this dreadful threat, Miss Mowlem, who was soft and timid, as well as curious, wrung her hands in despair, and overflowed meekly in a shower of tears.
“Oh! Good gracious!” cried Miss Mowlem, “what will mother say! Whatever will become of me now! Oh, ma'am! I thought I knocked – I did, indeed! Oh, ma'am! I humbly beg pardon, and I'll never intrude again. Oh, ma'am! Mother's a widow, and the furniture's swallowed up all our money, and oh, ma'am! ma'am! What will we do?!”
“Rosamond!” said Mr. Frankland.
Rosamond put her lips caressingly close to his ear.
“Lenny,” she whispered, “have I made you angry with me?”
“I can't be angry with you, Rosamond,” was the quiet answer. “But please control yourself.”
“I am so sorry – so very, very sorry!” The soft lips came closer still to his ear as they whispered these penitent words. “So sorry, and so ashamed of myself! But it was enough to make almost anybody angry – wasn't it, dear? And you will forgive me – won't you, Lenny? – if I promise never to behave so badly again?” said Rosamond.
“A polite word or two – nothing more than a polite word or two,” said Mr. Frankland, rather coldly and constrainedly.
“Don't cry anymore!” said Rosamond to Miss Mowlem, and pulled the handkerchief away from her face without the ceremony. “I am very sorry I was in a passion. I never meant to distress you. I'll never say a hard word to you again, if you knock at the door. We are not going away. We don't want your mother, or the bill, or anything. Here's a present for you. Here's my neck-ribbon. I'm not angry about that. Take the ribbon. And now, shake hands and be friends, and go up stairs and see how it looks in the glass.”
With these words, Mrs. Frankland opened the door and embarrassed Miss Mowlem, closed the door again, and resumed her place on her husband's knee.
“Dear, I've sent her away with my bright green ribbon. It makes her as ugly as – ” Rosamond stopped, and looked anxiously into Mr. Frankland's face. “Lenny!” she said, sadly, “are you angry with me still?”
“My love, I was never angry with you. I never can be.”
“My dear, dear love, you said more than enough to Miss Mowlem. In your generosity and good-nature you forgot yourself with the young woman. Consider the difference between your station in society and Miss Mowlem's.”
“I will try and consider it. But I like people who are kind to me. I don't think whether they are above my rank or below it. I will try to think as you do, Lenny. But I am afraid that I am a Radical.”
“My dear Rosamond! Don't talk of yourself in that way, even in joke. Don't confuse those distinctions in rank on which the whole well-being of society depends.”
“Does it really? But we all have got the same number of arms and legs. We are all hungry and thirsty, and hot in the summer and cold in the winter. We all laugh when we are pleased, and cry when we are distressed. I won't love you better, Lenny, than I do now if I am a duchess, or less than I do now if I am a servant-girl.”
“My love, you are not a servant-girl. Your father's family, Rosamond, is one of the oldest in England. It is really almost laughably absurd to talk of yourself as a Radical.”
“I won't talk of myself so again, Lenny – only don't look so serious. I will be a Tory, dear, if you give me a kiss, and let me sit on your knee a little longer.”
“And,” Mr. Frankland said, “what about the letter on the table?”
“Ah! I forgot about the letter,” said Rosamond. “It is for you, Lenny – and here's the Porthgenna postmark on it.”
Rosamond opened the letter, drew a stool to her husband's feet, and read as follows:
“To Leonard Frankland, Esq.:
“Sir,
Agreeably to the instructions with which you favored me, I have proceeded to survey Porthgenna Tower.
A little cleaning and new pointing is all that the building wants. I can say two hundred pounds will cover the expense of all repairs. This sum will not include the restoration of the western staircase. From twenty-five to thirty pounds will suffice to set this all right.
The state of dilapidation, from top to bottom, is as bad as can be. Nobody volunteered to accompany me in my survey, and nobody told me which keys fitted which room doors in any part of the north side.
I will send you the estimate in a few days,
I remain, Sir,
Your humble servant,
Thomas Horlock.”
“A very honest, straightforward letter,” said Mr. Frankland.
“Do you mean to dispatch a friend to Porthgenna to go over the house with Mr. Horlock? If you do, I know who.”
“Who?”
“Me, if you please – under your escort, of course. I know exactly what to do.”
“Yes. I suppose I have no choice now but to give you an opportunity. And the west rooms are still habitable.”
“Oh, how kind of you! How pleased I shall be! How I shall enjoy the old place! I was only five years old, Lenny, when we left Porthgenna, and I am so anxious to see what I can remember of it, after such a long, long absence as mine. I never saw that ruinous north side of the house. I prophesy that we shall see ghosts, and find treasures, and hear mysterious noises!”
“Rosamond, let us be serious for one moment. It is clear to me that these repairs of the north rooms will cost a large sum of money. But what to do? If it procures you pleasure… I am with you heart and soul.”
He paused.
“Go on, Lenny.”
“Rosamond,” he whispered, “Your father will pass his days happily with us at Porthgenna. We may all live in the north rooms for the future. Is the loss of your mother the only sad association he has with the place?”
“Not quite. There is another association, which has never been mentioned, but which I may tell you, because there are no secrets between us. My mother had a favorite maid who lived with her from the time of her marriage. She was the only person present in her room when she died. Well, on the morning of my mother's death, she disappeared from the house. She left a mysterious letter to my father. She wrote about a Secret which she was charged to divulge to her master when her mistress was no more. And she added that she was afraid to mention this secret. Our neighbors and servants all thought that the woman was mad; but my father never agreed with them. I know that he has neither destroyed nor forgotten the letter.”
“A strange event, Rosamond.”
“Oh, Lenny, the servants and the neighbors were right – the woman was mad. Anyway, however, it was certainly a singular event in our family. All old houses have their romance – and that is the romance of our house. But years and years have passed since then. I have no fear that my dear, good father will spoil our plans. Just give him a new garden at Porthgenna, where he can walk, and give him new north rooms to live in! But all this is in the future; let us get back to the present time. When shall we go to Porthgenna, Lenny?”
“We
