L. T. Meade

“ Ogilvie. “Ah! there is my train; kiss me, darling.”
She flung her arms tightly round his neck.
“Sibyl, just promise before I leave you that you will be a good girl, that you will make goodness the first thing in life. If, for instance, we were never to meet again—of course we shall, thousands of times, but just suppose, for the sake of saying it, that we did not, I should like to know that my little girl put goodness first. There is nothing else worth the while in life. Cling on to it, Sibyl, cling tight hold to it. ”

“ Ogilvie’s noble action.
“It is so inciting all about it,” continued the little girl, “and I can see the marquee quite splendidly from here, and mother flitting about. Isn’t mother pretty, isn’t she quite sweet? She is going to have the most lovely dress for the bazaar, a sort of silvery white; she will look like an angel—but then she is an angel, isn’t she, Lady Helen?”
Lady Helen bent and kissed Sibyl on her soft forehead. “You must not talk too much and tire yourself,” she said; “let me talk to you. I have plenty of nice things to say.” ”

“ The next day was a glorious one, and Lady Helen, Mr. Rochester, Mrs. Ogilvie, and Sibyl all met at Victoria Station in time to catch the 11.20 train to Richmond, the nearest station to Silverbel. There a carriage was to meet them, to take them to the house. They were to lunch at a small inn close by, and afterwards have a row on the river; altogether a very delightful day was planned.
It was now the heart of a glorious summer—such a summer as does not often visit England. The sky was cloudless; the sun shone, but the great heat was tempered by a soft, delicious breeze. ”

“ Miss Winstead’s schoolroom looked its brightest and best. The days were growing quite long now, and flowers were plentiful. A large basket of flowers had been sent from Grayleigh Manor that morning, and Miss Winstead had secured some of the prettiest for her schoolroom. She had decorated the tea-table and the mantelpiece, but with a pain at her heart, for she was all the time wondering if Sibyl knew or did not know. She could not quite understand from Ogilvie’s manner whether she knew or not. ”

“ I would not be so foolish as to keep him at home; but he is ruining that child, ruining her. She gets more spoilt and intolerable every day.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Ogilvie,” said Lady Helen, who came upon the scene at that moment, “I heard you talking of your little daughter. I don’t think I ever met a sweeter child.”
Mrs. Ogilvie threw up her hands in protest.
“There you go,” she said. “Mr. Rochester has been saying almost the very same words, Lady Helen. Now let me tell you that Sibyl is not your child; no one can be more charming to strangers.” ”

“ It was a very great honor to have been born their little girl. Every morning when Sibyl knelt to pray, and every evening when she offered up her nightly petitions, she thanked God most earnestly for having given her as parents those two perfect people known to the world as Philip Ogilvie and his wife.
“It was so awfully kind of you, Jesus,” Sibyl would say, “and I must try to grow up as nearly good as I can, because of You and father and mother. I must try not to be cross, and I must try not to be vain, and I must try to love my lessons. I don’t think I am really vain, Jesus. ”

“ Isn’t it perfectly shameful, nursie? Mr. Holman said if they could afford to have a shop in Palace Road he would get all the little boys and girls back again. But they won’t come into his nice, quiet back street. I like back streets, don’t you, nursie? It’s horrid of the boys and girls not to go to Mr. Holman’s.”
“It’s the way of the world, dear,” answered nurse; “the world always goes with the prosperous people. Them that are struggling the world leaves behind. It’s a cruel way, but it’s the way the world has got.”
“Then I hate the world,” said Sibyl. ”

“ It was on the first day of the bazaar when all the big-wigs had arrived, when the fun was at its height, when the bands were playing merrily, and [Pg 279] the little pleasure skiffs were floating up and down the shining waters of the Thames, when flocks of visitors from all the neighborhood round were crowding in and out of the marquee, and people were talking and laughing merrily, and Mrs. Ogilvie in her silvery white dress was looking more beautiful than she had ever looked before in her life, that a tired, old-looking man appeared on the scene. ”

“ I wish you to understand that we are not perfect, either of us; we are just everyday, ordinary sort of people. As we happen to be your father and mother, you must obey us and do what we wish; but you make yourself, and us also, ridiculous when you talk as you do. I am perfectly sick of your poses, Sibyl.”
“Poses!” cried Sibyl; “what’s poses?”
“Oh, you are too tiresome; ask nurse to explain, or Miss Winstead, when you go home. Miss Winstead, if she is wise, will tell you that you must just turn round and go the other way. ”

