; so in this case, with a refractory flower half adjusted--while Faith was in the intricacies of a knot of ribband, she merely cried, "Come in!" And the young lady came--so far as across the threshold,--there she stopped. A quick, sudden stop,--one little ungloved hand that looked as if it had never touched anything harsher than satin, clasped close upon its gloved companion; the shawl falling from her shoulders and shewing the bunch of crocuses in her belt; the fair, sweet, high bred face--sparkling, withal flushing like a June rose. For a minute she stood, her bright eyes seeing the room, the work, and Miss Bezac, but resting on Faith with a sort of intenseness of look that went from face to hand. Then her own eyes fell, and with a courteous inclination of her head, she came for ward and spoke.
"I was told," she said, advancing slowly to the table, and still with downcast eyes,--"I was told that--I mean--Can you make a sunbonnet for me, Miss Bezac?" She looked up then, but only at the little dressmaker, laying one hand on the table as if to support herself, and with a face grave enough to suit a nun"s veil instead of a sunbonnet.
Faith"s eyes were held on this delicate little figure with a sort of charm; she was very unlike the Pattaqua.s.set models. At the antipodes from Miss Essie De Staff--etherial compared to the more solid proprieties of Sophy Harrison,--Faith recognized in her the type of another cla.s.s of creatures. She drew back a little from the table, partly to leave the field clear to Miss Bezac, partly to please herself with a better view.
"A sunbonnet?" Miss Bezac repeated,--"I should be sorry if I couldn"t, and badly off too. But I"m afraid you"ll be, for a pattern,--all I"ve got are as common as gra.s.s. Not that I wish gra.s.s was uncommon, either--but what"s the stuff?"
"When I came out this morning," said the lady, glancing at Faith and then down again, "I did not expect to come here. And--I have brought no stuff. Can you send some one down to the village?--this young lady, perhaps.--May I take her with me now?"
"Why of course you may!" said Miss Bezac delightedly.--"Just as much as if I was glad to get rid of her--which I aint,--and am too,--for she"s tired to death, and I was just wishing somebody that wasn"t would take her home. Or some horses."
There was a sweet amused play of the lips in answer to this lucid statement of facts, and then turning towards Faith, the stranger said, "Will you go?"--the words were in the lowest of sweet tones.
"Where do you wish me to go?" said Faith, coming a step forward.
"With me--down into the village."
"I will go," said Faith. "Then I will take these two mantillas, Miss Bezac,--and you shall have them the day after to-morrow."
The straw bonnet and shawl were put on in another minute, and not waiting for her gloves she followed the "blue bird" to the carriage, rather pleased with the adventure.
The little ungloved hand took firm hold of hers as they stepped out of Miss Bezac"s door, and but that the idea was absurd Faith would have thought it was trembling. Once in the carriage, the two side by side on the soft cushions, the orders given to the footman, the coach rolling smoothly down the hill, the stranger turned her eyes full upon Faith; until the tears came too fast, quenching the quivering smile on her lips. Her head dropped on Faith"s shoulder, with a little cry of, "Faith, do you know who I am?"
A sort of whirlwind of thoughts swept over Faith--nothing definite; and her answer was a doubtful, rather troubled, "No."--
"I know who you are!" said the stranger. "You are Mignonette."
"Who told you so?" said Faith, drawing back from her to look.
"Some one who knew!"--the face was lovely in its April of mischief and tears.
Faith"s face grew very grave, with doubt, and bewilderment, and growing certainty, and drew yet further off. Rosy blushes, more and more witchingly shy, chased in and out of her cheeks; till obeying the certainty which yet was vague, Faith"s head stooped and her two hands covered her face. She was drawn back into the stranger"s arms, and her hands and face (what there could) were covered with kisses.
"Faith, is it strange your sister should know?--and why don"t you let me have the rest of your face to kiss?--I haven"t half seen it yet. And I"m sure Endy would not like to have his message delivered in these out of the way places."
Even as she spoke, the hands quitted the face, veiled only by the rosiest consciousness; and laying both hands on the stranger Faith gave her warm kisses--on cheeks and lips; and then looked at her, with eyes alternately eager and shy, that rose and fell at every new stir of feeling.
