And every evening was passed in fancy work, music, reading or conversation in the drawing-room.
And so the pleasant days of the Easter holidays passed away, and the time for study and for work commenced.
Laura and Electra went away from Blue Cliffs on the same day--Laura escorted by her brother Alden, and Electra by her grandfather, the Rev.
Dr. Jones.
As the party were assembled in the front hall to take leave of their fair young hostess before entering the large traveling carriage that was to take them to the Wendover railway station, Emma Cavendish went up to Alden Lytton and placed a letter in his hand, saying, with a frank smile:
"As you are going direct to Charlottesville, Mr. Lytton, I will trouble you to take charge of this letter to our mutual friend, Mrs. Grey, who, you know, is now staying in that town. Will you do so?"
"Certainly--with great pleasure," stammered Alden in extreme confusion, which he could scarcely conceal, and without the slightest consciousness that he was telling an enormous falsehood, but with full assurance that he should like to oblige Miss Cavendish.
"I hope it will not inconvenience you to deliver this in person, Mr.
Lytton," added Emma.
"Certainly not, Miss Cavendish," replied Alden, telling unconscious fib the second.
"For, you see, I am rather anxious about our friend. She left in ill health. She is almost a stranger in Charlottesville. And--this is the point--I have not heard from her, by letter or otherwise, since she left us; so I fear she may be too ill to write, and may have no friend near to write for her. This is why I tax your kindness to deliver the letter in person and find out how she is; and--write and let us know. I am asking a great deal of you, Mr. Lytton," added Emma, with a deprecating smile.
"Not at all. It is a very small service that you require. And I hope you know that I should be exceedingly happy to have the opportunity of doing any very great service for you, Miss Cavendish," replied Alden, truthfully and earnestly.
For in itself it was a very small service that Miss Cavendish had required of him, and he would have liked and even preferred another and a greater, and, in fact, a different service.
"Many thanks," said Miss Cavendish, with a frank smile, as she left the letter in his hands.
Then the adieus were all said, and promises of frequent correspondence and future visits exchanged among the young ladies. And the travelers departed, and the young hostess re-entered her lonely home and resumed her usual routine of domestic duties.
She was anxious upon more than one account.
More than a week had passed since the departure of Mary Grey, and yet, as she had told Alden Lytton, she had never heard even of her safe arrival at Charlottesville, and she feared that her _protegee_ might be suffering from nervous illness among strangers.
More than a week had also passed since she had telegraphed and written to her Aunt Fanning in New York. But no answer had yet come from that unhappy woman. And she feared that the poor relative whom she wished to succor might have met with some new misfortune.
However, Emma had hoped, from day to day, that each morning's mail might bring her good news from Charlottesville or New York, or both.
And even to-day she waited with impatience for the return of Jerome, who had driven the traveling-carriage containing the departing visitors to Wendover, and who might find letters for Blue Cliffs waiting at the post-office.
Emma could not be at rest all that day, partly because she missed her young companions, whose society had made the lonely house so cheerful, and partly because she half expected news with the return of Jerome.
She wandered up and down the deserted drawing-room, and then went upstairs to the chambers just vacated by her young friends, where she found Sarah, the chamber-maid, engaged in dismantling beds and dressing-tables preparatory to shutting up the "spare rooms" for the rest of the season.
All this was very dreary and dispiriting.
She left these apartments and would have gone into the old lady's room, only that she knew her grandmother was at this hour taking the first of her two daily naps.
As she turned to go down-stairs she glanced through the front hall window and caught a glimpse of the traveling-carriage, with Jerome perched upon the box, slowly winding its way around the circular avenue that led to the house.
CHAPTER XI.
A SURPRISE.
She ran down-stairs briskly enough now, and ran out of the front door.
"Any letters to-day, Jerome?" she inquired.
"No, miss," answered Jerome, shaking his head.
"Oh, dear, how depressing!" sighed Emma, as she turned to go into the house.
But a sound arrested her steps--the opening of the carriage-door. She turned and saw Jerome standing before it and in the act of helping some one to alight from the carriage.
Another moment and a tall, thin, dark-eyed woman, with very white hair, and clad in the deepest widow's weeds, stood before Miss Cavendish.
By instinct Emma recognized her aunt. And she felt very much relieved, and very much rejoiced to see her, even while wondering that she should have come unannounced either by letter or telegram.
As for Jerome, he stood wickedly enjoying his young lady's astonishment, and looking as if he himself had performed a very meritorious action.
"Miss Emma Cavendish, I presume?" said the stranger, a little hesitatingly.
"Yes, madam. And you are my Aunt Fanning, I am sure. And I am very glad to see you," answered Emma Cavendish.
And she put her arms around the stranger's neck and kissed her.
"Dat's better'n letters, a'n't it, Miss Emmer?" inquired Jerome, grinning from ear to ear, and showing a double row of the strongest and whitest ivories, as he proceeded to take from the carriage various packages, boxes and traveling-bags and so forth.
"Yes, better than letters, Jerome. Follow us into the house with that luggage. Come, dear aunt, let us go in. Lean on my arm. Don't be afraid to lean heavily. I am very strong," said Emma; and drawing the poor lady's emaciated hand through her own arm she led her into the house.
She took her first into the family sitting-room, where there was a cheerful fire burning, which the chilly mountain air, in this spring weather, made very acceptable.
She placed her in a comfortable cushioned rocking-chair and proceeded to take off the traveling-bonnet and shawl with her own hands, saying:
"You must get well rested and refreshed here before you go up to your room. You look very tired."
"I am very weak, my dear," answered the lady, in a faint voice.
"I see that you are. I am very sorry to see you so feeble; but we will make you stronger here in our exhilarating mountain air. If I had known that you would come by this train I should have gone to the railway station in person to meet you," said Emma, kindly.
Mrs. Fanning turned her great black eyes upon the young lady and stared at her in surprise.
"Why, did you not get my letter?" she inquired.
"No," said Emma. "I anxiously expected to hear from you from day to day, but heard nothing either by letter or telegram."
"That is strange! I wrote to you three days ago that I should be at Wendover this morning, and so, when I found your carriage there, I thought that you had sent for me."