“ I have to take the apples to Dan Scott. I promised, you know, and it would not be right to break my promise, would it, Johnson?”
Johnson scratched his head.
“I guess not!” he said.
“If I don’t take them, he’ll fret and fret,” said Sibyl; “and he’ll never trust me again; and the curse of God is on them that neglect the poor. Isn’t it so, Johnson? You understand, don’t you?”
“A bit, perhaps, Missy.”
“Well, I am very much obliged to you,” said the little girl. “Here’s two apples, real beauties, and here’s my new penny. Now, please lead pony out, and help me to mount him.” ”

“ Dear little thing, she will be quite delighted, you are a prime favorite of hers. But first, what about the bazaar? Ah, naughty man! you need not think you are going to get out of it, for you are, as Sibyl says, one of the big-wigs. We cannot do without big-wigs at our bazaar.”
“Well, Mrs. Ogilvie, I will come if I can. I cannot distinctly promise at the present moment, for I may possibly have to go to Scotland; but the chances are that I shall be at Grayleigh Manor, and if so I can come.” ”

“ Then Ogilvie did give a sob. He checked it as it rose to his throat.
“It is all right,” she continued, “I love you. Jesus is perfect ... and He loves you.”
“But do you, Sibyl, really love me the same as ever?” he asked, and there was a note of incredulity in his voice.
“Seems to me I love you more’n ever” was her answer, and the next instant her soft arms encircled his neck, and he felt her kisses on his cheek. ”

“ God does not like people who think whether they are pretty or not. He likes humble-minded little girls. Now don’t interrupt me any more.”
“There’s the gong, I’m off,” cried Sibyl. She kissed her hand to Miss Winstead, her face all alight with happiness.
“I know I am pretty, she always talks like that when I am,” thought the child, who had a very keen insight into character. “Mother will kiss me to-night, I am so glad. I wonder if Jesus Christ thinks me pretty, too.”
Sibyl Ogilvie, aged eight, had a theology of her own. ”

“ I am almost sorry I asked you here, Lady Helen.”
“Well, at least take the doll—the child is looking at you,” said Lady Helen. “Kiss your hand to her; look pleased even if you are not interested, and give me a promise, that I may take to her, that the angel doll shall stand at the head of the doll stall. The child wishes it; do not deny her wishes now.”
“Oh, take her any message you like, only leave me, please, for the present. Ah, there she is, little darling.” Mrs. Ogilvie took the angel doll in her hand, and blew a couple of kisses to Sibyl. ”

“ Sibyl, when father comes back we will have a great big bazaar here at lovely Silverbel, and a marquee on the lawn, and we will ask all the most charitable people in London to take stalls; some of the big-wigs, you know.”
“Big-wigs?” said Sibyl, “what are they?”
“People, my dear child, who are high up in the social scale.”
“I don’t understand, mother,” answered Sibyl. “Oh, do look at this rose, did you ever see such a perfect beauty? May I pick it, mother? It is just perfect, isn’t it, not quite full out and yet not a bud. ”

“ Lord Grayleigh, in a kind of confused way which he did not himself understand, noticed the difference in the glance of the child and the woman.
“Your little girl has the highest opinion of you,” he repeated; “the very highest.”
“And I wish she would not talk or think such nonsense,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, in a burst of irritation. “You know well that I am not what Sibyl thinks me. I am an ordinary, everyday woman. I hope I am”—she smiled—“charming.” ”

“ It is because you told lies.”
“Indeed!” said Lord Grayleigh, pretending to be shocked. “Do you know that that is a shocking accusation? If a man, for instance, had said that sort of thing to another man a few years back, it would have been a case for swords.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” said Sibyl.
“For a duel; you have heard of a duel?”
“Oh, in history, of course,” said Sibyl, her eyes sparkling, “and one man kills another man. They run swords through each other until one of them gets killed dead. I wish I was a man.” ”

“ You are too young yet to understand about money.”
“No, I am not,” said Sibyl. “I know that when people have not much money they are sorrowful. Poor Mr. Holman is.”
“Who in the world is Mr. Holman?”
“He sells the toys in the back street near our house. I am very much obliged to you, mother, for that sovereign. Mr. Holman is going to send me some dusty toys to-morrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t ’splain, Mr. Holman understands. But, mother, I thought we had plenty of money.”
“Plenty of money,” echoed Mrs. Ogilvie; “that shows what a very silly little child you are. We have nothing like enough. ”

