



Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Josephine Paolucci
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net.






[Illustration: The old lady tapped her stick impatiently on the hard
gravel.

PAGE 36.]




ROBIN REDBREAST

A STORY FOR GIRLS

BY

MRS MOLESWORTH

AUTHOR OF 'CARROTS;' 'THE PALACE IN THE GARDEN;' 'A CHARGE FULFILLED;'
'IMOGEN;' 'THE BEWITCHED LAMP,' etc.

WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS BY ROBERT BARNES

W. & R. CHAMBERS, LIMITED
LONDON AND EDINBURGH


    A good old country lodge, half hid with blooms
    Of honeyed green, and quaint with straggling rooms.

                                  LEIGH HUNT.

    Give me simplicity, that I may know Thy ways,
    Know them and practise them.

                                  GEORGE HERBERT.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER                                       PAGE

I. THE HOUSE IN THE LANE                         7

II. THE OLD LADY                                23

III. TWO JACINTHS                               39

IV. A LETTER AND A DISCUSSION                   54

V. AN OLD STORY                                 69

VI. BESSIE'S MISGIVINGS                         84

VII. AN INVITATION                              99

VIII. DELICATE GROUND                          116

IX. THE INDIAN MAIL                            135

X. THE HARPERS' HOME                           150

XI. GREAT NEWS                                 164

XII. '"CAMILLA" AND "MARGARET," YES'           181

XIII. MAMMA                                    192

XIV. A COURAGEOUS PLEADER                      206

XV. LADY MYRTLE'S INTENTIONS                   224

XVI. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT                   239

XVII. TWO DEGREES OF HONESTY                   255

XVIII. I WILL THINK IT OVER                    270

XIX. UNCLE MARMY'S GATES                       281




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


THE OLD LADY TAPPED HER STICK IMPATIENTLY ON THE
HARD GRAVEL                                          _Frontispiece_

AND THEN FRANCES RELATED THE WHOLE, MARGARET LISTENING
INTENTLY TILL ALMOST THE END                               Page 75

JACINTH'S BROWS CONTRACTED, AND THE LINES OF HER
DELICATE FACE HARDENED, BUT SHE SAID NOTHING                   141

JACINTH SAT DOWN ON A STOOL AT LADY MYRTLE'S FEET
AND LOOKED UP IN HER FACE                                      177

'IT IS SO GOOD OF YOU, MEETING ME LIKE THIS,' THE
YOUNGER WOMAN WHISPERED                                        207

'AH WELL!' SAID LADY MYRTLE, 'ANOTHER DREAM VANISHED!'         243




ROBIN REDBREAST.




CHAPTER I.

THE HOUSE IN THE LANE.


It stood not very far from the corner--the corner where the lane turned
off from the high-road. And it suited its name, or its name suited it.
It was such a pretty, cosy-looking house, much larger really than it
seemed at the first glance, for it spread out wonderfully at the back.

It was red too--the out-jutting front, where the deep porch was, looking
specially red, in contrast with the wings, which were entirely covered
with ivy, while this centre was kept clear of any creepers. And high up,
almost in the roof, two curious round windows, which caught and
reflected the sunset glow--for the front was due west--over the top of
the wall, itself so ivy grown that it seemed more like a hedge, might
easily have been taken as representing two bright, watchful eyes. For
these windows were, or always looked as if they were, spotlessly clean
and shining.

'What a quaint name! how uncommon and picturesque!' people used to say
the first time they saw the house and heard what it was called. I don't
know if it will spoil the prettiness and the quaintness if I reveal its
real origin. Not so _very_ long ago, the old house was a queer, rambling
inn, and its sign was the redbreasted bird himself; somewhere up in the
attics, the ancient board that used to swing and creak of a windy night,
was still hidden--it may perhaps be there to this day! And somebody (it
does not matter who, for it was not any somebody that has to do with
this story) took a fancy to the house--fast growing dilapidated, and in
danger of sinking from a respectable old inn into a very undesirable
public-house, for the coaches had left off running, and the old traffic
was all at an end--and bought it just in time to save it from such
degradation.

This somebody repaired and restored it to a certain extent, and then
sold it again. The new owner enlarged and improved it, and built the
high wall which now looked so venerable; for already this was many, many
years ago. The present owner of Robin Redbreast was the daughter of this
gentleman--or nobleman rather--and she had lived in it ever since the
death of her husband, fully twenty years ago.

She was an old woman now. Her name was Lady Myrtle Goodacre. The
Goodacres, her husband's family, belonged to a distant county, and when
_her_ Mr Goodacre died, her connection with his part of the country
seemed to cease, for she had no children, and her thoughts turned to the
neighbourhood of her own old home, and the pretty quaint house not very
far from it, which had been left her by her father, the late earl. And
thither she came. But she was not exactly a sociable old lady, and few
of the Thetford people knew her. So that there grew to be a slight
flavour of mystery about Robin Redbreast.

