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diff --git a/38573-h/38573-h.htm b/38573-h/38573-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8dd41da --- /dev/null +++ b/38573-h/38573-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16197 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Christina, by L. G. Moberly +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +P.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +P.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +P.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 120%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +P.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +P.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +P.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.capcenter { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + font-weight: bold; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-indent: 0%; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Christina, by L. G. Moberly + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Christina + +Author: L. G. Moberly + +Release Date: January 14, 2012 [EBook #38573] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTINA *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-cover"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-cover.jpg" ALT="Cover art" BORDER="2"> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +CHRISTINA +</H1> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +BY +</P> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +L. G. MOBERLY +</P> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +<I>Author of "Hope, My Wife," "That Preposterous Will," etc.</I> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED +<BR> +LONDON, MELBOURNE & TORONTO +<BR> +1912 +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +Dedicated to +<BR> +WINIFRED V. WALKER, +<BR> +WITH MUCH LOVE. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +CONTENTS +</P> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">"THE LITTLE PRACTICAL JOKE"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">"MUMMY'S BABA—DAT'S ALL"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">"ONE OF THE BEST THINGS LEFT"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">"I SUPPOSE IT WAS AN HOUR"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">"I KNOW THIS IS WORTH A LOT OF MONEY"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">"BABA LOVES YOU VERY MUCH".</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">"A VERY BEAUTIFUL PENDANT, WITH THE INITIALS 'A.V.C.'"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">"IT IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">"A VERY BEAUTIFUL LADY"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">"IT IS ONLY HE WHO MATTERS!"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">"YOU CAN TRUST DR. FERGUSSON"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">"YOU ARE JUST 'ZACKLY LIKE THE PRINCE"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">"YOU HAVE BEEN A FRIEND TO ME TO-DAY"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">"I AM QUITE SURE YOU NEED NOT BE AFRAID"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">"I DO TRUST, CICELY, YOU KEEP HER IN HER PLACE"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">"MY MOTHER GAVE IT TO ME"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">"WHO DO YOU MEAN BY SIR ARTHUR?"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">"YOU ARE MY OWN SISTER'S CHILD"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">"PER INCERTAS, CERTA AMOR"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">"SHE HAS A SWEET, STRONG SOUL"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">"IF YOU GO ACROSS THE SEA!"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">"I CAME TO-DAY TO TELL YOU SO"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">"THE KING OF MY KINGDOM"</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHRISTINA. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"THE LITTLE PRACTICAL JOKE." +</H4> + +<P> +"Don't be a silly ass, Layton. Do I look the sort of man to play such +a fool's trick?" +</P> + +<P> +"My dear fellow, there's no silly ass about it. You, a lonely +bachelor, and not badly off—desirous of settling down into quiet, +domestic life, would like to find a young lady of refined and cultured +tastes who would meet you with—a view to matrimony. I'll take my oath +you are as ready as this gentleman is, to swear you will make an +excellent husband, kind, domesticated, and——" +</P> + +<P> +Further speech was checked by a well-directed cushion, which descended +plump upon the speaker's bronzed and grinning countenance, momentarily +obliterating grin and countenance alike, whilst a shout of laughter +went up from the other occupants of the smoking-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Jack, my boy, Mernside wasn't far wrong when he defined you as a silly +ass," drawled a man who leant against the mantelpiece, smoking a +cigarette, and looking with amused eyes at the squirming figure under +the large cushion; "what unutterable drivel are you reading? Is the +<I>Sunday Recorder</I> responsible for that silly rot?" +</P> + +<P> +"The <I>Sunday Recorder</I> is responsible for what you are pleased to call +silly rot," answered the young man, who had now flung aside the +cushion, and sat upright, looking at his two elders with laughing eyes, +whilst he clutched a newspaper in one hand, and tried to smooth his +rumpled hair with the other. "The <I>Sunday Recorder</I> has a matrimonial +column—and—knowing poor old Rupert to be a lonely bachelor, not badly +off, and desirous of settling down into quiet domestic life, etc., +etc.—see the printed page"—he waved the journal over his head—"I +merely wished to recommend my respected cousin to insert an +advertisement on these lines, in next Sunday's paper." +</P> + +<P> +"Because some wretched bounders choose to advertise for wives in the +Sunday papers, I don't see where I come in," said a quiet and +singularly musical voice—that of the third man in the room—he who a +moment before had flung the large cushion at young Layton. He was +sitting in an armchair drawn close to the glowing fire, his hands +clasped under his head, his face full of languid amusement, turned +towards the grinning youth upon the sofa. Without being precisely a +handsome man, Rupert Mernside's was a striking personality, and his +face not one to be overlooked, even in a crowd. There was strength in +his well-cut mouth and jaw; and the rather deeply-set grey eyes held +humour, and a certain masterfulness, which dominated less powerful +characters than his own. +</P> + +<P> +In those eyes there was a charm which neutralised his somewhat severe +and rugged features, but in Rupert Mernside's voice lay his greatest +attraction; and a lady of his acquaintance had once been heard to say +that with such a voice as his, he could induce anyone to follow him +round the world. +</P> + +<P> +Why he had remained so long a bachelor had long been matter for +speculation, not only to the feminine portion of the community, but +also to his men friends; but thirty-five still found Rupert Mernside +unmarried, and the manoeuvres of match-making mothers, and of daughters +trained to play up to their mothers' tactics, had hitherto failed to +lead him in the desired direction. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Rupert," his young cousin said solemnly, after a pause, "you +are a bachelor—the fact is painfully self-evident; you have enough +money to—settle down and become domesticated. There are +hundreds—no—thousands of young women in the world, who would 'meet +you with a view to matrimony.' It seems a crying shame that you should +waste your sweetness on the desert air—when you might be blooming in a +fair lady's garden." +</P> + +<P> +"You utter young rotter," Mernside ejaculated, laughing as he rose, and +stretched himself, "if you are so keen on matrimonial advertisements, +why not put one in on your own account?" +</P> + +<P> +"Awful sport," Layton ejaculated; "think of the piles of letters you +would get from every kind of marriageable woman—old and young. And +you might arrange to meet any number of them at different places, and +have no end of a ripping time. You only have to ask them to meet you +with a view to matrimony; the matrimony needn't come off, unless both +parties are satisfied." +</P> + +<P> +"Silly ass!" Mernside exclaimed again, with a laugh that mitigated the +words, "one of these days you'll find yourself in some unpleasantly +tangled web, my boy, if you play the goat over matrimonial +advertisements. Better leave well alone and come up to Handwell Manor +with me. Cicely wants a message taken to the Dysons." +</P> + +<P> +"Cicely's messages are like the poor—always with us," the younger man +answered flippantly; "no, thank you, Rupert; on this genial and +pleasant November afternoon, when you can't see half a mile ahead of +you for the mist, and the country lanes are two feet deep in mud, I +prefer the smoking-room fire. Besides, I have letters to write." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go with you, Mernside"; the man who had been lounging against the +mantelpiece straightened himself, and flung away the end of his +cigarette; "Cicely won't be down till tea-time; she is spending the +afternoon in the nursery, looking after the small girl. Confounded +nuisance for her that the nurse had to go off in a hurry like this, for +my respected sister was not intended by nature for the care of +children." +</P> + +<P> +"Fortunate she has only one," Mernside answered; "what would she have +done with a large family party?" +</P> + +<P> +"Managed by hook or by crook to get a party of nurses and nurserymaids +to mind them," laughed the other man; "she's the dearest little soul +alive, but Cicely never ought to have been a mother, though I shouldn't +say that, excepting to you two who are members of the family, and know +of what stuff Cicely and I are made." +</P> + +<P> +Mernside and Layton joined in the laughter, and the younger man said +lazily: +</P> + +<P> +"Cicely's just Cicely; you can't imagine her less perfect than she is, +and you, Wilfrid, being merely her brother, are not entitled to give an +opinion about her. Rupert and I, as cousins, see her in a truer +perspective. Bless her sweet heart! She makes a perfect chatelaine +for this delectable castle, and the small heiress couldn't have a +sweeter guardian." +</P> + +<P> +"Hear, hear," Mernside murmured, touching Layton's shoulder with a +kindly, almost caressing touch, as he and his cousin, Lord Wilfrid +Staynes, went out of the room, leaving the young man in sole possession. +</P> + +<P> +Left alone, Layton stretched himself again, yawned, lighted a +cigarette, and, strolling to the window, looked at the not very +inviting prospect outside. Bramwell Castle stood on the slope of a +hill, and on even moderately fine days, the view commanded, not only by +the window of the smoking-room, but by every window on that side of the +house, was one of the wildest, and most beautiful in the county. But, +on this Sunday afternoon in November, nothing more was visible than the +broad gravel terrace immediately below the house, and a grass lawn that +sloped abruptly from the terrace, and was dotted with trees. +Everything beyond the lawn was swallowed up in a white mist that +drifted over the tree-tops, and clung to the dank grass, blotting out +completely all trace of the park, that swept downwards from the lawn, +and of the great landscape which stretched from the woodlands to the +far-away hills. Park, woods, and hills were visible to Jack Layton +only in the eyes of his imagination; he could see none of them, and, +with a shiver and a shrug of the shoulders, he turned back into the +warm fire-lit room. +</P> + +<P> +Thanks to his close relationship to Lady Cicely Redesdale, the mistress +of the house, to whom he had always been more of younger brother than +cousin, he had <I>carte blanche</I> to be at the Castle whenever he chose, +and to treat the house as if it were in reality, what he assuredly made +of it—his actual home. Both to him—and to Cicely's other cousin, +Rupert Mernside—the late John Redesdale, her husband, had extended the +fullest and most warm hospitality; and since his death, it had still +remained a recognised thing that the two cousins should spend their +weekends at Bramwell, whenever Lady Cicely and her little daughter were +there. The kindly millionaire who had married the lovely but +impecunious Cicely Staynes, one of the numerous daughters of the Earl +of Netherhall, possessed a host of hospitable instincts, and the Castle +had opened its gates wide to Cicely's relations and friends. Only one +reservation had been made by honest John Redesdale. No man or woman of +doubtful reputation, or damaged character, was allowed to be the guest +of his wife; and the shadier members of Society never set foot within +any house of which the millionaire was master. Jack Layton, strolling +idly now across the smoking-room, whose panelled walls and carved +furniture had been Redesdale's pride and joy, glanced up at the +mantelpiece, over which hung a portrait of the dead man. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor old John," the young man reflected, as he kicked a coal back into +its place in the fire; "he was one of the best chaps that ever +lived—even if he hadn't many good looks with which to bless himself." +He looked up again at the plain but kindly features of the man in the +portrait, and a smile crossed his pleasant young face, as his eyes met +the pictured eyes above him. +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't a love match, of course," his thoughts ran on; "at least, I +don't suppose Cicely loved the dear old fellow. Well; he was thirty +years her senior, so who could wonder? But they were jolly happy, for +all that; John worshipped the ground her pretty feet walked upon, and +he was her master, without ever letting her feel his hand through the +glove. Cicely wants a master—all women do want a master," Jack wagged +his head sagely, when his thoughts reached this point. Having attained +to the ripe age of twenty-five, he felt he had plumbed the nature of +woman to its lowest depths, "and Cicely was lucky to find a master who +could give her a place like this." He sauntered away from the +fireplace, and next surveyed the well-stocked bookcases, but although +they contained every variety of literature, nothing he saw appealed to +his fastidious taste of the moment—and, yawning afresh, he once more +picked up the <I>Sunday Recorder</I>, which he had flung upon the floor. +</P> + +<P> +That someone who is perennially ready to turn idle hands to account, +was watching over this idle youth on that November afternoon, may, on +the whole, be taken for granted, for as Jack's blue eyes ran down the +columns of the paper, a sudden mischievous light sprang into them, a +low laugh broke from his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "What sport, what ripping sport. Why on +earth didn't I think of it before? And—as I start for a four months' +trip with Dundas on Saturday—I shan't have to pay the piper, so to +speak, yet awhile. In fact, by the time I come back, good old Rupert +may have forgotten the little practical joke." Whilst he soliloquized, +he was making his way towards the writing-table, where, having seated +himself, he drew towards him a blank sheet of paper—and began to write +a letter, glancing frequently at the <I>Sunday Recorder</I> beside him. An +expansive grin lightened his features as he wrote, and at intervals he +chuckled softly to himself, murmuring under his breath: +</P> + +<P> +"Poor old Rupert. If only I could be there when he gets the answers. +But one can't have everything," he went on philosophically, whilst +addressing an envelope to the Editor of the <I>Sunday Recorder</I>; "it will +be pure joy to think of the dear soul's dismay, horror, and disgust. +''Tis a mad world, my masters'—and, oh! to see our Rupert's face when +the letters pour in. For they <I>will</I> pour in." During this rapid +soliloquy, he was writing a second letter, which gave him less trouble, +and needed less thought, than the first. Indeed, it ran very briefly: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"DEAR SIR,—I am desired to ask if you will be good enough to forward +all letters in response to the enclosed advertisement to R.M., c/o your +newspaper, to 200, Termyn Street, S.W.—Yours faithfully, +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"J. LAYTON." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +With a final chuckle, the young man put both letters into an envelope, +and having stamped it, went whistling from the house, and through the +park to the village, to post the missive himself at the little village +post office. +</P> + +<P> +"Quiet and cultivated gentleman of good family and means, is anxious to +meet a young lady of good birth who needs a home, etc., etc., etc.," he +murmured as he walked slowly back to the Castle through the dripping +November mist. "Oh! what sport—what utterly ripping sport!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"MUMMY'S BABA—DAT'S ALL." +</H4> + +<P> +In the great Free Library of a crowded London district, the gas burnt +dimly; the yellow fog of a November morning crept even into the big +room, and the few readers shivered a little in its cold clamminess. At +this early hour, for the building had only just opened its doors on a +Monday morning, merely a scattered number of men and women were to be +seen in the place, and those who were there clustered round the +advertisement columns of the newspapers. Both men and women alike were +a sorry-looking crew, and the sad words "out of work," were stamped +upon them all. Their clothing bore the marks of much wear and tear; +their faces were worn, and in the eyes of each of them was that +strained expression, that rises from much looking for that which never +comes. Old and young men were there, searching the long columns of the +papers for work that might suit their pressing needs; old and young +women were there, too—women whose faces gave eloquent testimony to +their hard fight with fortune—whose eyes glanced hungrily along the +printed lines, whose hands tremblingly wrote down this or that address, +which might by some merciful chance give them, if not exactly what they +wanted, at any rate that which would ensure their earning a pittance, +however scanty. Almost every member of the forlorn group eyed every +other member suspiciously, with furtive glances, that seemed to say: +"If you are lucky enough to get a job out of those columns, then I +shall fail to get one. We are cutting each other's throats here. Your +success is my failure." And as each one finished jotting down the +addresses that were likely to be of use, he or she moved silently away +from the library, speaking no word to the rest—like cowering animals +who, having received a bone, or the promise of a bone, slink away from +their fellows, fearful lest even the small thing they have gained, +should be snatched from them. +</P> + +<P> +The greater number amongst the searchers for work, consisted of those +who, for want of a better title, may be described as belonging to the +middle classes. They were neither the very poor—in the recognised +acceptation of the words, though heaven knows they were poor +enough—neither could they be classed amongst artisans, or mechanics. +Their appearance would lead an onlooker to suppose that the men were +accustomed to office work of some description, and that the women were +governesses, companions, or perhaps lady housekeepers—all respectable, +all possessing certain ideals of life and propriety, all struggling to +maintain the degree of gentility, which would keep them above the +high-water mark of degradation. A girl who stood a little apart from +the rest, looked round the dimly-lit room with pitiful eyes, and a +shudder ran through her slight frame, as she watched the faces and +forms of these women who were no longer young, but who were yet still +engaged in this hand-to-hand fight with destitution. The girl was +young; it was impossible to suppose that more than twenty years had +gone over her head, though the deep shadows under her eyes, and the +lines of anxiety, about her mouth, might have made a casual observer +regard her as an older woman. Like the rest of her sex who scanned the +advertisement columns, she was dressed in clothes which had plainly +seen better days—much better days. But, whereas some of the other +women had already begun to drift into untidiness, and into the slovenly +ways which mark the first step along a downward road, this girl was +exquisitely neat from head to foot. Her hat, in spite of its age, was +well brushed; her threadbare coat and skirt were tidy, and showed no +traces of dirt or grease; her gloves, though they were white at the +tips, had no holes; and there was no sign of neglect or disorder in the +arrangement of the dark hair, that showed in soft, dusky curls below +her hat. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor things! Oh! poor things!" was her thought, as she looked at the +sad string of humanity filing its slow way to the door. "Some of them +have been every day for weeks, and they are getting older every day. +And the older one gets, the harder it is to find work. Some day I +shall be like that, old, and tired, and worn out; and then—work will +be more difficult to get than it is now—and I can't get it—even +now—when I am young." +</P> + +<P> +The thoughts that had begun in sheer pity for those other battlers with +the waves of this troublesome world, ended in a shuddering realisation +of her own position; and not only of her position for the moment, but +of the future that stretched inimitably before her across the years. +She, Christina Moore, was only twenty, and in all human probability +another sixty years of life might be hers, for she dimly remembered +hearing her mother say that both she and her husband belonged to +long-lived families. That they two had been cut off in the prime of +life by a virulent epidemic of typhoid fever that swept the village +like a plague, did not alter the fact that they came of races famous +for octogenarians; and Christina, the last of two long lines of +ancestors, shivered anew at the thought of the weary, weary years of +struggle that might still lie before her. It was seldom that she was +assailed by such depressing reflections; her youth had a way, as youth +has, of asserting itself, and rebounding from its own despair; and +there was an abundance of pluck behind those queer, green eyes of hers, +and no lack of resolution in her small square chin. But the fog +outside, the chilly atmosphere of the big library, whose fires were +barely alight, and the sight of the same unemployed men and women who +for weeks past had, as it were, dogged her footsteps, all combined this +morning, to send Christina's spirits down to zero. Matters had not +been improved by the calculations over which she had busied herself +before leaving her lodgings an hour earlier. Whilst eating her dry +bread, and drinking tea without milk, because both milk and butter were +luxuries she no longer dared to give herself, she had written out her +pitiful accounts upon a half-sheet of paper; and the result of the +reckoning had given her a terrible feeling of desperation. For two +years since her parents' death, she had occupied the post of nursery +governess in the family of a Mrs. Donaldson, to whom her mother had +once shown some trifling kindness. But three months earlier these +people had left England for Canada, and no longer required her +services—and Christina, untrained to any profession, with a few pounds +in hand, and with nothing but a strong personality, and an innate love +for little children, to offer as her stock in trade, found herself +amongst the hundreds of other unemployed—just a waif in a great city! +</P> + +<P> +Relations, as far as she knew, she had none. Her father had been an +only child. Her mother had cut herself off from her own people by +marrying against their consent, and Christina was even unaware of who +they were, or to what part of the country they belonged. Long ago, she +had grasped the fact that she was alone in the world, and when the +Donaldsons went away, she had no intimate friends in the old +country—two years of life with them in a London suburb having +effectually cut her off from the very few acquaintances she had left +behind, in the Devonshire village, where her parents died. +</P> + +<P> +Alone in the world, with no work, after nearly three months of +fruitless search for it, and with her small stock of money growing +beautifully less each day, it was no wonder that on this morning in +November, Christina Moore's heart sank in despair. +</P> + +<P> +Save for one or two men still busily engaged in extracting addresses +from the papers, she was alone in the library, before she herself began +her daily search along those monotonous columns, whose lines seemed to +her tired eyes to run into one another, and become lost in an infinite +haze. So many people appeared to require nursery governesses, +companions, and mothers' helps; and yet, as bitter experience taught +her, there were many more applicants for the posts than there were +posts to fill; and it was with a half-hearted sense of intense +discouragement that she noted down some of the addresses. She even +wrote down some that she had hitherto despised—those who offered only +a home and no salary in return for services; for, as she reflected +despondently, "even to have a roof over one's head, and meals to eat, +is better than to have no lodging, or food—and no money to pay for +either." +</P> + +<P> +Having glanced down the advertisements in the chief dailies, her hand +idly turned the pages of one of the Sunday papers close by, and her +eyes glanced down them, more with the idea of distracting her thoughts, +than with any conception that she might find anything there, that would +be of use to her. And her lips parted in a smile, as she read, in +large print: +</P> + +<P> +"MATRIMONIAL NEWS." +</P> + +<P> +"How funny," she mused, whilst she read that a gentleman of means +wished to find a lady of fortune who would take pity on his loneliness; +or that a lady no longer young, but still handsome, wished to meet a +gentleman with a moderate income, with a view to marriage. +</P> + +<P> +"How funny—how very funny!" she mused again; then paused suddenly, her +glance riveted to a sentence that caught and held her attention, almost +against her will. +</P> + +<P> +"Quiet and cultivated gentleman of means," so the paragraph ran, "is +anxious to meet a young lady of good birth, who needs a home. No +fortune is necessary, but marriage may be agreed upon if both parties +are mutually satisfied. Reply by letter to R.M., Box 40,004, <I>Sunday +Recorder</I> Office, Fleet Street, E.C." +</P> + +<P> +Over the girl's white face there slowly spread a stain of vivid colour; +into her eyes crept an odd light. She drew the paper more closely into +her hands, reading and re-reading the paragraph, until every word of it +was imprinted upon her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Young lady—who needs a home—no fortune necessary," she murmured. +"Oh! if only it didn't seem so cold-blooded and horrid, what a way out +it might be! Only—it seems—so—so mercenary—and not what I always +thought of when I was silly—and dreamt—things," her musings ran on. +"Once—I dreamt about a fairy prince—who would—just come—and—make +me love him—and he and I would—be—all the world—to each other. +But—of course—one couldn't be all the world to a person one had +arranged to meet through a newspaper." +</P> + +<P> +Another smile broke over her face, and when she smiled, Christina's +face was very sweet. +</P> + +<P> +"It may be just some dreadful trap to catch a silly girl," she +reflected sagely, "and if—if I did really think of answering it, I +should have to be very careful what I said—and where I arranged to +meet R.M. Of course I—shan't really answer it at all—only—if I +did—and if he were nice—and if—it all came right—there wouldn't be +any more of this dreadful struggle!" +</P> + +<P> +She noted the address of this advertisement amongst the others in her +little pocket-book, and then made her way out of the library and +trudged homewards through the yellow murk, buttoning her very +inadequate coat tightly about her and shiveringly speculating whether, +if she really answered R.M.'s advertisement, there might be a chance of +obtaining clothing more fitted to resist the penetrating chill of a +November fog. Her own small room looked dingier than usual when she +entered it, and it was so full of fog and damp, that she rolled a +blanket round her before lighting a candle and seating herself at the +tiny table, to answer some of the advertisements she had copied. The +room was bare of all but the most necessary furniture. A camp bedstead +stood against the wall, whose paper was of that indeterminate drabness +affected by lodging-house keepers; a deal table occupied the centre of +the room, with the common cane-chair on which Christina sat; and a +painted chest of drawers nearly blocked up the one tiny window. There +was no wash-hand stand; a cracked white basin and a still more cracked +jug stood upon the top of the drawers, a looking-glass of ancient and +battered appearance hung over the mantelpiece, and an open cupboard in +the wall served Christina as sideboard and larder combined. Beside the +bed was a narrow strip of much-faded carpet, but of comfort and +homeliness the room showed no trace whatever, save in the tiny touches +of home the girl had herself striven to impart to it, by hanging on the +walls one or two sketches of the Devonshire village she loved, and by +putting on the mantelpiece a few treasured photographs. But her best +endeavours had failed to make the room other than a most dreary and +dispiriting abode, and the view from the window, of the backs of other +houses looming darkly through the fog, was not calculated to lift the +cloud of despair that for the moment had settled heavily upon her. She +felt listlessly disinclined to state her qualifications as nursery +governess, or mother's help, to the various ladies who hankered after +such commodities. Involuntarily, but continually, her thoughts +returned to that paragraph from the <I>Sunday Recorder</I>, which was not +only engraved upon her mind, but which she had actually copied also +into her book. +</P> + +<P> +"Quiet and cultivated gentleman of means is anxious to meet a young +lady of good birth, who needs a home. No fortune is necessary." At +that point in her reading, Christina paused. +</P> + +<P> +"No fortune is necessary," she said aloud, in an oddly deprecating +voice. "R.M., whoever he may be, only asks for a young lady of good +birth, who needs a home. Well," she turned her eyes towards the foggy +roofs just visible outside her dirty window-panes, "well, as far as I +know I am of good birth, even though father only taught music; and some +people seem to look down on musicians. And—I certainly need a home." +</P> + +<P> +Her glance left the gloomy world without, and went ruefully round the +scarcely less gloomy prospect within. "And if I suited +R.M.—perhaps—perhaps, he would be good to me. Should I suit him, I +wonder? I'm not pretty, and certainly not amusing, and I'm dreadfully +shabby, and nearly as poor as it is possible to be. There is not one +single thing to recommend me." She pushed back her chair; and, rising +from the table, moved slowly to the mantel-piece, over which hung the +tarnished glass whose powers of reflecting objects satisfactorily had +long since departed. Into this unpromising mirror, poor little +Christina, holding the candle far above her head, peered long and +earnestly, her small white face looking all the whiter, because of the +background of yellow fog; her eyes seeming more green than was their +wont, because of the dark shadows that underlay them. +</P> + +<P> +She had thrown off her hat, and the soft masses of her hair lay in +curly confusion about her head. It was a shapely little head, and +particularly well put on, but these were points of which Christina took +no special account, being intent on finding beauties in her face, and +failing to notice that there was anything admirable in the turn of her +neck, in the poise of her firm chin, and in the straightforward glance +of her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"If R.M. met me casually in the street, he wouldn't look at me +twice—no man would," she exclaimed with a sigh, as she turned away +from the glass, "I am horribly ordinary. The only thing is—if I could +screw up my courage to answer him—and then to meet him—he might like +to find a girl who didn't want anything but a quiet home; who would be +satisfied to go without gaiety or amusement." She sighed again, and a +wistful look crept into her eyes. "I haven't really ever had any fun, +so I shouldn't miss it, and I could just try to make a happy home for +R.M., if that is all he wants. And—after all," she went on, still +speaking aloud, "there isn't any harm in answering his letter. It may +all come to nothing; and yet—it might be worth while—and—it almost +seems presidential that I just happened to see that paragraph in the +<I>Sunday Recorder</I>." +</P> + +<P> +The letter she sat down to write as the outcome of all these +conflicting meditations, was the most difficult she had ever written in +her young life; and before it was finished, and finally consigned to +its envelope, she had torn up many sheets of paper, and allowed fully +two hours of the morning to pass by. Twelve o'clock was chiming from +all the clocks in the neighbourhood, when, with her answers to some of +the other advertisements in her hand, she once more pinned on her hat, +and ran downstairs to the post. The fog had thickened considerably +during the morning, and Christina found the street lamps alight—tiny +points of brightness set high above the prevailing gloom, and producing +very little effect upon the darkness. Indeed, there was something +almost bewildering about those far-off lights; they seemed to heighten, +rather than diminish, the all-pervading blackness, which deepened every +moment. +</P> + +<P> +The girl walked slowly, feeling her way along the area railings, and +guiding herself as far as possible by the rumble of traffic along the +roadway, though the confusion of sounds made even this guidance a very +uncertain one. Drivers shouted, horses slipped and stumbled; and the +shrill voices of boys carrying flaring torches, added to the +pandemonium. Earlier in the morning the fog had merely been of the +familiar yellow variety known to every Londoner. It was now a black +and total darkness that seemed to engulf the world. To cross the road +to the pillar-box was a matter of no small difficulty, but Christina, +with a dogged determination not to be outwitted by the elements, +stepped off the kerb and into the seething mass of carts, cabs, and +other vehicles, that jostled and struggled with one another in +apparently inextricable confusion. +</P> + +<P> +On the far side of the street she plunged into a comparatively quiet +square, where the fog had lifted somewhat, and was no longer of such +Cimmerian blackness, but merely a drifting and bewildering white mist. +</P> + +<P> +The pillar-box at the corner loomed faintly through it, and Christina +had just dropped her packet of letters into it, when there struck upon +her ears the soft cry of a little child. There was such a note of +fear, of lonely misery, in that soft cry, that Christina, a child-lover +to the core of her being, paused, and listened intently. Everything +about her was very still; the square was a quiet one, though separated +only by a short street from a main thoroughfare; and, excepting for the +distant noise of traffic and shouting, nothing was to be heard, until +again the little whimpering cry became audible on Christina's right. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" the girl said gently. "Don't be frightened, dear. I'll +take care of you," and as she spoke, she heard a gasp of relief, and a +shaking, childish voice exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"Baba's most drefful fightened; please take Baba home." +</P> + +<P> +"But where is Baba?" Christina was beginning cheerily, when, through +the fog, she caught sight of a tiny figure coming quickly towards her, +and, stooping down, she gathered close into her arms a little child, of +perhaps three years old, a little child who clung to her with a +desperate, terrified clutch, lifting a tear-stained face to hers. +</P> + +<P> +"Take Baba home," the baby voice wailed again, and as the fog rolled +back a little more, Christina saw that the child was no street waif, +but obviously the daintily-clad darling of some great house. Her +golden head was bare, and the tangle of curls was like a frame about +the lovely little face, whose great blue eyes looked appealingly into +Christina's own. A red woollen cloak hung over the child's shoulders, +but as the cloak fell back, Christina saw that her frock was chiefly +fashioned of exquisite filmy lace, and that a string of pearls was +fastened round the little white throat. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Baba's home?" she questioned softly, lifting the child right +into her arms, and kissing the flower-like face, on which the tears +still lay like dewdrops in the heart of a rose. "Tell me where you +live, sweetheart, and I will take you home." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba doesn't know where she lives," the child shook her yellow curls, +and her big eyes filled again with tears. "Baba's awful, drefful +fightened. The door was open—and Baba did just run out to see the +pretty horses—and then—it was all black—and Baba was lost." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think Baba ought to have come out by herself in a fog," +Christina said, a gentle reproof in her tones; "and now we must try to +find out where your home is, little girl. Tell me what your name +is—besides Baba." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba—Mummy's Baba—dat's all," the baby answered, with a conclusive +shutting of her pretty mouth. "Baba's forgot her other name—she's +only just Mummy's Baba." +</P> + +<P> +"But Baba—what?" Christina said patiently, walking slowly along the +square, the child in her arms. "Try to remember your other name, my +sweet; then I can take you safe home to mummy and nurse." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba hasn't got no nurse, nurse's gone away. Mummy minds Baba now, +and Baba can't remember her other name. She's got a bone in her head," +quoth the baby, smiling deliciously into Christina's troubled face, and +evidently paraphrasing some former servant's excuses. "Baba likes +you—pretty lady—come home with Baba!" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could," Christina said gravely, feeling rather helpless, as +she looked from the child in her arms to the stately houses in the +square, and back again. "I wonder where you live, you queer mite; and +how I am going to find out who are your belongings. They are probably +moving heaven and earth at this moment to find you." +</P> + +<P> +The baby laughed. She did not follow more than half Christina's words, +but her infantile fancy had been caught by the girl's gentle manner and +motherly ways, and she put two dimpled arms round her rescuer's neck, +and rubbed her face confidently against Christina's white cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba's not fightened any more," she murmured contentedly; "you just +take Baba home—and we'll find mummy—and then Baba will be all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it will be all right when we find home and mummy," Christina +answered with a short laugh but her arm tightened round the soft little +body, her lips pressed themselves against the tangled curls, and all +the time she pursued her slow way along the square, hoping that so +small a person could not have travelled very far, and that presently +someone in pursuit of her would put in an appearance. They had gone +the length of the square, and down the line of houses along one of its +sides, when all at once the baby uttered a shout of triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"There's James—over there," she exclaimed; "now Baba can see her own +house. James—James!" she cried excitedly, and Christina saw that on +the side of the square at right angles to them, a footman stood on the +doorstep, looking distractedly to right and left of him. At the sound +of the uplifted baby voice, he left his post at the door, and ran +quickly up to Christina, who had paused to await his arrival. +</P> + +<P> +"That's my dear James," the child cried; and, with the easy fickleness +of her years, she unclasped her arms from Christina's neck, and held +them out to the footman. "Baba was lost," she said to him confidingly. +"This lady finded Baba, and brought her home." +</P> + +<P> +The footman took the baby into his arms, and turned a scared face to +Christina. +</P> + +<P> +"She've just been missed," he said breathlessly; "must have run out +when the door was open; and we was all in a taking. Where did you find +her, miss? I'm sure it's very kind of you to have brought her home." +</P> + +<P> +"She was on the far side of the square, and very frightened in the fog. +I am so glad she is safe." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba quite safe now; Baba going home with James; good-bye, pretty +lady," and waving her hand to Christina, the small girl was carried +away in the arms of the breathless James, who was still too distracted +to reflect that his mistress might wish to thank the young lady who had +brought back the child. +</P> + +<P> +"What a dear wee thing!" Christina reflected, as she wended her way +back to her lodgings. "I wonder who she is. Somebody important, if +she lives here. I wish——" then she sighed and fell to wondering +whether anything would result from all the answers to the +advertisements she had just posted. "I'm glad I didn't post the one I +wrote to R.M.," she said to herself; "now I can think over it all day +long, and if I haven't changed my mind by then, perhaps I will re-write +it and post it by the last post. But—I am not sure whether I shall be +brave enough to do it." