Beryl's Triumph by Eglanton Thorne

FOR some days Beryl "went softly" in her humiliation and repentance. But sins as well as sorrows are easily forgotten by children, and when Miss Burton had so heartily forgiven her recent outbreak of naughtiness, and was as kind and as loving to her as ever, how could Beryl retain a depressing sense of shame? Yet the thought of that unhappy day was not banished to a land of utter oblivion. Its memory revived again and again to give a timely warning, when Beryl was tempted to fight hard for her own way, or assert her independence by disobeying commands.

The year glided on to that delightful season when summer and autumn join hands and mingle their gifts of warmth and colour. The corn grown on the upland fields were all cut and stored. The woods were mellowing with tokens of summer's waning, and promised a rich harvest to the nutters. But the sun still shed warmth and beauty along the shore, and it was only at evening that the cold breath of autumn was felt. The sound of sportmen's guns re-echoed from the stubble lands, and Egloshayle was at its gayest time, as far as visitors were concerned.

Mr. Hollys did not come home till the day before that fixed for the arrival of the guests he had invited for the shooting. Miss Hollys had returned from her visit a week earlier, and was anticipating with pleasurable excitement the task of entertaining her brother's guests. She was prepared to forget for a time that she had nerves, and make exertions from which she would generally have shrunk.

To Beryl the coming of these visitors was an annoyance. She wanted her father to herself, and it vexed her to think that his time and attention would be monopolised by a number of strangers. She was inclined, moreover, to regard the sport of shooting from the birds' point of view, and denounce it as a very cruel kind of amusement.

To secure at least one quiet talk with her father, Beryl asked permission to drive with Andrew to the station to meet him. Her request was granted without demur.

She could squeeze herself between Mr. Hollys and Andrew, even if her father's luggage should demand the whole of the back seat of the phaeton, and he would certainly be pleased to have her company. Miss Hollys, being in an amiable mood, allowed Beryl to do as she liked.

So Beryl drove off, looking bright and happy. Andrew, being one of the most cautious of servants, had allowed so much time for the drive, that they arrived at the station long before the train was due. Beryl did not mind that. She had a pleasant sense of being a person of importance as she walked up and down the platform, feeling sure that the stationmaster knew who she was, and had communicated this knowledge to the countrywomen who stood by regarding her with glances in which she fancied she read admiration.

At last, when Beryl's patience was beginning to fail, the train came up. But a disappointment awaited Beryl. When she saw her father step on to the platform, and rushed forward to meet him, she discovered, to her dismay, that he was not alone. A tall, lanky-limbed youth, probably about sixteen, sprang out of the train after him. He was of dark complexion, with dark eyes and black hair, and held himself awkwardly, as boys do who suffer the disadvantage of too rapid growth. At the first glance, Beryl decided that he was very ugly, and she did not like him at all.

"Why, Beryl, my child! " exclaimed her father. "It is good of you to come and meet me. I need not ask if you are well; you look so bonny. This young gentleman is the son of my friend Mrs. Everard, of whom you have often heard me speak. This is my little daughter, Percy."

"Not so very little," he replied, nodding carelessly to the child, and surveying her with a cool gaze, which Beryl inwardly resented.

"No; she certainly is not, she grows like a beanstalk," said her father, surveying her with pride. "How is Coral? Is Andrew here?"

Beryl answered "Yes" to the second question, and led the way to the gate at which the phaeton was drawn up.

"Now, how are we all to find room? " said Mr. Hollys. "You get up behind, Percy, and then we will see where the portmanteaux can go. Where will you sit, Beryl?"

"There's room for her here," remarked Percy, drawing his long legs aside, and showing a small space into which Beryl might squeeze herself.

But Beryl turned away from the long-limbed youth with a decided air of disapproval.

"I would rather sit by you, please, papa," she said.

"Very well," said Mr. Hollys indulgently; "we'll manage somehow."

Though she turned her back on him, Beryl felt sure that the long-legged youth was laughing at her. But she was not going to sit squeezed up there with him, if she knew it, she declared to herself.

Room was found for Beryl on the front seat; but she had not a very pleasant place, for the piled-up portmanteaux blocked her view. She felt cross and disappointed. She would have no nice talk with her father after all; for it was impossible to say what she wanted to say to him with that horrid boy listening.

"And how do you get on with your governess, Beryl? " asked her father, as they drove along.