"How did you come here?"--she said with a sort of soft breathlessness.
The eyes that looked at her were as intent, a little laughing, a little moved.
"How did I come here?--Faith, I knew you at the first glance,--how came you not to know me?"
"I--could not!" said Faith. "How came you here?"
"Here? in Pattaqua.s.set--how I love the name! Faith, I shall expect you to take me to every place where Endecott set his foot when he was here."
Faith"s eye gave a little answering flash. "I don"t believe I know them all. Then--" she checked herself--"But how did you come here? You--were in Germany."
"Then what?--please answer me first."
How Faith blushed!--and laughed; but she grew very grave almost immediately.
"Please answer me!" she said.
"Yes, I was there--and I could not help coming here," Miss Linden answered. "To leave him there, after all! But I could not help it, Faith. When he determined to spend the year there--and I never saw him look so grave over a determination--it was for one reason alone. You know what?"
Faith did not a.s.sent nor dissent, but her eyes were swallowing every word.
"It seemed then as if it might not much lengthen his absence, and would ensure its being the last. And by-the-by, fair ladye, Endecott said I might make the most of you before he got home; for _then_ he meant to have you all to himself for six months, and n.o.body else should have a sight of you."
As far as they could go, Faith"s eyes fell; and her new sister might study the fair face and figure she had not had so good an opportunity of studying before. Perfectly grave, and still to her folded hands.
"After he was fairly launched in his work," Miss Linden went on, "Aunt Iredell began slowly to grow better; and as the winter pa.s.sed she took the most earnest desire to come home--to America. Nothing could shake it; and the doctors approved and urged that there should be no delay.
Then, Faith, _I_ would have stayed,--but she was exceedingly dependent upon me, and most of all, Endecott said I ought to come. I believe he was glad to think of my being here for another reason. He came with us to Paris--it happened just then that he _could come_--and put us on board the steamer. But we were three days in Paris first,--O such pretty days!" she added smiling. "I"ll tell you about them another time."
The downcast eyes were lifted and rested for a minute on the sparkling face before them. If a little warm light in their glance meant that all was "pretty" about which those two had to do, it said part at least of what was in Faith"s mind.
"Now I am to be your neighbour for a while," said Miss Linden. "Aunt Iredell was ordered out of town at once, and last night we came up to Pequot,--so you must not wonder if you see me every other day after this. O how good it is to see you! Do you know," she said, wrapping her arms round Faith again, and resting the soft cheeks and lips upon hers, "do you know how much I have to say of this sort, for somebody else?"
"You are not going back to Pequot to-day?" said Faith softly.
"May I stay in Pattaqua.s.set till to-morrow?"
"If I can take good enough care of you!" said Faith, kissing her half gladly, half timidly.
"And may I go home with you now?"
"Where are we going?" said Faith looking out.
"My dear, you ought to know! but I do not. I told them to drive about till I gave contrary orders. Now you must give them." And the check string brought the horses to a stand and the footman ditto. A half minute"s observation enabled Faith to give directions for reaching the main Pattaqua.s.set road and taking the right turn, and the carriage rolled on again. There was a little pause then, till Faith broke it. A rich preparatory colour rose in her cheeks, and the subject of her words would certainly have laughed to see how gravely, with what commonplace demureness, the question was put.
"Was Mr. Linden well, when you came from Germany?"
"Faith!" was his sister"s prompt reply. Faith"s glance, soft and blushing, yet demanded reason. Whereupon Miss Linden"s face went into a depth of demureness that was wonderful. "Yes my dear, Mr. Linden was well--looking well too, which is an uncommon thing with him."
"Is it?"--said Faith somewhat wistfully.
"Not in the way I mean," said her new sister smiling,--"I thought nothing could have improved his appearance but--Mignonette. And I suppose he thought so himself, for he was never seen without a sprig of the little flowers."
Faith"s look in answer to that was given to nothing but the ground, and indeed it was worthy to have been seen by only one person.
"Faith," said Miss Linden suddenly, "are there many French people in Pattaqua.s.set?"
"No,--not any. Why?"