The Legacy of Cain

"I had the honor of meeting your sister," he said, "in London, at Mr. Staveley's house." He went on to speak easily and gracefully of the journey I had taken, and of his friend who had been my fellow-traveler; and he attended us to the railway omnibus before he took his leave. I observed that Eunice had something to say to him confidentially, before they parted. This was another example of my sister's childish character; she is instantly familiar with new acquaintances, if she happens to like them. I anticipated some amusement from hearing how she had contrived to establish confidential relations with a highly-cultivated man like Mr. Dunboyne. But, while Miss Jillgall was with us, it was just as well to keep within the limits of commonplace conversation.

Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one undesirable result of my absence from home. Eunice and Miss Jillgall—the latter having, no doubt, finely flattered the former—appeared to have taken a strong liking to each other.

Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a change to, what I call self-assertion, in my sister's manner; something seemed to have raised her in her own estimation. Then, again, Miss Jillgall was not like her customary self. She had delightful moments of silence; and when Eunice asked how I liked Mr. Dunboyne, she listened to my reply with an appearance of interest in her ugly face which was quite a new revelation in my experience of my father's cousin.

These little discoveries (after what I had already observed at the railway-station) ought perhaps to have prepared me for what was to come, when my sister and I were alone in our room. But Eunice, whether she meant to do it or not, baffled my customary penetration. She looked as if she had plenty of news to tell me—with some obstacle in the way of doing it, which appeared to amuse instead of annoying her. If there is one thing more than another that I hate, it is being puzzled. I asked at once if anything remarkable had happened during Eunice's visit to London.

She smiled mischievously. "I have got a delicious surprise for you, my dear; and I do so enjoy prolonging it. Tell me, Helena, what did you propose we should both do when we found ourselves at home again?"

My memory was at fault. Eunice's good spirits became absolutely boisterous. She called out: "Catch!" and tossed her journal into my hands, across the whole length of the room. "We were to read each other's diaries," she said. "There is mine to begin with."

Innocent of any suspicion of the true state of affairs, I began the reading of Eunice's journal. If I had not seen the familiar handwriting, nothing would have induced me to believe that a girl brought up in a pious household, the well-beloved daughter of a distinguished Congregational Minister, could have written that shameless record of passions unknown to young ladies in respectable English life. What to say, what to do, when I had closed the book, was more than I felt myself equal to decide. My wretched sister spared me the anxiety which I might otherwise have felt. It was she who first opened her lips, after the silence that had fallen on us while I was reading. These were literally the words that she said:

"My darling, why don't you congratulate me?"

No argument could have persuaded me, as this persuaded me, that all sisterly remonstrance on my part would be completely thrown away.

"My dear Eunice," I said, "let me beg you to excuse me. I am waiting—"

There she interrupted me—and, oh, in what an impudent manner! She took my chin between her finger and thumb, and lifted my downcast face, and looked at me with an appearance of eager expectation which I was quite at a loss to understand.

"You have been away from home, too," she said. "Do I see in this serious face some astonishing news waiting to overpower me? Have you found a sweetheart? Are you engaged to be married?"

I only put her hand away from me, and advised her to return to her chair. This perfectly harmless proceeding seemed absolutely to frighten her.

"Oh, my dear," she burst out, "surely you are not jealous of me?"

There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is Eunice's head turned? She kissed me!

"Now you laugh," she said, "I begin to understand you again; I ought to have known that you are superior to jealousy. But, do tell me, would it be so very wonderful if other girls found something to envy in my good luck? Just think of it! Such a handsome man, such an agreeable man, such a clever man, such a rich man—and, not the least of his merits, by-the-by, a man who admires You. Come! if you won't congratulate me, congratulate yourself on having such a brother-in-law in prospect!"

Her head was turned. I drew the poor soul's attention compassionately to what I had said a moment since.

"Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused to offer my congratulations. I only told you I was waiting."

"For what?"