The lane was about three-quarters of a mile from the little town of
Thetford. Not that it was a little town in its own estimation; like
many small things, it thought itself decidedly important. It was a
pleasant, healthy place, and of late years it had wakened up a good deal
in some directions, of which education was one, so that several families
with boys and girls in want of schooling came and settled there. For the
grammar-school was now prospering under an excellent and energetic
head-master, and there was talk of a high-school for girls.

But this latter institution was still in the clouds or the air, and so
far, the girls of Thetford families had to content themselves with the
teaching to be obtained at two steady-going, somewhat old-fashioned
private schools, of which the respective heads were, oddly enough, the
Misses Scarlett and the Misses Green. There were three Misses Scarlett
and two Misses Green (I fear they were more often described as 'The Miss
Scarletts' and 'The Miss Greens'), and all five were ladies of most
estimable character.

There was no rivalry between the two schools. Each had and held its own
place and line. Ivy Lodge and Brook Bank were perfectly distinct, so
distinct that neither trod on the other's toes. The former, that
presided over by the Scarlett sisters, was recognisedly for the
daughters of the Thetford upper ten thousand; Brook Bank existed for the
little maidens belonging to the shopkeepers and small farmers of and
near the town. Nowadays a high-school would ignore such distinctions and
absorb them all--whether for better or worse is a matter of opinion. But
as things were, I don't think any harm came from the division of
classes; thanks in great measure, very probably, to the good sense and
feeling of the heads of the two schools. On the rare occasions on which
the Misses Scarlett met the Misses Green--at great parish entertainments
or fancy fairs--the latter gave precedence to the former with ready and
smiling deference, sure to be graciously acknowledged by old
white-haired Miss Scarlett with a kindly hand-shake or 'Many thanks,
Miss Green;' the younger sisters following suit. For the Scarletts were
well-born, much better born, indeed, than some of their pupils, and the
Greens had got themselves educated with difficulty, and in their present
position were higher on the social ladder than any of their progenitors
had ever been--higher socially and more successful practically than they
themselves had in past days dared to hope to be. Financially speaking,
it was well known in Thetford that the Greens had made a much better
thing of their school than the Scarletts. The Scarletts were inclined to
be too liberal and too generous. Their boarders were in many instances
the children of former friends or connections, who found it convenient
to trade upon such ties when the questions and difficulties of education
arose, and to suggest that _their_ daughters might be taken on a
different footing.

In a side-street running out of the market-place stood a few well-built,
old, red-brick houses, which were considered among the 'best' residences
in Thetford. No two of them were exactly alike: some were nearly twice
as large as the others; one was high and narrow, its neighbour short and
broad. They were only alike in this, that they all opened straight on to
the wide pavement, and had walled-in, sunny gardens at the back.

In one of the smaller of these houses--a prim, thin-looking house, too
tall for its breadth--lived a maiden lady, well known by some of the
Thetford folk, not indeed _unknown_ to any, for she had made her home in
the town for many years. Her name was Miss Mildmay, or to be quite
correct, Miss Alison Mildmay. For the actual Miss Mildmay was her
niece, a very young girl whom you will hear more about presently.

Miss Alison Mildmay was a very old friend of the Misses Scarlett.

At Number 9 Market Square Place--that was the name of the short row of
houses I have described--some six months or so before the date at which
I think this story may really be said to begin, there had been an
arrival one evening.

It was late October: the days were drawing in; it was almost dark when
the fly from the two-miles-off railway station--I should have explained
that there was no station at Thetford; the inhabitants had petitioned
against the railway coming near them, and now their children had to
suffer the inconvenience of this shortsightedness as best they
might--drew up at Miss Mildmay's door, and out of it stepped four
people--three children, and a young man scarcely more than a boy. There
were two girls, looking about twelve and fourteen, a little fellow of
six or seven, and the young man.

They were all in mourning, and they were all very silent, though in the
momentary delay before the door was opened, the eldest member of the
party found time to whisper to the girls a word or two of encouragement.

'Try to be cheery, darlings,' he said. 'There's nothing to be afraid of,
you know.'

'I'm not afraid, Uncle Marmy,' replied the elder; 'I'm only _awfully_
dull. If--oh, if Francie and I were old enough for you to be going to
take us out to papa and mamma. Oh, if only'----

'Hush,' whispered Uncle Marmy. He looked young to be an uncle, younger
still to be, as he was, a full-fledged lieutenant in the 200th. 'Hush,
dear,' as the door opened.

Miss Mildmay was at home--it would have been strange had she not been
so, considering that she had known for quite a week the exact day and
hour at which her guests were expected. But it would have seemed less
strange and more natural had she been there in the hall, hurrying
forward to meet them, instead of waiting, to all appearance calmly
enough, in the long bare drawing-room, into which the parlour-maid at
once ushered them. She was a small woman, neat and pleasing in
appearance, and her manner was sufficiently cordial as she came forward;
though the reverse of demonstrative, it was dry rather than cold.