“ In plain words, if there is not, you want a false assay of the Lombard Deeps. That is the plain English of it, isn’t it?”
“Pooh! my dear Ogilvie, you use harsh words. Fraudulent! What does the world—our world I mean—consist of? Those who make money, and those who lose it. It is a great competition of skill—a mere duel of wits. All is fair in love, war, and speculation.”
“Your emendation of that old proverb may be fin de siècle, but it does not suit my notions,” muttered Ogilvie, sitting down again.
Grayleigh looked keenly at him. ”

“ I am not a woman with very large sympathies, or perhaps very wide views, but I try to do my duty; I shall certainly do my utmost for your dear little daughter. There is something very lovable about her, although sometimes I fear I do not quite understand her.”
“No one seems to understand Sibyl, and yet everyone thinks her lovable,” said the mother. “Well, give her my love; tell her I will ride with her in the morning. She has had a present of a pony, quite a ridiculous present; Lord Grayleigh was determined to give it to her. ”

“ The irresolution in Ogilvie’s face took something from its character, and seemed to lower the man’s whole nature. Lord Grayleigh shivered; then the uncomfortable sensation which the memory of Sibyl gave him passed away.
“I shall regret it extremely if you cannot do what I want,” he said, with emphasis.
Ogilvie had a quick sensation of momentary relief. His wife owed another two thousand pounds. It would be bankruptcy, ruin if he did not go. He stood up.
“The time for discussing the thing is over,” he said. “I will go—and—do as you wish. The only thing to put straight is the price down.” ”

“ Lord Grayleigh was fond of saying to himself: “From the tone of Ogilvie’s cablegram the mine must be all that we desire, the ore rich, the veins good, the extent of the wealth unlimited. It will be nice,” Lord Grayleigh reflected, “to be rich and also honest at the same time.” He was a man with many kindly impulses, but he had never been much troubled by the voice of conscience. So he went backward and forward to his lovely home in the country, and played with his children, and enjoyed life generally. ”

“ He always comes up, Lord Grayleigh, and tucks me in bed, and he kisses me, and we have a cozy talk. He never misses, never, when he is at home. I am lonesome here, Lord Grayleigh, because mother does not think it good for me that she should come; she would if she thought it good for me.”
“Well,” said Lord Grayleigh, who for some reason did not feel quite comfortable as Sibyl talked of her father’s kisses, “we must find something for you, not quite the best thing of all. ”

“ Ogilvie first turned white, and then her face grew red and angry.
“I don’t believe a single word of what they say,” she retorted with some passion. “The child looks better every day. What the dear little thing wants is rousing. The bazaar will do her no end of good. Mark my words, Miss Winstead, we shall have Sibyl on her feet again by the 24th.”
“You forget,” said Miss Winstead slowly, “the Sahara is due in England about that date. Mr. Ogilvie will be back. He will not be prepared for—for what he has to see.” ”

“ Ogilvie went out on to the lawn.
“The day is improving,” she thought. She glanced up at the sky. “It certainly is miserable at home, and every one talks nonsense about Sibyl. I shall really take a drive and go and see the Le Stranges. I cannot stand the gloom of the house. The dear child is getting better fast, there is not the least doubt of it, and why Phil should talk as he does, and in particular why he should speak as if we were paupers, is past bearing. Lose Silverbel! ”

“ I am not the best nor the sweetest, and I wouldn’t like to be too good, ’cept for you. Good-night, darling father.”
Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie returned to the drawing-room.
“You spoil that child,” said the wife, “but it is on a par with everything else you do. You have no perception of what is right. I don’t pretend to be a good mother, but I don’t talk nonsense to Sibyl. She ought not to speak about nurse and governess before servants, and it is disgraceful of her to drag the footman and his concerns into the conversation at dinner. She ought not, also, to boast about doing naughty things.” ”

“ They soon arrived at Richmond, and got into the carriage which was waiting for them, and drove to Silverbel. They had lunch at the inn as arranged, and then they wandered about the grounds, and presently Sibyl had her wish, for Rochester and Lady Helen strolled away from her mother and herself, and walked down a shady path to the right of the house.
“There they go!” cried the child.
“There who go, Sibyl?” asked Mrs. Ogilvie.
“The one who wants to marry the other,” replied Sibyl. “Hush, mother, we are not to know, we are to be quite blind. Aren’t you awfully incited?” ”

“ There is such a thing in life as turning straight round and going the other way. This was what happened to Philip Ogilvie after the death of Sibyl. All his life hitherto he had been on the downward plane. ”