If my ignorance was not bliss, it was, at least, I truly think, a comfort to her, since by its help she could forget for a time, at least, that she was doomed and set aside as having nothing more to do with life. And my profound interest and _naïf_ admiration egged her on to tell me of the gay, sweet past--such an innocent, pitifully short past it was--of her small triumphs and her pretty frocks. Sometimes she would even show me her few girlish trinkets, but I was quick to observe that if I ever asked about her future use of them a sort of shudder passed over her white face and her eyes would close quickly for a moment; then she would answer evasively, gently; yet there was a flatness in the tones of her voice, and she would surely remark, “that she would try now to doze a little.”
It was not long before my observation brought me closer to her tender heart, while slowly I learned, little by little, something of the weight of the cross this fragile girl was bearing on her trembling shoulders.
Mrs. Hyler was, I think, the most disconcerting person in this uncomfortable family. Her manner toward them was that of a moderately devoted housekeeper--head nurse, who presumed slightly by reason of her long service. The last scant drop of kindness--the last ray of warmth of affection--I dare not use a stronger word--was for her Linda! But we must remember that for four and twenty years she had listened to what the Rev. Hyler “was going to do,” and had suffered from what the Rev. Hyler “did not do,” and there was no hope left in her.
I shall not introduce her sons individually, but will simply state that between the Spanish-looking eldest one--brave, loyal, honest and kind--and the impish youngest, with the face of a blond seraph and a heart like a nether mill-stone, there were five others, each one striving to be--or so it seemed--as unlike his brothers as possible. In all their lives they had found but two subjects they could agree upon; on these, however, they were as one boy. Their honest, hearty love for “Sister Linda” was one subject, and a fixed determination to “get even” with their father was the other.
Linda Hyler loved music profoundly, and she had not only natural talent, but powers of concentration and a capacity for hard work that might have made an artist of her. And the poor child had had her opportunity--for one with means and power and the inclination to use them, attracted by the purity and volume of her voice and by her earnest ambition, had offered to assist her to that stern training, so difficult in those days to obtain, even when one had the money to pay for it. But if she had talent, she also had a father, and he with the bitter taste seemingly strong in his mouth, refused the kindly offer, giving no nobler reason for his act than that “she was his only daughter and he would miss her far too much.” She pleaded with him in vain, and had the pain of seeing her one opportunity float away from her, taking on, as it went, all the airy grace, all the glancing beauty of a bubble floating in the sunshine.