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"ONE OF THE BEST THINGS LEFT." +</H4> + +<P> +The chambers in Jermyn Street occupied by Rupert Mernside, had a +character which seemed to reflect their owner. Perhaps all rooms in a +more or less degree are reflections of those who live in them: human +beings, whether consciously or unconsciously, stamp their personalities +upon their surroundings, and create their distinctive atmospheres, even +in hired lodgings. Rupert's rooms, filled as they were with the +furniture he had from time to time picked up, the walls hung with +pictures his fastidious taste had chosen, the bookcases filled with his +own special collection of books, were, to those with eyes to see, a +mirror of their master's nature. Simplicity was the keynote of the +whole. There were no expensive hangings, no luxurious rugs or heavily +upholstered chairs and couches; there was nothing of what Mernside +himself would have described as "frippery," nothing effeminate or +over-dainty. Matting, with here and there a soft-coloured rug, covered +the floor of the sitting-room; the walls, tinted a pale apricot yellow, +were hung with water-colour sketches, each one of which bore the mark +of a master hand; the bookcases were of carved oak, as were the one or +two tables, whilst the chairs, of a severely simple pattern, and even +the few armchairs, spoke rather of solid comfort, than of any undue +luxury. Upon the breakfast table, pushed near the window, stood a bowl +of chrysanthemums, touched into jewelled beauty by a faint ray of +November sunlight. Seeing the sunlight on the rich coloured blossoms, +Rupert smiled, as he entered the sitting-room a week after his return +from Bramwell Castle. It was not his habit to fill his rooms with +flowers: he had a fancy that such a custom savoured of womanishness; +but Cicely, his pretty little cousin, had rifled the greenhouse for him +with her own hands, and Cicely's fashion of giving would have made even +a dandelion a charming and acceptable gift. +</P> + +<P> +Mernside was early that morning, and he had seated himself in front of +the silver coffee-pot and covered dishes, before Courtfield, his +irreproachable servant, brought in the letters. +</P> + +<P> +"Good Lord, man!" his master exclaimed, as the salver was handed to +him, "those letters can't possibly all be for me," and he eyed the huge +pile with the disfavour of one who regards a letter merely as a rather +tiresome piece of business, which must perforce be answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, sir, I should gather they were all for you," Courtfield answered +respectfully, whilst his master gathered the packet of envelopes into +his two hands. "I thought myself at first that there must be some +mistake, seeing that they are only addressed in initials. But the +number is correct, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove!" Mernside exclaimed, gazing with stupefied eyes at the +unprecedented batch of correspondence, and observing that every letter +bore the initials only, "R.M.," and had been forwarded to him from a +newspaper office. +</P> + +<P> +Courtfield noiselessly left the room, but his master's coffee remained +in the pot, and his breakfast untasted, whilst he sat and stared with a +petrified stare at the pile of unopened letters, with their +extraordinarily unfamiliar address. A dusky flush mounted to his +forehead, and he turned over one of the letters distastefully, as +though its very touch were odious to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not in the habit of being addressed by initials only," he +muttered, "nor of corresponding through newspapers; the wretched things +are probably not meant for me at all—unless it's some confounded +hoax," he added, after a pause, at the same moment tearing open the top +letter of the pile, one addressed in an untidy, uneducated handwriting. +</P> + +<P> +"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, pushing back his chair, and staring down +at the letter he unfolded, with the disgusted stare of one who sees +something unexpectedly horrible, "is the woman mad? or am I +mad?—or—what does it mean?" +</P> + +<P> +His eyes travelled quickly down the written page, the large, sprawling +writing imprinting itself upon his brain. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEAR SIR" (so the epistle ran),— +</P> + +<P> +"Having seen your advertisement in yesterday's <I>Sunday Recorder</I>, I beg +to say that I should be pleased to enter into correspondence with +you—with a view to meeting, etc. Am twenty-one, tall, and said to be +elegant. Some call me pretty. Have large blue eyes, fair hair, and a +good complexion. Am domesticated and sweet-tempered. Would send +photograph if desired. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours truly, ROSALIE." +</P> + +<P> +"PS.—Should be pleased to cheer your loneliness." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mernside read this effusion to the end; then one word only, and that a +forcible one, broke from his lips, and with grimly-set mouth, and eyes +grown suddenly steely, he began to open and read one after another of +the other letters, his expression becoming sterner and more grim as he +laid each one down in turn. +</P> + +<P> +"My opinion of women is not enhanced by my morning's correspondence," +he reflected cynically, during the course of his reading; "could one +have believed there were so many silly women in the world—or so many +plain ones?" and with a short laugh he picked up two photographs, and +looked with scornful scrutiny at the wholly unattractive features of +the ladies of uncertain age, and quite certain lack of beauty. Before +he had waded half through the packet of letters, his table was strewn +with his correspondence, and the look on his face was one, which, as +his best friends would have known, indicated no amiable frame of mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Domesticated." "Would make a lonely man intensely happy." "Only long +for a quiet home such as you suggest." +</P> + +<P> +"Such as I suggest—<I>I</I>!" Mernside looked wildly round him. "Do I +appear to be in search of a quiet home?" he exclaimed, apostrophising +the pictures on the walls; "do I want a domesticated female? 'Am +considered pretty'—oh, are you, my good young woman? You can't write +a civilised letter, that's certain. 'I have a slender income of my +own—amply sufficient for my modest wants—but I gather you do not +require a fortune with the lady—only a companion for your loneliness.' +</P> + +<P> +"A fortune with the lady? I don't require the lady, thank you," Rupert +soliloquised, picking, out sentences from the letters as he read them, +and flung them one by one upon the pile. "'I have been lonely for so +<I>long</I> myself, that I can <I>fully</I> understand what a lonely man feels. +I am no longer in my first youth, but I have a heart <I>overflowing</I> with +tenderness. Your happiness would be my first, my only care, etc., etc.' +</P> + +<P> +"Pshaw—what tommy rot! +</P> + +<P> +"'All my friends say I am cheerful. I have often been called a little +ray of sunshine'"—Rupert lay back in his chair, and shouted with +sudden laughter. "'I would make your home a heaven of bliss.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Good lord! Good lord!" quoth the unhappy reader, "who in +heaven's name has played this confounded practical joke upon me? And +what am I to do with these abominable letters and photographs? I +should like to burn the lot!—but oh! hang it all, the silly women have +taken some rotten hoax for earnest, and"—he paused, as though struck +by a sudden recollection, then bounced out of his chair with a good +round expletive. +</P> + +<P> +"That young ass, Jack Layton! I'll take my oath he was at the bottom +of this tomfoolery. Wasn't he reading some matrimonial humbug out +of—wait!—by Jove! it was the <I>Sunday Recorder</I>," and without more +ado, Mernside strode across the room and rang the bell. +</P> + +<P> +"Get me a copy of the <I>Sunday Recorder</I> of the day before yesterday, at +once," he said curtly, when Courtfield appeared. As soon as the man +had vanished, he returned to the table, gathered up the letters he had +read, and thrust them into the bureau near the fireplace; and by the +time Courtfield came back with the paper in his hand, his master was +decorously eating a poached egg, and deliberately opening the +nineteenth or twentieth letter of his morning mail. +</P> + +<P> +There was little deliberation in his movements when, alone once more, +he feverishly turned the pages of the <I>Sunday Recorder</I>, until his eyes +fell on the words, "Matrimonial Bureau." Yes—there it was. The +wretched thing seemed to leap into sight as though it were alive, and +to his disordered vision the lines appeared to be twice the size of the +ordinary print. +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +"Quiet and cultivated gentleman of means, who is very lonely, is +anxious to meet a young lady of good birth who needs a home. No +fortune is necessary, but marriage may be agreed upon, if both parties +are mutually satisfied." +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! may it indeed?" Mernside said scathingly, flinging the paper upon +the floor. "A young lady of good birth!" His thoughts went back to +the letters he had just been perusing, most of them ill-written, many +mis-spelt, some genteel, some sentimental—but all bearing the +unmistakable stamp of having been penned by the underbred and the +vulgar. +</P> + +<P> +"A young lady of good birth." Again he reflected grimly, continuing to +eat his breakfast, and to open letter after letter mechanically, +expending over their contents a force of language which would greatly +have surprised the writers, could they have heard it. "Not one of +these good women has the most elementary conception what the word +'lady' means. No lady would be likely to answer such an +advertisement," his thoughts continued contemptuously, as he picked up +the last letter of the pile, and glanced idly at the writing of the +address. That writing held his attention; it was different from the +others; yes, it was certainly different. It did not sprawl; it was not +exaggerated or affected; it was merely a round, simple, girlish hand, +with unmistakable character in the well-formed letters and clean +strokes. And when he had drawn out the contents of the envelope, and +read them slowly, some of the grim lines about his mouth faded away, a +softer look came into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"This is different," he said, "very different," and for the second time +he read the terse phrases. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"c/o Mrs. Cole, Newsagent,<BR> + "100, Cartney Street, S.W.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEAR SIR,— +</P> + +<P> +"I should not have answered your advertisement, but that I cannot find +work. I need a home very much. If I could make things better for +somebody else who is lonely, I should be very pleased. I am not at all +pretty or clever, but I can cook a little, and I can sew. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours truly, C.M. +</P> + +<P> +"I am twenty." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Poor little girl," Rupert murmured, "if this is genuine, I am sorry +for C.M. She is the only one of the lot who writes like a lady, and +the only one who does not suggest a meeting, or actually appoint a +meeting place. Those are points in her favour. But, had I ever any +intention of marrying, I should not make my matrimonial arrangements +through the medium of a newspaper!" +</P> + +<P> +Each writer of the letters which had so disturbed Mernside at breakfast +time, received a few hours later a short note, and the wording of all +the notes was identical. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEAR MADAM,— +</P> + +<P> +"I regret that both you and I should have been the victims of a hoax. +The advertisement in the <I>Sunday Recorder</I> was inserted without my +knowledge or consent. Regretting any annoyance this may cause you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours faithfully, R.M." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +But when, having laboured through the mass of "Rosalies," "Violets," +"Lilians," and "Hildas," he finally reached the little note signed +"C.M.," Mernside paused. +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't think I can let this little girl know she has been the victim +of a hoax," he mused, a pitiful tenderness creeping about his heart as +he thought of the girl who was without work or home; "the others are +fairly tough-skinned, I am ready to swear. This one"—he looked again +at the round, characteristic handwriting, the simple phrases—"this +one—did not make up her mind to write such a letter, excepting under +stress of circumstances, I am sure of that. This one—is different. +And if that incorrigible young ass, Jack Layton, hadn't started on a +yachting cruise last week, I—should jolly well like to give him a +thrashing." +</P> + +<P> +Feeling the need, as he himself expressed it, of a balloon full of +fresh air after his distasteful occupation of the morning, Rupert went +out at about eleven o'clock, taking with him the pile of letters he had +to post. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't leave them for Courtfield's inquisitive eyes," he muttered. +"Good chap as he is, Courtfield would think I had gone raving mad, if +he saw all these things addressed to Christian names and initials. +I'll get rid of the horrors, and then see if Margaret can take the +taste of them away from me." +</P> + +<P> +The letters posted, he made his way briskly along Piccadilly, and +across the Park, to a quiet road in Bayswater, where he stopped before +a small detached house, standing a little back from the pavement, in +its own garden. His ring at the bell brought to the door a middle-aged +servant, whose plain but kindly face expanded into a smile when she saw +him. He was evidently a frequent and welcome visitor, for to his +cheery "Well, Elizabeth, how are things this morning?" she answered +with another smile— +</P> + +<P> +"We've had a bad two days, sir, but Mrs. Stanforth is better now. She +is downstairs, sir," and, opening a door on the right of the tiny hall, +she ushered Rupert into a long narrow room, whose windows at either end +gave it an unusual look of brightness and sunshine. A piano took up a +large share of one wall, and over the piano hung some fine photographs +of Old Masters, chiefly of the Italian school. The fireplace was +flanked by bookshelves, and drawn close to one of these was a couch, on +which lay a woman of such rare and startling beauty, that Mernside, +familiar as her face was to him, caught his breath as he entered, and +for a moment stood still, looking silently down at her. +</P> + +<P> +Her cheeks were very white, but it was the whiteness of a pure white +rose, and gave one no sense of ill-health, although there was about her +a certain air of fragility. Her hair, soft and dark, waved back from +her forehead in dusky masses, that made just the right background for +her exquisitely chiselled features, and for the eyes, that seemed to +concentrate in themselves all the loveliness of her face. They were +wonderful eyes—dark, deep, unfathomable—with a mystery in their +depths that enhanced their strange fascination. Those dark eyes with +their sweeping lashes, and the crimson line of her beautiful mouth, +were the only points of colour in her face, and as she turned her head +to greet the visitor, the gleam of light that shot into those eyes, +might well have turned a stronger head than Rupert's. Meeting her +glance, his pulses quickened, and his own eyes grew bright; but his +voice was very quiet, very self-contained, as he said— +</P> + +<P> +"I am three days too soon—I know it, you need not tell me. But—I had +to come to-day." +</P> + +<P> +She put one of her hands into his, but she did not move from her +prostrate position on the couch, and her visitor seated himself on a +low chair by her side, whilst she gently withdrew the hand he still +held, and said softly— +</P> + +<P> +"Why especially to-day? You must not break through the stipulation, +Rupert. If there is a particular reason now—I—will forgive +you—but—we must keep to our bargain." +</P> + +<P> +Gentle as was the voice, gentle as was the look in her eyes, a look of +almost maternal tenderness, there was evidence that behind the +tenderness, lay a most unusual strength of character. The woman with +the beautiful face, although she lay prone upon a sofa, and was +obviously an invalid, showed in her personality no trace of weakness. +Her eyes met the eyes of her visitor squarely and straightly, there was +almost a hint of severity in the set of her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you come to-day?" she repeated, when he stirred uneasily in +his chair, and kicked away a footstool in front of him, with a touch of +irritability. +</P> + +<P> +"When I begin to put it into words, it sounds a babyish reason; but +that jackanapes, Layton, has been playing an idiotic practical joke +upon me, and I—was fool enough to mind it. I wanted soothing down; +and—I wanted your advice about a girl." +</P> + +<P> +"About—a girl—you!" A note of excitement was apparent in her +accents; she looked at him narrowly. "Has it—come—at last, Rupert?" +she questioned, and her quiet voice shook just a little. +</P> + +<P> +"No—no—my God—<I>no</I>!" he exclaimed, "nothing of that sort is ever +likely to come into my life—again"—he uttered the last words under +his breath, and his eyes rested hungrily on her beautiful face—"there +is no question of—my caring for any girl—only—young Jack Layton has +made me responsible for what may make a perfectly innocent girl +unhappy." And forthwith he plunged into a full description of the +sheaf of letters received that morning, winding up with a mention of +the terse little letter signed "C.M." His listener's eyes twinkled +mischievously as he told the first part of his story in wrathful +accents, and over some of his quotations from the letters that had +reached him she laughed—a frank, delicious laugh that seemed oddly out +of keeping with the tragic mystery of her eyes. But as he described +that last letter, with its simple wording, her face grew grave again, +and when his voice ceased, she uttered the precise words that had +fallen from his own lips three hours earlier. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor little girl—oh! poor little girl!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry for her," Mernside said impetuously, "and it doesn't seem +fair that she should perhaps suffer for that idiotic young fool's love +of practical jokes. Goodness knows what hopes she may have built upon +this letter, and upon me. Of course, I can't give her a home, and I +don't want to meet her—with a view to—anything. There is no place in +my life for women, even as friends. There is no place in my life for +more than—one woman," he ended vehemently. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" she said softly. "Remember—you promised; and—if you break +your promise, I can't ever let you come here again." +</P> + +<P> +"I know—I know!" he cried, with an impetuosity very foreign to his +usual self-control; "but, Margaret, is it to be like this always? Will +a time never come when you—when I——" +</P> + +<P> +She put out her hand and laid it over one of his, with a firm touch +that had a curiously quieting effect upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"You and I are great friends, as we have been for—longer than we care +to think. But—there could not ever be an idea between us of anything +else, not even the thought of such a thing. It is out of the question. +It always has been out of the question. You know that as well as I do, +and you must not come here at all, unless you can keep to our agreement +in spirit as well as in letter." +</P> + +<P> +"Is our friendship nothing to you?" he asked sullenly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is—so much to me—that I will not risk spoiling it for ever," she +said firmly; "but if you talk as you are talking now, I shall tell +Elizabeth I cannot see you." +</P> + +<P> +"And you are putting up this fence between us, when—I might be some +comfort to you," he exclaimed, almost roughly, getting up as he spoke +to lean against the mantelpiece, and glower threateningly down at her, +"when every reasonable being would tell you that he——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! hush!" she cried, and the sudden sharp anguish in her tones gave +him pause; "don't let us go into it all over again. Whilst I feel—as +I do feel—I must go on in the way I have marked out for myself, one +can only follow the right as one sees it. Besides which——" +</P> + +<P> +"Besides which—his little finger is more to you than——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! don't—<I>don't</I>!" she interrupted him again, her eyes darkening and +deepening with agony. "Rupert, I can't bear it; there are some things +I am not strong enough to bear." +</P> + +<P> +"I was a brute," he said, his rough tone changing all at once into +caressing tenderness; "I let myself go—I was an utter brute. Forgive +me, dear—and—try to forget." +</P> + +<P> +He sat down beside her again, and his face, which had shown the same +strong emotion that had rang in his words, resumed its quiet look of +strength. A great relief swept over the woman's beautiful features, +but she was shivering from head to foot, and in her eyes there still +lay a haunting anguish. With an effort—how great an effort only she +herself knew—she regained her self-control, and her voice, though +still shaken, was very gentle again. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me now about the poor little girl, and the matrimonial letter. +Can we put our heads together to devise any way of helping her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I might conceivably get her some work," Rupert answered, "but people +are a little chary of engaging employees recommended by bachelors like +myself. Cicely might help her, but, first of all, I must find out if +she is genuine. I couldn't impose a stranger, even on Cicely, +good-natured, easy-going little soul that she is. And to find out +anything about this girl will entail—meeting her!" +</P> + +<P> +Margaret Stanforth smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Rupert!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not by way of making rendezvous with young women," he said with +sarcasm; "it is not a pastime in which I have ever indulged. At the +same time, I don't want to let a fellow creature go empty away, if I +could really help her." +</P> + +<P> +"How would it be if you suggested her coming here? I could see her +too, and—two heads being better than one—we might be able to do +something really helpful. If the letter is sincere, it is obvious the +girl is not a mere husband hunter; she is at her wits' end, and—I +can't bear to think of any girl stranded in this great hungry London. +I myself"—she pulled herself up short, leaving her sentence +unfinished, then went on more quietly: "Write to C.M. and appoint a +meeting here. Say this is the house of a lady of your acquaintance, +ask her to come and see me—and incidentally to see you." +</P> + +<P> +"It is like you to make such a suggestion about a total stranger," +Rupert exclaimed, "but—she may turn out an entire fraud—an arrant +adventuress—and I could not be responsible for bringing such a person +here." +</P> + +<P> +"Such a person! My dear Rupert, even if she were all the terrible +things you describe, I don't think she could hurt me. I have seen—so +much of the seamy side of life." For a moment Rupert looked at her +silently. Long as he had known her, Margaret Stanforth was still +largely an enigma to him, and it often seemed to him that the +mysterious depths of her eyes veiled mysteries of her life which he had +never fathomed. +</P> + +<P> +"For my own sake, for this girl's sake, I should like to jump at your +offer," he said, after that long, searching look into her face, +"but——" +</P> + +<P> +"There is no 'but,'" she put in gaily, a sudden smile momentarily +chasing away the sadness of her face. "Write a civil, non-committal +letter to C.M., and ask her, as I say, to come here. Surely, between +us, we can do something for this poor little waif and stray. Why not +fix to-morrow afternoon, at five o'clock? If the poor girl's need is +urgent, we ought not to delay." +</P> + +<P> +"And—you forgive me for all I ought not to have said this morning," +Rupert said when, ten minutes later, he rose to depart. "I—have not +hurt you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, you have not hurt me; but in future, you will remember—our +bargain? And there are some things—I can't bear." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert Mernside walked slowly away from the house, his brain and heart +full of the woman he had just left, who, after his departure, lay back +amongst the silken cushions on her sofa, with a look of profound +exhaustion. +</P> + +<P> +"There now, my dearie, you didn't ought to let him come and tire you +this way; you get worn out with him coming worrying." The faithful +Elizabeth had entered the room with a salver in her hand, and stood +looking into her mistress's white face, with distress written all over +her plain kindly features. Margaret opened her eyes, and smiled up +into the loving ones fixed upon her. +</P> + +<P> +"No, he doesn't worry me; he is—a comfort, he helps me. Don't scold, +nursie dear; his friendship is one of the best things I have in +life—one of the best things I have left out of all the wreckage; but +to-day—he brought back some of the old memories, and—I—am so silly +still. They hurt; sometimes it all feels—unbearable." +</P> + +<P> +The ring of almost uncontrollable pain in her voice, brought a spasm of +answering pain into the other's face, and she laid a work-roughened +hand tenderly upon the dusky head against the cushions. "There, my +dearie, there—there," she murmured, speaking as if her beautiful, +stately mistress were a little child; "there's nothing so hard in this +world but what it can be borne, if we look at it in the right way. The +strength comes along with the sorrow, and 'tis all for the best." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it?" Into the dark eyes there flashed for a second a look of +bitterness, and then Margaret drew the other woman's hand down to her +lips, and kissed it. "I wish I had your simple straightforward faith, +dear old nurse of mine," she said wearily; "you are so sure things will +come right, and that what hurts us is for our good. And I—I can't +say, 'Thy will be done'; at least, I can't say it as if I meant it. +But what did you bring in on that salver?" she asked, after a moment of +silence, and with an effort at brightness. +</P> + +<P> +"There, my pretty; I nearly forgot it after all. It came when I was +speaking to the butcher on the doorstep, and Mr. Mernside was here, so +I waited to bring it in till he was gone." +</P> + +<P> +She had a purpose in lengthening her story, and chatting on garrulously +whilst Margaret opened the orange envelope, for the faithful creature +had seen the sudden dilation of her mistress's dark eyes, the whitening +of her lips; had seen, too, how her hands shook as they unfolded the +telegram. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand it," Mrs. Stanforth whispered shakily, when her +eyes had scanned the few words before her. "I don't know what it +means—Elizabeth—but—I must go—I must go—at once." +</P> + +<P> +The servant drew the flimsy paper from her trembling hands and read the +message, shaking her head in bewilderment, as the sense of it +penetrated to her brain. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I don't know what it means no more than you do, dearie," she +said. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Graystone. +</P> + +<P> +"Come at once; prepare for surprise. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"MARION." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"I SUPPOSE IT WAS AN HOUR." +</H4> + +<P> +"Poor dear James is the worthiest soul, but he has no more brains than +a pin—the small kind of pin that you get in change for a farthing!" +</P> + +<P> +"James always seemed to me a good footman." +</P> + +<P> +"Rupert! He is an admirable footman. I haven't a word to say against +him in that capacity. He does his duties with the beautiful regularity +of an automatic machine. But move James from his own dear little +beaten track, and he is lost, hopelessly, irrevocably lost!" +</P> + +<P> +"What beaten track has he left? and why is he rousing your ladyship's +wrath?" +</P> + +<P> +Lady Cicely Redesdale, lying back in the cosiest chair of her cosy +boudoir, swung her pretty foot to and fro, and glanced up at her tall +cousin with one of her gay little laughs. Rupert Mernside, the son of +her mother's sister, had always been to her more of elder brother than +cousin, and from their earliest youth there had existed between them a +frank <I>camaraderie</I> which had never degenerated into flirtation, or +drifted into any sentimental relationship. Cicely was in the habit of +saying that Rupert was the person of all others from whom she would not +only ask, but take, advice; because his judgment was so sound and he +possessed a really well-balanced mind. This opinion of him had been +endorsed by her late husband, who had only qualified it with one +limitation. +</P> + +<P> +"Rupert's got as sound and balanced a mind as any man could wish for, +but once let the right woman get hold of him, and she will twist him +round her little finger." +</P> + +<P> +Those words of her husband recurred to Cicely now, as she lifted her +eyes from their contemplation of her own dainty shoes and looked up +into Rupert's rugged face. +</P> + +<P> +"I should rather like to see a woman twist you round her little +finger," she said irrelevantly. +</P> + +<P> +"A woman—me? What on earth have a woman and I got to do with James's +delinquencies?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is method in my madness, but the lane that led from James to +your little finger, and the not impossible she, is so long that I can't +take you back along its windings. It all comes of the power of +association. I shall have Baba taught everything by association. I am +planning a scheme of education that——" +</P> + +<P> +"Where does James come in to the plan for Baba's education?" Rupert +contrived to ask, his grey eyes shining, a whimsical smile playing +round his mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! my dear boy, I had completely forgotten James, though talking of +Baba would soon have reminded me of him—poor silly thing! Baba ran +away two days ago in that appalling fog—and——" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Baba ran away?</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the door was open; I suppose the outside world looked rather +fascinating and mysterious, and she has no nurse just now, you know; so +there was no one with her; and, of course, Jane, the nursery maid, was +fetching something from the kitchen—and—well, the long and the short +of it was that Baba ran out into the street, and was promptly swallowed +up by the fog." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Cicely!" +</P> + +<P> +"Providentially, as I now consider it, I was out. I had an early +appointment with Mathilde." +</P> + +<P> +"Your dressmaker?" +</P> + +<P> +"My dressmaker. Wasn't it kind of luck, or whatever it is, to let it +all happen when I wasn't there. Rupert, if I had been at home, and +they told me Baba was lost, I should have gone straight off my head." +</P> + +<P> +"That would have been an eminently useful and practical thing to do," +was the dry retort. +</P> + +<P> +"You have never been a mother; you don't know what a mother feels like +about her only child," Cicely said with an attempt at dignity that sat +quaintly upon her small person and drew an amused laugh from her +cousin. "I believe it would kill me if anything really happened to +Baba," she went on, more gravely; "you think I'm just a silly, +frivolous thing, but—Baba is all the world to me." +</P> + +<P> +"I know, dear; I know quite well," Rupert answered kindly; "and nobody +could think you silly. But go on and tell me what happened two days +ago. We haven't got to James's shortcomings <I>yet</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba ran out into the square, and nobody missed her at first. Then, +when that goose of a Jane came back from her wanderings in the kitchen, +she found the nurseries empty, and Baba nowhere to be found. There was +a tremendous hue and cry; the servants seem to have been on the verge +of distraction, and ran off in all directions like frightened hens, +leaving James on guard at the door. And, after a few minutes, when the +fog lifted, James caught sight of Baba in a strange girl's arms, +evidently quite at home with her, and very happy. You know Baba's +ducky way of making friends with everybody. James flew out, seized +Baba, seems to have thanked her rescuer, and bustled back to the house +with the child, without ever dreaming of asking the stranger her name." +</P> + +<P> +"What sort of a person was she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I don't know. When I asked James he could only say: 'Well, my +lady, she seemed a nice respectable young person'; but heaven knows +what James means by a young person. He further volunteered that she +was rather shabbily dressed; and I can't bear to think that she went +away with no thanks from me, and with no reward." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert smiled down into his cousin's pretty, eager face. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps the thought of reward never entered her head? There are still +some disinterested people left in the world. And Baba is a very +fetching little being to rescue from the dangers of a fog." +</P> + +<P> +"She looked so fetching that morning, too. I came in just after she +was brought back, and there she was, the little monkey, in her red +cloak which she had found in the hall, where, needless to say, it ought +not to have been; with no hat, and all her curls in a delicious tangle, +her face so soft and pink, and her eyes shining. She looked a +delectable baby, but, Rupert, she had on the most valuable lace frock, +and pearls round her neck. Only think what might have happened if some +horrible person had found her. My pretty baby," and Cicely's face grew +suddenly white and grave, whilst she shivered at the picture conjured +up by her own mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I asked James why he hadn't told the 'young person' to give him her +name and address, and he could only say feebly that 'it never crossed +his mind.' Poor James, I don't believe he's got a mind." +</P> + +<P> +"You could advertise for the young lady. If you really want to find +her, an advertisement in some leading paper should unearth her for you. +Perhaps, too, if she was shabbily dressed, a reward might be a god-send +to her." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Rupert! perhaps she's fearfully poor. Do, do advertise for me. I +can't bear to think that a girl may be in difficulties when I have more +money than I know what to do with. Will you advertise for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; of course." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what I should do without you," she continued, looking at +him gravely, but with no hint of coquettishness in her glance. "I do +miss John so dreadfully; I do want a man to help me and advise me." +</P> + +<P> +"You can have me whenever you want me," her cousin answered with equal +gravity, knowing that her words, which in another woman's mouth might +have implied a desire to change their friendly relations for something +more lover-like, on Cicely's lips held merely their surface meaning—no +more. +</P> + +<P> +"I always hope that some day you will marry again," Rupert went on with +brotherly frankness; "you have been alone three years now. Your great +property is a big handful for a woman to manage, and John would wish +for your happiness above everything else in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"John never thought of anything but my happiness," was the gentle +answer. "I don't think any girl ever had a better, dearer husband. +People thought, perhaps you thought so, too, that I just married him +for his money. It wasn't true. At first—quite at first—when father +showed me what a huge difference it would make to them all if I married +a millionaire, I <I>did</I> think more of John's fortune than of himself. +But, it was only quite at first. After that, I knew I would rather +live in a cottage with him than in a palace with anybody else. +I—don't think—I shall marry again—unless I find I am too weak and +silly to manage Baba's fortune by myself." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert looked silently down at her bent, bright head, a new reverence +stirring within him for the little cousin. Hitherto, he had regarded +her with the kindly affection of an elder brother for a small sister +whom he considers scarcely more than a child; but this grave Cicely was +showing him depths of whose existence he had never been even dimly +aware. +</P> + +<P> +"But that's enough of being solemn," Cicely exclaimed, shattering his +new conception of her with characteristic suddenness; "talking of +marriage, the thing I hanker for most in the whole world is to see you +married, Rupert. You don't look a bit like a soured old bachelor, and +yet—here you are, more than thirty-five, and not one single woman's +name has ever been mentioned in connection with yours." +</P> + +<P> +"For which mercy let us be humbly and devoutly thankful," her cousin +answered, laughing, though how sincere was his thankfulness only his +own heart knew, and into that heart there flashed as he spoke the +vision of a white face and dark eyes, deep with unfathomable mystery; +"if I don't want to marry, why hustle me into the holy estate? I +believe the Prayer Book strongly urges us not to undertake it lightly +or unadvisedly." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, you are flippant. As if you would be marrying lightly or +unadvisedly, if you wait until you are within five years of forty, +before choosing a wife. When I think of the hundreds of really +charming girls I've introduced you to, with——" +</P> + +<P> +"With a view to matrimony," Rupert ended the sentence, punctuating his +words with a laugh. "Let me recommend you to study the matrimonial +columns of some of the papers. You will possibly find an eligible +husband there for some of your charming girls." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Rupert!</I> don't be so incorrigibly low and horrid. As if any girl +with a rag of decency or self-respect would answer one of those +advertisements. Why, men who advertise for wives can only be seedy +adventurers, the sort of person one reads of in books and never meets +in real life." +</P> + +<P> +"Seedy sort of adventurers," Rupert repeated slowly, turning, as if by +chance, to survey his own reflection in the mirror over the +mantelpiece; "there are adventurers and adventurers. Perhaps some of +those who advertise do it—for a joke." +</P> + +<P> +"Just like a man if they do," his cousin answered vehemently; "and then +some poor girl takes the wretched creature seriously, and thinks he +means his stupid joke. I should despise a girl who answered such an +advertisement, but I should much more despise the man who inserted it." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't scorn them too much. Everybody has different ideals, and it +takes all sorts to make a world. Your sort don't advertise for +husbands and wives, but our section of society is not so faultless that +we can afford to throw stones even at people who marry through a +matrimonial bureau." +</P> + +<P> +"It's so low. The sort of thing a shop girl might do." +</P> + +<P> +"Not lower than displaying your daughters in the best market, as the +Society mother does," Rupert answered sternly; "not lower than running +a man to earth, as shoals of women do, and do it without an ounce of +shame." +</P> + +<P> +"But, answering an advertisement like that is almost asking a man to +marry you." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps, and when poor old Donkin lost his wife a year ago, a lot of +women wrote and proposed to him. Yes, <I>actually wrote and offered to +marry him</I>! He told me so himself, and those were women of your class, +well born and well educated. Well, we have the consolation of knowing +that he refused the lot." +</P> + +<P> +"Horrid beasts! no wonder you men lose your respect for women, if you +think we are all capable of doing that sort of thing." +</P> + +<P> +"We don't think so," Rupert's contemptuous tones grew gentle again; "we +know the difference between the womanly woman and the others. Thank +God, there are plenty of the right sort left," and Rupert stooped +suddenly and took his cousin's two small hands into his. +</P> + +<P> +"You aren't going?" she exclaimed. "I wanted you to see Baba, and +there are thousands of things I meant to say to you." +</P> + +<P> +"So sorry, but the thousands of things must be postponed. I have an +appointment at five, and I must keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"You will advertise for the 'young person'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I won't forget the 'young person'—and—by the way, Cicely," a +slight trace of embarrassment showed on his face, "didn't you tell me +you wanted to find a sort of nursery governess for Baba?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, I do; but, my dear boy, what do you know about nursery +governesses?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know anything about them," was the reply, but Cicely's quick +eyes still noted embarrassment in both voice and manner, "but I heard +the other day of a girl who—who might be wanting a post." +</P> + +<P> +"A girl who might be wanting a post," Cicely exclaimed mockingly; "the +person I engage for Baba, would have to be somebody much less vague +than that, and she must have unimpeachable references." +</P> + +<P> +"Unimpeachable references," Mernside reflected as he left his cousin's +house; and, side by side with Cicely's words, other words tossed to and +fro in his brain, words written in a clear, girlish hand that had an +odd character of its own. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot find work, and I need a home very much." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably she is quite impossible," his reflections ran on. "Cicely +had a good deal of right on her side when she talked about shop girls +and matrimonial advertisements. I daresay I shall find C.M. belongs to +that class of girl, and if so, what am I going to do about her? Ah! +well; Margaret will help." +</P> + +<P> +It was this thought that buoyed him up during his walk across the park +from the Redesdale's mansion in Eaton Square, to the small white house +in Bayswater; but as he pushed open the familiar gate and walked up the +garden path, a shock of surprise awaited him. The blinds of the room +to the right of the front door were pulled down, and his repeated +ringing of the bell brought no response from within. The bell clanged +in the kitchen regions, its echoes dying away forlornly, but no +footstep sounded in the hall, no hand lifted the latch of the door, and +as he stepped back and looked up at the house, Rupert saw that no smoke +was coming from the chimneys. A sick fear smote at his heart. What +had happened? What could have happened? The day before, he had been +here, sitting with Margaret in that very room over whose windows the +blinds were now so closely drawn. She had seemed tired, it was true, +but not more tired than he had often seen her, and he had no reason to +suppose that she was more ill than usual. She was always fragile; he +was accustomed to find her one week on the sofa, another week +sufficiently strong to be moving about the room, and even going out of +doors. But that her house should be barred and bolted against him was +inexplicable. He felt as though the ground had been cut away from +under his feet, as if the very foundations of his life had been shaken. +Why! to-day was the day she had herself fixed for his interview in her +house with the girl of the advertisement. Margaret had arranged the +hour; it was by her suggestion that he had written to C.M., proposing a +meeting at 100, Barford Road, and now he found the house locked up and +apparently empty, with no word of explanation or apology. Could +Margaret have been suddenly taken ill? If so, why had she not let him +know? Yet, if she was ill, she would be in the house, and Elizabeth +with her. Somebody would have answered his ringing, which had grown +more and more imperative as each ring remained unanswered. Could she +have gone away? Gone away without letting him have the slightest hint +of her intended going? Was that more conceivable than his theory of +sudden illness? Again, sick dismay knocked at the door of his heart, +and with it came a wave of hot anger against Margaret. Surely his +years of faithful devotion, of willing service, had entitled him to +more consideration than this at her hands. He had made few demands +upon her, but this sudden and unexplained disappearance was a strain +which even the merest friendship should not be called upon to bear. +</P> + +<P> +Once again he pealed the bell, and even knocked vigorously at the +knocker, but neither sound produced the slightest effect, and he was +perforce turning away, when the gate clicked and he saw a breathless +personage of the charwoman class hurrying up the path. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I beg your parding, sir," she panted; "just like my luck to +a' popped out for a minute twice in the afternoon, and each time +somebody called." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you in charge of this house?" Rupert asked, his own agitation +making him speak more sternly than the occasion quite warranted. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; and I'm truly sorry, sir," the woman whimpered, wiping her +much-heated face with a grimy apron; "come here yesterday, I did, all +of a sudden, Mrs. Stanforth and Miss Herring, her maid, going away +unexpected, and me havin' a extra lot of washin' and all. But I says +to Jem, my son, 'Jem,' I says——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes," Rupert interrupted impatiently, "but where is Mrs. +Stanforth? Did she leave any message? Any note? Did she tell you to +say anything to people who called?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lor', no, sir. Went off in a hurry and didn't leave no messages nor +nothin'. And I'm sure I'm sorry I wasn't 'ere when you come, but I'd +popped out for a minute, and let out the kitchen fire, too, and I just +'ad to see to my bit o' washin', and there, I run back a half an 'our +ago, and there was a young lady in a rare takin' then, and so——" +</P> + +<P> +"A young lady," Rupert again broke into her stream of words. +</P> + +<P> +"Pore young thing, she did seem upset over it, too. Said she was +expected, and she was to be 'ere at five, and all. There! I was sorry +for 'er. Seemed to strike 'er all of an 'eap when she see the shut up +'ouse. She says quite 'urt like: 'Well, I s'pose it was an 'oax.' +Them was 'er very words." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you explained to her that the lady had gone away +unexpectedly?" Rupert exclaimed with growing irritation; "you didn't +let the young lady think she had been brought here for a <I>joke</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, o' course, sir, I didn't know nothin' about it," was the +offended retort; "if you ask me, I should say there was somethin' queer +in tellin' somebody to come to an 'ouse at five o'clock, and then for +the 'ouse to be shut up. Which I should say it was a pore joke meself. +She says: 'Ain't Mr. Mernside 'ere?' and I says, 'I don't know nothin' +about nobody o' that name,' and she looks as took aback as if I'd 'it +'er, and so——" +</P> + +<P> +Rupert uttered a smothered oath, then mastered himself, and asked more +quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"And how long has the young lady been gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Best part of a quarter of a hour. Quiet young lady she was, too; +dressed very plain; you might say shabby; and went orf lookin' fit to +cry with disappointment. And I just popped out agin to git me bit o' +relish for tea, and <I>you</I> come; lor', it do seem strange." +</P> + +<P> +The good lady was left to address her rambling remarks to the shrubs in +the garden, for Rupert, unable to bear more of her discursiveness, +turned and fled, shutting the garden gate with a sharp clang behind +him, and feeling that his world had all at once gone wrong, very wrong +indeed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"I KNOW THIS IS WORTH A LOT OF MONEY." +</H4> + +<P> +"I suppose I was stupid to think it could be anything but a hoax. But +the letter seemed so kind, not as if it were written by a horrid person +who would want to play a practical joke." +</P> + +<P> +Christina, having climbed the stairs to her room with weary, dragging +footsteps, sat down on her one chair, feeling tired, depressed, and +indignant. The dire necessity of saving her every penny, drove her to +walk from Bayswater to her far-off lodgings in the S.W. district, and +as a fine rain had begun to fall long before she was half-way across +the park, she was not only worn out and miserable, but very wet as +well. In their best days her serge coat and skirt had not been thick; +much wear and tear had reduced them to a threadbare condition quite +incapable of resistance to weather. The drizzling rain had penetrated +her inadequate coat and thin blouse; her skirt hung limply about her +legs; she felt, what she actually was, wet to the skin, and too tired +even to exert herself to make some tea over her spirit-lamp. +</P> + +<P> +"I expect it is true what Mrs. Jones says," she reflected; "she says +men are all brutes, and you can't trust one of them. I used to think +she only said it because Mr. Jones drank himself to death, and drank +away her earnings first, and beat her. But, now, I don't know." With +cold fingers she drew the hatpins from her sodden hat, threw off the +wet coat that clung so chillily to her shivering form, and took from +her pocket a letter addressed in a bold, masculine hand. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"C.M., c/o Mrs. Cole, Newsagent,<BR> + "10, Cartney Street, S.W."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"It looks like the handwriting of a gentleman," the poor little girl's +reflections ran on; "I shouldn't have thought a man who wrote like that +could be a brute, and his letter isn't a brute's letter either," she +added pathetically, drawing the letter from its envelope and reading +the words, which were already engraved upon her mind. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEAR MADAM, +</P> + +<P> +"I think perhaps I may be able to be of some use to you if you could +make it convenient to call at 100, Barford Road, Bayswater, at five +o'clock to-morrow (Wednesday). We might have a little talk. My friend +to whom the house belongs, will be very glad to see you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours faithfully,<BR> + "R. MERNSIDE."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"And then I find the house shut up," Christina said shakily, and aloud, +"and an old charwoman tells me she never heard of Mr. Mernside; and I +suppose it was just all a mean practical joke." Two tears, tears of +sheer fatigue and of bitter disappointment, welled up in the girl's +eyes, and dropped slowly down her cheeks. She was so tired—so tired +and cold and miserable—and she had built more hopes than she quite +knew upon the answer to her timid little letter. The entire absence of +any allusion to matrimonial prospects in Mr. Mernside's note had +quieted her fears, and many hopes had mingled with the nervous doubts +that had filled her soul as she set out that afternoon on her strange +expedition. Some faint idea that this unknown Mr. Mernside might be +instrumental in helping her to find work, sustained her through the +long walk to Barford Road; she had been so sure, so very sure, that the +writer of the terse, kindly letter, was a gentleman, and a good man to +boot, that the sight of the shut-up house came to her with the force of +an actual blow, whilst the caretaker's unfeigned ignorance of anybody +of the name of Mernside, made Christina's theory of a hoax seem more +than probable. +</P> + +<P> +"And not one answer to all the letters I wrote about situations," she +exclaimed wearily, pulling herself up from her chair, and taking the +spirit-lamp from its place in the cupboard. "I wonder whether there +are lots of other girls as poor as I am, and without any relations or +friends. In another week, I shan't have enough money to pay my rent; +and Mrs. Jones won't let it run; she's said so over and over again." +Another shiver ran through her, and this time dread apprehension of the +future was more responsible for the shiver than even the damp +chilliness of her condition. "I don't know what I shall do when the +money is all gone. Oh! I don't know what I shall do," and a little +sob broke from her, as she took from the cupboard the materials for her +tea. It was a meagre enough meal that her cold shaking fingers spread +on the old deal table, and she was repeatedly forced to brush away the +tears from her face, so fast did they run down it now that exhaustion +and misery were at last finding an outlet. Her lunch had consisted of +a glass of milk and a bun, bought at a neighbouring shop; since +lunch-time she had walked some miles, had incidentally become wet +through during the process, and her walk had been crowned by a cruel +disappointment. It was not wonderful that the girl, plucky little soul +though she was, should feel now as if the end were reached, and she +could hope no more. +</P> + +<P> +To add to her misery, everything seemed to go awry. The matches were +only found after a prolonged hunt for them; for many minutes the lamp +refused to light; and when, at last, a flame shot up, Christina thought +that the water in the kettle boiled more slowly than water had ever +boiled before. Dry bread had never tasted more unappetising; and +milkless tea (though it was certainly warm, and in that respect carried +a certain amount of comfort with it), tasted bitter and nauseating. +</P> + +<P> +The girl longed, with an almost childish longing, for something more to +eat and drink. Visions rose before her of the Donaldsons' cosy +nursery, of a plate piled high with hot buttered toast, of a big +home-made seed cake, that could be eaten as quickly as the nursery +folks liked, without any dread of future want, and she pushed away her +plate, and laid her head down upon the table, sobbing as though her +heart would break. Hot buttered toast and seed cake are unromantic +sounding things enough, no doubt, but when one is very hungry, and very +heartsick, and only twenty into the bargain, the thoughts of past +plenty make present poverty seem well nigh intolerable. +</P> + +<P> +Good stuff must have gone to the making of little Christina, and +whoever those ancestors on her mother's side had been, they had passed +on to her a goodly heritage of courage and endurance. Her storm of +sobs was of very brief duration. Giving herself a little shake both +actually and metaphorically, she raised her head from the table, +resolutely dried her eyes, choked back her sobs and forced herself to +finish eating the dry morsels of bread, and drinking the nauseous +draught of tea. Either the food itself, or the effort she had made to +eat it, sent a tingling of new strength along her limbs, and she broke +into a faint laugh over her own despair. +</P> + +<P> +"You perfect goose," she said firmly, rising to wash up her tea things; +"crying won't make anything better. Mr. Donaldson used to say, 'Don't +look for your bridges before you come to them,' and so I won't look at +the bridge. Mrs. Jones will put up for me about the rent, until I am +really going to step right on to it. And before I give up every bit of +hope, I ought—perhaps I ought to try and pawn the pendant, only I +can't bear doing it. I can't bear it." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Jones was not at all the pleasant and kindly landlady of fiction, +who succours and helps her tenants, and plays the part of mother to +them. The only part Mrs. Jones understood playing was that of the +cruel stepmother of fairy legend, and Christina did not err in thinking +that to allow rent to remain unpaid, was no part of her landlady's +methods. Mrs. Jones's own life had been a hard one. Grinding work in +her early girlhood, a brutal husband, and much grinding poverty during +her married life, and in her widowhood an unending struggle to make two +ends meet; these made up the sum of the landlady's existence, and she +treated the world as she found herself treated by the world. She +expected nothing from others, and she gave them nothing. She asked for +no help from her fellow beings, and she most assuredly bestowed none. +</P> + +<P> +She was lighting the gas jet in the hall, a hard-featured, tight-lipped +woman, when, half an hour later, Christina went out again, a small +brown paper parcel in her hand; and Mrs. Jones's thin lips tightened +more than ever as her sharp eyes fell upon the parcel. +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' out to pop somethin'," was her grim thought, and the thought was +displeasing to her. Not that she particularly pitied her lodger. Pity +was a virtue not cultivated by Mrs. Jones. But she instinctively +dreaded the moment when her lodgers began to slip out stealthily with +parcels under their arms, or in their hands. The significance of those +parcels was well known to her, and she was fully aware that lodgers who +once began to pawn their goods passed by easy stages to backwardness in +paying their rent, and then followed eviction and new tenants. No; +Mrs. Jones mistrusted brown paper parcels, just as much as she +mistrusted the look, half-shy, half-frightened, which Christina cast at +her in passing, and the flood of colour that dyed the girl's face, when +she met the landlady's glance. +</P> + +<P> +Some of her smarter clothes Christina had long ago sold to an old +clothes' shop round the corner, but this was the first time she had +visited a real pawnbroker, and her heart beat like a sledge-hammer, as +she stood outside the window of a jeweller's shop, over which the three +balls were displayed. She had shrunk from going into the establishment +of Mr. Moss, the recognised pawnbroker of that squalid neighbourhood, +and had gone further afield, thinking that from a jeweller, even though +he engaged in pawnbroking as well, she would meet with more +consideration, and perhaps receive a larger sum of money. But, looking +through the glass doors at the two men who lounged behind the counter, +her spirits sank to zero, and she allowed ten minutes to slip by +before, taking her courage into her hands, she finally entered the shop. +</P> + +<P> +Coming in out of the damp of the November evening, the pleasant warmth +was grateful to her, but the brilliant gaslight dazzled her eyes, and +sheer nervousness made her stumble hopelessly over the sentence she had +been committing to memory, ever since she had left her lodgings. +</P> + +<P> +"I called to ask whether this pendant was of any value," she had +intended to say. But instead of that, she found herself stammering +breathlessly, "I—I came—would you please tell me—if you can give me +something on this," and she thrust her parcel into the hand indolently +stretched out for it, by one of the young men behind the counter. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes looked her up and down with an insolent stare that sent the +blood flying over her face, and his smile gave her an impotent longing +to strike his fat, sleek countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"How much do you want for it, my dear, that's the question?" the man +said jauntily, his eyes never leaving the girl's flushed face; "we are +always pleased to accommodate a pretty young lady like you, eh, Tom?" +with an odious leer he nudged the elbow of his companion, who emitted a +hoarse guffaw, and winked facetiously, as Christina turned a distressed +glance in his direction. Unfortunately for her, the master of the shop +was absent, and she was at the mercy of two of those underbred, +mean-spirited curs, who regard any defenceless woman as lawful prey, +and take the same delight in baiting her, as their ignoble ancestors +took in baiting an equally defenceless dumb animal. +</P> + +<P> +"You tell us what you want, miss," the man called Tom struck in, +leaning across the counter, and tapping the girl's hand; "anything you +ask in reason we shall be pleased to oblige you with. Now, what's this +thing, and this thing, and this very pretty thing?" he ended +facetiously, whilst his fellow shopman unfastened Christina's parcel, +and opened the cardboard box it contained. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a pendant," Christina faltered, afraid to show the indignation +she felt, lest the men should refuse to give her what she needed; "it +has been a long time in my family—and—I know it is very valuable." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! you know it is very valuable, do you?" queried the first man, +mocking her trembling accents; "now, it is for us to tell you its +value; not for you to tell us, you know. Hum! old-fashioned thing," he +ejaculated, holding up to the light the piece of jewellery he had drawn +from its box; "this sort of antique article may have suited our +grandmothers, but it doesn't go down nowadays!" +</P> + +<P> +"That is not at all the case," Christina answered boldly; "everybody +likes antique things now; and that pendant is worth a great deal, as +you know." +</P> + +<P> +Anger was beginning to conquer her nervous tremors, and the odious +smile with which her remark was received by both young men, made her +draw herself up proudly. +</P> + +<P> +"Hoity, toity!" said the man called Tom; "as we know, indeed. If Mr. +Franks, my excellent friend and colleague," he made an exaggerated bow +to his companion, "considers the bauble old-fashioned and worthless, it +certainly is worthless and old-fashioned." +</P> + +<P> +"It is certainly nothing of the kind," Christina cried, anger driving +away the last semblance of nervousness. "I should be much obliged if +you would tell me at once how much you can advance me upon it. If you +are unable to give me anything, I can take it elsewhere." As she +spoke, she looked straight into the smiling, insolent faces before her, +her own grown rigid and proud; and in spite of her shabby clothing and +obvious poverty, she suddenly assumed a look of imperial dignity, which +had an instantaneous effect upon her tormentors. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come, miss; don't talk like that," the man called Franks said +sheepishly; "we were just having a bit of fun over it, that's all. And +I'm sure we'll give you the best we can for the pendant." +</P> + +<P> +Christina's threat of taking the jewel elsewhere, had brought the +shopmen sharply to their senses, for it had needed no more than a +cursory glance, to show them both that the jewel the girl had brought +them was of no small value, and they were uncomfortably aware that the +vials of their master's wrath would be emptied upon their heads, if +they allowed such an article to be disposed of in another establishment. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a very pretty piece of work," the first man said, taking the +pendant in his hand, and looking over it with a fine assumption of +carelessness; "family initials, I suppose, in this twisted monogram?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose so. I cannot give you any history of the pendant; I don't +know its history myself. It came to me from my mother." Christina +gave this piece of gratuitous information, feeling uneasily that it +might be supposed she had stolen the beautiful piece of jewellery; and, +with the thought, all the old associations that were interwoven with it +swept into her mind, and almost choked further utterance. +</P> + +<P> +"A.V.C.," the young man said slowly, deciphering the monogram, which, +in exquisitely-chased gold, surmounted the pendant itself. This latter +consisted of an emerald, remarkably vivid in colour, and set in the +same finely-chased gold as that which formed the monogram. "A.V.C. +would have been some ancestor of yours, no doubt?" he asked jocularly, +and with another wink at his companion. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," Christina repeated; "as I tell you, I know nothing of +the jewel's history. I believe it to be a genuine emerald, and I am +sure it is very valuable." +</P> + +<P> +Both men simultaneously shrugged their shoulders and laughed, odious, +deprecating laughs. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear young lady," said Franks, who seemed to occupy a position +superior to the other, "someone has been, as we say, 'getting at' you, +if they told you this was a <I>genuine</I> emerald. Why! if it was an +emerald, a <I>real</I> emerald, mind you, it would be worth"—and he raised +his eyes to the ceiling, and lifted up his hands, as if to demonstrate +the magnitude of a sum he could not mention in spoken language. +</P> + +<P> +"It <I>is</I> a real emerald, and it is worth a great deal," Christina said +firmly, "but if you do not care to advance me what it is worth, I will +take it away," and she put out her hand for the pendant, from which the +gleams of light flashed brilliantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Now look here," said Mr. Franks persuasively, "you believe me, missy; +this is no more an emerald than I am, but it is a nice little bit of +paste, and the gold is well worked. I'm taking a good bit upon myself +in making the suggestion, and goodness knows what the boss will say to +me when he comes home. But I'll take it off your hands for five +pounds. There!" he ended triumphantly, as though convinced that the +generosity must be a delicious surprise for his hearer. +</P> + +<P> +"Five—pounds!"—Christina's voice rang with indignation—"five pounds +for what you know as well as I do is worth twenty times that amount." +</P> + +<P> +Franks laughed contemptuously, and began putting the ornament back into +its box with elaborate care. +</P> + +<P> +"You have an exaggerated idea of the thing's value," he said. "I +couldn't undertake to offer you more than five pounds for it, and if +you take my advice," he added darkly, with a swift glance at his +colleague, and back at the girl, "you'll accept the offer, and let us +have the thing altogether. You see," he coughed significantly, +"awkward questions might be asked about a thing like this, with +initials. If I did my business properly, I ought to ask you where you +got it." +</P> + +<P> +The colour ebbed out of Christina's face; the possibility that had +confronted her a few minutes ago, had all at once taken definite form. +This man was hinting—nay, more than hinting—that the pendant had come +into her hands by unlawful means, and she had nothing but her word to +prove her own statement. +</P> + +<P> +"I have told you—that it belonged to my mother," she said tremblingly; +"it is an old family ornament, and—I cannot part with it altogether." +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, miss"—the man's voice became rough and harsh—"it's no use +your coming old family ornaments over me. People with old family +ornaments don't come to places like this pawning them. What price your +'old family,' eh?" He ended his coarse speech with a coarser laugh, at +the sound of which Christina shrank and shivered. +</P> + +<P> +"I will take back my pendant, please," she said, trying to regain her +courageous tone. "I do not wish to sell it outright, and if you will +not advance me anything on it, there is nothing more to be said." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so fast, not so fast," the man called Tom exclaimed, pushing back +the hand she once more extended towards the box. "What Mr. Franks says +is very true—how do we know where you got this pendant? The more you +go on making difficulties over letting it go, the more doubtful the +whole affair looks. Now if you're really so badly in want of cash," he +went on brutally, "you take what we offer—five pounds down. If you +don't, we may feel ourselves obliged to send for the police—and——" +</P> + +<P> +Quite unable, in her innocence, to understand that the two cowards were +bullying her to the top of their bent;—already worn-out by the events +of the day, and by many days of fatigue and under-feeding, a panic +terror seized upon her. Before the astonished men were aware of her +intention, she had reached over the counter, snatched the box from +Franks's hand, and fled out of the shop and down the street, her heart +beating to suffocation, her eyes wide with terror. +</P> + +<P> +Never once looking back, she threaded her way along the pavement, +oblivious of the expostulations of passers-by, against whom she +brushed; almost unconscious of their very existence, in her frantic +desire speedily to put as great a distance as possible between herself +and the objectionable jewellers. +</P> + +<P> +Heedless of the traffic, she dashed headlong over the crossings, and +plunging into a network of by-streets, ran on still at full speed, +possessed by the horrible fear that those men with the dreadful smiles, +might already have put the police upon her track. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't prove the pendant is mine," she panted breathlessly. "I have +no proof that I didn't steal it. What can I say if they take me up as +a thief?" The bare thought made her redouble her pace, although she +was already on the verge of exhaustion, and her breath was coming in +great gasps. Beads of perspiration stood on her forehead, and when at +last she reached her own room, she was powerless to do more than sink +upon a chair, shaking in every limb. +</P> + +<P> +For many minutes she could only lean back, with closed eyes and ashen +face, drawing long painful breaths, each one of which was a sob; but as +a sense of safety grew upon her, she roused herself to light her lamp, +and to draw off her damp clothing, preparatory to going to bed. Even +with the slender supply of blankets Mrs. Jones allowed her lodgers, it +would be warmer than sitting up without a fire; and she dared not allow +herself the luxury of a fire, especially now that her last hope of +raising money had been snatched from her. +</P> + +<P> +"For I shall never dare take the pendant to show to anybody again," she +thought, with a shudder. "The next person I went to might send for the +police then and there. And perhaps it was horrible of me to think of +pawning mother's pendant at all—only—I don't believe she would have +minded, if she had known how dreadfully, dreadfully poor her little +girl was going to be—and how hard it is for a girl even to get bread +enough to keep from starvation. And I know this is worth—oh! a lot of +money," she exclaimed pathetically, once more taking the ornament from +its box, and holding it before her in the light of the lamp. As the +green gleam of the stones flashed out before her eyes, the dreary room +in which she sat, her squalid surroundings, even her own misery faded +from her mind; she was back in the past—back in her mother's bedroom +in the dear Devonshire home—her mother's dying voice sounding in her +ears. Through the open window had drifted the song of the sea, +mingling with the hum of bees amongst the roses that climbed to the +very sill, and made the room fragrant with their sweetness. And a bird +had sung—ah! how it had sung, on that last night of her mother's life, +when Christina felt that her life too was going down into the dark for +ever. +</P> + +<P> +"My little girl"—how faint the gentle voice had been!—"I—can't +stay—now father has gone; he—and I—could not ever be apart. He is +my world—-all my world." The dim resentment which Christina, the +child, had sometimes experienced, because those two beings she loved +best had seemed so remote from her, so perfectly able to live their +lives without her, had smitten the girl Christina afresh as she +listened to her mother's words. Her father and mother had been so +wrapped up in one another, always so wholly sufficient for each other's +needs, that their child had played a very secondary part in their +lives. And the child had dimly resented it. +</P> + +<P> +Through all the sorrow that filled her heart as she stood beside her +mother's deathbed, that smouldering resentment would not be wholly +stilled. Her mother could barely spare a thought for the girl she was +leaving to face the world alone, because her husband filled her whole +soul; she could remember only that he had gone before her into the +silent land, and that she must hasten to join him again. +</P> + +<P> +"You are so young," the dying voice had murmured on, whilst the fast +dimming eyes looked, not at her little daughter, but at the blue sky +outside the window, "somebody will want you some +day—as—Ronald—wanted me—as—he wants me still." +</P> + +<P> +Christina did not answer, only her eyes followed her mother's glance +out to the deep blue sky framed by the nodding roses round the window; +and she wondered dully whether anybody would really care for her some +day, or whether there was something inherently unlovable in her, seeing +that her own father and mother had seemed to find her so little worthy +of love. +</P> + +<P> +The bitter thought passed. She bent over her mother, and gently +stroked back the damp hair from her forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall—be able—to take care of myself," she said bravely, "and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Be good, my little girl," the murmuring voice broke in, "be good—and +come to us some day—Ronald and I will be there—together. I want—to +tell you—the pendant—the emerald pendant"—a look of excitement +flashed into her eyes; she made a great effort to raise herself in the +bed, but such effort was far beyond her feeble strength—"I can't +tell—you—now," she gasped; "later—after—sleep—the +pendant—take—the—emerald; tell Arthur"—and at that word her +strength suddenly failed, her eyes closed, she slipped down among her +pillows, in an unconsciousness from which she never again awoke. +</P> + +<P> +All through the fragrant summer night following that sunshiny +afternoon, Christina had watched beside her, hoping against hope that +some faint knowledge of outward things would return to her, that the +strange unfinished sentence might be ended. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to tell you," her mother had said. What was it she wished to +tell her daughter? What was the meaning of those strange words that +seemed so incoherent and without sense? +</P> + +<P> +"The pendant—take—the—emerald—tell Arthur——" +</P> + +<P> +But no glimmer of consciousness crossed the still white face; the eyes +that had last looked at the sunny sky of June, and the nodding roses, +opened no more upon this world's sunshine and flowers, the faltering +voice was silenced for ever; and in the grey dawn of morning +Christina's mother had passed to the land where she and the man she +loved would part no more. +</P> + +<P> +The vision faded. Christina was back again in the present—the dull +light of the oil lamp shining on the jewel she held—in the clammy cold +of a November evening, that was as far removed from the sunny sweetness +of June, as her sordid room was removed from the rose-scented fragrance +of her old home. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder what she wanted to tell me," the girl mused again; as she had +mused countless times before; "what could she have meant when she said +those words: +</P> + +<P> +"The pendant—take—the—emerald—tell Arthur——" +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder who Arthur could have been." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"BABA LOVES YOU VERY MUCH." +</H4> + +<P> +"Will the lady who on Monday morning brought Baba home out of the fog, +kindly call at 100, Eaton Square, any time between eleven and one +o'clock?" +</P> + +<P> +The words seemed to start from the printed page before Christina's +eyes, and she read them over and over again with growing wonder. It +was Friday morning, two days after her two disastrous visits—one to +the shut-up house in Bayswater, the other to the insolent +jewellers—and with difficulty she had managed to crawl round to the +Free Library, feeling that she dared leave no stone unturned in a fresh +search for work. The day before she had perforce spent in bed, for her +day of fatigue, emotion, and exposure to the weather, had been followed +by a night of fever and aching limbs; and on the Thursday morning she +could scarcely lift her head from the pillow. But on Friday, realising +affrightedly that each day brought her nearer to absolute destitution, +she made a herculean effort, got up and dressed, and, feeling more dead +than alive, dragged herself to the library, to study the monotonous +advertisement columns of the newspapers. And having wearily glanced +down the familiarly-worded lines, in which nursery governesses and +companions were asked for, at wages that would not satisfy the average +kitchen-maid, she turned to the front page of the <I>Morning Post</I>, and +found herself confronted with the advertisement that now held her +astonished eyes: +</P> + +<P> +"Will the lady who on Monday morning brought Baba home out of the fog, +kindly call at 100, Eaton Square, any time between eleven and one +o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +Unless there were two Babas in the world, and two ladies who had taken +them home out of the fog, she herself was clearly the person indicated +by the advertisement; and as the square in which the bewitching baby +had been taken from her by an excited footman, was certainly Eaton +Square, she had little doubt but that the advertiser wished to thank, +and perhaps to reward, her. A hot flush came into her white cheeks as +the word "reward" entered her mind; all her instincts revolted against +the notion of being rewarded for doing what had been a most obvious +duty. But with the instinct of revolt came also a little rush of hope. +To the tired girl the advertisement seemed like a friendly hand +outstretched towards her; and though pride whispered to her to pay no +heed to it, and to ignore it altogether, the sense that kindliness +towards a total stranger had prompted the advertisement, fought hard +with pride. After all, if she went to 100, Eaton Square, she need +accept nothing at the hands of the inmates: that they should wish to +thank her for the safe return of their little one was only natural, and +it would be churlish of her to refuse to be thanked. +</P> + +<P> +In her excitement, she omitted to take down any addresses of employers; +for the first time since she had begun to haunt the Free Library, she +went out of its doors without a list of names to which letters must be +written, setting forth her own qualifications for tending children, or +amusing the elderly. She had actually forgotten to draw from her +pocket the sheet of notepaper she never failed to bring with her on her +morning quest, so full was her mind of the coming visit to Eaton +Square. Her weary limbs still refused to hurry, and she walked slowly +back to her lodgings, "to make herself tidy," as she put it, before +venturing into what was to her an actually new world. Her heart was +beating very fast as she rang the bell of the great Eaton Square +mansion, and, thanks partly to nervousness, partly to fatigue, her legs +were trembling so much, that she was obliged to clutch at the wall for +support, to prevent herself from falling. A footman flung open the +door—a tall, rather supercilious footman, whose face was not the +good-natured, foolish face of the James who had lifted the red-cloaked +baby from her arms. This man looked the visitor up and down with a +comprehensive stare, which held in it both enquiry and contempt, and +had the effect of banishing Christina's small remnant of courage. +</P> + +<P> +"Could I—see—the lady of the house?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"What might you want with her?" the servant demanded with a sniff. +</P> + +<P> +"There was an advertisement in to-day's <I>Morning Post</I>," the girl +answered, her voice shaking with nervous weariness; "it said, 'call +between eleven and one'—and I came to——" +</P> + +<P> +"Come after the place, have you?"—the footman's tone changed to one of +huge condescension. "Oh! well, step in, and I'll see if her ladyship +can see you." +</P> + +<P> +"The place!—her ladyship!" Christina looked at the man with bewildered +eyes, and said faintly—"I don't know anything about a place. I have +not come for that. Only the advertisement said, 'call between eleven +and one o'clock.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Step inside," came the short order, whilst Henry, the first footman, +inwardly remarked that he wished her ladyship wouldn't go putting in +advertisements, and not mentioning them to the establishment. "Take a +seat there, and I'll ascertain whether her ladyship is disengaged." +</P> + +<P> +Had Christina been in her normal health, the man's grandiloquent manner +and language would have amused her. With her nerves at high tension, +her limbs trembling, and her whole frame exhausted and weary, she felt +only a great inclination either to flee out of the front door, or to +sit down and cry. The hall, softly-carpeted and warm, fragrant with +the flowers massed in great pots at the foot of the staircase, and +quiet with the stillness of a well-ordered house, oppressed her. The +solemn voice of a grandfather clock in the corner, had only the effect +of making the prevailing silence more noticeable, and Christina +experienced a wild longing to scream, or to burst into uncontrollable +laughter, just to break the stillness which weighed upon her like a +nightmare. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you come this way, please?" +</P> + +<P> +She started violently as the footman's voice sounded close to her. His +footstep on the thick pile of the stair carpet had been quite +inaudible, and she was surprised to see him once more beside her. At +his bidding she rose mechanically, and followed him up the wide +staircase, whose soft carpet was a bewildering novelty to the girl +accustomed to the simplest surroundings, across a landing, fragrant, +like the hall, with growing roses and exotic plants, into a small +boudoir, in which she found herself alone. In all her twenty years of +life she had never before been in a room like this room, and, standing +in the centre of it, just where her guide had left her, she looked +round her timidly, and drew a long breath of admiration and amazement. +</P> + +<P> +The murkiness of the November day that darkened the world outside, did +not appear to enter into this lovely apartment, which gave Christina a +sense of summer and sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +"It is just like a pink rose," she said to herself, her eyes wandering +from the walls, delicately tinted a soft rose colour, to the sofa and +chairs upholstered in a deeper shade of the same colour, and the +carpet, whose darker tint of rose harmonised with the paler hues. +Every table seemed to the girl to overflow with books and magazines; +bowls of flowers, vases of flowers, pots of flowers, stood on every +available shelf, and in every possible corner. The windows were draped +with rose-coloured silk curtains, that made even the grey sky beyond +them look less grey, and the pictures on the walls drew a gasp of +delight from Christina's lips. They were mainly landscapes, and in +almost every case they represented wide spaces, open tracts of country, +that gave one a sense of life and freshness. Here was an expanse of +sea, blue and smiling as the sky that stooped to meet it; there, long +green rollers swept up a sandy beach, whilst clouds lit up by a rift of +sunshine, lay on the horizon. On this side was a moorland, purple with +heather, bathed in the glory of the setting sun; on that side, a plain, +far-reaching as the sea itself, soft and green and misty, bounded by +mountains, whose snow-crowned summits stood out in serried stateliness +against the faint blue sky. In a looking-glass hanging on the wall, +Christina caught sight of her own reflection, and a shamed +consciousness of her white face and shabby clothes, gave her a sense of +the incongruousness between her own appearance, and the loveliness +around her. But this uneasy sense of discrepancy had barely entered +her mind, when the door opened, and there entered a tiny personage, +whose daintiness made Christina all at once feel huge, awkward, and +ungainly. +</P> + +<P> +"It was sweet of you to come," the little lady exclaimed, holding out +to the girl a white hand flashing with diamonds, "you are the kind lady +who brought my Baba home? Henry was very incoherent; he always is, in +a grand, long-winded way of his own. But I gathered from his +meandering remarks, that you had come in answer to my advertisement." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Christina answered; "I saw it—the advertisement—in the +<I>Morning Post</I> to-day. I thought it was so kind of you to advertise, +that I came. But, of course, when I brought the darling baby home, I +only did what everybody else would have done," she added, rather +breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +"A lady—and very proud," the thought ran through her listener's brain; +but aloud the little lady only said: +</P> + +<P> +"I can't put into words how grateful I am to you, all the same. You +see, my little girlie is my ewe lamb—my only child—and she is very +precious. If anything had happened to her, I—oh! but we mustn't talk +about dreadful things that might happen, when I hope they never will. +Baba was a naughty monkey to run out alone. But she is rather a sweet +monkey, isn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is one of the dearest babies I ever saw," Christina answered +simply, sitting down in the chair her hostess pushed forward for her, +and feeling some of her awkwardness slipping from her, in presence of +this kindly, dainty little lady. With girlish enthusiasm her eyes +drank in the loveliness of the other's fair face, its delicate +colouring, its crown of bright hair; the perfection of the tiny form, +the gracefulness of the dead black gown, that fell in exactly the right +folds, and was hung as no dress of poor little Christina's had ever +been persuaded to hang. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba—we call her Baba, because her own name, Veronica, is so big for +such a baby—has managed to get rather out of hand since her nurse +left. We do try not to spoil her, but we don't always succeed very +well. I think you must be very fond of children—aren't you? You made +a great impression on Baba." +</P> + +<P> +"I love little children," Christina answered, with the simplicity and +sincerity which characterised her; "since I have had to earn my own +living, I have been a nursery governess." +</P> + +<P> +"It is very absurd, but I don't even know your name, and I daresay you +are equally ignorant of mine?" the little lady in the armchair +exclaimed, with a gay laugh. "Rupert did not put any name in the +advertisement; he said it was wiser not—but I am Lady Cicely +Redesdale, and Baba, as I say, is my only child, and—very precious." +Lady Cicely's blue eyes looked thoughtfully at Christina, her last +words were spoken absently. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not even know into which house the small girl was carried on +Monday," Christina replied, laughing also; "the footman ran along the +pavement when he saw us, and until I read your advertisement to-day, I +had no idea which number in the square was the one he had come from. +My name is Moore—Christina Moore—and I live in Maremont Street." +</P> + +<P> +"In Maremont Street? But—isn't that rather a—wretched neighbourhood +for you? Do your people live there?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no people," the girl answered, an unconscious wistfulness in +her eyes that appealed to Lady Cicely's kind heart. "I lost my father +and mother three years ago, and since then I have been living with some +friends, and taking care of their children. But now they have gone to +Canada and I am alone in the world." It was said without any <I>arrière +pensée</I>; no thought of exploiting her loneliness crossed Christina's +mind. The sympathetic glance of the blue eyes watching her, led her on +to frankness of speech, and to speak to an educated lady again was a +delight, to which for the past few months she had been an entire +stranger. +</P> + +<P> +"And you—are obliged to work for yourself?" Lady Cicely put the +question with hesitating kindliness. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes"—a faint smile crossed Christina's face—"and just now it is +rather hard to get. Nobody seems to want the sort of work that I can +do. You see, I have had very little education—not enough to teach big +children—and I have no certificates or diplomas, or anything. I don't +think my father ever dreamt that I should have to earn my own living, +or he would have had me trained to do it." +</P> + +<P> +"But you have taken care of little children?" again Lady Cicely's eyes +searched the girl's face earnestly—"and you are very fond of them?" +</P> + +<P> +"I love them," Christina said, for the third time, "and I am never +tired of being with them, and taking care of them. But there are such +lots of other girls like me, with very few qualifications, and so, +though I answer ever so many advertisements, I can't get a place." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mind waiting here just a moment?" Lady Cicely asked abruptly. +"I—I should like you to see Baba before you go; perhaps we might +find—we might think——" and with this vague sentence, the small lady +went out of the room, leaving Christina puzzled and wondering. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Cicely meanwhile hurried downstairs to the library, where a man +sat looking over a mass of legal papers. +</P> + +<P> +"Rupert," she exclaimed impetuously, "it is the girl who brought Baba +back, and my brain is teeming with plans for helping her." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she a young person?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no—a lady. Very shabby, very tired-looking, very poor, I should +guess; but unmistakably a lady. And—I'm so sorry for her, Rupert; she +is just a slip of a girl, who looks as if she wanted mothering." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Cicely, do you wish to embark on the mother's rôle? As one of +your trustees, let me warn you I shan't allow any quixotism." +</P> + +<P> +"Leave those tiresome old papers for five minutes, and come and see +this girl. I don't want to be quixotic, and I am ready to abide by +your judgment, but come and look at Miss Moore." +</P> + +<P> +"The tiresome old papers are fairly important deeds connected with your +estate, and the future inheritance of your daughter, Miss Veronica Joan +Redesdale," her cousin answered with a laugh; "but I suppose your +ladyship's whims must take precedence of your property. Where is Miss +Moore?" +</P> + +<P> +"In my boudoir, and very shy. I am sure she was afraid at first that I +meant to offer her money, there was a sort of proud shrinking in her +eyes—and she has very pretty eyes, too. Of course, my idea <I>had</I> been +to offer her money, because I imagined she would be of the shop-girl +type, but I should as soon think of offering you money, as of +suggesting giving it to Miss Moore." +</P> + +<P> +"Come along, then; let us get the inspection over. But, if you can't +give her money, what do you propose to do with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—thought"—Lady Cicely paused, glanced into her cousin's grave face, +and glanced away again—"I fancied, perhaps, I might help her to get +work. She is horribly poor, and she looks half-fed, and so tired. +I—well—I—really and truly, Rupert, I wondered whether she could come +here as nurse to Baba." +</P> + +<P> +A low whistle was Rupert's response, then he said slowly— +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't suggest this to her, did you? You are so kind, so +impulsive, but, remember this girl is a perfect stranger. She may +be—anything. As you yourself told me two days ago, you must have +unimpeachable references with anyone who takes charge of Baba." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I said nothing to her. Now, Rupert, I know I am impulsive, +but I am not entirely devoid of all common sense. Come and give me +your opinion, and I promise—yes, I absolutely <I>promise</I>—to be guided +by you." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert's grey eyes smiled down with brotherly affection into his little +cousin's face, and he followed her obediently from the room, and +upstairs, wondering vaguely why it was, that, much as he cared for and +admired Cicely, she had never inspired him with any deeper affection. +Like an elder brother to her from her earliest childhood, the brotherly +relation had continued between them after Cicely's marriage, and it had +been by her dead husband's most earnest wish, and specified +instructions, that Mernside was one of her trustees and Baba's +guardians, and Mr. Redesdale had bidden his wife consult Rupert about +everything connected with the estate and its baby heiress. +</P> + +<P> +On the landing at the head of the stairs a small figure with flying +golden curls, and filmy white frock, flung herself upon her mother, +shrieking delightedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba's runned away from Jane. Now Baba come with mummy." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Baba, you are not a good baby," Cicely exclaimed, with an attempt +at severity, which only produced a chuckle from the small girl; "it is +time mummy found a very stern nurse. Nevertheless her appearance is +opportune," she said, <I>sotto voce</I>, to Rupert. "I told Miss Moore I +would fetch Baba, and I don't want her to feel she is being inspected. +Run on into mummy's boudoir, sweetheart," she added aloud to the child, +"there's somebody there for Baba to see." +</P> + +<P> +It was a pretty sight which greeted the two elders when, a moment +later, they entered the rose-coloured room; and Rupert paused for an +instant in the doorway, to look and smile. Baba, after one short +glance at the stranger, who had risen from her chair, made a rush +across the room towards her, clasped her round the knees, and cried +fervently— +</P> + +<P> +"Dat's Baba's lady, what found her in the ugly fog. Kiss Baba," and, +at the moment of their entrance, Rupert and Cicely saw the girl stoop +and lift the baby in her arms, with a tenderness that marked a true +child lover, and an absence of self-consciousness induced by her +ignorance that two pairs of eyes were fixed upon her. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba loves you very much," the child babbled on, her soft fingers +touching Christina's white face, "and thank you for bringing Baba home. +Pretty lady," she added suddenly, "Baba like when the pinky colour goes +all up and down your cheeks." For, at that moment, the girl had become +aware of the presence, not only of Lady Cicely, but of a tall stranger +with grave grey eyes, and a rosy flush swept over the whiteness of her +face. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba has not forgotten you," the former said, with her gay little +laugh. "Rupert, this is Miss Moore, who so kindly brought naughty Baba +home out of the fog. My cousin is Baba's guardian, Miss Moore, and he +is as grateful to you as I am." +</P> + +<P> +Christina, in her embarrassment, did not observe Lady Cicely's omission +of the tall stranger's surname; Cicely herself was unconscious that she +had not said it, and Rupert was only intent on setting the girl at her +ease. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba seems to be bestowing her own thanks in her own violent way," he +said, as the child's dimpled arms were flung again round Christina's +neck, and her soft face pressed against the girl's flushed one; "but we +all owe you a debt of gratitude for having found, and brought her back. +London streets are not the safest place for little babies of that age, +with pearl necklaces round their necks." +</P> + +<P> +"That was what I thought," Christina exclaimed impulsively; "at +least—I mean," she stammered, "I couldn't help being glad that I was +the first person to find her, and that it was not one of the dreadful +people who do prowl about in fogs, who saw her first." +</P> + +<P> +"We are most thankful for that, too," Rupert answered; and then, being +a man of the world, he skilfully led the conversation to more general +subjects, until Christina was soon talking quietly and naturally, with +no more tremors or self-consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +When, a few minutes later, she rose to go, Lady Cicely held her hands +in a clasp that was very comforting to the weary girl, and said gently— +</P> + +<P> +"I am not going to worry you with more thank-yous; but I want you to +come and see me again in a day or two. I think, perhaps, I may be able +to hear of some work that would suit you." +</P> + +<P> +As Christina wended her way homewards, she felt, tired though she was, +as if her feet trod on air. Hope was once more fully alive within her. +Lady Cicely's lovely face and charming manner had bewitched the girl, +and she was sure—quite, quite sure—that if the sweet little blue-eyed +lady said she would do something for her, that something would +infallibly be done. And—the tall cousin, with the grave grey eyes, +and the mouth that seemed to Christina to be set in lines of pain? +Those grey eyes and that firmly-set mouth, haunted her during the whole +course of her walk, and through her mind there flashed unbidden the +thought— +</P> + +<P> +"I—wish I could comfort him. I am sure he is unhappy." +</P> + +<P> +Her way led her past the newspaper shop kept by Mr. Coles, and the +little man himself was standing at his door surveying the world. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a letter in here for you, miss," he said good-naturedly; "it +came yesterday morning, and the wife and I made sure you'd be in for +it." +</P> + +<P> +Christina started. The events of the day had obliterated from her mind +all recollection of the matrimonial advertisement, and the letters that +were to be addressed to Mr. Coles's shop. The memory of Wednesday's +disappointment came back to her, and as Mr. Coles put into her hand a +letter addressed "C.M." in the same bold, strong hand that had +addressed the other letter, her momentary inclination was to return it +to its writer unopened. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps there is some explanation," was her next and saner reflection; +and, walking along the street, she opened, and read the letter, feeling +a certain compunction as she did so. The address was still that of the +newspaper office, and the letter ran— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEAR MADAM,— +</P> + +<P> +"I deeply regret that you found the house, at which I had asked you to +call, shut up. I reached it a few minutes after you had left, and to +my own great surprise found—as you had done—no one there but a +caretaker. My friend must have been called away suddenly, for on +Tuesday, when I saw her, she most kindly arranged that her house should +be at my disposal. Please forgive what must have seemed to you most +strange. Would it suit you to arrange any meeting-place that would +accord with your wishes? With renewed apologies. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours faithfully,<BR> + "R. MERNSIDE."<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"A VERY BEAUTIFUL PENDANT, WITH THE INITIALS 'A.V.C.'" +</H4> + +<P> +With all her undoubted strength of character, Christina was only human, +and the courteous apology she had received from the man signing himself +"Rupert Mernside," sorely tempted her. Curiosity to see the writer, +and a lurking feeling that he might really be able to find work for +her, were mingled with a girlish longing for adventure, and for some of +the youthful joys she had missed; and all these sensations made her +more than half inclined to assign a meeting-place to this Mr. Mernside. +She had known few men, either in her quiet Devonshire home, or when she +was in the Donaldsons' service, and any pleasant social intercourse +with the other sex had never come in her way at all. There rose before +her a vision of meeting this man of the bold, characteristic +handwriting—of perhaps being taken by him to tea in one of those +tea-rooms about which she had heard—tea-rooms where the waitresses +were ladies, dressed in soft lilac gowns, with dainty muslin aprons, +and where delicious music was played to the fortunate tea-drinkers. To +have tea in such a place, with a man whose business it was for the +moment to look exclusively after her and her well-being, would be such +a treat as she had never enjoyed in all her life. Her parents had not +encouraged any social gaiety; thinking over it now, it seemed to +Christina that for some inexplicable reason they had avoided society, +and actually warded off those of their neighbours who were inclined to +be friendly. And with a sudden revolt against her own loneliness and +dullness, the girl felt as though at any cost she must seek friendship, +amusement, distraction. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, I haven't any clothes in which to go to a really smart +tea-room," she thought, when, in the shelter of her own small room, she +read her letter for the second time; "but there maybe somewhere not too +smart, where he could take me; and he leaves me to decide where to meet +him—and—oh! I do want some fun; I do dreadfully want it!" +</P> + +<P> +The man who would be the central figure of the entertainment, entered +little into her calculations. She was far more interested in her +vision of tea-rooms, and the smart folk she might be fortunate enough +to see there, than in the man whose "open sesame" was to admit her to +the sacred precincts. And only when some chance train of thought +reminded her of her recent interview with Lady Cicely, did she reflect +that the person who would sit beside her, and attend to her wants at +the tiny table in the enthralling tea-room, would be a stranger to her, +perhaps even an objectionable stranger. +</P> + +<P> +With the remembrance of her visit to Eaton Square, came also the +recollection of the tall man with the grave grey eyes, the man +introduced to her by Lady Cicely, as "my cousin," and a hot flush of +shame rushed to her face, as she wondered what he would think of her, +if he knew she was planning to meet a person she had never seen, and of +whom she had only heard through a matrimonial advertisement. +</P> + +<P> +He would certainly despise her; and it was not nice to contemplate the +kindly glance of those eyes turned to scorn and contempt. +</P> + +<P> +Although she knew it was absurd to suppose that Lady Cicely's cousin +could ever be aware of, or interested in, the doings of so +insignificant a person as herself, she shrank oddly from doing anything +of which he would disapprove. +</P> + +<P> +"To arrange to meet a strange man isn't really a very womanly thing to +do," she said, when she sat down to write her letter to the unknown Mr. +Mernside. "I shouldn't ever have answered the advertisement at all, if +I had not been so dreadfully poor, and I shouldn't like to look Lady +Cicely's cousin in the face again if I met this man." +</P> + +<P> +The letter was not so difficult a one to write as the first had been, +and its recipient both smiled and sighed, as he read the terse little +sentences in the round, girlish handwriting. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEAR SIR,— +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you for your kind letter, but I hope I now have a chance of +getting some work, so that I need not trouble you any more. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours faithfully,<BR> + "C. MOORE."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Well! that's a relief," Rupert ejaculated, throwing the note into the +fire; "what I could have done with the girl if she had agreed to meet +me, heaven only knows. Margaret would have helped me—but Margaret——" +</P> + +<P> +His meditations ended abruptly; he drew from his breast pocket a letter +that had reached him a post or two before Christina's arrived, and for +the fiftieth time read it from end to end. The sense of it had long +since imprinted itself upon his brain, but it gave him a painful +pleasure to let his eyes rest upon the well-formed letters of the +handwriting, though a resentful indignation towards the writer stirred +within him. She had not treated him well, and yet—she was the one +woman in the world to him—this woman of the dark eyes and rare white +beauty, who signed her letter with the one word, "Margaret." No +address stood at the head of the letter, it was undated; and the +postmark was that of the West Central district. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Forgive me for having left London so abruptly, and without telling you +of my intention," she wrote. "I was summoned away by telegram, and in +my hurry and anxiety, I forgot to let you know. I cannot tell you my +address just now, but Elizabeth is with me, and I am safe and well. I +have often warned you, have I not, my dear, faithful friend, that much +in my life must always seem to you strange and mysterious. I can give +you no explanation now. But trust me still. MARGARET. +</P> + +<P> +"Letters sent to me, c/o Mrs. Milton, 180, Gower Street, will be +forwarded." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mernside wrote four letters, each one of which in turn he tore up and +flung into the fire as soon as it was written, finally writing a fifth, +which appeared to satisfy him, for, having addressed and stamped it, he +put it into his pocket when he went out. +</P> + +<P> +"Drive sharply to 180, Gower Street," were his directions to the driver +as he swung himself into a passing hansom, and leant forward on the +closed doors, watching the traffic with listless glances, which only +saw a woman's dark eyes, set in a white face. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, I couldn't tell you Mrs. Stanforth's address," was the +uncompromising reply to his question, and Mrs. Milton's inflexible +countenance, and flat, rigid form were as uncompromising as her speech; +"she bid me say to anyone enquiring, that she was gone in the country +for a time, and I can only answer the same to you, as I answers to the +rest. Letters and people—they come on here from Barford Road, and I +says the same to all of 'em." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert's creed as a gentleman forbade his pressing for the address of a +woman who wished to keep herself hidden, but with all the hatred of his +sex for mysteries, he moved impatiently away, speculating grimly on the +eccentricities of women. Why, when she had a house of her own, did +Margaret have her visitors and letters sent to Gower Street for +information, or re-addressing respectively? What object was being +served by all this mysterious behaviour? And why was she sometimes so +apparently frank with him, at other times so strangely secret? +</P> + +<P> +True, that her very uncertainty was part of her charm; but, without +swerving in his unshakable loyalty to her, he felt himself occasionally +wishing that Margaret had some of the transparent candour of his little +cousin, Cicely Redesdale. Cicely was incapable of dark secrets, or +hidden, mysterious actions; she and Baba were children together, and +one was scarcely more innocent and crystal pure than the other—which +reflections brought him by easy stages to his cousin's estates, and his +own trusteeship; and the memory of a paper needing Cicely's signature, +made him retrace his steps to his own chambers, and thence to Eaton +Square, where he found Cicely and her small daughter enjoying the +delights of tea together, in the bright nursery at the top of the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Jane has got a sick mother," Cicely explained dolefully; "Jane was +imperatively needed at home, at an hour's notice—and behold me, head +nurse and nursery-maid rolled into one, and Baba in the seventh heaven +of bliss. If you want any tea, Rupert, you must have it here—hot +buttered toast and all. Dawson won't approve, but I am tired of trying +to live up to him." Dawson was the butler, a magnificent personage who +had only condescended to anything more insignificant than a ducal +mansion, in consideration of Mr. Redesdale's generosity in the matter +of wages; and Dawson regarded any departure from the orthodox, with +disapproving eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You will never succeed in reaching Dawson's criterion of correctness," +Rupert laughed; "meanwhile, nursery tea is much jollier than the +drawing-room meal. We can eat double as much, and we can spread our +own jam." +</P> + +<P> +"But you know, Rupert, I can't spend my whole life in the nursery," +Cicely began, when the appetites of the baby and the big man had been +partially satisfied. "Baba has chosen a new nurse for herself, but—I +can't let her decide anything so important; I am afraid you will call +me quixotic if I say I am half inclined to— +</P> + +<P> +"Is it the young person—James's young person?" her cousin broke in. +"I knew that girl with the green eyes and shabby clothes was making +indelible marks on your kind heart. But—you know nothing about her, +dear, and, as you told me, you must have unimpeachable references." +</P> + +<P> +"Rupert, to remind a woman of the things she has said in a remote past, +is like driving a pig towards the north, when you want him to go there. +When you have a wife, you will understand the inwardness of my remark." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall never have a wife," was the quick retort, "and am I to infer +from your remark that you are intending to engage a nurse who cannot +produce the necessary references?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what she can produce yet, but I have written to ask your +green-eyed friend of the shabby hat, to come and see me, and—then I +thought we could talk things over." +</P> + +<P> +"Then 'things' are a foregone conclusion," said Rupert, with a laugh. +"I know you, Cicely. The girl seemed to have a way with children; she +looked and spoke like a lady, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"And Baba loved her"; Cicely lowered her voice, but the child, absorbed +in putting a consignment of dolls to bed, gave no heed to her elders; +"and ever since the girl came here, Baba has gone on saying: 'Baba +would like that pretty lady to live with her; can't the pretty lady +come?' And sometimes children and dogs have wonderful instincts about +people, don't they? Baba's instinct may be just the right one." +</P> + +<P> +"It may. Let us hope it will. There was something very +straightforward about that girl's eyes, and her voice was particularly +pleasant. It reminded me of somebody, but who the somebody is I can't +for the life of me remember." +</P> + +<P> +"By the way, didn't you tell me the other day you knew of a nursery +governess who wanted work? Can she come and see me as well? Perhaps +you have found out more about her by now?" +</P> + +<P> +"She has just succeeded in hearing of work," Rupert answered, and +Cicely noticed that, as before, he spoke with a trace of embarrassment. +"I have found out nothing more about her, but I hear she is, or hopes +to be, 'suited,' as the servants say." +</P> + +<P> +"I am very strongly inclined to try the girl who brought Baba in from +the fog. Something about her appealed to me, and she must be able to +produce some kind of reference. She can't just have 'growed,' like +Topsy, into her present position. Oh! Dawson, who and what is it?" +she broke off to say, as the butler's stately form and impassive face +appeared in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir Arthur Congreve wishes to see your ladyship very particularly," +was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I will be down in one moment," she answered; and, when the door had +closed noiselessly after the butler, she turned to Rupert, and made a +small grimace. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, what has brought that tiresome old person here to-day," she +demanded of the world in general; "you don't know him, do you? He is a +cousin of John's; and the most intolerable bore ever created to worry +his long-suffering relations." +</P> + +<P> +"I know him by name, naturally; but I never had the pleasure——" +</P> + +<P> +"Come and have it now." Cicely sprang to her feet, and rang the bell. +"I must get a housemaid to take care of Baba; and you come and be +introduced to my pet bugbear. He and his wife hardly ever come to +town. They look upon it as modern Babylon, sunk in iniquity. He is +hugely rich, and their jewels are amazing, but very few people ever see +them. He lives in a very remote corner of the country, somewhere on +the Welsh border, about ten miles from every reasonable sort of place, +and my private opinion is that he is more mad than sane." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! a woman's reason. I think him so, because I think him so. No; +but without joking, all sorts of queer things have happened in that +family—dark mysteries, and I fancy even crimes; but John never told me +details. Sir Arthur is a most unspeakably conventional person, but I +believe some of his relations were quite the reverse. Come and help me +entertain him," she added, when a housemaid had entered the nursery; +"he will probably disapprove of you, and tell me later on that your +presence in the house is damaging to my reputation," she added as they +went down the stairs together. +</P> + +<P> +The elderly gentleman who stood on the drawing-room hearthrug, +surveying the room with an air of disapproval, was, Rupert thought, one +of the handsomest men he had ever seen. White-haired, with a heavy +white moustache, his complexion was clear and healthy as a girl's, and +his refined, well-cut features were almost cameo-like in their perfect +chiselling His eyes were dark, and very bright, and they fixed +themselves at once upon Rupert with a glance of suspicion. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Cicely," he said, shaking her stiffly by the hand, "urgent +business, tiresome family business, brought me to this city of dreadful +night for a few hours, and I thought I must call and enquire after your +health, and the health of Veronica." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Cousin Arthur; do sit down; I am very flourishing, and Baba +is in rude health. We don't call her Veronica yet, you know; she is +really only quite a baby still." +</P> + +<P> +"I strongly deprecate the calling of children by fancy names," Sir +Arthur answered pompously. "Veronica is a name in our family; a name +about which, alas! cling many sad associations. But still, I am +convinced that if her poor father had lived, your poor daughter——" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't introduced you to my cousin," Cicely cut in unceremoniously, +feeling that any comments upon her husband's possible conduct would be +unendurable from Sir Arthur's lips. "I believe you have never met him. +Mr. Mernside, Sir Arthur Congreve." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur bowed stiffly. Rupert's greeting was pleasant and friendly; +the older man's rigid attitude merely amused him. +</P> + +<P> +"No; I have certainly never met Mr. Mernside," Sir Arthur said coldly; +"as you know, my dear Cicely, I never come to this terrible Babylon, +unless absolutely driven to do so by irresistible circumstances. And +in your husband's lifetime, I do not ever remember to have seen your +cousin," he added, with a severe glance at Mernside. +</P> + +<P> +"If you had been much in town in John's lifetime you would often have +met Rupert," Cicely answered quickly. "Rupert was one of John's +greatest friends, and is Baba's trustee and guardian. But you," she +tried to speak more lightly, "you and Cousin Ellen bury yourselves so +completely in your country fastness, that you know nothing of the +troublesome world in which we live." +</P> + +<P> +"Troublesome world, indeed," answered Sir Arthur, wagging his head and +looking at her solemnly. The saving grace of humour had been omitted +from his composition, and he took himself, and the whole world, with a +seriousness that could not be shaken; "in this dreadful city, you +frolic like children on the edge of a volcano, but one day the eruption +will come, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"And then we shall all be little bits of lava, shan't we?" Cicely +asked, her blue eyes wide and innocent, her lips parted in an engaging +smile. +</P> + +<P> +"You are sadly flippant, Cicely. I had hoped that walking through the +vale of misery, your flippancy would have fallen from you. But I fear +you are determined to turn this vale of tears, this troublesome world, +as you so justly call it, into a mere playground." +</P> + +<P> +"A very delightful vale—sometimes," Rupert said, in his slow, charming +voice; "the troublesome world can be beautiful, as well as troublesome, +you will allow, especially if you live in the country." +</P> + +<P> +"Beautiful?" Sir Arthur glared at the speaker. "But all to be burnt +some day—all to be burnt. When I am asked to admire the mountains +near my home—the woods, the river—I say the same thing always; I say, +'It is all being prepared for the burning.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps we may enjoy its beauties during the time of preparation," +Rupert said smiling; "until—the conflagration, the beauty is ours." +</P> + +<P> +"I did not call to-day to engage in flippant small talk," Sir Arthur +answered sternly. "Like Babylon of old, London is rushing on its doom, +and I have no doubt that the fashionable throng which numbers you +amongst its members, has long ago resigned every serious thought and +effort. Conversation is as loose as manners and morals, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"My manners and morals are not conspicuously loose, Cousin Arthur," +Cicely said demurely; "but I don't belong to the smart set, and I don't +even want to belong to it, and I expect that is what you meant by the +fashionable throng. We live very quietly, Baba and I." +</P> + +<P> +"Quietly? In all this luxury, this pomp?" Sir Arthur glanced round the +exquisite room with a shudder. "One of my designs in coming here +to-day, was to ask whether you would ever care to come and pay us a +visit at Burnbrooke, but we could offer you no such luxury as this. +If, however, you would care to come, we have peace there." +</P> + +<P> +"It is very kind of you, and of Cousin Ellen to have thought of it," +Cicely faltered with a recollection of a depressing fortnight spent in +Sir Arthur's home, during her husband's lifetime; "perhaps in the +spring or summer you would let us come and see you." +</P> + +<P> +"We have been away so frequently during the last three years that we +have seen few people. My poor wife being a martyr to rheumatism, has +had to visit foreign watering places; we have, as you know, been little +at home, and we have invited few guests to Burnbrooke. If you will +come, we shall be happy to see you; or if at any time you would care to +send Veronica with her nurse, to breathe some other air than the +pernicious air of this dark town, pray send them." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely made a courteous and smiling rejoinder, but Rupert thought he +could read, in the mutinous setting of her pretty lips, that she had +small intention of allowing her little daughter to breathe the +salubrious air of Burnbrooke. +</P> + +<P> +"You are in town on business only, not for pleasure?" the little lady +asked, taking a certain malicious delight in seeing Sir Arthur's start +of horror. +</P> + +<P> +"Pleasure? I here for pleasure? Heaven forbid. I have come on +troublesome business. I am anxious about the news of my unfortunate +brother-in-law and his wife, my poor, foolish sister. Ah! well you +never knew her, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, never." Cicely shook her head, wildly trying to unearth from the +depths of her mind, any fragments of knowledge she might ever have +possessed about Sir Arthur's brother-in-law; but finding herself +entirely at sea, gave up the attempt. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor, misguided soul," the visitor went on, with a solemn shake of the +head; "she would never listen to reason; never believe what I told her. +My sisters—Ah! well, well, I must not trouble you with our family +skeletons. I have come up to try and find out if I can where my +brother-in-law is, and to avert worse scandals than already exist." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely, still completely at sea as to the drift of his conversation, +murmured something non-committal and sympathetic, and he continued +speaking with unabated energy. +</P> + +<P> +"I also have some business to do with Scotland Yard," he said +importantly; "my wife has lost a piece of jewellery which she greatly +values, and which I also value exceedingly. The loss is a very strange +one; and, after serious deliberation, I have decided to put the case +into the hands of the Scotland Yard officials." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you had a burglary?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, nothing of that kind at all. We can only account for the loss in +one way. We were travelling home last week, after a visit, and at +Liverpool station my wife's maid put her mistress's dressing bag into +the carriage, she herself standing beside the door. One person was in +the compartment, a quiet-looking young lady, so the maid describes her. +We reached home. My wife discovered the loss of the jewel she so much +values. It had been put into the bag at the last minute before we left +our friends' house, as she had been showing it to a visitor. The bag, +it is true, was unlocked, but the maid vows she did not leave the +carriage door, and that the young person in the carriage seemed to be a +lady. The fact remains that the pendant has vanished." +</P> + +<P> +"A pendant, was it?" Cicely asked with interest. +</P> + +<P> +"A very beautiful pendant, one that, to my mind, is unique. It is made +of a single and very remarkable emerald, set in beautifully chased +gold, and above the emerald there are three initials twisted together +in gold; the initials A.V.C." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"IT IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH." +</H4> + +<P> +"And the Prince had the dearest face in all the world. It was not +exactly handsome, but it was very strong, and when you looked at it, +you knew that he was good. And his eyes were grey and very kind, +and——" +</P> + +<P> +"And did he wear white armour, all shining, and a silver crown on his +head?" +</P> + +<P> +Baba's voice, clear and imperious, interrupted Christina's dreamy +tones, and her dimpled fingers seized and shook the girl's hand, in +order to attract her attention, which, as the baby was vaguely aware, +had wandered from the fairy tale in process of being told. "Did the +Prince have white armour?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I expect so," Christina answered, with momentary hesitation, +flushing as a vision flashed into her mind of a tall figure in well-cut +dark blue serge, that bore no resemblance whatever to silver armour; +"he—he put on armour when he had to go and fight dragons, but when he +was in the Castle with the lovely Princess, he wore a velvet tunic, +dark blue velvet, and a silver crown upon his head." +</P> + +<P> +"And the Princess was just 'zactly like you," Baba said lovingly, +pressing her golden head more closely against Christina's breast, and +looking into the girl's face with adoring eyes, "just 'zactly like my +pretty lady." +</P> + +<P> +Christina laughed softly, running her hands through the child's curls, +and bending down to kiss the uplifted face. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a little monkey, Baba," she said, "and a flatterer. You +mustn't call Christina a pretty lady. She isn't a bit pretty, and +she's only just your nurse." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba will call Christina just 'zactly what she likes," the child +answered sturdily, enunciating her words with the clearness often found +in an only child who is constantly with grown-up people. "Christina's +a very pretty lady, and Baba loves her." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba's a goose, and we must put on our things and go out in the +sunshine and see what we can find in these nice lanes." She put the +child off her lap, and, going into an adjacent room, brought out the +red cloak in which she had first seen her, and wrapped it round Baba's +graceful little form, drawing the hood over the golden curls. +</P> + +<P> +Barely a fortnight had gone by since Christina had first entered Lady +Cicely's service, after an interview which had ended precisely as +Rupert had laughingly declared it would end, in the engagement of +Christina as Baba's nurse. The references the girl had produced from +her late employer, Mrs. Donaldson, from an old clergyman who had known +her in Devonshire, and from her father's solicitor, had seemed to +Cicely to justify her in taking this step, even though the Donaldsons +were in Canada, the old clergyman dead, and the solicitor gone to South +Africa. +</P> + +<P> +"She looks genuine; I am sure she <I>is</I> genuine," the little lady said +afterwards to Rupert; "and she was so overwhelmed with delight and +gratitude at the idea of coming to us." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt she was," Rupert responded drily; "well! no great harm can +come of giving her a month's trial. I am glad you had the saving grace +to suggest that. And during the month you will be able to see what she +is made of." +</P> + +<P> +But the month had not fallen out quite as Rupert had naturally supposed +that it would. Lady Cicely, driven nearly distracted by a scare of +scarlet fever in the near neighbourhood, and unable to use Bramwell +Castle, which was in the builder's hands, had sent Christina and Baba +off, almost at a moment's notice, to Graystone. In this remote hamlet +on a remote Sussex border, Mrs. Nairne, an old servant of the Staynes +family, owned a small farmhouse, and also received lodgers; and here, +for the past ten days, Christina and her little charge had been +rejoicing in the country sights and sounds, which even in early +December had a fascination all their own. +</P> + +<P> +To Baba, the farmyard was an unfailing source of delight; and to +Christina, the great spaces of moorland, the deep lanes, the woods +whose soft brown hues gave colour to the hillsides, were a welcome +change from London streets, and the squalor of London lodgings. To the +girl who for so long had been tossing on a sea of struggle and +privation, her quiet life at Graystone was like a haven of rest; and +her one passionate prayer was, that at the end of her month of +probation, she might still find favour in Lady Cicely's eyes, and keep +the situation which seemed to her a more delightful one than she had +ever dared to hope for in her wildest dreams. With the help of a +little pony cart, she and the child could make quite lengthy excursions +about the country side, and Christina often found herself wondering why +it was the fashion to talk as if there were no beauties to be found in +the country in winter time. She revelled in the great sweeps of +moorland that rolled away to far hills on the horizon, hills scarcely +less blue than the soft blue of the winter sky. And, if the moorlands +were no longer clad in their robe of purple heather, or pale pink ling, +the duns and browns of heath and bracken, the dark green of fir-trees, +and the brightly tinted leaves of the bilberry plants offered no lack +of colour. On the oaks in the lanes bright brown leaves still hung; +and the trees that were leafless—delicate birches, sturdy ashes, +smooth-stemmed beeches, made so dainty a lacework of bare boughs +against their background of sky, that the leaflessness was in itself +beautiful. The sunlight poured a flood of radiance on the upland road, +as Christina and Baba jogged peacefully along it, in the wake of the +small black pony, who meandered on at his own pace, just as the fancy +took him. Larks sang in the sunlight; in the copse under the hill the +thrushes were already beginning to learn their songs of spring; and +Christina, drinking in all the loveliness about her, laughed aloud for +sheer gladness of heart. +</P> + +<P> +They had driven for some distance along the main road, when they came +to a spot where four roads met, and towards one of them Baba pointed a +fat forefinger. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's go along there," she said; "it's such a ducky wee road, and +there's a pond." +</P> + +<P> +Christina was lain to confess that the road indicated had special +attractions of its own. It wound down from the upland, between hedges +which in summer must be a tangled loveliness of briar roses, +honeysuckle, and clematis; and, skirting a common where a pond +reflected the sunshine on its small ruffled waves, turned down again +between woods that climbed steeply up the hill-side on either hand. +The lane narrowed as it wound onwards, and Christina was beginning to +wonder whether it would end in a mere grassy track, when she saw a +clearing in the woods on the right-hand side, and became aware of +chimney-pots showing above a very high wall. +</P> + +<P> +"What an extraordinarily lonely place," the girl reflected, looking +with a little shudder at the height of the wall, and at the dense woods +which hemmed it in on every side. Excepting where the space for the +actual house itself had been cleared, and where the lane meandered past +it, it was entirely shut in by woods—beech, oak, and birch on the +lower levels, pines climbing upward to the summit, closing the building +in from all observation. Thanks to the steep hills and the overhanging +woods, only a very small proportion of sunshine could filter into the +lane, and Christina shivered again, feeling that there was something +sinister about this secluded spot, and the house that was barely +visible behind its encircling walls. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba thinks p'raps the Princess lives behind there," said the baby, +looking with round blue eyes at the frowning walls; "it's a awful, +dreadful place; and p'raps the Dragon's got the Princess safe in there; +and she's waiting for the Prince to come and get her out." +</P> + +<P> +"The Prince will come in his shining armour," Christina answered +brightly; "and then the Princess will come away, and be happy ever +after." +</P> + +<P> +At the moment they were driving past a green door in the wall; and as +she spoke these words, the door was hurriedly opened, and a tall woman +stepped out into the lane. She was closely wrapped in a dark cloak, +and some magnificent black lace draped her hair. But it was the sight +of her face that made Christina draw in her breath sharply, for she +thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than its white +loveliness, anything more sad than the glance of the great dark eyes. +She panted a little, as though she had been running; there was a +strange mingling of fear and anguish in her expression, and she held up +her hand with so pleading a gesture, that Christina pulled up, and +leaning from the cart, said gently: +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything I can do for you?" +</P> + +<P> +The dark eyes met hers, a startled look, one would almost have said a +look of recognition swept over the white face, then she exclaimed +breathlessly: +</P> + +<P> +"Why—I thought—you were—I beg your pardon—it was foolish of me—of +course, I have never seen you before." +</P> + +<P> +"No, never," Christina answered emphatically, knowing that the lovely +face of this woman, once seen, could never have faded from her memory; +"but, I am afraid you are in trouble; can I help you? +</P> + +<P> +"A doctor," the other panted. "I must have a doctor; and yet—I am +afraid—I am afraid," she wrung her hands together, and her lips +quivered pitifully. +</P> + +<P> +"We are driving back to Graystone. Can I send a doctor if there is one +in the place? Or, can I send over to the nearest town?" Christina +asked, struck afresh by the anguish in the other's eyes, and realising +that only some vital necessity could so have moved her. +</P> + +<P> +"I must have a doctor," the words were reiterated, and the woman put +her hands upon the cart, and leant heavily against it. "I can't +let—him—die—and yet—no one must know if the doctor comes here," she +exclaimed, suddenly pulling herself upright, and speaking fast and +earnestly; "not a living soul must ever know; and the doctor himself? +If you find a doctor for me, promise to make him swear that he will +never divulge where he has been, or what he sees in this house." +</P> + +<P> +Christina looked the bewilderment she felt, and a faint wonder flashed +across her mind whether this woman could be sane. Her speech savoured +of melodrama, her hurried, breathless sentences, the nervous glances +she cast over her shoulder, and the strangeness of the words she spoke, +all tended to make the girl doubt the speaker's sanity. But the dark +eyes, unfathomable and sad as they were, looked straight into hers +without a trace of madness; and though she was plainly afraid of +something or somebody, it was not the unreasoning fear of insanity. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there someone ill in that house?" the girl questioned practically; +"is it of great importance to have a doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a matter of life and death," was the broken answer; "when I +heard wheels in the lane I came out, hoping it might be someone who +would help me. I—cannot leave him myself; I have no one to send—it +is all that my servant and I can do to manage——" she pulled herself +up abruptly, adding after a moment, "for pity's sake help me if you +can." +</P> + +<P> +"I will do the best I can," Christina answered, bewildered surprise +still her dominant sensation. "I am a stranger in Graystone. We are +only staying in a farmhouse there, but by hook or by crook I will get a +doctor for you." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you will carry through whatever you undertake," the other +answered, a smile flitting across the wan misery of her face, as her +eyes rested on the girl's square chin, and firmly cut lips; "you look +as if you would not easily be beaten." +</P> + +<P> +Christina smiled back at her and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I was very nearly beaten a little while ago," she said, gathering up +the reins and preparing to turn the pony's head up the steep ascent +again; "when one is poor, and hungry, all the fight seems to go out of +one. But I don't like being beaten, and I shall find a doctor for you." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded her head cheerily, and was touching the pony lightly with +the whip, when the stranger clutched the side of the cart again, and +laid a hand on the girl's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Remember, no one must be told that the doctor is coming here; and he +himself must be sworn—<I>sworn</I> to secrecy. Promise me you will not +tell a soul you have seen me, not a living soul." She was labouring +under strong excitement, and it alarmed Christina to notice how the +whiteness of her face had extended to her very lips, and what black +shadows of suffering and fear lay under her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Promise," she repeated, her grasp tightening on Christina's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"I—promise," Christina answered slowly. "I will not tell anyone that +I have seen you, or what you have said to me; and I will—do as you +wish about the doctor." +</P> + +<P> +Having received the girl's assurance, the woman drew back from the +cart, and stood watching it retrace its way up the hill, her hands +wrung together in anguish, her dark eyes wide with pain. +</P> + +<P> +Baba had been a silent spectator of the strange little scene, +understanding very little of what passed between her two elders, but +watching the face of the beautiful stranger with an intent scrutiny, +curious in one so young. +</P> + +<P> +"That was a beautiful Princess," she said, after the cart had driven a +short distance. "Baba hopes the Prince will come soon, and take her +right away." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps he will," Christina answered absently, relieved that the child +had woven the strange lady into a fairy tale, thus obviating the +possibility that close attention would be paid to remarks Baba might +make about their encounter with her; and speculating vainly over all +that she had just heard and seen, and over the striking personality of +the woman who had commissioned her to do so strange an errand. +</P> + +<P> +Resourceful as nature and necessity had made her, Christina was +nevertheless a little puzzled to think how she could make enquiries +about a doctor, without betraying what she had been especially conjured +to keep secret; but during the drive home her plans were matured, and, +having reached the farm, and put Baba into her cot for her afternoon +nap, she went to the kitchen in search of Mrs. Nairne. +</P> + +<P> +That worthy dame was engaged in making scones for tea, and turned a +flushed but kindly face to Christina, who had already won her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, missy, you and the precious baby's had a nice drive; and I'm +sure you're wise and right to take her out early, in the sunshine, and +let her rest a bit before her tea—a prettier baby never was." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a darling," Christina answered, "and if she hadn't the +sweetest, most wholesome nature in the world, she would be spoilt, +everybody adores her so!" +</P> + +<P> +"There! and who can wonder, miss. The little dear! I was baking some +scones for her tea and yours, miss, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"That is very good of you, Mrs. Nairne. I was going to ask whether you +would be so kind as to look in upon Baba presently; she is asleep in +her cot, and quite safe there. But, if you would look at her now and +then I should be so grateful. I haven't had the cart, sent round to +the stables, for I must go up to the post office." +</P> + +<P> +"And I'll do it with pleasure, miss. You go out with a light heart; no +harm shall come to that little dear, that I'll promise you." +</P> + +<P> +The post office, which occupied one side of the tiny general shop, was +at the end of the straggling row of houses Graystone called its village +street; and Mr. Canning, the postmaster, besides watching over His +Majesty's mails, served customers with bacon and butter, sweets or +string, sugar or tea, as occasion required. He was weighing out very +brown and moist looking Demarara sugar when Christina entered the shop, +and he looked at her over his spectacles, with all the absorbing +interest felt by a villager for the stranger in their midst. +</P> + +<P> +"A shillingsworth of penny stamps, please," Christina said, when with +much deliberation he had tied up the parcel of brown sugar and handed +it to his customer, "and a packet of halfpenny cards." Then, when the +customer had departed, she asked a few questions about the +neighbourhood, adding, with well-feigned carelessness: +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose in such a small place as this you have no resident doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, no, miss," the man answered; "we have no one nearer than Dr. +Stokes—Dr. Martin Stokes. He lives on the other side of the hill at +Manborough. I hope the little lady is not ailing?" Mr. Canning asked +sympathetically, for Baba's gracious little personality had endeared +itself to the postmaster, and to the rest of the villagers. +</P> + +<P> +"No; oh, no!" Christina answered quickly; "she is very well, and we +like this lovely place so much. It is a good thing, though, to know +where the doctor lives, isn't it?" she added, brightly and evasively. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! there you are right, miss. Getting the doctor in time saves +fetching the undertaker, as I've said more than once," and Mr. Canning +bowed Christina out of his shop, with all the empressement of a +courtier. +</P> + +<P> +"Manborough—the other side of the hill." It was, as the girl knew, at +least three miles off, and Sandro, the fat pony who stood lazily +flicking his tail before the shop door, was not to be hurried under any +circumstances. +</P> + +<P> +"A matter of life and death!" Those words, and the anguished tones in +which they had been uttered, recurred to her, as she stood looking +thoughtfully up the village street, and before her eyes rose the white, +agonised face of the woman who uttered them. +</P> + +<P> +"I think you will carry through whatever you undertake." Other words +spoken in that same voice, came back to the girl's thoughts, and she +looked with a puzzled frown at Jem, the farm boy, who stood at the +pony's head. +</P> + +<P> +"Taking the short cut over the moor, I believe I can walk there as +quickly as Master Sandro would joggle along the main road," she +reflected, saying aloud after that second of reflection: +</P> + +<P> +"You can take the cart back, Jem; and please ask Mrs. Nairne if she +will be so very kind as to give Miss Baba her tea; and say I have been +detained." +</P> + +<P> +The boy nodded and drove off, whilst Christina walked away in the +opposite direction, following the main road to Manborough, until she +reached a point some way beyond the village, where a steep path—the +short-cut she had recollected—struck across the open moorland. She +had just reached this point, and was about to turn into the by-path, +when the hoot of a motor sounded behind her, and turning, she saw a +large car coming slowly up the road. It contained only two occupants; +and with a leap of the heart at her own audacity, Christina suddenly +resolved to stop them, and ask for their help. +</P> + +<P> +"A matter of life and death!" the words still rang in her ears, and +with the resourcefulness in emergency which belonged to her character, +she held up her hand to the two men in the car, and signalled to them +to stop. The great car instantly slowed down, and Christina, flushing +rosily at her own audacity, stepped forward to speak to one of the two +men who bent towards her. Both were gentlemen, she saw at once, and +one of them she recognised, and her heart almost stopped beating, when +her eyes met the grey eyes of Lady Cicely's cousin. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with grave courtesy, but evidently with no idea that +he had ever seen her before; and, indeed, on the one and only occasion +when they had met in Lady Cicely's boudoir, he had paid very scant +attention to the girl, beyond observing that she was white and thin, +and very shabbily dressed. The girl who stood now beside his car was +neatly and becomingly gowned in garments of soft dark green, which had +the effect of making her eyes look very deep and green; she was +flushing rosily and becomingly, and the wind blew her dark hair into +fascinating little curls about her forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! please forgive me for stopping you," she exclaimed breathlessly, +"but—are you going to Manborough?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Rupert answered, "we are going through Manborough. Is there +anything we can do for you?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina noticed again, as she had noticed on the occasion of their +first meeting, the peculiarly musical quality of his voice; its tones +sent little thrills running along her pulses, and a dreamy conviction +crept over her, that, if only he would go on speaking, she could +willingly stand here for ever, listening to his deep, vibrating voice. +His question roused her to the absurdity of her thoughts, and, flushing +more vividly, she answered: +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly dare ask you what flashed into my mind to ask, when I stopped +you. But I am very anxious to get quickly over to Manborough to the +doctor; it is an urgent case, and I——" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course we will drive you over," Rupert broke in quickly, opening +the door, and holding out his hand to help her into the back part of +the car. "I am very glad we happened to be passing." +</P> + +<P> +"It was dreadfully audacious of me to stop you," Christina answered, +smiling in response to his smile, "but I do so want to get to the +doctor as fast as I can, and when I saw the car, I thought of nothing +but what I wanted to do." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert glanced back at her, an amused twinkle in his grey eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't let obstacles hinder your attaining your goal?" he +questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't think I do," was the reply; "and especially when it is a +matter of real importance—one of life and death." By this time they +were whirling along the road at a pace which rendered conversation +difficult, and Christina sat back in her comfortable seat, looking +first at the man who had spoken to her, and was now steering the +machine, then at his companion who sat beside him. Now that Rupert was +no longer smiling pleasantly at her, she observed how grave and worn +was his face, what new deep lines seemed to have carved themselves +about his mouth, what a shadow of pain, or of some gnawing anxiety lay +in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"He is in trouble," the girl thought, her heart contracting with pity, +as her eyes rested on the strong, rugged face. "I wish I could help +him; he looks as if he had lost something he cared for with all his +soul, and it is breaking his heart!" +</P> + +<P> +From the strong face, with its lines of pain, her eyes turned to his +companion—a slight, alert man, military in build—and with fair, +good-humoured features devoid of any marked personality. +</P> + +<P> +His blue eyes had brightened when Christina stopped the car, and whilst +she talked to Rupert, he watched her expressive face with growing +admiration. They had only proceeded a short distance on their journey, +when he turned round to the girl, and said kindly: +</P> + +<P> +"We are going a great pace, and you are not dressed for motoring; you +must be cold. Will you wrap yourself in this?" and, drawing from +behind him a heavy fur coat, which he had brought as an extra wrap, if +necessary, he handed it to Christina, who gratefully rolled herself in +its warm folds. +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove! she looks more fetching than ever, with her face looking out +of all that fur," the blue-eyed young man reflected, when he again +glanced over his shoulder at her, "those green eyes of hers are like no +others I ever saw," and Christina, little as she was in the habit of +considering such things, could not help noticing how often during their +three-miles' drive, the young man turned to look at her, or to shout a +remark. The grey-eyed man looked round only once, to say shortly but +kindly: +</P> + +<P> +"Quite comfortable?" But even those two words in the vibrating voice, +had, as before, an oddly thrilling effect on Christina's pulses. +</P> + +<P> +That rapid drive across the moorland, in the low sunlight of the +December afternoon, seemed to her for long afterwards, like part of +some extraordinary dream—a dream in which she, and the grey-eyed man, +and the beautiful white-faced woman, were all playing parts; a dream +which had no real relation at all to the commonplace details of +everyday life. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is Manborough," Rupert called out, when, over the brow of a steep +hill, they came in sight of clustering red-roofed houses amongst pine +woods; "now where does the doctor live? What is his name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Doctor Martin Stokes is his name; I don't know what his house is +called, but Manborough is only a small place," Christina answered. "If +you will very kindly put me down in the main street, I shall easily +find the right house." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, we will drive you up in state," was the laughing rejoinder; +and the car once more slowed down, whilst Rupert put a question to a +passing rustic, who jerked his thumb to the right. +</P> + +<P> +"Doctor's house be up among they pines," he said; "Doctor calls 'un +Pinewood Lodge." +</P> + +<P> +"Unromantic and ordinary person, that doctor," said Rupert, with a +short laugh; "this country and those woods might inspire a man to +invent a name with some sort of poetry in it. Ah! here is the lodge in +question—and as ordinary as its name," he concluded, stopping the car +before a closed brown gate, through which a well-kept drive led to a +red-brick house, that might have been transplanted bodily to these +heights, from a London suburb. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know how to say thank you properly," Christina said a little +tremulously, when she stood by the brown gate, helped out of the car by +the blue-eyed young man, who had skilfully forestalled Rupert in this +act of gallantry; "it is very, very good of you to have helped me, and +will you please forgive me for being so bold and stopping you as I did?" +</P> + +<P> +Rupert laughed and held out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think twice about it," he said heartily. "I am very glad you +did stop the car, and very glad we were able to save so much time for +you. I hope the doctor will pull your patient well through the +illness." His hand closed over Christina's small one, the blue-eyed +man likewise shook her by the hand, and before the door bell of the +doctor's house had been answered, the car had whirled out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor little girl, she was very prettily grateful," Rupert said to his +companion. "I wonder whose illness she is agonising over. Plucky +thing to do, stopping us as she did." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a young woman of resource," the other answered. "I like that +sort of 'git up and git' way of tackling a difficulty. Now, in her +place, I should have just begun to think what might have happened if I +<I>had</I> stopped somebody's car, by the time the car was two miles further +down the road." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Wilfred, you hit your own character to a nicety," Rupert +answered with a laugh; "but it's only your confounded laziness of mind +that prevents your being as much on the spot as that little green-eyed +girl." +</P> + +<P> +"Very fetching eyes, too," Wilfred mused aloud, "and a smile that she +ought to find useful. Can't we come back this way to-morrow, old man? +We might find she wanted some errand done in the opposite direction, +and I'll keep a sharp look-out for her all along the road!" +</P> + +<P> +"As it happens, I have every intention of coming back this way," Rupert +answered drily, "though not in order to enable you to rescue distressed +damsels. You were not intended for a knight-errant, my good Wilfred; +leave well alone. But I am bound to come back through Graystone. I +promised Cicely that on my way home from Lewes, I would look in on Baba +and her new nurse. They are lodging at old Mrs. Nairne's farm, and +it's somewhere near Graystone village. Cicely wants to know whether +the new nurse is all she should be; we will look in upon them on our +way back." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"A VERY BEAUTIFUL LADY." +</H4> + +<P> +The doctor's consulting-room was as uninteresting as the rest of the +house, inside and out; and whilst Christina looked at the orthodox red +walls, the few conventional engravings, the closely-curtained windows, +and the severely correct chairs and tables, a feeling of depression +stole over her. Almost unconsciously she had hoped that the doctor of +whom she had come in search, would prove to be an individual of no +ordinary description; she had an odd fancy that the situation with +which he would have to deal, would be one that was out of the common, +and the bare thought of sending a commonplace, country doctor to help +the beautiful lady with the anguished face, was intolerable to her. +More than once, whilst she sat and waited in the dreary room, whose +outlook into the depths of the pine woods was as depressing as +everything else about it, she half-rose, with a determination to go +elsewhere and seek another doctor. Remembering, however, the urgency +of her message, and the uncertainty of finding another medical man +within any reasonable distance, she was deterred from acting upon this +impulse, though her heart sank with apprehension when the door at last +opened. But the man who entered was in no sense the kind of man she +had dreaded to see; there was nothing ordinary or commonplace, either +in his own personality or in his greeting of her, and Christina could +only feel devoutly thankful that she had not been misled by the mere +externals of house and furniture. +</P> + +<P> +"Now will you tell me what I can do for you?" The voice was cheery and +kind; it gave her a sense of helpfulness, and the man's personality, +like his voice, brought into the room an atmosphere of power and +strength. +</P> + +<P> +He was a short man, with very bright brown eyes, a clean-shaven face, +and a mouth in which humour and determination struggled for the +mastery. But beyond and above everything else, it was a reliable face: +Christina knew, with a subtle and sure instinct, that whatever this man +undertook, would be carried through, if heaven and earth had to be +moved to bring about the carrying. +</P> + +<P> +"Doctor Stokes?" she said enquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I am not Doctor Stokes," he answered. "Doctor Stokes is away; he +was summoned away suddenly. My name is Fergusson, and I am doing +Doctor Stokes's work." +</P> + +<P> +"I am very glad," Christina exclaimed naïvely, with a fervour of which +she was not aware, until she saw the twinkle of amusement in the brown +eyes watching her. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!—I—beg your pardon," she stammered. "I ought not——" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not my pardon you must beg," the doctor answered, laughing a +spontaneous, and very boyish laugh, "and I will promise not to tell +Doctor Stokes what you said," he added, his eyes still twinkling as he +saw the girl's confusion. +</P> + +<P> +"But indeed—please—oh! do understand," she faltered; "I don't know +Doctor Stokes. I am a stranger here, and I never saw him in my life, +but——" +</P> + +<P> +"Then why were you so glad to find I was not he?" asked Fergusson, his +amused look turning to one of puzzled enquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"It sounds so silly," Christina said with seeming irrelevance, "but—I +didn't think the person who lived in—this kind of room—was the sort +of doctor I wanted to find." +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson threw back his head and laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you judge all humanity by the rooms in which it lives?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody but a commonplace person could live contentedly in a room like +this," Christina answered vehemently, "or call his house Pinewood +Lodge, or have a house just like this house." +</P> + +<P> +"I rather agree with you, but Doctor Stokes is a total stranger to me +too; we may be libelling him entirely; and—meanwhile, what can I do +for you? +</P> + +<P> +"I have come to ask you to go somewhere, on a matter of life and +death," she answered, "but——" +</P> + +<P> +"Life and death?"—the doctor's smiling face grew grave—"then we must +not delay. Where am I wanted?" He touched a bell by the fireplace. +"I will order the car at once. Tell me all details as briefly as +possible." +</P> + +<P> +His humorous accent had dropped; he spoke in terse, business-like +tones, his brown eyes looked searchingly at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Bring the car round immediately," he said to a man who answered his +bell. "Now, tell me everything quickly," he went on, turning back to +Christina. +</P> + +<P> +"Before you go, I have to ask you to promise not to tell any living +soul where you have been; and you must swear to tell nobody what you +see and hear when you get to the house." +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson stared at her blankly. +</P> + +<P> +"Swear secrecy about where I go, and what I find there?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—swear it," she answered, quailing a little before the sudden +sternness of his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"But why?—in heaven's name, why?" he questioned, his voice growing +imperious. "What reason can you have for making such extraordinary +conditions?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!—I have nothing to do with the conditions," Christina cried, "and +please—<I>please</I> don't look doubtful, and as if you didn't mean to do +what I ask. I have only come here as a messenger. There was nobody +else to send, and the poor, beautiful lady seemed nearly distracted +with grief." +</P> + +<P> +"What poor, beautiful lady? You are talking in riddles. Try to tell +me quietly where I have to go, and what is the name of the lady who +needs me." +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know," Christina faltered, conscious of how strangely her +words must fall upon his ears, when she saw the bewilderment deepen on +his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I was passing a house," she said quickly, before he could speak, "and +a lady came running out—a very beautiful lady. She asked me to fetch +a doctor. She said it was a matter of life and death, and she made me +promise to ask the doctor to swear secrecy—absolute secrecy. That is +all I know—really all I know. But I am sure she is urgently in need +of help." +</P> + +<P> +"What an extraordinary story!" the doctor said in a low voice, "and you +don't know who is ill? or what is the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not in the least. I conclude the patient is a man, because the lady +spoke of 'him' and 'he,' but I know nothing more than I have told you. +You will go to her? You will make the promise she asks? I can't bear +to think of her sad, beautiful face, and her wonderful eyes." +</P> + +<P> +"I will go—yes, certainly I will go," Fergusson exclaimed, after a +moment's pause; "if it is really a matter of life and death, I have no +choice but to go." +</P> + +<P> +"And—you will promise?" +</P> + +<P> +He looked into her face with a curiously grave and questioning glance. +</P> + +<P> +"You know of no reason why I should refuse to take such an +unprecedented oath?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing!" she answered emphatically. "I know of no reason, +either for or against your doing it. Only—when I think of her +beautiful face, and of her eyes that seemed to hold all the sorrow in +the world, I feel as if you could only do what she asked you." +</P> + +<P> +"And if I refuse to swear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall refuse to tell you where the lady lives," she answered +with spirit, "and I shall go and find another doctor. But—oh! please +do what she asks." +</P> + +<P> +A smile broke over Fergusson's grave face. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't half like the business," he said; "I am not fond of swearing +in the dark, so to speak, and what guarantee have I that I am not going +to mix myself up in some discreditable affair?" +</P> + +<P> +"The lady I saw could not do anything discreditable," Christina +exclaimed warmly; "it is unthinkable." +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson's smile deepened. +</P> + +<P> +"She has a warm advocate in you; you are not a friend of hers?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never saw her before," Christina answered. "I am staying near +Graystone. I am nurse to Lady Cicely Redesdale's little girl, and it +was only by chance that we were passing the beautiful lady's house +to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"There comes the car," Fergusson said, as the crunching of wheels on +gravel became audible; "now I will drive you as far as our ways go +together, and you shall tell me where I am to go. I will not take my +man, lest there should be any risk of my destination being discovered. +And—I will take the required oath. Mind—I do it much against my +will, but, if it is a matter of life and death, I—can't refuse it. +Come—your beautiful lady's secrets will be absolutely safe with me." +</P> + +<P> +As well as she was able, Christina gave a minute description of the +lonely house in the valley, where she had received the strange message, +and Fergusson, having deposited her safely within a very few hundred +yards of Mrs. Nairne's farm, raced on across the moor and down the +steep lane, which the little cart had traversed so short a time before. +</P> + +<P> +"Never knew there <I>was</I> any house down here," he mused, as he drove +further and further along the lane; "uncanny sort of place." The short +December day was drawing to a close. No ray of the sunshine that still +shone on the moorland above, penetrated into this valley, whose steep, +thickly-wooded sides threw deep shadows across it. "What on earth +possessed anybody to build a house in this gloomy hole, when all the +uplands were there to be built upon?" So Fergusson's musings ran on, +whilst the shadows thickened round him, the gloom of the place +beginning to oppress him like a nightmare. The roughness and steepness +of the road obliged him to proceed slowly and with great caution, and +the fast-fading light made his progress a difficult one. It was a +relief to him, therefore, when, through the semi-darkness, he became +aware of a high stone wall on his right, and descried, above the wall, +the dim outline of a chimney, from which smoke issued. +</P> + +<P> +"This, presumably, is the place," he muttered, stopping the car before +a door in the wall; "and now, how does one get into such a very +prison-like abode?" +</P> + +<P> +He had by this time alighted, and was standing in the lane, looking +first at the closed green door, then at the frowning wall, and finally +up the steep way by which he had come—a way which, in the fast-falling +darkness, was beginning to resemble a long black tunnel. +</P> + +<P> +Now that the sound of his car's machinery had ceased, the silence +around him was very eerie, and Fergusson found that some words of the +burial service were beating backwards and forwards in his brain— +</P> + +<P> +"The grave and gate of death ... The grave and gate of death." +</P> + +<P> +He made a great effort to shake off his uncanny sensations, but they +were only heightened by the gloom about him, and by the death-like +silence which brooded over the valley. The lane, as he could faintly +see, ended only a few yards beyond the gate at which he stood, and +merged itself into a grassy track amongst the densest woodland; and the +house, with its surrounding wall, was so enclosed by woods, that they +seemed to be on the point of swallowing it up altogether. +</P> + +<P> +"What a place for a crime—for any number of crimes," Fergusson +reflected, with a shudder, as he peered about the green door, trying to +discover any means of making his presence known to the inmates of the +house beyond the wall. But neither bell nor knocker was visible, and +the doctor, after banging vainly on the wood of the door, moved away, +and walked slowly round the wall, seeking for another entrance. A +narrow, grass-grown path, evidently rarely used, ran close under the +wall, but Fergusson made the whole circuit of the place without finding +any other means of entrance, excepting an old iron gate, rusty with +age, choked up with weeds and rank grass. It was obvious that the gate +had not been opened for years, and that it was certainly not reckoned +by the inhabitants of the house as one of the entrances. Fergusson +peered through the bars, but the light was so dim, and the grass and +undergrowth so thick and high, that beyond getting an impression of a +neglected garden, he saw nothing. He fancied, however, that he could +catch a distant murmur of voices, and he called out loudly: +</P> + +<P> +"Is there any means of getting in here? I am the doctor." Total +silence answered him, a silence only broken by the sharp clang of a +closing door inside the house. When the echoes of the sharply clanging +door died away, silence settled down more deeply than ever upon the +place; and Fergusson, as he completed his circuit of the walls, and +found himself once more at the green door, felt strongly tempted to +climb into his car again and drive away. +</P> + +<P> +But the remembrance of the girl who had so lately stood in his +consulting-room, looking at him with wistful eyes, speaking in so +appealing a voice, determined him to make one more attempt to gain +access to the inaccessible house, and, lifting up his hands, he +battered on the green door with heavy thuds that reverberated loudly in +the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"They must be all deaf or dead, if that fails to bring them out," he +exclaimed grimly, pausing for a moment to take breath; then, when no +one responded to his efforts, he was beginning again to hammer at the +door, when the sound of a footstep fell on his ears, and a woman's +voice from within the gate cried— +</P> + +<P> +"Who is there?" +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor—Dr. Fergusson," he answered impatiently; and upon that, he +heard the grinding of a key in the lock, bolts were shot back, and the +door was opened. A woman stood in the aperture, a woman whom Fergusson +took to be a servant, and she stood aside, a little, as though inviting +him to enter. +</P> + +<P> +"I was asked to come here," he said. "Is there someone ill? Am I +wanted?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," the woman answered quietly. "Will you come in? I am sorry +there was any delay in answering the door, but—I—couldn't get away." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was low and shaken, and Fergusson now observed that she was +trembling violently. +</P> + +<P> +"Come—in—quickly, sir," she jerked out. "I am afraid what may +happen—come quickly!" Whilst she spoke, she was locking and bolting +the green door again; then, without uttering another syllable, she led +the way up a flagged path, across a bare and deserted garden, to a +white stone house, through whose open front door a stream of light fell +across an unkempt, overgrown lawn. +</P> + +<P> +"This way, sir," the woman said, when, having entered the door, she +turned across a wide hall; "this way—quickly!" As she uttered the +last word, a little cry broke the stillness of the house—a woman's +cry, sharp with fear, and the doctor's guide, her face suddenly grown +livid and pinched, broke into a run. They were passing along a +corridor, which intersected the hall at one end, and even in his hurry +Fergusson noticed the thickness of the carpet beneath his feet, and the +heavy curtains that shrouded the windows on his right; noticed, too, +that after that one short sharp cry, a silence had fallen over the +house again—a silence as sinister and uncanny as that in the valley +outside. +</P> + +<P> +His guide paused before a door on their left, and as she turned her +plain but kindly face towards him, he saw how strained and ashen it had +grown, and what a great fear looked out of her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"It is so quiet," she whispered in low, horror-stricken accents, "so +quiet—I—am—afraid!" +</P> + +<P> +Pushing her aside, Fergusson opened the door, ashamed of feeling how +hard his own heart was knocking against his ribs, ashamed of that +momentary shrinking from what he might find inside the room; but his +involuntary shrinking did not bring with it even a second of +hesitation. He opened the door widely, and stepped straight into the +apartment. Excepting for a night-light burning on a chest of drawers, +the room was in darkness, and he could make out nothing of his +surroundings. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he +uttered a short exclamation of horror, and moved hurriedly forwards, +calling to the woman behind him to bring a light, and to bring it +quickly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"IT IS ONLY HE WHO MATTERS!" +</H4> + +<P> +Christina's thoughts that evening often travelled to the silent valley, +and to the beautiful woman with the anguished face, who had made so +profound an impression upon her. Having tucked Baba safely into her +cot, and heard the soft breathing which indicated that the blue-eyed +baby was sleeping, Christina returned to the sitting-room, and drawing +an armchair close to the fire, took up a novel in which she was deeply +interested. But to-night her thoughts refused to follow the chequered +fortunes of her heroine, and she no longer felt herself the least +thrilled over the approaching climax of the story. The strange piece +of real life into which she had been unwittingly plunged, interested +her far more than any heroes or heroines of fiction, and she soon found +herself with her book on her lap, and her own eyes fixed on the glowing +coals, whilst her mind recapitulated all the events of the past few +hours. +</P> + +<P> +"It is just like something entrancingly exciting in a melodrama," she +reflected: "that lonely house, and the beautiful lady with the white +face, and that silent valley." Remembering the silence in the valley, +she shuddered a little, and wondered whether the lady of the +unfathomable eyes ever minded the loneliness and silence; whether +sometimes she was afraid—down there in the stillness of those +sheltering woodlands. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't suppose I shall ever know any more about her," the girl's +thoughts ran on, "but I should like to see her again. I never saw +anybody like her in my life before, and she looked so sad; I wish I +could have helped her more." From this point her reflections passed on +to subsequent events of the day: to her own audacious stopping of the +big motor; to the grey-eyed man whose failure to recognise her had +given her just a tiny pang of regret; to the blue-eyed man, who had +looked at her with an admiration to which she was quite unaccustomed. +The memory of it brought a little flush to her face, even now that she +sat alone in the firelight, and brought with it, too, a stab of +resentment. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I quite like anybody to look at me like that," she +thought; "and, after all, even if I am only a nurse, earning my own +living—I—am still a woman." She drew up her head with a proud +gesture characteristic of her, and then her reflections slipped away +from the two men who had driven her to the doctor's house, and wandered +on to the doctor himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I like <I>that</I> man," she murmured emphatically, lifting her foot to +push a protruding coal between the bars; "he wouldn't ever look at any +woman as if he didn't respect her, and a woman might put her whole +trust in him; so she might in—that other!" Rupert's face rose again +before her mental vision, and she wondered as she had wondered many +times that afternoon and evening, what was the pain that had carved +such deep lines in his face, and brought so haunting a look of misery +into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"His eyes seem as if he was looking all the time for something he has +lost," she thought, repeating her former musings; "perhaps, if he is +Lady Cicely's cousin, I may see him again some day. I wonder what his +name is—besides Rupert? I only heard him called Rupert." She leant +back in her chair, her book still upon her knee, her eyes seeing many +pictures in the coals—pictures in which a man with a rugged face, and +kind grey eyes, seemed to be continually walking beside a tall lady +with a beautiful white face, and eyes of unfathomable sadness and +mystery, until the pictures merged themselves into dreams, and +Christina slept peacefully. A loud knocking at the door startled her +into wakefulness, and jumping to her feet, she confronted Mrs. Nairne, +who looked at her with injured amusement. +</P> + +<P> +"Been asleep by the fire, missy, I suppose. I couldn't make you hear +nohow, knock as I might. There's a gentleman in a motor-car at the +door, wanting to speak to you all in a hurry." +</P> + +<P> +"A gentleman—in a motor—wanting <I>me</I>?" Christina asked, feeling that +she must still be in the world of dreams. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he said he wanted to speak to the young lady who was staying +here, with the little girl," Mrs. Nairne answered, and Christina, a +faint hope stirring at her heart that Lady Cicely's cousin might have +come to ask her about Baba, went quickly to the farmhouse door, to be +greeted by Dr. Fergusson, who awaited her with obvious impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"I came to see if I could get some help from you," he said, with no +other preamble. "I have been to the house in the valley, and things +there are pretty bad." +</P> + +<P> +"But—how can I help?" Christina asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to come back with me to the house, and stay there for the +night, with the lady of whom you told me to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"I could not do that," Christina answered decidedly; "it is out of the +question. I am here in charge of a little child. I could not go away +for the night, and leave her." +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't she be safe with the woman of the house?" Fergusson asked +imperiously; "she looked to me a very reliable body." +</P> + +<P> +Although they were alone at the door, he and Christina spoke in low +voices; perhaps some of the mystery of the lonely valley and shut-in +house, lingered with them still. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Nairne is in every way reliable, but Lady Cicely, my little +charge's mother, has trusted me so entirely, I should feel I was +abusing her trust if I did what you ask." +</P> + +<P> +"I am at my wits' end to know what to do," was the answer. "I don't +profess to be able to understand the inwardness of all I saw at the +house I have just left, but it is plain that there is some vital need +for secrecy. I can't possibly send a woman from the village to these +people, and yet they must have somebody for the night. I came to you, +because I am sure you can hold your tongue." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I can do that"; Christina laughed a little, and drew more +closely round her the cloak she had snatched from its peg as she came +to the door, "and I would gladly—oh, most gladly, do anything I could +to help that poor lady. But, my duty seems to lie here." +</P> + +<P> +"I should only ask you to come for a few hours. I will undertake that +you shall be back here before your little charge is ready for you in +the morning. It is vitally necessary that someone should be with 'that +poor lady,' as you rightly call her, and my thoughts flew at once to +you." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I knew what was right to do," Christina said wistfully; and at +her words, Dr. Fergusson sprang from his car and seized her hands in +his. +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell you," he said firmly; "it is right to come with me. I +will explain to Mrs. Nairne as much of the circumstances as it is +necessary she should know, and I have no doubt she will come to the +rescue. Go and fetch whatever you will need for the night; it will be +a night spent in sitting-up, not in bed; and I will settle with the +good woman." +</P> + +<P> +Swept off her feet by the masterfulness which brooked no resistance, +Christina obediently did his bidding, and when she returned to the +door, found Mrs. Nairne in close conversation with the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"There, missy, that'll be all right, never you fear," she said as +Christina appeared; "the doctor, he've been telling me there's a poor +lady in great trouble, and that you could comfort her by sitting up +with her a bit. Why, I'll sleep with the little missy with all the +pleasure in life, and you can feel as safe about her, as if you was +here yourself." +</P> + +<P> +When the doctor had handed her into the car, and they drove swiftly +away, the girl felt as if she were merely a puppet, whose strings were +being pulled by Fergusson's strong hands. She had a curious sense of +helplessness, that was not wholly unpleasant. So dominating was the +personality of the man who sat beside her, that she was convinced he +was only doing what was right in whirling her away with him through the +darkness; and his brown eyes were so steadfast, so reliable, that when +their glance met hers, she felt safe. He spoke scarcely at all to her, +until they had turned off the moorland into the steep lane, that led to +the house amongst the woods. Then he said quietly, steering the car at +a walking pace: +</P> + +<P> +"I found an uncomfortable state of things in the house to which we are +going, when I got there to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Was someone very ill?" Christina questioned; "the lady said 'a matter +of life and death.'" +</P> + +<P> +"It was certainly that," he answered grimly, "considering I was only +just in time to save her from being murdered, by as violent a homicidal +maniac as I ever saw." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" Christina exclaimed with horror. +</P> + +<P> +"At first, I couldn't get into the place at all. Then a servant came +to the gate, and she seemed in a terrible state. No wonder! She took +me into the house, and in one of the rooms I found the lady of whom you +have been speaking, in the grip of a madwoman, lighting for her life. +My God! I was only just in time. It seems the woman had been ill, and +had had paroxysms of what they thought was delirium. As a matter of +fact it was acute mania; and, as I say, I was only just in time." +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done with——" Christina broke off with a shudder, but +Fergusson saw that her face was white. +</P> + +<P> +"With the unfortunate madwoman? I have secured her for the time, and I +mean to drive her over to-night to the nearest asylum. But I must take +the servant with me, and that is why I want you. Your beautiful lady +cannot be left alone." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought it must have been a man who was ill," Christina said; "she +certainly spoke of 'him' and 'he.'" +</P> + +<P> +"I saw no man, only the madwoman and a servant." +</P> + +<P> +"And why is there all this mystery?" Christina said, with bewilderment +in her voice; "what makes so much secrecy necessary?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! that I do not know," the doctor answered gravely. "I can't +understand it myself, but it is quite obvious that for some reason the +lady of the house is most anxious to keep her whereabouts hidden from +the world. And—when one looks at her, one feels it is impossible to +do anything but respect her wishes, and help her keep her +secret—whatever it may be," he added under his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"My beautiful lady has bewitched him, too," Christina reflected +shrewdly; and, for the rest of the way, spent her time in silently +speculating upon what lay before her. +</P> + +<P> +The green door stood ajar now, and a lighted lantern had been placed on +the ground just inside it. By its rather uncertain light, Fergusson +led her across the garden and into the hall, where a wood fire was +burning brightly. They did not, however, linger here, but, crossing +it, ascended a wide staircase to the floor above, on which were several +rooms. The door of one of these stood wide open, a stream of light +from it flooded the landing, and the doctor, tapping gently on the +door, entered, Christina following him half fearfully, dreading what +she might see. But no dreadful sight met her gaze. She saw only a +simply-furnished bedroom, and in the bed, propped up by pillows, and +with her face turned anxiously towards the door, lay the beautiful +woman, whose image had haunted the girl ever since the afternoon. She +looked, if possible, even whiter than when she had accosted Christina +in the lane, and her eyes seemed darker and more heavily pencilled with +shadows; but she greeted her visitors with a smile, and held out her +hand in welcome. +</P> + +<P> +"How good of you to come," she said, grasping the girl's hand in a +nervous, clinging clasp; "how very good of you. I think I should +really have been quite safe just for a few hours, but the doctor would +not let me stay here——" +</P> + +<P> +"Alone?" Fergusson exclaimed, when her sentence remained unfinished; +"certainly not. Now, see here, Miss——" he paused and looked at +Christina. +</P> + +<P> +"It sounds very absurd to say so, but I don't know your name," he added. +</P> + +<P> +"Moore," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Miss Moore, all I want you to do is to sit with this lady, see +that she takes some food through the night, and don't allow her to +worry about anything." +</P> + +<P> +A faint laugh broke from the woman in the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"What an easy order to give, and what a hard one to carry out," she +said; "but—I will promise—to try and keep my mind at rest—as far as +possible," she added under her breath; "and you are taking poor Marion +where she will be safe and well cared for?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am taking her where she will do no one any harm," Fergusson answered +grimly, "and I will bring your servant back as soon as I can. She is a +treasure, that servant of yours." +</P> + +<P> +"I think she is worth her weight in gold," was the quiet answer; "she +is more than servant; she is a friend—a faithful, loyal friend." +</P> + +<P> +"You are fortunate to have found such an one," Fergusson smiled, "and +now I must go and get that poor soul away; and Miss Moore will keep you +company, and take care of you, until I bring your servant back." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke the last words he was gone, closing the door softly behind +him, and carrying with him some of the sense of health-giving strength +and vitality, with which his very presence seemed to fill the room. +</P> + +<P> +Unusual as was the position in which she found herself, Christina had +sufficient perception to see that the nerves of the woman she had come +to tend, were already stretched to breaking point, and that a normal +manner, and matter-of-fact way of taking the situation for granted, +would do more than anything else to relieve the tension. +</P> + +<P> +She took off her hat and cloak, therefore, with quiet deliberation, +unrolled the dressing-gown she had brought with her, and was proceeding +to hang it over a chair before the fire, when her patient said suddenly: +</P> + +<P> +"Watch them go; tell me when they have gone. Tell me when you and I +are alone." +</P> + +<P> +Christina moved from the fire to the bedside. +</P> + +<P> +"You want me to see them off from the gate?" she asked, and the other +nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Lock and bolt the gate after them. When the doctor comes back, +we shall hear him. But the door must be locked behind them now." Her +voice rose in feverish excitement, her hands moved restlessly on the +sheet, her eyes were bright with eagerness, and Christina could have +sworn that fear looked out of them, too. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I will go and do as you wish," she said very gently, her +hand stroking the restlessly moving hands; "you will lie very quietly +here whilst I am gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, oh yes!" the accents were impatient. "Only go—go down now. +They must be ready to start." +</P> + +<P> +Slipping on her cloak again, Christina ran downstairs, pausing half-way +as she heard a sound of voices and footsteps coming from the corridor +that intersected the hall, and that was just out of her sight. +</P> + +<P> +"Carefully—lift her feet a little—take care round this corner—so," +she heard the sentence jerked out in the doctor's voice, and from her +post of observation, she presently saw him emerge slowly into the hall, +walking backwards, and holding an inanimate woman's head and shoulders +in his arms. Holding her feet, bearing half the burden of her +unconscious form, was a tall woman of the servant class, upon whose +face the rays of the hall lamps fell fully, and Christina could see all +the shrewd kindliness of the plain features. +</P> + +<P> +"Gently—wait a moment to rest. There—that's right—now then. Ah! +the lantern," he exclaimed; "we must have the lantern across that dark +garden." +</P> + +<P> +"I will bring the lantern," Christina called out, rather tremulously, +but running down the stairs without delay. "I was sent to lock the +gate after you; I can light you across the garden." +</P> + +<P> +She picked up the lantern from the hall table upon which Fergusson had +placed it; and, with one shuddering glance at the flushed, +heavily-breathing woman, who was being carried from the house, she put +herself at the head of the strange little procession, lighting their +footsteps as well as she was able. It was no easy task to lift the +unfortunate creature, first through the green door, and then into the +car, but Fergusson being an athletic man, with muscles in excellent +order, and the tall servant being strong and well-built, their joint +efforts succeeded in laying their burden along the cushions. +</P> + +<P> +Christina stood at the door for a moment, watching the car turn up the +lane, but when its brilliant lights were engulfed by the darkness, she +turned back with a shiver into the garden, locking and bolting the door +with trembling fingers, and running up the dark path as though all the +powers of evil were at her heels. The front door of the house she +secured as firmly as the other, then, more than half-ashamed of the +nameless terror that shook her, she sat down for a moment on an oak +chest by the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"You silly coward," she said to herself; "you know you and a sick woman +are alone in the house, and what are you afraid of?" But for all her +attempt at courage, as she flew up the stairs again, she repeatedly +looked over her shoulder, with a nervous dread of she knew not what. +</P> + +<P> +"Have they gone—safely gone? And is the door locked?" The words +greeted her ears directly she entered the bedroom upstairs, and the +dark eyes of the woman in the bed looked at her, with agonised +questioning and dread. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; they have driven away, and everything is locked up, and now I +want to make you comfortable, and poke up the fire, and we shall be +quite cosy in this nice warm room." Christina spoke cheerfully, all +trace of her own nervous fears had vanished; she was intent on calming +the troubled woman, whose feverish excitement was still only too +apparent. +</P> + +<P> +"Nice and cosy?" the woman laughed drearily. "I can't rest quietly +until I know:—he—— Can I trust you?" She pulled herself bolt +upright in the bed, and looked fixedly at Christina; "will you be +silent about everything you see, everything you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course. But, you will try and go to sleep now, won't you?" +Christina said soothingly, with a startled certainty that her beautiful +charge must be delirious. +</P> + +<P> +"Go to sleep?" The dreary laugh came again. "How could I sleep? I +must lie here; there is no help for that. Marion has done her work +well, though, poor soul! she did not mean to harm me. But I can't lie +here whilst he—you will promise to keep silence?" +</P> + +<P> +"I promise," Christina said hastily, intent only on quieting her at any +cost; "is there something you want me to do?" +</P> + +<P> +The other nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Go along the passage that leads off this landing," she said, "knock at +the third door on the left; and ask—my—the person who is there if +there is anything he needs. He may need—food—we could do nothing for +him whilst Marion—and the doctor——" +</P> + +<P> +She dropped back upon the pillow with closed eyes, and so exhausted a +look, that Christina bent over her, too anxious about her well-being to +think of her own surprise at the order just given her. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind me," the dark eyes opened, the brows drew together in a +frown; "only go to him—and do what he needs. I shall be all right; it +is only he who matters." +</P> + +<P> +Unfeignedly puzzled, and with all her nervous tremors trooping back +upon her, Christina went across the landing, and turned along the +passage as directed. Who and what was she going to find in that third +room on the left? And why was there a necessity for all this secrecy? +Her heart beat very fast, so fast that it nearly suffocated her, as she +passed on and paused at the third door, wondering again with a sinking +dread, what new mystery was to be revealed to her? To her soft knock, +a man's voice responded: +</P> + +<P> +"Come in," and she entered a warm and luxuriously-furnished apartment, +which appeared to be sitting-room and bedroom combined. Closely +wrapped in a thick dressing-gown, and seated in an armchair by the +fire, was a man whose cadaverous face and sunken eyes seemed to show +recent recovery from some severe illness; and his efforts to rise, when +he saw a stranger at the door, only resulted in his sinking back with a +groan. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" he asked; "why have you come? Where is Madge?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina fancied she detected a faint foreign accent in his words, +though he spoke fluent English. +</P> + +<P> +"I was sent by—by the lady of the house," Christina answered. +"I—don't know her name, but she is—very tired." She substituted that +word for "ill," when she saw how the sick man started and flushed. +"She asked me to come and see if there is anything you need." +</P> + +<P> +"Madge tired?" he said in a slow, dreamy voice; "it is so difficult to +think that Madge can be tired. She used to be such a tower of +strength, always such a tower of strength." +</P> + +<P> +His sunken eyes glanced wistfully at Christina; she felt compelled to +utter some words of comfort. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps she is only tired—just for the time," she answered, though in +uttering the words a remorseful remembrance smote her of the fragile +white face of the woman she had left. "She will feel stronger again +soon." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think so? Do you really think so." He leant forward, and +Christina saw how his hands were trembling; "you see, I feel—I can't +help feeling—that it is my fault—all my fault. First, the old +trouble; and then, my coming back to burden—— But you are a stranger +to us," he exclaimed, breaking off and looking at her with a new +alertness; "why did Madge send a stranger? Where is Elizabeth?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina, jumping to the conclusion that Elizabeth must be the +kindly-faced servant, and anxious to check the sick man's rising +excitement, said gently: +</P> + +<P> +"She is busy just now, and they sent me because I am a friend; and you +may be quite sure that I shall never speak a word to anyone of what I +see or hear in this house." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you don't know——" he began, breaking off again, and looking at +her almost furtively. +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing," was the grave response. "I came here just for +to-night, to help—because—because Elizabeth is busy. That is all." +</P> + +<P> +To her great relief, he accepted her explanation without further +questioning, the truth being that his brain, exhausted by illness, +refused to work with any rapidity, being ready enough to accept +whatever was put before it; and, with a weary sigh, he turned away from +the girl, and held out his thin hands to the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, can I fetch you anything, or do anything for you?" Christina +asked brightly; "try to look upon me as—as Elizabeth, and let me do +for you what she would do if she were here." +</P> + +<P> +His eyes turned to her again; he smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not very like Elizabeth," he said, his glance taking in the +slight figure in its neat green gown—the girlish face, the eager eyes; +"a very fertile imagination would be needed to see Elizabeth in you." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I am not half so capable as Elizabeth," she said, ignoring +the subtle compliment, "but I will do my best." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you give me your arm to the bed then? I am too much of a cripple +to walk there alone, but I can get myself into it when I am there. And +if you would further be good enough to bring me from next door some +milk, and whatever other eatables Elizabeth has prepared for me, I +shall be very grateful. Though I cannot imagine why Elizabeth is +leaving me to a stranger to-night," he went on, with the petulance of a +sick child. +</P> + +<P> +Christina thought it best to ignore the latter half of this sentence, +and having fetched from the dressing-room next door, a tray of +appetising viands, which she deposited on a table by the bed, she came +to the sick man's side to give him the help he needed. It was with +great difficulty that he dragged himself from his chair, and the girl's +strength was taxed to the utmost to support his weight, when he leant +heavily upon her shoulder. He was considerably taller than he had +looked when sitting in the chair; and he was so weak, and apparently so +crippled, that his progress across the room was a slow and painful one. +Short though the transit was from chair to bed, his breath came fast as +he sank down upon the pillow, and for several seconds he looked so worn +and exhausted, that Christina did not dare to leave him. Into the milk +put ready for him, she poured some brandy from a flask on the tray, +and, holding the glass to his lips, was thankful to see that he could +drink its contents, and that having done so, the colour gradually +returned to his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Better now," he said slowly, opening his sunken eyes and looking at +Christina with a smile that gave his face a pathetic wistfulness. "I +shall be all right soon." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I do anything more for you?" Christina asked, still troubled by +his exhausted looks. +</P> + +<P> +"No, nothing more. Come back in half an hour to see if I am all +right—just to console Madge," he answered, smiling again, as she +softly stole away. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he ask many questions? Had he heard anything of what happened? +He was not frightened or upset?" The questions poured out in a torrent +from the lips of the white-faced woman in the other room, when +Christina re-entered it. She was sitting up in the bed, her hands +clasped in front of her, her eyes dark with anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"He asked very little," Christina answered, "and I think he could not +have been upset by hearing anything that happened. I am sure he could +have heard nothing," she added earnestly; "he is going to bed now, and +I am to go back presently to see that he is all right. He said it +would comfort Madge." +</P> + +<P> +A smile flickered over the white face. +</P> + +<P> +"My poor Max," she whispered under her breath. "I could not bear it if +anything else happened to hurt him; I could <I>not</I> bear it." The +passion in her voice brought a lump into Christina's throat. "He has +had so much to bear. Ah! my God! give him peace at the last!" +</P> + +<P> +The vehement voice died into silence, and Christina, feeling very young +and forlorn, and quite unable to cope with a grief and passion so +intense, could only stand silently by the bed, her hand just touching +the restless hand, on which a thick wedding ring was the only ornament. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know what it means to care like that for a man," the +passionate voice spoke again; "you are so young—just a slip of a +girl"; the woman's dark eyes rested tenderly, almost sadly, on +Christina's face. "You don't know what it means, to care so much for a +man that—no matter what he is, or does, he is your world, your whole +world. Do you?" she asked, leaning forward and seizing the girl's +hands in her own hot ones. +</P> + +<P> +"No—o," Christina faltered, whilst, unbidden, there flashed into her +mind the vision of a rugged face, and two grey eyes full of hidden +pain, "but—I think I can understand," she ended shyly. +</P> + +<P> +"You dear little girl," the two hot hands drew her down, and Christina +felt a gentle kiss on her cheek; "some day you will know, if I judge +your eyes aright. Nature did not give you those eyes, and that face +for nothing. I wonder——" the woman's glance suddenly concentrated +itself upon the girl. "I wonder why something in your face seems to me +familiar. Can I ever have seen you before?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I could not ever forget you if I had seen you," Christina answered +quickly; and the other, though she smiled, still looked into the girl's +face with a puzzled expression. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later, Christina, upon whom her responsibilities weighed +with double heaviness, now that she had realised the presence of the +sick man in the house, went to visit the room along the passage. The +patient there was now in bed, and the girl observed that the look of +intense exhaustion had left his face, and that he was breathing +normally and quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Madge I am quite all right," he said, his voice sounding stronger +than before; "don't let her worry about me. She must rest herself if +she is tired. Tell her I shall sleep like a top!" +</P> + +<P> +To Christina the night that followed was one of her most curious +experiences. In a strange house, with people of whose very names she +was ignorant, and about whom hung a mystery, the nature of which was +unknown to her, she felt as though she had become part of a story, or +of a puzzling dream, from which she should presently awake in her own +bed at Graystone, with Baba's cot beside her. +</P> + +<P> +Wrapped in her thick dressing-gown she sat by the fire in the room of +the woman, who in her own mind she called "the beautiful lady," +sometimes turning the leaves of a book she had found on the table, +sometimes looking dreamily at the flickering flames. In accordance +with the doctor's orders, she occasionally fed her patient, who, though +very wide-awake, spoke but little during the long night hours. +Christina, by the light of the softly-shaded lamp, could see how seldom +her companion's eyes were closed, how almost continually they were +fixed, either upon her, or upon the firelit walls. +</P> + +<P> +Once or twice she uttered some brief remark, but no word was said that +made clear to the watching girl any of the strange happenings in this +strange house. But when the grey light of dawn was beginning to steal +through the window curtains, the woman in the bed said gently: +</P> + +<P> +"It was wonderfully good of you to come here and take care of me like +this. I wonder whether you are thinking you have come into a place of +mad people?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I did not think that." +</P> + +<P> +"You have taken a great deal on trust, and though it is very much to +ask of a stranger, I am going to ask you still—to take me—on trust. +I have not done—anything wrong; if it is folly—well, I shall have to +pay the price." +</P> + +<P> +To this enigmatical sentence Christina could think of no reply, but she +went to the bedside, and gently touched the shapely hand on which +rested that plain gold ring. +</P> + +<P> +"Your eyes tell me you are a faithful soul," the low voice continued; +"you belong to the race of people who make good friends. I have +another—good friend in the world, but he—will you still take me on +trust?" she ended abruptly, her fingers closing round Christina's hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't do anything else," the girl answered quickly; "you need not +tell me you have done nothing wrong; I know it. Nobody who looked into +your face could ever distrust you," she added, in a burst of girlish +enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"Some day—if we meet again, and if you care to hear it—you shall hear +all the story, but not now—not now. And you—you will keep +silence—about—everything here?" The dark eyes searched her face +anxiously. "Remember, even the doctor knows nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"I will keep silence about everything," Christina answered solemnly, +stooping for the second time to touch the beautiful face with her lips. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"YOU CAN TRUST DR. FERGUSSON." +</H4> + +<P> +When at about seven o'clock in the morning, Dr. Fergusson, and the +servant Elizabeth, once more reached the house amongst the woods, +Christina was dressed and ready to admit them by the little green gate +in the wall. She had made herself ready for the day at a very early +hour, stealing out of her beautiful charge's room whilst the latter was +sleeping peacefully, and Fergusson smiled approvingly when he caught +sight of the girl's trim figure and smiling face. He alighted quickly +from the car, and helped Elizabeth to descend; and, whilst the servant +hurried into the house, he put a quick question or two to Christina. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she has had a quiet night on the whole," the girl answered; "she +has not slept much at a time, but she has dozed now and then, and she +has been wonderfully calm. She is asleep now, but she told me most +particularly that she wished to be awakened when you came. I think," +the girl hesitated as she glanced into the doctor's face, "I think she +has something special to say to you." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to have to wake her," Fergusson answered, "but I am afraid +there is no help for it, if she wishes to speak to me. I can't wait +till she wakes naturally; I have a very busy day before me, besides +which I ought to take you back to the small girl." Whilst he spoke he +was walking up the flagged path to the house by Christina's side, +glancing with pardonable curiosity at the white building, against its +background of dark woods. +</P> + +<P> +"Curious," he said reflectively. "I do not want to be unduly prying, +but it is impossible to help wondering what that exceptionally +beautiful woman is doing in this remote place, with apparently only an +old servant and a homicidal maniac for company." +</P> + +<P> +Christina's eyes met his, and she flushed. In the face of the promise +of secrecy she had given to the lady of the house, she could not +mention to Fergusson the existence of the sick man, whose presence she +shrewdly suspected was in some way the reason for the beautiful lady's +residence in this desolate corner of the world; and, in answer to his +words, she only said quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"I think there must be some very good reason why she does not wish +people to know she is here; but of course I don't know what the reason +is," and, saying this, she entered the hall door, and preceded the +doctor to the room where her charge of the night still lay sleeping, a +little smile on her beautiful face. Elizabeth stood beside her, and +Christina saw that the good woman's eyes were full of tears. +</P> + +<P> +"It does me good to see her sleeping like that," she whispered to the +two who stood just within the doorway; "it's seldom she gets such +restful sleep." +</P> + +<P> +"You are sure she really wants to speak to me?" Fergusson asked the +girl, speaking in low tones. "I cannot bear to disturb her, and yet I +must do it if she really wants me. I have one or two urgent cases that +should be seen early, and I cannot stay here." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid we must disturb her," Christina whispered back. "Before +she went to sleep, she told me I was on no account to let you go +without speaking to her. I am sure she has something important she +wishes to say." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll be going to make some tea for you all," Elizabeth said +gently; "you haven't slept much yourself, miss, I can see," she added, +looking kindly into Christina's face, which bore traces of her wakeful +vigil. +</P> + +<P> +"I have lighted the kitchen fire," the girl said gaily, ignoring the +remarks about her own night, "and I think tea will be just the +loveliest thing in the world," and as Elizabeth went downstairs, she +crept softly to the bedside, and laid her hand upon the white hand on +the coverlet, the hand whose only ornament was its thick wedding ring. +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Fergusson has come back," she said very gently, when at her touch +the dark eyes opened. "I am so sorry to wake you, but you wanted to +speak to him." In that moment of waking, the smile that had lain on +the sleeping face faded from it, and a long sigh escaped her. +</P> + +<P> +"I was dreaming that Max and I," she began, and then, as recollection +returned to her, she broke off her sentence, saying abruptly, "Yes, I +must speak to the doctor. I must take the risk—all the risk," she +added under her breath, and Christina saw that a look of fear stole +into her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there something I can do for you?" Fergusson approached the bed, +and his voice was as gentle as Christina's had been. Something in the +fragile appearance of the woman before them, something in the anguish +of the deep eyes, gave both to the man and to the girl beside him, a +feeling of almost reverential awe. Instinctively, they realised the +presence of some great human tragedy; instinctively, they felt that in +its presence, all voices must be hushed, and that no rough things of +every day, should be allowed to intrude into the place of grief. The +woman in the bed raised herself on her pillow, and looked full into +Fergusson's face. +</P> + +<P> +"I can trust you," she said. "I believe you will keep your own counsel +about—whatever you see or hear in this house." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I shall," he replied. "When Miss Moore came to me +yesterday, I promised her that I would respect your confidence +absolutely. I have entered the patient I have just taken to the +asylum, as resident at the London address you gave me. I hope that was +right? I have a rooted objection to telling deliberate lies," he added +a little grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"What I told you was quite true," she answered, smiling faintly. "Poor +Marion was only here temporarily, her home is in London. Will you tell +me about her before I ask you anything more? Is there any hope of her +recovery? It all seemed so dreadfully sudden." +</P> + +<P> +"She must have had a tendency to homicidal mania for years, probably +all her life, and I should think her recovery is extremely doubtful. +In any case, she will have to be under restraint for a long time, a +very long time, and at present she is quite off her head." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Marion," his listener said sadly. "Poor, poor Marion. There +need be no difficulty about her expenses. She must have every care, +everything that is necessary, and if anything is ever wanted for her, +will the asylum authorities write to Mrs. Stanforth, c/o Mrs. Milton, +180, Gower Street." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor jotted down the address in his notebook, then looked again +into the white, troubled face on the pillow, and said slowly:— +</P> + +<P> +"There was something else you wanted me to do, was there not? Will you +tell me now what it is?" +</P> + +<P> +A faint colour tinged the whiteness of her face, for a second her +glance wavered before his, and he saw that her hand moved restlessly. +</P> + +<P> +"I know he will be angry with me," she said at last, "but—I must ask +you to see him. I am so afraid he is worse than he thinks, than we all +think. And you have promised secrecy? You have promised it?" she said +vehemently, putting out her hands towards him. Fergusson looked, as he +felt, profoundly puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"I have already promised to mention nothing of what I see or hear in +this house to a living soul," he said, a trace of irritation creeping +into his quiet voice. "I shall keep my promise. I cannot say more +than that. Is there someone you wish me to see?" The woman's dark +eyes turned to Christina, who stood at the foot of the bed, a silent +and interested spectator of the strange little scene. +</P> + +<P> +"I want the doctor to see my—the sick man you helped," she said in +faltering accents. "Will you take him to the room you went to last +night? Will you explain that I—that Madge begs him to tell the doctor +all about his illness? He—he may be angry," she looked into +Fergusson's eyes again, "but I think—you will understand—I think you +will soothe him." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he——" Fergusson was beginning, when one of those restlessly +moving hands touched his. +</P> + +<P> +"Please—don't ask me to tell you—who he is," she said earnestly; "he +has been very ill; he has only come here—since he was convalescent," +again her eyes fell before the doctor's glance, "but before he came +here he was very ill, and in great trouble. Ah! be good to him," she +exclaimed, her enforced calm of manner suddenly giving way; "let him +have peace now; he has had such a troubled life." The tortured look in +her eyes touched Fergusson deeply, his hand closed over her trembling +one with a strong, reassuring grasp. +</P> + +<P> +"I will do my best for him," he said cheerily; "and I will ask no +unnecessary questions. You need not be afraid that I shall try to find +out anything beyond his physical symptoms. Trust me." And with +another kindly glance from those eminently trustworthy eyes of his, he +bade Christina lead the way to his new patient. In silence they +traversed the passage by which Christina had passed along on the +previous night, but as she knocked on the door of the sick man's +apartment, the doctor stooped towards her and whispered:— +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know whether I ought to let you be mixed up in what may turn +out an unpleasant mystery. Would you rather go away at once? I can +explain my own presence to this man." +</P> + +<P> +Christina shook her head, and her mouth took on a little determined +look, which Fergusson learnt to recognise later on as one of her most +marked characteristics. +</P> + +<P> +"No—I will do what she asked me to do," she said. "I am not afraid of +mysteries, and I must help my beautiful lady as much as ever I can." +So saying, she turned the handle of the door, in response to an +impatient "Come in!" and she and Fergusson entered together. The sick +man lay propped up with pillows, his eyes turned towards the door, a +fretful expression on his face, an expression which turned to one of +acute fear, when he saw the doctor's form behind Christina. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" he exclaimed, shrinking back and trembling violently. +"Why have you come here? I tell you I am all right in this place; you +can't do me any harm now; I am safe—safe—why——" +</P> + +<P> +"I have not come to do you any harm," the doctor answered soothingly, +hiding the surprise he undoubtedly felt. "I am only a doctor who wants +to make you well. You have been ill, haven't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what of that?" the other answered sullenly, his eyes furtively +watching Fergusson's face, his weak mouth quivering. "I don't want a +doctor, even if I have been ill. I can do very well without a doctor. +Why did you come?