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CHAPTER XVIII
The next day, after lessons, Mrs. Grose found a moment to say to me quietly: "Have
you written, miss?" "Yes--I've written."
But I didn't add--for the hour--that my letter, sealed and directed, was still in
my pocket.
There would be time enough to send it before the messenger should go to the
village.
Meanwhile there had been, on the part of my pupils, no more brilliant, more exemplary
morning.
It was exactly as if they had both had at heart to gloss over any recent little
friction.
They performed the dizziest feats of arithmetic, soaring quite out of MY feeble
range, and perpetrated, in higher spirits than ever, geographical and historical
jokes.
It was conspicuous of course in Miles in particular that he appeared to wish to show
how easily he could let me down.
This child, to my memory, really lives in a setting of beauty and misery that no words
can translate; there was a distinction all his own in every impulse he revealed; never
was a small natural creature, to the
uninitiated eye all frankness and freedom, a more ingenious, a more extraordinary
little gentleman.
I had perpetually to guard against the wonder of contemplation into which my
initiated view betrayed me; to check the irrelevant gaze and discouraged sigh in
which I constantly both attacked and
renounced the enigma of what such a little gentleman could have done that deserved a
penalty.
Say that, by the dark prodigy I knew, the imagination of all evil HAD been opened up
to him: all the justice within me ached for the proof that it could ever have flowered
into an act.
He had never, at any rate, been such a little gentleman as when, after our early
dinner on this dreadful day, he came round to me and asked if I shouldn't like him,
for half an hour, to play to me.
David playing to Saul could never have shown a finer sense of the occasion.
It was literally a charming exhibition of tact, of magnanimity, and quite tantamount
to his saying outright: "The true knights we love to read about never push an
advantage too far.
I know what you mean now: you mean that--to be let alone yourself and not followed up--
you'll cease to worry and spy upon me, won't keep me so close to you, will let me
go and come.
Well, I 'come,' you see--but I don't go! There'll be plenty of time for that.
I do really delight in your society, and I only want to show you that I contended for
a principle."
It may be imagined whether I resisted this appeal or failed to accompany him again,
hand in hand, to the schoolroom.
He sat down at the old piano and played as he had never played; and if there are those
who think he had better have been kicking a football I can only say that I wholly agree
with them.
For at the end of a time that under his influence I had quite ceased to measure, I
started up with a strange sense of having literally slept at my post.
It was after luncheon, and by the schoolroom fire, and yet I hadn't really,
in the least, slept: I had only done something much worse--I had forgotten.
Where, all this time, was Flora?
When I put the question to Miles, he played on a minute before answering and then could
only say: "Why, my dear, how do I know?"-- breaking moreover into a happy laugh which,
immediately after, as if it were a vocal
accompaniment, he prolonged into incoherent, extravagant song.
I went straight to my room, but his sister was not there; then, before going
downstairs, I looked into several others.
As she was nowhere about she would surely be with Mrs. Grose, whom, in the comfort of
that theory, I accordingly proceeded in quest of.
I found her where I had found her the evening before, but she met my quick
challenge with blank, scared ignorance.
She had only supposed that, after the repast, I had carried off both the
children; as to which she was quite in her right, for it was the very first time I had
allowed the little girl out of my sight without some special provision.
Of course now indeed she might be with the maids, so that the immediate thing was to
look for her without an air of alarm.
This we promptly arranged between us; but when, ten minutes later and in pursuance of
our arrangement, we met in the hall, it was only to report on either side that after
guarded inquiries we had altogether failed to trace her.
For a minute there, apart from observation, we exchanged mute alarms, and I could feel
with what high interest my friend returned me all those I had from the first given
her.
"She'll be above," she presently said--"in one of the rooms you haven't searched."
"No; she's at a distance." I had made up my mind.
"She has gone out."
Mrs. Grose stared. "Without a hat?"
I naturally also looked volumes. "Isn't that woman always without one?"
"She's with HER?"
"She's with HER!" I declared.
"We must find them."
My hand was on my friend's arm, but she failed for the moment, confronted with such
an account of the matter, to respond to my pressure.
She communed, on the contrary, on the spot, with her uneasiness.
"And where's Master Miles?" "Oh, HE'S with Quint.
They're in the schoolroom."
"Lord, miss!" My view, I was myself aware--and therefore
I suppose my tone--had never yet reached so calm an assurance.
"The trick's played," I went on; "they've successfully worked their plan.
He found the most divine little way to keep me quiet while she went off."
"'Divine'?"
Mrs. Grose bewilderedly echoed. "Infernal, then!"
I almost cheerfully rejoined. "He has provided for himself as well.
But come!"
She had helplessly gloomed at the upper regions.
"You leave him--?" "So long with Quint?
Yes--I don't mind that now."
She always ended, at these moments, by getting possession of my hand, and in this
manner she could at present still stay me.
But after gasping an instant at my sudden resignation, "Because of your letter?" she
eagerly brought out.
I quickly, by way of answer, felt for my letter, drew it forth, held it up, and
then, freeing myself, went and laid it on the great hall table.
"Luke will take it," I said as I came back.
I reached the house door and opened it; I was already on the steps.
My companion still demurred: the storm of the night and the early morning had
dropped, but the afternoon was damp and gray.
I came down to the drive while she stood in the doorway.
"You go with nothing on?" "What do I care when the child has nothing?
I can't wait to dress," I cried, "and if you must do so, I leave you.
Try meanwhile, yourself, upstairs." "With THEM?"
Oh, on this, the poor woman promptly joined me!