WHAT DID BASIL MEAN?
It was rather late on the evening
of the second day after Ermengarde and her father
had gone to Glendower, that Marjorie, who had been
playing with the nursery children, and dragging the
big baby about, and otherwise disporting herself after
the fashion which usually induces great fatigue, crept
slowly upstairs to her room.
She was really awfully tired, for
the day had been a hot one, and nurse had a headache,
and Clara, the nursery-maid, was away on a holiday.
So Marjorie had scarcely breathing time all day long.
Now she was going to bed, and the poor little girl
looked rather limp and abject as she crept along the
passage to her room.
“I do hope Ermie is having a
jolly time,” she murmured to herself. “I
can just fancy how delicious it is at Glendower now.
It is such a beautiful, perfect place, just hanging
over the sea. And there’s going to be a
moon. And the moon will shine on the sea, and
make it silver.”
Marjorie reached her room. She
climbed up on the window-ledge and gazed out.
“Yes, the moon is getting up,”
she said, speaking her thoughts aloud, which was one
of her old-fashioned ways. “Oh, how beautiful
the moon must look on the sea. I wonder if Ermie
is looking at it. Not that poor Ermie cares for
moons, or things of that sort; but Lilias does.
Who’s that? O Basil, is it you? Have
you come to talk to me? How awfully jolly!
There’s lots of room for both of us on the window-ledge.
Squeeze in, Basil; there, aren’t we snug?
Please, may I put my arm round your neck to keep myself
tight?”
“All right, Mag. Only don’t
quite throttle me if you can help it. I thought
you had some one with you. I heard you chattering.”
“Only to myself. It’s a way I have.”
“Well, go on, never mind me; I’m nobody.”
“Oh, aren’t you, just!
Why, you are Basil, you’re the eldest of us all
and the wisest, and the best.”
“Hush, Maggie.”
Basil’s brow was actually contracted with pain.
“Yes, you are,” repeated
Marjorie, who saw the look, and began to feel her
little heart waxing very hot. “O Basil,
I meant to spend all to-day and yesterday clearing
you; yes, I did, darling, I did! And I never
thought, when it was made to be my plain duty to stay
at home, that I was only to help in the nursery all
day long. O Basil, I am so sorry.”
“I don’t know what you
mean, Maggie, by clearing me,” said Basil.
“Clearing me of what?”
“Why, of course, you have been
unjustly accused by father.”
“Stop, Maggie. I have not
been unjustly accused by anyone.”
“Basil, you know you didn’t
break the little sister’s miniature, nor steal
it from Miss Nelson. You know you never did!”
Basil put his arm round Marjorie’s waist.
“You think not?” he said with a slow,
rather glad sort of smile.
“Think not? I know
you didn’t do it! You do anything mean
and horrid and wicked and shabby like that! You?
Look here, Basil, even if you told me you did it,
I wouldn’t believe you.”
“All right, Mag; then I needn’t say anything.”
“Only you might just tell me-
“What?”
“That you didn’t do it.
That you are shamefully and falsely suspected.”
“No, I could not tell you that,
Maggie. My father has every right to be annoyed
with me.”
“Basil!”
“I can’t explain, my dear
little Mag. You must just take it on trust with
me. I am not falsely accused of anything.”
Marjorie unlinked her hand from Basil’s
clasp. She sprang off the window-ledge on to
the floor.
“Look here,” she said,
“I can’t stand this! There’s
a mystery, and I’m going to clear you.
Oh, yes, I will; I am determined!”
“No, Maggie, you are not to
clear me. I don’t wish to be cleared.”
“Basil, what do you mean?”
“What I say. I don’t wish to be cleared.”
“Then father is to go on being angry with you?”
Basil suppressed a quick sigh.
“I’m afraid he will, for
a bit, Maggie,” he answered. “He’ll
get over it; I’m not the first fellow who has
had to live a thing down.”
“But when you never did the thing?”
“We won’t go into that.
I’ve got to live it down. Boys often have
rough kinds of things to get through, and this is one.
It doesn’t matter a bit. Don’t fret,
Mag. I assure you, I don’t feel at all bad
about it.”
“Oh, look at the moon!”
suddenly exclaimed Marjorie. “Isn’t
she a lady? isn’t she graceful? I wish
those trees wouldn’t hide her; she’d be
so lovely, if we could have a good look at her.”
“We can’t half see her
here,” said Basil. “Let’s come
into father’s room. We’ll have a
splendid view from one of his windows.”
Marjorie had forgotten all about her
fatigue now. She took Basil’s hand, and
in a silent ecstasy which was part of her emotional
little nature, went with him into the big bedroom
where Mr. Wilton slept. They could see splendidly
all over the park from here, and as they looked, Marjorie
poured out a good lot of her fervent little soul to
her favorite brother.
Basil was never a boy to say much
about his feelings. Once he stooped down and
kissed Marjorie.
“What a romantic little puss
you are,” he said. Then he told her she
must be sleepy, and sent her away to bed.
“But you won’t stay in
this great lonely room by yourself, Basil.”
“This room lonely?” said
Basil with a smile. “I used to sit here
with mother. And her picture hangs there.
I’m glad of the chance of having a good look
at it in the moonlight.”
“Basil, do let me stay and look at it with you.”
“No, Maggie. I don’t
want to be unkind. You are a dear little thing,
but it would help me best to be alone with mother’s
picture. You don’t misunderstand me, Mag?”
“Of course I don’t.
Good-night, dear Basil; good-night, darling.
This talk with you has been as good as two or three
days at Glendower.”
Marjorie ran off, and Basil was alone.
He went and knelt down under the girlish picture of
his dead mother. The moonbeams were shining full
into the room, and they touched his dark head, and
lit up his young mother’s fair face. Basil
said no words aloud. He knelt quietly for a moment;
then he rose, and with tears in his eyes gave another
long look at the picture as he turned to leave the
room.