'You are very punctual,' she said as she kissed the children and shook
hands with their young escort, saying as she did so, 'Mr Denison, I
presume?'

'Yes,' he replied; adding in a cheerful tone, 'it is a case of
introducing ourselves all round. You have never seen my--"our" I may
say--nieces and nephew before?'

'No,' said Miss Mildmay. 'I am a very, an exceedingly busy person, and I
rarely leave home, and never have visitors. So, though my brother's
children have been so many years in England, they might have been as
many more without our meeting, but for--these unforeseen circumstances.'

It seemed as if some less vague expression had been on her lips, but
glancing round, she had caught sight of a tremulous flutter amidst the
black garments of the two girls seated beside her--the elder stretching
out her hand to clasp her sister's. Miss Alison Mildmay dreaded'scenes'
of all things; possibly, too, she felt conscious that her words sounded
harsh. For she added quickly, 'Of course, I don't count these young
folk as visitors. I hope they will very soon feel quite at home here,
and no doubt we shall fall into each other's ways nicely.'

The little speech cost her an effort; but she was rewarded for it.
Marmaduke Denison could not restrain an audible sigh of relief.

'Thank you,' he said, with what sounded almost exaggerated fervour,
'thank you so much. It is--it has been very good of you to--to arrange
as you have done. I assure you my sister and Mildmay appreciate it
thoroughly.'

A shade of stiffness returned again to her manner.

'I quite understand my brother,' she said coldly. And though Uncle Marmy
was too deeply in earnest to mind the snub, he wished he had answered
less effusively.

'Do you think Eugene is like his father?' he said quietly, drawing
forward the little fellow, who had been standing somewhat in the
background.

The aunt's face softened again. And truly the boy was a pleasant object
for her eyes to rest upon. He was very fair as to hair and complexion,
though his eyes were dark and wistful; he was an extremely pretty child.

'Yes,' she said more cordially than she had yet spoken. 'He is like
Frank, but he has his mother's eyes.'

Again the feeling of relief stole over the young man.

'She can't be so cold as she seems,' he reflected. 'I fancy I could get
on with her, and I daresay Francie and Eugene will. It is Jacinth I am
anxious about.' And he glanced at the elder girl, as the thought passed
through his mind. So far neither she nor her sister had spoken. Jacinth
sat there with a grave, almost expressionless face, her lips compressed
in a way which her uncle knew well. And suddenly he became aware of a
curious thing. It almost made him smile. This was an undoubted
resemblance between his elder niece and her aunt!

'I wonder how that will work,' he thought. 'I wonder if it is only
superficial or if it goes deeper? If so, I hope poor Jass will have a
wider life than has evidently fallen to the lot of this good lady.' And
then, as it struck him that they were all sitting silent in most
constrained discomfort, he thrust aside his reflections and forced his
attention to return to the present.

'Perhaps I had better be looking up my quarters at the inn,' he said,
rising. 'I found I could get up to town practically almost as early by
the morning's express as by a night train. So if you will allow me, Miss
Mildmay, I will look in first thing to-morrow for another glimpse of
these little people.'

'But you will return to dine--at least not to dine, but--well, call it
high tea or supper, whichever you like,' said his hostess, cordially.
'Unless, of course, you prefer'----

Marmaduke stood irresolute. He was desperately afraid of annoying Miss
Mildmay.

'Oh no, of course not,' he began, 'but I'm'----

A sudden impulse seized Jacinth. She felt as if she must do
something--if she sat still a moment longer she would burst into tears.
She sprang to her feet and caught her uncle's arm. 'Oh, _do_ come back,
Marmy,' she said. 'You don't know.--Aunt Alison, do say he must.'

'Of course he must,' said Miss Mildmay. 'I am not going out this evening
as I usually do. I have given myself a holiday in honour of your
arrival, so pray come back as soon as you have ordered your room at the
_Swan_, Mr Denison,' And Marmaduke smilingly consented.

This little incident seemed to have thawed them all.

'I will show you your rooms now,' said Miss Mildmay, when, the young man
had gone. 'You two girls are to be together of course, and Eugene's
little room is on the next floor.'

Eugene, who was following with his sister Frances, whose hand he held,
here squeezed it while he looked up in her face with anxiety.

'Never mind,' she whispered. 'It's quite a little house compared to
granny's, Eugene. You can't be far away. Very likely you'll be just
overhead, and so if you want us in the night you can knock on the
floor.'

This seemed to satisfy the child, and the sight of his room, which
though small was bright and cheerful, went still further to reassure
him.

'It will be nice to have a room of my own,' he said bravely. 'At
granny's I slept in the night nursery with nurse.'

'But you're a big boy now, you know,' said Jacinth, hastily, as if
afraid of her aunt thinking him babyish.

'Yes, of course,' agreed Miss Mildmay. 'I cannot promise you that you
will find everything here the same as at your poor grandmother's. You
always called her your grandmother, I suppose,' she went on, turning to
Jacinth, 'though