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina stepped softly to the bedside, and her voice was very gently. +"You remember me?" she said. "I came to help you last night; and I was +told to tell you now as a special message, that Madge sent the doctor, +that she begs you to tell him all about your illness. You can trust +Dr. Fergusson," the girl went on earnestly. "He will not tell anybody +that he has seen you. You can safely trust him." +</P> + +<P> +"We are trusting too many people," came the querulous retort. "First +Elizabeth was busy, and you came to me last night, and you are a total +stranger. Though you were so kind to me, it is no use to pretend you +are not a stranger. Yet I had to trust you, and now I have to trust +the doctor. There are too many people in it now." +</P> + +<P> +"This young lady, Miss Moore, and I, know absolutely nothing about you, +or about the lady of this house," Fergusson said firmly, but +soothingly. "We do not even know your relationship to one another. +Your secrets are quite safe with us, because we have no idea what those +secrets are. Therefore, you can safely trust us. And, in any case, I +can answer for Miss Moore, as for myself—in any case, we shall keep +silence about everything we have seen in this house." The sick man +muttered one or two more feeble remonstrances, after which, with the +sudden abandonment of his position, so characteristic of a weak nature, +he said resignedly: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well, it is no use talking—it is never of any use for me to +talk—and if Madge wishes me to be overhauled, so be it. I will put +myself into your hands, but, understand, I do it under protest." +</P> + +<P> +Denis Fergusson only nodded and smiled in response, saying to +Christina— +</P> + +<P> +"Now, if you will go and have that cup of tea, I will do my best for +the patient here, and come to fetch you in a few minutes"; and the +girl, taking the hint, left the two men together, and returned to the +other room, where she found the beautiful lady lying with eyes +wistfully turned towards the door, whilst Elizabeth vainly implored her +to drink the tea she had made. +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't think of tea, or of anything else till you came back," the +beautiful woman exclaimed, stretching out her hands to the girl, with +feverish eagerness. "Was he vexed—my poor Max—was he dreadfully +vexed when you took the doctor to his room?" Christina was conscious +of a sudden wonder. Why, she speculated, did this woman's voice drop +into accents of such divine tenderness when she spoke of the sick man? +What attraction could that weak, querulous invalid possess for this +stately, beautiful creature, who, to the girl's admiring eyes, seemed +as far above him as a star is far from the earth. Why did she love +him, as she most obviously did, with that intense, overmastering love +which in a woman of this calibre almost approaches to the divine? +</P> + +<P> +"Just at first he was rather vexed," she answered, "but Dr. Fergusson +is very tactful; he inspires confidence. I think it will be all right +now. And I have come back here to have some tea with you," she added +brightly, seeing and understanding the old servant's anxious glances. +"I am going to confess that I have been awake a great deal of the +night, and tea will be very refreshing." She added these words, +because she saw that the other woman would be more likely to drink her +own tea, if she felt that Christina was really in need of the +refreshment, and her surmise was right. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! but you must have your tea at once," the woman in the bed +exclaimed. "I can't bear to think I have been keeping you awake; +indeed, it is dreadful to think that you have all unwittingly come into +my shadowed life," she added under her breath, whilst the girl seated +herself beside the bed; and Elizabeth served them both. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad I have been able to help you," Christina said impulsively, +when the servant softly left the room; "you don't know how glad I +should be if I could do anything—to—make things easier for you," she +ended rather lamely, but the admiration in her eyes was unmistakable, +and the shapely white hand with its one ring, was laid on Christina's. +</P> + +<P> +"You have helped me to-night more than you suppose," she said; "there +is something very restful about your personality, little girl, do you +know that? All night you have given me a feeling of rest and peace." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad," Christina answered, a light flashing into her eyes; "I +believe I would rather be restful to people than anything else in the +world." +</P> + +<P> +"A rest-bringer," was the soft answer; "you will always be that, if you +go on as you have begun. And, it is work worth doing—to bring rest to +tired souls, to those who go through the vale of misery, who know—what +pain means. Be a rest-bringer, little girl; you could not be anything +better or sweeter." +</P> + +<P> +Christina flushed vividly, partly at the words of praise, partly +because, as they were spoken, a face rose before her mental vision, a +man's face, lined and rugged, with marks of pain carved upon it, with a +haunting look of pain in its grey eyes. And with that remembrance, +came also a sudden impetuous wish that it might be given to her to +bring rest to the man who was Lady Cicely's cousin, the man whose very +name she did not know. She was startled out of the strange train of +thought, by her companion's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot imagine," she was saying, "why it is that your face and voice +are in some odd way familiar to me, and yet you assure me we have never +met before?" +</P> + +<P> +"We have never met," Christina answered decidedly. "I could not have +forgotten you if I had ever seen you—and oh!" she went on with an +eager girlish gesture, "please mayn't I have some name to remember you +by—not any name that—that you would rather I did not know," she added +quickly, seeing an anxious look in the other's eyes; "only just +something to keep in my thoughts of you." +</P> + +<P> +"Call me—just—Margaret in your thoughts," was the answer; "that is +one of my names; call me that." +</P> + +<P> +"But it seems"—Christina hesitated—"it seems like impertinence, to +call you by a Christian name. You——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know. I am old enough to be your mother,"—the dark eyes +looked wistfully into the eager young face—"and the life I have lived +makes me feel more as if I was a thousand, instead of only +thirty-eight. But still, there is a young corner in my heart—quite a +young corner, where I can feel like a girl again; and it would please +me if you called me Margaret." +</P> + +<P> +"Margaret," Christina repeated softly; "I am glad you have such a +beautiful name. It seems to belong to your beautiful face." She spoke +dreamily, scarcely aware of what she said, but as the sound of her own +words fell on her ears, she flushed deeply, and a deprecating look came +into her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I beg your pardon," she exclaimed; "I was speaking my thoughts +aloud, and it was rude of me. But, do you know, ever since I first saw +you, I have called you in my mind 'the beautiful lady.' You see, I had +no name by which to call you." +</P> + +<P> +"It was very pretty of you," Margaret smiled, her fingers touching the +girl's dusky hair. "Once upon a time, long ago, when I was as young as +you, I was beautiful; it is not vanity to say that now. I was a +beautiful girl. But life, and all that life has brought—have——" +</P> + +<P> +"They have made you more beautiful," the girl interrupted eagerly; +"they have put sadness into your face, but they have not taken away its +beauty; they have only added to it." Margaret smiled again, and an +answering smile flashed over the girl's face, making the older woman +lean towards her, and exclaim, with a puzzled stare— +</P> + +<P> +"It certainly is most extraordinary how, when you smile, I find +something so familiar in your face. The quick way you smile, reminds +me of another face I have seen, but—I cannot remember where I saw it, +or whose it is. And your voice reminds me of just such another clear +voice, with restful cadences in it. Could I ever have known anyone +belonging to your family?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina shook her head, recognising dimly that the woman before her, +belonged to a circle of life very different from that in which her +father and mother had moved. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think it is at all likely you ever saw any relation of mine," +she answered. "My name is Moore, and we were always very poor, and +lived in an out-of-the-way Devonshire village. I never knew any of my +relations, and I don't even know my mother's maiden name. I think her +people had treated her very badly; she never mentioned them." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, well, it must be some chance likeness, but it will worry me, until +I can remember who the person is of whom you remind me. Is that the +doctor?" she broke off to say, her lighter tone changing to one of +acute anxiety. "What is he coming to tell me?" The animation that for +a few moments had lighted her features, and lessened some of the +tragedy, in her eyes died away, and the face that was turned towards +Dr. Fergusson, as he once more entered the room, had nothing upon it +but an agonised question. +</P> + +<P> +"He has allowed you to examine him thoroughly?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, quite thoroughly." Fergusson's voice was gentle, but very grave, +and as he came and stood beside the bed, Christina instinctively +realised that he hesitated to speak further, because what he had to say +was of a painful nature. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell—me." Margaret spoke a little breathlessly; her eyes never left +the kind, shrewd face looking down at her; the anguish in their depths +hurt Denis's tender heart. To give pain to any woman, above all to a +woman so fragile, so physically unfit to bear it as this woman seemed +to be, was almost intolerable to him. Yet his honesty and strength of +nature never allowed him to evade the truth, when truth had to be told, +and he did not evade it now. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I have not good news to bring you," he said. "The patient +I have just examined, is only momentarily convalescent. I—-think it +is only fair to be quite honest with you: there is no real hope of his +ultimate recovery." The woman in the bed uttered a little low sound, +which seemed to Christina the most pitiful she had ever heard, but when +she spoke, her voice was unnaturally quiet. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean he has some incurable disease? Tell me the exact truth." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, quite incurable—and—very far advanced. I can give him a +certain amount of alleviation, but—it would not be right to let you +build any hopes on the possibility of a cure. There is no such +possibility." +</P> + +<P> +When the doctor's voice ceased, there was a strange, tense silence in +the room for many minutes; and Christina, standing by the fireplace, +felt as if she could almost see and hear the woman in the bed, +gathering up her forces to meet this blow. Once the girl glanced at +the white face and deep eyes, but she turned away her glance again, +feeling it was not right that any other human being should gaze upon +the tortured soul, that looked out of those eyes. Margaret herself +first broke the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Will—it—be—long?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I think not," Fergusson answered gravely, "but in a case like this +everything depends upon the temperament of the patient, his +surroundings, his mental attitude. Anxiety, worry, any mental strain +would accelerate matters." +</P> + +<P> +The white hands that all this time had been so still on the coverlet, +clasped themselves together, and there was a new note of passion in +Margaret's voice, as she said— +</P> + +<P> +"And—the mental strain is exactly what I cannot help, cannot prevent, +cannot save him from." +</P> + +<P> +"You must remember I am only giving you one man's opinion—only my +own," Fergusson replied gently. "Would you like me to bring a London +colleague to——" +</P> + +<P> +"No—oh no!"—the look of fear he had before noticed in her eyes, leapt +into them once more—"nobody else must come here, nobody else must see +him. As it is, the risks"—she stopped suddenly, and ended her +sentence in less agitated tones—"I am quite satisfied with your +opinion, Dr. Fergusson," she said. "I would rather not have another +doctor, and—you will respect my wish for silence about everything that +has passed in this house?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I will respect it; you can trust me. In the patient's own +interest, I think I ought to see him again, perhaps in two or three +days; but nobody excepting Miss Moore and myself will know anything +about the affairs of your house." +</P> + +<P> +Having given her a few technical instructions as to the treatment of +the sick man, the doctor was ready to take his departure, and he and +Christina left the house together, after the girl had for a moment been +drawn into Margaret's arms, and gently kissed. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you for all you have done," the beautiful woman whispered. "I +don't think I can ever be grateful enough to you. Perhaps, we shall +not ever meet again—but—think sometimes of me—pray sometimes for +me—little rest-bringer." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<SPAN STYLE="letter-spacing: 4em">*****</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P> +"That poor soul! that poor soul!" They were Fergusson's first words +after he had turned the car out of the rough lane, into the main road. +"I daresay it was fanciful, but the words in the Litany haunted me when +I watched her this morning: 'In all time of our tribulation—Good Lord, +deliver us.' She looks as if she had been through such an infinity of +tribulation." +</P> + +<P> +Christina's eyes were still dim with the tears brought there by +Margaret's parting words, and her voice was not quite steady, as she +answered— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; the word seems to belong to her, but she gives me the feeling +that she is so strong, so tender, in spite of, or perhaps because of, +all that she has suffered. I—wish I could do something more for her." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps the opportunity may yet be given you," Fergusson answered. "I +never believe people come into one's life purposelessly: we meet them +for some reason, and we get chances of helping them—even if sometimes +they seem only like 'ships that pass in the night,' greeting us as they +sail by." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"YOU ARE JUST 'ZACKLY LIKE THE PRINCE." +</H4> + +<P> +"The gentleman said he would be back in half an hour; he is staying a +night at the inn, and he just wanted to see you and Miss Baba." Mrs. +Nairne delivered this long message to Christina, when she and her small +charge came in from their afternoon walk a few days later, and at her +words, Christina's heart gave a sudden leap. +</P> + +<P> +Was it possible that the grey-eyed man of the rugged face, the man who +had called himself Lady Cicely's cousin, could be driving that way +again? And was he coming to see the child? She was secretly pleased +to observe that the landlady had provided a tea of superlative +excellence, and that the worthy Mrs. Nairne thought, as <I>she</I> also +thought, that Lady Cicely's cousin might perhaps partake of that meal +with Baba and her nurse. +</P> + +<P> +There was a happy smile on her lips, and her eyes shone brightly, as +she moved to and fro about their little sitting-room, putting it tidy, +and arranging in two of Mrs. Nairne's fearsome vases (cherished +possessions of that good lady, be it known) a tangle of brown leaves +and crimson berries, that she and Baba had brought in from the hedges. +The child's clear voice drifted in to her from the kitchen, where the +small girl was proudly conscious of extreme usefulness, whilst she +pattered to and fro behind Mrs. Nairne, and helped to arrange the +tea-tray. +</P> + +<P> +"We've got the best tea-set to-day," she announced to Christina in +triumph, when she and the landlady entered the sitting-room together, +"and I think the cakes is <I>beautiful</I>," she added, with a little sigh +of bliss, as her eyes rested on the table, at which Christina had also +glanced approvingly. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought the gentleman might like a cup of tea," Mrs. Nairne said +apologetically, "and I can't bear for there not to be enough to eat." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure there will be plenty for us all," Christina answered +gravely, though her eyes twinkled; "and it is good of you to have taken +so much trouble. I can assure you, Baba and I will appreciate all the +good things you have given us, and we are as hungry as hunters." +</P> + +<P> +The sight that greeted Rupert Mernside's eyes, when, a few minutes +later, he came into the firelit room, made a picture that lingered in +his mind for the rest of his life. There were two candles on the round +table, at which the child and girl sat, but the room was really lighted +by the ruddy glow of the fire, whose flames leapt about the great log +of wood on the top of the coals, and shed a delicious radiance all over +the low, old-fashioned apartment. Some dead and departed mistress of +Mrs. Nairne, had given her the oak furniture, of which the landlady +herself spoke deprecatingly, as "queer old stuff," and the firelight +was reflected a hundred times in the highly-polished black of the oak, +and the bright brass of handles and knobs. The chintz that covered the +furniture, had also come from a defunct mistress, whose taste had led +her to love just those soft, dim colours, and the old-world patterns +that best suited the oak of the furniture—and the whole result was +supremely pleasing to an æsthetic taste. Flowers sent from Bramwell +Castle, made a delicious fragrance in the air, and to the man, coming +in out of the cold of a damp and foggy December afternoon, there was a +peace in the atmosphere, that gave him a pleasing sense of home and +restfulness. +</P> + +<P> +The firelight shone full on Baba's delicately-tinted face, and golden +curls; shone, too, on the dusky softness of her companion's hair, +bringing out in it unexpected gleams of brightness, illuminating the +girl's clear white colouring, and her sweet eyes, showing to the man +who entered, the tenderness of the look that was bent on the little +child beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"Cousin Rupert!" Baba shrieked joyfully, scrambling from her seat, and +flinging herself upon him, whilst Christina pushed back her chair more +deliberately, and rose to greet their visitor. "We've cakes with sugar +on them to-day, 'cos Mrs. Nairne thought you'd come to tea." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! she thought I should come to tea, did she?" Rupert answered, +smiling, as he held out his hand to Christina, looking at her over +Baba's curly head. The child was already in his arms, her soft face +pressed against his, and his chin resting on her rippling curls, whilst +he shook hands with her nurse, and said in his deep pleasant voice— +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad I have just caught you both at tea, Miss Moore. Now you +will let me have some tea, and then I shall hear how you both are, and +be able to carry news of you to my cousin, at first hand." +</P> + +<P> +Christina was far too guileless and simple of soul to read into +Rupert's descent upon them, what was the actual truth—namely, that he +felt impelled, as Baba's guardian, to keep a watchful eye upon the new +importation Cicely had so impulsively introduced into her household; +felt it indeed to be nothing more than his bare duty, to see that +Baba's new nurse was all that Cicely enthusiastically believed her to +be. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear little Cicely's swans have before now turned out to be geese," +Rupert had said to Wilfred Staynes, Cicely's brother, when he and that +smart young soldier were returning from their motor trip across Sussex. +"She insisted on engaging this lady nurse for the child, and +practically took her without references. The references she gave us, +were, to all intents and purposes, so much waste paper. The writers of +them were all dead, or in the colonies." +</P> + +<P> +"Cicely was always like that," Cicely's brother made reply. "She had +the rattiest collection of sick and sorry animals in her youth, and of +sick and sorry friends as she grew older. She has a way of stepping +down into the highways and hedges, and compelling their inhabitants to +enjoy her hospitality. It makes one feel one could always turn to +Cicely if one went wrong, you know," he added thoughtfully; "she's +always 'for the under dog,' as somebody once put it." +</P> + +<P> +"Cicely is the dearest soul in the world," Rupert said quickly. "We +all love her for her loving heart—but at the same time, I can't risk +letting Baba fall into the hands of a stray adventuress, because +Cicely's heart has been touched." +</P> + +<P> +"If it's a question of adventuresses, I'll come and see the kid too," +Wilfred answered laughingly. "I like the type; it amuses me. Bronze +hair, green eyes, seductive manner. Oh! Rupert, my friend, if you +think Baba is in the care of an adventuress, take, oh take me to call +on her too!" +</P> + +<P> +"What an ass you are, Wilfred," Rupert answered, with a lazy laugh. +"Is it likely that even our dear and impulsive Cicely, would hand Baba +over to the care of your adventuress type of woman? No; the only time +I saw her, the girl seemed a most harmless, quiet little individual." +</P> + +<P> +"You've seen her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I saw her in the nursery at Eaton Square, making friends with +Baba, but she made no impression upon me; she was just quite an +ordinary-looking girl." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! la, la! then you may go alone to call on her at Graystone, and see +that she is performing the whole duty of the nurse. The +ordinary-looking girl makes no appeal to me." +</P> + +<P> +His own, and Wilfred's idle words, flashed back into Rupert's mind now, +as, across Baba's tangle of golden curls, his eyes looked down into the +eyes uplifted to his—eyes to which the dancing firelight gave an oddly +elusive effect. What colour were they? he wondered—grey, hazel, or +green—deep soft green with great black pupils, and sweeping dark +lashes, that curled upwards in a deliciously fascinating way. There +was something child-like and appealing about those sweet eyes, +something of the eternal child indeed, about her whole face, from the +unclouded brow on which the dusky hair fell in soft tendrils and curls, +to the half-parted lips, on which the smile over Baba's latest sally of +wit, still lingered. There was nothing of the adventuress type about +this girl, that was very certain, was his first thought; his second, +that the uplifted face was in some way familiar to him, that quite +lately he had seen it uplifted in precisely this way; and thirdly, he +remembered how and when they had met. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," he exclaimed, "how oblivious you must have thought me the other +day! Surely you <I>are</I> the young lady to whom my cousin and I gave a +lift in the car?" +</P> + +<P> +A vivid blush flooded Christina's face with colour, her eyes wavered +under his glance. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was I who stopped your car, and I thought afterwards how +dreadfully audacious and impatient I must have seemed. But I was +anxious to get quickly to the doctor, that——" +</P> + +<P> +"Not for this young person, was it?" Rupert interrupted, looking down +at the child in his arms "she doesn't wear an invalid appearance." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! no, no, not for her." Christina spoke hurriedly, remembering the +secrecy that had been enjoined upon her by the lady of the lonely +house, and anxious to lead the conversation away as soon as possible +from her visit to the doctor. But Rupert, having deposited Baba in her +chair, seated himself beside her, and helped himself to a slice of Mrs. +Nairne's hot buttered toast, continuing to talk placidly of the very +subject the girl most desired to avoid. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid somebody was really ill?" he said, and Christina noticed +again what a musical voice his was. "You seemed to be desperately +anxious to get the doctor as soon as possible." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Christina, answered, trying to speak in matter-of-fact tones; +"someone had asked me to fetch the doctor for them, and I didn't want +to lose any time." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you found the doctor a satisfactory sort of person? Sometimes +the medical men in these out-of-the-way places, are very impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"I found a very unusual man," Christina said thoughtfully; "he is a Dr. +Fergusson, doing <I>locum tenens</I> work here. He has a remarkable +personality; he made one feel he was meant to be a leader of men." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope he will do the patient good." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope he will," Christina said hurriedly; "he—was in a great +difficulty that night, and—I hope I did not do wrong in giving him +some help he asked for?" she added, looking deprecatingly into the grey +eyes fixed on her face, feeling that it was her obvious duty to tell +this man, who was Lady Cicely's representative, of the night during +which she had left Baba. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think you can have done anything very wrong," Rupert answered +with a smile, and speaking almost caressingly, as he might have spoken +to a child. His smile, and the tone of his words, set the girl's +pulses beating, although she vaguely realised he was treating her with +the same kindliness, he might have bestowed upon Baba. +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Fergusson was in a great difficulty," she went on, trying again to +speak in matter-of-fact tones. "The lady of the house to which he +went, was—was very lonely, and he asked me to take care of her for the +night. In fact"—Christina smiled at the recollection—"he was very +masterful—he really made me go. But I should not have gone, if I had +not known that Baba was absolutely safe with Mrs. Nairne. And"—she +paused—"I think I was able to help somebody in great trouble." +Rupert's eyes still rested kindly on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know that I should recommend you to make a practice of leaving +Baba, and sitting up with people at night," he said, his smile taking +away any possible sting from his words; "but I am sure in this +instance, you only did what seemed most right. You and Baba are happy +here?" he went on, anxious to spare her any unnecessary embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba likes this nice place," the child struck in, "and Christina tell +about the prince. Baba thinks the prince is just 'zackly like you," +she ended, with a wise nod of her curly head. Rupert found himself +speculating why, at the child's speech, Baba's nurse flushed with such +extreme vividness, and why she evinced so sudden a desire to change the +subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Baba—we don't want to talk about fairy stories now," she +interposed. "Tell—tell all about the pony-cart, and our nice drives. +Do you know," she added, looking at him with a shy glance, which seemed +to him infinitely attractive, "I have never heard your name, so I don't +know what to call you." +</P> + +<P> +"Call him the prince," Baba's clear little voice remarked; "he's my +Cousin Rupert, but he's 'zackly like the prince—and you're just +'zackly like the princess," she added, to Christina's no small +discomfiture, pointing a dimpled forefinger in the girl's direction, +"and some day the prince will marry the princess, and so they'll live +happy ever after." Again a flood of colour rushed over Christina's +face, and though Rupert saw it in the swift glance he cast at her, he +was merciful enough to turn his eyes upon the child, and say gaily— +</P> + +<P> +"You must find a much better prince than I am for your princess, little +maid. Cousin Rupert is a battered old gentleman, with no prince-like +qualities. Princes are always young and handsome, with blue eyes and +golden hair, and silver armour, and lots of other jolly things like +that, aren't they, Miss Moore?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, certainly," she answered, rallying to his mood, and laughing +brightly; "they always dress in silver armour, and the princesses never +wear anything but white gowns." +</P> + +<P> +"Sometimes—green gowns do quite as well for princesses," he answered, +glancing at the girl's well-made green gown, with eyes of commendation. +"Green belongs to fairyland," he added, when again the colour flushed +into her cheeks. "I believe that you and Baba have only quite lately +come from that enchanted country—both the two of you, as my old nurse +used to say." +</P> + +<P> +"We like fairyland—Baba and I," the girl said gently, "and we both +hope, some day, to see the fairies inside the flowers, or dancing round +one of their lovely rings. We have found ever so many fairy rings in +the fields round here." She spoke with something of a child's +eagerness, all her momentary embarrassment gone, and Rupert looked at +her, with an increasing sense of approval. Cicely had not acted +altogether unwisely, in deciding to give her small daughter this +unknown, unvouched-for girl as a nurse. She was obviously a lady, and +a cultured lady, and she possessed that nameless quality which never +failed to appeal to Rupert's fastidious taste—the restful charm of the +true gentlewoman. He liked this Miss Moore, he told himself, he +distinctly liked her, and he inwardly commended Cicely's choice, whilst +he said to Christina— +</P> + +<P> +"And all this time I have most rudely left your question unanswered. +You asked my name: it is Mernside—Rupert Mernside." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" was the only word that jerked itself out of Christina's lips, +whilst her eyes gazed at him with an expression of such unmistakable +dismay, that he looked at her in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any unpleasant associations with my name?" he asked. "Has +anybody called Mernside ever annoyed you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no!" she answered quickly. "Only—once I heard the name +before—just R. Mernside—and I was surprised when—when it turned out +to be your name too." The words were so incoherent, the sentence so +oddly turned, that Rupert only looked as he felt, more puzzled than +before. +</P> + +<P> +"I had not ever seen you, had I, until I saw you in Baba's nursery?" he +questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"No—never." She looked increasingly disconcerted, beneath his puzzled +stare. "It was only—that I had heard—had come across the name +before, and it—surprised me to hear—it again." +</P> + +<P> +Not wishing to add to her almost painful embarrassment, Rupert +tactfully changed the subject, but being an unusually observant man, he +noticed that she was not really at her ease during the whole course of +his visit. He rose to go, therefore, earlier than he would otherwise +have done, seeing how singularly peaceful he found the home-like +atmosphere. The girl, with her sweet eyes and restful manner, the baby +with her flower-like face, and her loving ways; the old-world firelit +room, the pervading sense of what was child-like, simple, serene—all +these soothed the man, racked with suspense and misery. It was with +reluctance that he closed the door upon it all, Baba's parting words +echoing in his ears, as he ran downstairs, and out into the fog of the +December evening— +</P> + +<P> +"I think you are just 'zackly like the prince—my pretty lady's +prince—and she's the princess!" +</P> + +<P> +Walking briskly up the village street in the direction of the inn, he +smiled, as the words spoken in the clear little voice recurred to him +again, and the picture of the child and the girl stayed in his mind +during the remainder of the evening, whilst he sat in the +uncompromisingly dull sitting-room with Wilfred, listening with very +fluctuating attention to that young man's chatter, about motoring, +sport, and the possibilities of a Frontier campaign. +</P> + +<P> +"And what about Baba and her nurse?" the young man ended by saying. +"As Baba's uncle, I believe it was really my stern duty to go and look +her up." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, well, I happen to be her guardian," Rupert answered drily; "and +you were very much occupied with that American and his Daimler, when I +went out——" +</P> + +<P> +"And has the nurse the bronze hair of the typical adventuress, only +tell me that," Staynes answered, stretching out his long legs to the +fire. "If she has, I shall feel it imperative to call on Baba +to-morrow, before——" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk rot, my good fellow." Rupert's tones had in them a note of +irritation, which his astute cousin was not slow to observe. "Didn't I +explain to you that Cicely, with all her tenderness of heart, has too +much common sense to give over Baba to the care of any doubtful sort of +person? The child's nurse is—just a nice, quiet girl, who looks after +her well and keeps her happy." +</P> + +<P> +"Great Scott! <I>A nice, quiet girl</I>! I think I can safely take her on +trust, if you are satisfied that she is—nice—and quiet. The +adventuress appealed to me, but nice quiet girls—no, thank you, +Rupert! Now if only she had been like that delightful young person +with green eyes, who stopped the car the other day—I—should have felt +twinges of conscience about my duty as an uncle." +</P> + +<P> +"What an utter rotter you are!" In spite of himself Mernside laughed, +knowing from a long and intimate acquaintance with Wilfred, that the +young man's surface nonsense went no deeper than the surface, and that +Staynes was in no sense of the word a Lothario. A slight, a very +slight, twinge afflicted his own conscience, when he remembered the +identity of the girl he had left that afternoon, in the home-like, +firelit room, with the girl to whom his cousin had just alluded. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no necessity to tell him that the two girls are one and the +same," Rupert argued with himself. "Some day, presumably, he will meet +Miss Moore, and he may then recognise her again. But the probability +is that by that time, the motor incident will have gone out of his +head." Meanwhile, throughout the bantering conversation he carried on +with Wilfred, he found himself constantly wondering why the sound of +his name, had caused Baba's nurse such surprise and embarrassment. She +had seemed so friendly, so natural, so simple, until the moment when +his name had been mentioned, and then she had changed into hesitating +self-consciousness, her eyes afraid to meet his, her manner uneasy and +shy. +</P> + +<P> +The real reason for the change in her never, of course, occurred to +him. It was only very occasionally that he even remembered the +annoying episode of the matrimonial advertisement, and then merely with +a passing feeling of regret, that he had failed to help the girl who +had been his fellow-victim in Jack Layton's hoax. The girl's initials +had faded from his memory, in the more personal and acute trouble of +Margaret Stanforth's continued absence and silence, and he never for a +moment connected the writer of the wistful little note signed "C.M.," +with Baba's newest and most devoted slave. If his thoughts that +evening ran with curious persistency on Christina, her thoughts turned +with no less persistency to him and his visit, and above all, to the +dismaying discovery that he was the R. Mernside to whom she had +audaciously written, who in return had written to her so kindly. After +Baba had been safely tucked up in her cot, sleepily asseverating that +she meant to go for a ride in Cousin Rupert's car, and that he was "her +Christina's prince," Christina herself returned back to the +sitting-room, and, seated before the fire, went over in her own mind +all the conversation of the afternoon, with its final climax. +</P> + +<P> +"And I don't know whether I ought to tell him who I really am, or not," +the girl reflected, looking deep into the heart of the glowing coals. +"He was so kind to-day, but I don't believe he would go on feeling kind +to a girl who could answer an advertisement like that—even though he +would still be kind, because he is a gentleman. I wonder if I ought to +tell him? And yet—it would be horrible—horrible to have to say it. +I should be so ashamed—-so dreadfully ashamed. Only—I think, +perhaps—he would understand how poor I was, how desperate I felt, that +day when I wrote to him. He has such an understanding face, and his +eyes look as if they had seen so much sorrow, so that he would know +what other people's sorrows mean. I wish—I—could be a rest-bringer +to him." From that thought, she drifted away to the lonely house in +the valley, to the beautiful woman whose troubled face and deep, +anguished eyes haunted the girl like an obsession, and to the sick man, +whose death, so Dr. Fergusson had said, was only perhaps a matter of a +few short weeks. What strange tragedy was hidden by the four walls of +that lonely house? What did it all mean—the secrecy, the isolation, +and above all the trouble that had been written so plainly on that +beautiful woman's face? +</P> + +<P> +"I don't suppose I shall ever see her again," was Christina's final and +regretful thought, as she rose to go to bed. "I wish people didn't +have to be like 'ships that pass in the night'—only passing—not +staying together for a little while." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"YOU HAVE BEEN A FRIEND TO ME TO-DAY." +</H4> + +<P> +Rupert would have found it difficult to explain why, on the following +afternoon, his steps again turned towards Mrs. Nairne's house, and why +he assured himself, that it would be kind to Cicely to go to see Baba +again, and take the latest tidings of the child back to her mother. He +only knew that he had a great desire to sit quietly in that firelit +room again, to feel the sense of peace and home-like tranquillity that +seemed to hover about it; he only felt that in some inexplicable +fashion Baba's new nurse—the girl with the sweet eyes and gentle +voice—rested him, that her simplicity, and some child-like quality in +her, soothed the pain that tore at his heart. Women had played no part +in his life, until one woman had played an overmastering one; and all +that his passionate adoration of Margaret Stanforth had cost, and was +costing, him, gave an added charm to a nature devoid of all subtlety, +simple and serene. Across the stretch of years between them, he +regarded Christina as little more than a child, but it is often from a +child's hands that the passion-tossed, world-weary soul can find most +comfort; and as Mernside for the second time sat in the old-fashioned +sitting-room, and had tea with Christina and her small charge, he felt +that in some indefinable fashion, the girl's hands were unconsciously +smoothing away some of the misery that chafed his soul. She showed no +traces of her embarrassment of the previous day. Night had brought its +own counsels, and she had determined not to disclose her identity to +Mernside. +</P> + +<P> +"After all," she reflected philosophically, "I didn't do anything +wrong—only something silly—and it is all over now. Probably he has +forgotten all about the stupid girl who wrote him that letter, and +anyhow, he doesn't think about me at all, excepting as Baba's nurse, so +it would be foolish to make a fuss." +</P> + +<P> +Having come to this determination, Christina, with characteristic good +sense, put away from her all thoughts of self-consciousness and +embarrassment, and allowed herself to enjoy Mernside's visit, with much +the same childish delight as was evinced by Baba. And if the two +showed their pleasure in different ways, it was none the less patent to +their visitor, that the little nurse, with her big green eyes and dusky +cloud of hair, took as much pleasure in his coming as did the +golden-haired baby; and it gave him an odd glow of satisfaction to see +her eyes brighten as he talked, and to watch the swift soft flushes of +colour that came and went in her cheeks. Rupert, when he chose, could +talk well and interestingly; he had travelled over the greater part of +the world, and in the course of his travels had used eyes and ears to +good purpose. And to Christina, the little travelled—to Christina, +the whole sum of whose existence had been divided between a Devonshire +village, the Donaldsons' suburban house, and a London lodging—all that +Rupert told of distant countries, and strange, uncouth peoples was +breathlessly interesting and entrancing. Sitting there in the +firelight, Baba nestled closely in his arms, Christina seated opposite +to him, her chin propped on her hands, her eager eyes following his +every word—Rupert found himself talking as he had not talked for a +long time with an eager boyish interest that surprised himself. It was +only when some chance word of his led Christina to ask him a question +about Biskra, that the flow of his eloquence suddenly ceased. It was +there, in that garden of the desert, that he had first met Margaret. +The girl's gently-asked question, for some inexplicable reason, brought +back to him, as though it were only yesterday, the afternoon when the +woman who ever since had dominated his whole existence, had first come +into his life. Overhead, the deep pure depths of the bluest sky he had +ever seen, against its blue stately palms that waved their fan-like +leaves with the soft rustling sounds that only belong to the +palm-trees; and there in the sunlight, stately as one of the great +trees, her white gown falling about her, Margaret had stood, her dark +eyes turned towards the all-surrounding desert. How or why they had +begun to speak, he could not now recall, but from that first speech of +fellow-countrymen in a far-off land, they had passed into +acquaintanceship, and from that by easy stages to the friendship which +he had implored her to give him, in default of that which she had told +him could never be his. Well! at least in the years that followed, he +had been able to serve her, to help her, to ease some of the burden of +her life, that burden of which he himself knew so little. And to have +served her was something for which to be thankful. If only—there was +the bitterness—if only she had not gone away out of his ken now, in +this strange mysterious fashion, leaving him ignorant of her +whereabouts, and of all that concerned her. +</P> + +<P> +If only she had trusted him more! If only—— With a start he roused +himself, to realise that Christina's eyes were watching him with a +certain shy wonder, and remembering that he had broken off his +conversation almost in the middle of a sentence, he looked at her with +a smile of apology. +</P> + +<P> +"Do please forgive me," he said. "Your mention of Biskra brought back +so many pictures of the past, and—I was looking at them instead of +going on with my story." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba likes pictures," the child murmured drowsily. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps Baba would like the picture I saw," her cousin answered, +feeling an odd compulsion to speak of what was in his thoughts: "a +picture of palm-trees, and a princess in a white gown, who walked +amongst them, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Was the princess like Christina?" Baba all at once pulled herself +into an upright position on his knee, and looked earnestly into his +face. "Tell Baba if that princess was like mine own pretty lady." +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the two elders met, and Christina laughed confusedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba sees the people she loves through very rosy spectacles," she +said, and Rupert smiled, whilst Baba's insistent voice repeated— +</P> + +<P> +"Tell if the princess in the white frock was like Christina." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no—not at all like her," Rupert began, his eyes glancing at the +bent dark head opposite to him, at the clear whiteness of the cheeks, +into which the colour was flushing so becomingly; at the deep green of +her eyes, the red line of her lips; "no, the princess was—at least," +he broke off suddenly, and looked more narrowly at the girl. "How +absurd!" he exclaimed, "and what an extraordinary hallucination. It +shows what a power of imagination the least imaginative of us may +possess; but at that moment, your princess and mine, little Baba, had a +queer fantastic likeness to one another." +</P> + +<P> +Christina looked up at him sharply, surprise the predominating +expression on her face. But before she could speak, Baba's clear tones +again made themselves heard. +</P> + +<P> +"Just tell Baba 'zackly—'<I>zackly</I> what the princess in the white frock +was like; Baba wants to know." +</P> + +<P> +Again Rupert felt impelled to speak, almost against his own +inclination, and his words came with a readiness, which, if he had +considered the matter, would greatly have surprised him. +</P> + +<P> +"She was tall," he answered; "very tall and very stately, as stately as +one of the palm-trees under which she stood; and her face was white +like her gown, only, it was not white as sick people are white, but +like the whiteness of a rose, very clear and pure. And her hair was +black—black as a raven's wing"—his voice grew dreamy, he seemed to +have forgotten his listeners, and merely to be thinking aloud, whilst +he watched the leaping flames of the fire—"and her eyes were deep and +dark, fathomless wells of colour, and very sad." Christina drew in her +breath quickly, and leant forward, an eager look on her face. +"I—never saw any eyes like those," the man's voice continued; "they +held so much—they had seen so much, they were so beautiful—and so +sad. The princess"—he started, and tried to resume a lighter +tone—"was the most beautiful lady in the world, little Baba." +</P> + +<P> +"She is just like——" Christina began impetuously, then stopped short, +remembering the secrecy enjoined upon her, by the woman whom she knew +only as "Margaret,"—the woman of the lonely valley house. +</P> + +<P> +"Just like—who?" Rupert turned to her with the sharp question, a +sudden gleam in his eyes. "Do you know anybody answering to the +description I have just given? Have you ever seen someone like—like +my princess?" The eagerness of his tones, the gleam in his eyes, +showed Christina the necessity for caution, and she answered quietly— +</P> + +<P> +"I think the lady you describe, is something like a lady I once saw; at +least, she was beautiful, with dark eyes and hair," the girl ended +confusedly. +</P> + +<P> +"It could not be the same person," Rupert said with decision. "The +princess I am describing—was unique. You would not speak of her in +those terms of lukewarm praise. Her beauty was something beyond and +above anything ordinary or everyday." +</P> + +<P> +"So," Christina was on the point of saying almost indignantly, "so was +the beauty of my lovely lady," but she checked her words just in time; +prudence demanded that she should say nothing, rather than that by +saying a word too much, she should betray another woman's trust. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like—to have seen her under the palm-tree," she said, +wondering in her girlish heart, whether it was the beautiful princess +in the white gown, who had brought the lines of pain about this man's +face, and into his grey eyes; wishing, too, with girlish innocent +fervour, that it might be given to her to take away some of his pain. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you could have seen her," he answered her speech. "I think you +and she would understand one another, but"—again the words seemed +forced from him—"at this moment, I don't even know where she is." The +concentrated bitterness of the tone, the haggard misery of the look +that accompanied the words, stabbed at Christina's tender heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I am sorry," she exclaimed. "I wish—I could help you," she +spoke with a child's impulsive eagerness, but it was the tender pity of +a womanly woman, that looked out of her eyes, and the look gave Rupert +a sense of having been touched with some healing balm. +</P> + +<P> +Baba was no longer taking any conscious part in the conversation; the +warmth of the fire, combined with the consumption of a plentiful supply +of Mrs. Nairne's toast and cake, had induced profound drowsiness, and +the sounds of her elders' voices having acted as a final soporific, the +little maid now slept peacefully, her dimpled hand against Rupert's +neck, her golden curls upon his shoulder. The man and girl were, to +all intents and purposes, alone, and Rupert looked across at Christina, +with the smile that gave such extraordinary charm to his face. +</P> + +<P> +"No wonder this small girl looks at you with rosy spectacles," he said; +"you are one of the born helpers of this world. What makes you say you +would like to help me? Do you think I need help?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure you do," came the prompt reply; "your eyes—" she broke off, +startled by her own audacity, her glance wavering from his face to the +fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Your eyes——" he repeated after her. "What do you find in my eyes +that makes you think I want help?" He spoke with the same caressing +kindliness he might have bestowed on a child; he felt an odd desire to +confide in her, as a grown-up person does sometimes feel oddly +constrained to confide in a little child, whose sympathy, whilst +lacking comprehension, is still full of comfort. +</P> + +<P> +"Your eyes are so sad," she answered frankly, when he paused for her +reply; "you seem as if you were looking always for something you have +lost, something which is very precious to you." +</P> + +<P> +"So I am," he replied, pillowing Baba more closely in his arms, and +leaning nearer to Christina. "I don't know by what wonderful gift you +discovered all that in my eyes—but it is true. I am looking for +something I have lost, or perhaps—something I have never had," he +added bitterly, under his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Some day—surely—you will find it?" she said gently, her heart +aching, because of the sudden hardening of his mouth and eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Find what I have never had?" he laughed, and his laugh hurt the girl +who listened. "I may find the—person who has gone out of my ken; that +is possible. I never forget to look for what I have lost, wherever I +go, and I go to many places in my car. But, even if I found the human +being I have lost, will everything be less elusive, less hopeless than +before?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you know you are talking in riddles," Christina answered +gravely, her brows drawn together in a frown; "you don't want to let me +understand what you really mean, and that is very natural," she added +with a practical common sense that sat quaintly upon her; "but I should +have liked to help you." +</P> + +<P> +"You do help me," he said quickly; "it sounds absurd to say so, even to +myself it seems absurd, because it is not my way to take anybody into +my confidence. But—I can trust you." +</P> + +<P> +The simply spoken words set Christina's heart beating with innocent +pride; her eyes looked at him gratefully. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you for saying that," she answered. "I think it is true. You +can trust me, and I am glad, so very glad, if there is anything I can +do to help you. If—if I might understand a little better?" she added +falteringly. +</P> + +<P> +"The story I told Baba just now was a true one," he answered abruptly; +"the beautiful lady really walked under the palm-trees, and +I—well—these stories all have the same plot. I wanted her for my +princess. But she—had a prince of her own already." The half-bitter, +half-jesting way in which he spoke, sent all the child in the girl into +the background, brought all the woman in her into prominence; she put +out her hand with a little pitiful gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she whispered softly; "oh! but that was hard." +</P> + +<P> +"It seemed hard to me," his tone was grim; "it seemed an irony of fate +beyond my poor powers of comprehension, more especially when I +found—no, not found—I don't know for certain even now. I know +nothing, less than nothing"—again came that bitterness that hurt his +listener—"but when I guessed that the prince was not worthy of her, +that it was my lot to stand aside and be a friend only, whilst someone +not worthy to touch the hem of her gown, had the place of honour, then +I knew what sorry tricks Fate can play!" +</P> + +<P> +"And the poor princess?" Christina asked gently. A light flashed over +Rupert's face. +</P> + +<P> +"There is the wonder of it all, the wonder of womanhood," he exclaimed; +"mind, I don't know any facts for certain. I only guess that +the—rightful prince is not worthy to tie the strings of her shoes, and +yet—he is all the world to her. The rest of us are nothing. No, that +isn't true either," he corrected himself hurriedly. "I have her +friendship. I have the unspeakable honour of being her friend, but the +best of her is given to someone who is not worthy. Not that the best +man among us is worthy to touch her hand," he added, with an +impetuosity that made him seem all at once oddly young and boyish. +</P> + +<P> +"And she—your friend—is it she you have lost now?" Christina +questioned softly, when he paused. He nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she left town suddenly, giving me no reason for going. I have +been able to do many things for her; things a friend could do. She is +very fragile; she has been very ill, and now—I do not even know where +she is. I can only surmise that the man, who is not worthy—needed her +help—and she has done his bidding. Worthy or unworthy, her soul is +wrapped up in him. Woman's love is a wonderful thing—almost +incomprehensible to men!" +</P> + +<P> +Unbidden, before Christina's mind, there rose a half-darkened room, a +bed piled high with pillows, and lying back amongst the pillows, a +woman with a beautiful, stricken face, and deep eyes of haunting +sadness. Unbidden there came to her memory words spoken in a low +passionate voice: +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know what it means to care so much for a man, that, no +matter what he is, or does, he is your world, your whole world." +</P> + +<P> +And with the memory, came an illuminating flash of thought. Could it +be possible—that the beautiful lady of the lonely valley, and the +princess in the white gown, of whom this man spoke, were one and the +same person? Her preoccupation with this thought made her silent for +so long after Rupert's last speech, that presently he said quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know why I am inflicting all this upon you, or why I have been +egotistical enough to think my confidence could be in the smallest +degree interesting, to somebody who is almost a stranger." +</P> + +<P> +"A stranger?" Christina echoed the words blankly, then laughed a +little tremulously. +</P> + +<P> +"I had—forgotten—-we had only met so seldom," she said; "it—doesn't +feel as if you were a stranger; and I am so glad, so proud, that you +have trusted me. Some people from the very beginning don't seem like +strangers, do they?" she asked, with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"That's quite true," he answered. "I am not a subtle person, I don't +profess to be able to explain these things, but some people do seem to +jump directly into one's friendship, whilst other people jog along +beside us all our lives, and we get no nearer to them at last, than we +were at first. You have been a friend to me to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Have I? I am glad," the colour rushed into her face, "and I wish I +could help more." He smiled at her again. He still had the feeling +that he was talking to a charming child, one of rarely sympathetic and +understanding nature; and yet, through all the mist of masculine +density in which he was wrapped, he was conscious of the womanly +tenderness that had looked out of Christina's eyes, and spoken in her +voice. That maternal instinct which is innately part of every good +woman's nature, was largely developed in Christina, and, involuntarily, +Rupert had made an appeal to that instinct. He would have laughed to +scorn the bare idea that he, a strong and self-reliant man of the +world, could ever lean, or need to lean, upon a slip of a girl, whose +youthfulness was written in every line of her face, and of her slight +form. And yet, unwittingly he had put out his hands to her for help, +much as a little child puts out hands to its mother, for comfort and +guidance. +</P> + +<P> +Children all, these men-folk of the world! Children all, they have +been from days immemorial, and presumably will be still the same in the +days to come. And their womenkind love them, and comfort them, guide +them and tend them, learning, with the sure instinct of womanhood, that +they are just little boys, to be taken care of, and watched over, and +"mothered" all the time. Christina knew this truth instinctively, if +she could not have put it into definite words; Christina knew it; each +daughter of Eve knows it by experience bitter or sweet—it is the truth +that "every woman knows"! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"I AM QUITE SURE YOU NEED NOT BE AFRAID." +</H4> + +<P> +"You are sure I need not be alarmed? You are quite, quite sure? She +is all my world." Denis Fergusson looked down at the small trembling +creature, his eyes full of grave kindliness. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, you need not be alarmed, Lady Cicely," he said. "I advised +Miss Moore to send for you, because with a child, everything is so +rapid that one never quite knows at the beginning of an illness how +things may go. But little Miss Baba is doing exactly as she ought to +do in every way. You need not have the slightest anxiety." +</P> + +<P> +The little mother, with her lovely, troubled face, stood in the window +of that same low, old-fashioned room, which Rupert, a fortnight +earlier, had found such a restful place, and the doctor stood by her +side. The winter sunshine fell upon her delicately cut features, +lighting the pale gold of her hair into a halo; and the blue eyes she +turned to her companion, seemed to him scarcely less innocent and +sweet, than the eyes which had looked into his from Baba's cot. +</P> + +<P> +"Such a <I>little</I> woman to have the responsibilities of womanhood," was +his thought; "such a little woman, who looks as if she ought to be +wrapped round with care and tenderness." +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps some of the chivalrous tenderness of his thought showed itself +in his glance; perhaps Cicely could read in his face the trustworthy +nature of the man, for she said quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"You see, Baba and I have only each other in the world, and that makes +her very extra precious. Sometimes—I am afraid, because I love her so +much." +</P> + +<P> +"Afraid?" The doctor's glance was puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, afraid lest God should take her away from me. He might think I +was making an idol of her, and that it was better I should do without +her. That thought makes me afraid." To no living soul before, had +Cicely told of the fear that often stirred within her, but Denis +Fergusson's brown eyes and sympathetic manner, invited confidence, and +in some unaccountable fashion he made her think of John, the loving +husband who had always understood. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't yours rather a pagan way of looking at things?" Fergusson said +gently. "Surely our God is not a jealous God, Who takes away what we +love, because we love it? I don't believe it is possible to love a +person too much, if one only loves them rightly. And I could never +believe that the God Whose name is Father, could be angry with a +mother's love." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you have said that to me," Cicely answered. "Baba is so +much to me, so very, very much, but I don't want to make an idol of +her, dear little sweetheart." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a very adorable person," Fergusson said brightly. "I shall +miss my daily visits to her; she and I have made great friends." +</P> + +<P> +"She is the friendliest soul. We have always wrapped her round with +love; I wanted her to be loving and happy." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you have succeeded. She is the delight of the village, and of +the whole neighbourhood. She and her very capable nurse are known for +miles round. There will be great lamentations when they go." +</P> + +<P> +"They must come back," Cicely smiled, well-pleased at the praise of her +darling. "I am taking them both to Bramwell for Christmas, but later +on in the spring or summer, they will come here again." +</P> + +<P> +"But I, alas! shall be gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! I forgot you are only doing temporary work here. You know you +are not quite 'in the picture' here," she said with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" The one word, though abruptly uttered, was accompanied by the +smile that made Fergusson's poorer patients say, it warmed their hearts +when he smiled at them; and Cicely had the same sensation of warmth. +</P> + +<P> +"Because you are not in the least like any country doctor I ever came +across; and I am sure you would never bear being buried in rural +depths. You belong to cities, and people." +</P> + +<P> +"I hoped I had managed to hide my proclivity for gutters," he answered +laughing. "I am afraid you are right. A big city draws me like a +magnet. I can say with the poet, 'The need of a world of men for me.' +The finest scenery in the world does not make up to me, for the lack of +human beings." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are a town person?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very much a town person. My home and work lie in a rather sordid, +very poor—to me, enthrallingly interesting—corner of South London. I +am only here for a time, doing his work for an old acquaintance, and +incidentally getting a change I rather needed." +</P> + +<P> +"You knocked yourself up with work in South London?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not quite that. I got a little played out, and the air of this place +has more than set me up. I shall go back like a giant refreshed." +</P> + +<P> +"They are chiefly poor people, your patients?" she questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"Almost entirely poor. It is always interesting work, sometimes +heartrending work, often humiliating. The poor are so wonderful in +their attitude to one another, and to all their difficulties and +troubles. But if I once begin to talk about my South London folk, I +shall never stop. Some day you will perhaps let me tell you of their +hard fight with life, and of their splendid courage." +</P> + +<P> +"You must let me help you, and them," she answered impulsively; "and +thank you again ten thousand times, for all you have done for my little +Baba." +</P> + +<P> +The short, sharp illness which had brought Cicely flying down from town +at a moment's notice, had safely run its course, and Baba was now +enjoying a convalescence, in which she was petted and spoilt to her +heart's content, petted to an extent that might have done harm to a +less sweet and wholesome character. But the love that had wrapped the +child round from her first hours of life, had only made her sunny +sweetness of nature more sweet and sunny, and she was a very +captivating patient. Mrs. Nairne vied with Cicely and Christina in, as +she phrased it, "cosseting" up the precious little dear, and the +village folk who had learnt to love the small girl in her red cloak, +with her dainty face and gracious manners, showered gifts and enquiries +upon the invalid. Very quaint presents found their way to Baba's +bedside. A plump young chicken from good Mrs. Smithers, whose poultry +yard had caused the child the keenest delight; eggs from Widow Jones, +who cherished a few rakish fowls in her strip of back garden; girdle +cakes, most fearsome for digestive purposes, from Mrs. Madden, the +blacksmith's wife, whilst the blacksmith himself brought a horse shoe, +polished to the brightness of a silver mirror, for the little lady who +had loved to stand beside the flaming forge, watching the sparks fly +up, as his huge hammer struck the anvil. Children came shyly with +bunches of the berries and coloured leaves that still hung in the +hedges, and a very ancient dame whose garden boasted of two equally +ancient apple-trees, proudly toddled up to Mrs. Nairne's door with the +largest and rosiest of her apples, for the "pretty little lady." +</P> + +<P> +"Baba seems to have made them all love her," Cicely said to Christina, +tears standing in her blue eyes, when she returned from interviewing +the old lady of the apples; "everybody who comes, speaks of her as if +she were an old and valued friend." +</P> + +<P> +"She has made friends with every living soul," Christina answered; "she +is the most loving little child, and so tender-hearted over everything +that is hurt or unhappy. I don't wonder everyone here adores her." +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Fergusson seems to think she will soon be quite well, and we must +move her home for a few days, and then to Bramwell." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he says she will soon be quite well," Christina repeated; "but I +think I ought to remind you, that my month of probation ended last +week; and—and I don't know whether you would care to let me still be +Baba's nurse." Nobody knew what it cost the girl to say those +apparently simple words, nor how hard it had been to resist the +temptation to leave them unsaid. Lady Cicely had obviously forgotten +that her new nurse had come on a month's trial only; she was taking it +for granted that Christina was a permanent part of her household, and +the girl shrank indescribably from any possibility of a change. And +yet, conscience urged her to remind her employer of their compact for a +month's probation. She instinctively felt that to drift on into being +Baba's permanent nurse, would not be fair to Baba's kindly, impulsive +little mother. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know whether I should care to keep you on!" Cicely +exclaimed, when Christina had finished her halting speech; "what +absurdity! Why, the doctor told me your careful nursing helped to get +my darling safely out of her nasty wood. As if I should dream of +letting you go, unless you want to leave us?" she questioned hastily. +</P> + +<P> +"Want to leave you?" Christina's eyes dilated with the intensity of +her emotion; "why—I am so happy with Baba and with you, that I +couldn't bear even the very thought of going away from you. Only—I +thought it was right to remind you about our agreement." +</P> + +<P> +"It was rather a stupid agreement," Cicely answered lightly. "I had +the fear of Rupert before my eyes. I knew he was thinking me a sort of +impetuous infant, for insisting on asking you to come to Baba, just +because you and she got on so well together. Rupert has a very +well-balanced mind. He likes things done decently and in order. I am +not built on the same lines." +</P> + +<P> +Christina laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Still, you do like decency and order," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! yes," Cicely shrugged her shoulders; "but Rupert, the dear soul, +is more conventional. Men always are. He likes beaten tracks, and the +ways in which all our dear ancestors pottered along for countless +generations. I like to make nice little new paths with my own feet, +and do little new things that my great-grandmother never dreamt of +doing, even in her wildest dreams." +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mr. Mernside so very conventional?" Christina asked, and Cicely +responded quickly— +</P> + +<P> +"He's a perfect dear, but he would not for the world go out of the +orthodox track. He believes in formal introductions, and long +acquaintance as a prelude to friendship, and he would rather die than +give his confidence to anyone, unless he had known them for years, and +knew everything about them." A faint, a very faint, smile hovered over +Christina's lips. Did Mr. Mernside really think long acquaintance a +necessary prelude to friendship? Did he only give his confidence to +those he had known longest? Seated in the firelight in this very room, +only a fortnight ago, he had told her many things, which surely he +would only have told to a friend—a faithful and loyal friend? And yet +she had known him for so short a time, if time was to be measured +merely by days and weeks. +</P> + +<P> +"You saw Rupert the other day?" Lady Cicely went on, no thought of what +was in the girl's mind crossing her own; "he wrote and told me how well +and happy Baba looked." +</P> + +<P> +"He was so kind." Christina's voice was quite non-committal. "He came +twice to have tea with Baba—I think he enjoyed nursery tea," she added +demurely. +</P> + +<P> +"He loves children, and they love him. He is a most disappointing +person, never to have married. I always tell him so. But he is not +the least a woman's man; I really don't believe there has ever been a +woman in Rupert's life at all." +</P> + +<P> +The words echoed oddly in Christina's ears, when memory was still +bringing back to her the vivid recollection of Rupert's princess in the +white gown, of Rupert's own lined and haggard face, when he had told +her the story of the beautiful lady who dominated his life. Discretion +led her to reply more or less evasively to Cicely's words, and to her +great relief the subject dropped, and her small ladyship returned to +the discussion of Christina's own affairs. +</P> + +<P> +"As to any question of your leaving us," she said; "there is no such +question. Neither Baba nor I can do without you now. And I have not +yet discovered that you are any of the dreadful things one seems to +expect people to be. We always ask if nurses are sober and honest; and +I don't believe you drink or steal." +</P> + +<P> +Christina laughed gaily. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not a thief or a drunkard, I can truly say. But all the same +you might not have found that I knew enough about children to give you +satisfaction, and there are so many ways in which you might say I am +inefficient." +</P> + +<P> +"I find you just what I want," Cicely answered emphatically, "and so +does Baba. Why, if you left her now, it would break her dear little +heart. No, you have got to stay with us for ever and ever, amen; we +will take Baba to town as soon as that nice Dr. Fergusson says she may +move, and then we will go to Bramwell for Christmas." +</P> + +<P> +The thought of "that nice Dr. Fergusson" recurred to the little lady +more than once that evening, when she sat writing in the sitting-room, +whilst Christina performed Baba's evening toilette. +</P> + +<P> +"He makes me think of John," so Cicely's thoughts ran; "he has the same +kind understanding eyes—brown, like John's—and the same gentle way +with him that John had. I think he knew how lonely it feels for me +sometimes, and what a big responsibility life is, for one little scrap +of a woman like me." +</P> + +<P> +And, indeed, strangely enough, thoughts not at all unlike these, were +passing through Denis Fergusson's mind, as he drove rapidly back to +Pinewood Lodge; and, whilst he ate his solitary meal that evening, in +Dr. Stokes's trim dining-room, furnished in precisely the way Fergusson +himself would not have furnished it, he found Cicely's delicately fair +face, and soft blue eyes constantly rising before his mental vision; he +found himself wondering what manner of man her husband had been, and +whether those blue eyes had been lighted with love for that dead man's +sake. +</P> + +<P> +"She looked like some lovely, pathetic child when she talked to me +to-day," so his reflections ran "she and that fascinating Baba of hers, +are just a pair of babies together, and yet—all the woman and the +mother are in her, too," and, glancing round the formal room, Fergusson +sighed, and made a great effort to turn his thoughts away from sudden +alluring dreams of a home of his own, a home that would be really a +home, not merely a place in which to live, where the centre of all its +peace and happiness would be—his wife. +</P> + +<P> +His wife? He laughed aloud, a little short laugh that rang +discordantly in his ears. It was quite improbable that he would ever +be able to afford to ask any woman to marry him, much less a dainty, +delicately nurtured woman who—who—— +</P> + +<P> +Back into his mind flashed the picture which he had been resolutely +thrusting from him, the picture of a lovely face, like some exquisite +flower rising above a cloud of filmy lace and soft dark furs, the big +feathers in her hat drooping against the gold of her hair. It was on +Mrs. Nairne's doorstep that he had first met Cicely, and the picture of +her as he saw her then in the pale wintry sunlight, seemed to haunt him +all the more persistently, because side by side with it, he saw +another, and strangely different picture. His own house in a South +London road, its sordid surroundings, its unsavoury neighbourhood, all +these made Cicely and her daintiness, seem like some princess belonging +to another world. +</P> + +<P> +"Pshaw, you poor fool!" Fergusson ejaculated aloud, when, his dinner +ended, he retired to smoke in a small den, dignified by the name of +smoking-room; "the sooner Dr. Stokes comes back and you clear out from +here and return to the sober realities of life in Southwark, the better +for you. Dreaming dreams and seeing visions is no part of your +vocation." +</P> + +<P> +He had reached this stage of his meditations, and had drawn up a chair +to the writing-table, with a grim determination to finish an article +for a medical journal, when the parlourmaid entering, handed him an +exceedingly grubby note. It was briefly worded— +</P> + +<P> +"Please come at once. He is dying." +</P> + +<P> +There was no address, and the only signature was the one letter "M," +but Fergusson at once understood what the message portended. The car, +hurriedly ordered, was soon waiting for him at the front door; and, +telling the man he would drive himself, the doctor glided quickly away +in the direction of the lonely house in the valley. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I discover anything of the mystery belonging to the house?" he +wondered, as he sped along the dark country roads, his own powerful +lamps throwing a stream of light upon the road ahead; "or will the +secret, whatever it is, die with that unfortunate man? Whatever he has +done or been—and he has either done or been something out of the +common, and something not very commendable—I am prepared to swear his +crimes were crimes of weakness, not of wickedness. The man is weak +through and through, and why that wonderful woman has poured out such a +wealth of love upon him, is one of the problems of—womanhood." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled as his meditations reached this point, and once again his +thoughts flew back to that picture which had haunted them earlier in +the evening, the picture of Baba's mother—fair, sweet, and dainty. +</P> + +<P> +"Would she—be ready to love through good and ill—as that other woman +had done?" he reflected; "would she be ready to act as a prop? or must +she find someone to look up to, and depend upon?" and thinking these +things, he drew up before the high wall and the green door, before +which a lantern flung a feeble light upon the surrounding blackness. +Elizabeth admitted him; her face looked very worn, her eyes were heavy +with want of sleep. +</P> + +<P> +"He took a bad turn two hours ago," she said, in answer to the doctor's +question; "he's going fast, and I can't get her to leave him, though it +is killing her, too." +</P> + +<P> +"It would only make her worse to try and take her away from him now," +Fergusson said gently, knowing the good woman's devotion to her +mistress, hearing the little shake in her voice as she spoke of +Margaret; "if—the end has come, it will not be long; he has no +strength to fight a long fight." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Strength?</I>" the servant muttered, a curious contempt in her accents; +"you couldn't name him and the word strength in the same breath. +There! I've no business to talk like that of one who's dying, +but—give me a strong man, give them me strong all the time—I can't do +with them <I>weak</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson made no reply. He saw that the woman, overwrought with long +watching and anxiety, was temporarily deprived of her normal reticence +and taciturnity, and he recognised that her outburst owed its origin to +her great love for her mistress, and to that natural antagonism which a +strong character is apt to feel towards the weak. Handing her his +coat, he passed rapidly along the corridor to the room, with which he +was now familiar; and, going in softly, saw at a glance that the sick +man in the bed was drawing very near to the Valley of the Shadow. +</P> + +<P> +He lay propped up with pillows, and the beautiful woman known to +Fergusson as Mrs. Stanforth, stood beside him, his head drawn close to +her breast. Her arm was about him, and he had turned his face against +her, as a child lays its face against its mother, his dim eyes fixed +upon her with a look of almost passionate adoration. With her free +hand she stroked back the damp hair from his forehead, now and again +wiping away the drops of sweat with a filmy handkerchief she held, and +her eyes watched him with a hungry, loving look, that brought a lump +into Fergusson's throat. +</P> + +<P> +"To know that a woman will look into one's dying face with such a look +as that, is worth everything," the thought flashed unbidden into his +mind, as he stepped softly up to the bed, and laid a hand upon the +patient's wrist. The dying man looked at him with a faint smile of +welcome, but the woman did not move or glance at him. Her whole soul +was wrapped up in the man she loved, the man who was passing so fast +away from her, into the silent land. +</P> + +<P> +"Nearly—done—-doctor," the man in the bed panted out, the smile still +lingering on his face. "I—thought—I should have been +afraid—but—now—the time has come—there—is—no fear." +</P> + +<P> +His eyes left Fergusson, and lifted themselves to the face bending over +him. +</P> + +<P> +"You—rest—me—sweetheart," he said. "I—am never afraid—when you +are—with me." As his eyes met hers, his smile acquired a strange +radiance, and Fergusson all at once recognised the charm of the +man—that magnetic something—which had won and held the love of such a +woman as Margaret. Until this moment the reason for the weak man's +hold over this woman had baffled, almost annoyed, Denis. Now, in a +flash of illumination, it seemed to him he understood it. +</P> + +<P> +He had seen at once that the dying man was already beyond all human +aid; he gave him an injection of strychnine, but there was nothing else +he could do, to ward off that dread visitor, whose feet had already +crossed the threshold. Yet he felt that his presence in the house, if +not in the room, would be a help to the woman so soon to be left +desolate; and, having spoken a word or two of comfort and cheer, in +that strong voice of his which carried comfort in its very tones, he +moved away to the adjoining room. +</P> + +<P> +"Call me if there is the slightest change," he whispered to Margaret; +"you and he would rather be alone just now." She bent her head, and +for the fraction of a second, her eyes met his. The misery in those +deep eyes tore at his heart strings; his powerlessness to help this +fellow-creature who was in such dire sorrow, hurt him, as if he had +received some physical blow. Alone, in the next room, he seated +himself by the fire, and tried to read a book he picked up from the +table, but his thoughts refused to take in a single word of the printed +page; he was conscious of nothing but the low murmur of voices from the +bed he could just see through the open door. The words spoken by the +two whom death was parting, he could not hear, but his heart ached +intolerably for them both, for the man who was drifting into the Great +Silence, for the woman who was being left behind. +</P> + +<P> +"One long—failure—one long chapter of infamy—and wrong," the man's +whisper barely reached the woman's ears, as she bent over him. +</P> + +<P> +"But—you are sorry for it all now, my darling," she whispered back; +"only think that you are sorry for the wrong; only think that—now." +</P> + +<P> +"If you—forgive—surely—God forgives?" The dim eyes looked wistfully +up at hers, and she stooped with an infinitely tender gesture, to kiss +his ashen face. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely, most surely, God forgives," she answered solemnly, the +strength of her voice carrying conviction with it; "where there is a +great love, there is great forgiveness, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Like—yours," he interrupted dreamily; "great love—such a great +love—and a great—forgiveness. I—have heaped your life with misery +and shame—and still—you forgive—still you love." +</P> + +<P> +"Still I love," she whispered, a passion of tenderness in the +low-spoken words. "Max, love—real love—can't wear out or die, +whatever happens. It has always been you—only you—you entirely, my +man, my whole world." +</P> + +<P> +At the last words, she drew his head more closely against her breast, +and, bending over him, kissed him with a long lingering kiss. +</P> + +<P> +"Only—me—in spite—of everything?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only—you—sweetheart," she murmured; "only you—always." +</P> + +<P> +"And—that other—who has been your friend—of whom you told me?" His +voice was growing fainter. +</P> + +<P> +"He has been—he is—my good and loyal friend," she answered; "he is +nothing more to me than that. He could not ever be anything more." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps—afterwards—when—I have gone—you and he——" +</P> + +<P> +But she would not let him finish his halting, breathless sentence. +</P> + +<P> +"He and I will never be more than friends," she said, very clearly, +very firmly. "I could not love another man. There is not room in my +heart for anyone but you." +</P> + +<P> +A silence followed, a silence only broken by the dying man's difficult +long-drawn breaths, by the occasional dropping of a coal into the +grate, or the creaking of the heavy old furniture. And all the time +Margaret stood immovable in her place, her arms about the dying man, +his head close pillowed against her. All at once he spoke again, +hurriedly, fearfully. +</P> + +<P> +"You—are—sure—forgiveness," he gasped out. "God—will—forgive?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure," she answered, and there was no quaver in her voice, only a +great certainty; "there are no bounds to God's love. He will forgive. +He loves you, my dear. I am quite sure you need not be afraid." +</P> + +<P> +She spoke as gently, in as simple language as though he had been a +little child, and the fear slowly died out of his face. His eyes +looked once again into hers, with a look of adoring love and reverence; +then, with a tired sigh, the sigh of an over-weary child, his head sank +back more heavily against her, and the gasping breath was still. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"I DO TRUST, CICELY, YOU KEEP HER IN HER PLACE." +</H4> + +<P> +"Your being in town for Christmas is quite an unusual occurrence, isn't +it, Cousin Arthur?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite unusual; I may almost say, unprecedented. Dear Ellen and I, as +you know, have the greatest horror of any prolonged stay in this +Babylon, but, at the present moment, it is impossible to avoid it." +</P> + +<P> +"And Cousin Ellen is bearing up pretty well?" Cicely could not keep +the twinkle out of her eyes, although her voice was perfectly grave; +but Sir Arthur, being, as has been said, totally devoid of humour, only +observed the becoming gravity of tone, and not the twinkle. +</P> + +<P> +"As well as can be expected," he responded, with a gloomy shake of the +head, "but she dislikes hotels at all times, and at Christmas she +doubly dislikes having to live a hotel life. We have our little +festivities at home, quite small, unpretentious festivities, for the +servants and the men on the estate, and we shall feel not taking part +in them." +</P> + +<P> +"And surely the servants will miss you?" Cicely said with her pretty +gracious manner, whilst, it must be confessed, she inwardly wondered +whether the Congreves' household staff would regret or be relieved, by +the absence of their master and mistress at this festive season. +</P> + +<P> +"We hope so, we hope so," Sir Arthur answered pompously; "dear Ellen +and I always try to infuse a wholesome spirit into all the little +gaieties, and we feel keenly being absent this Christmas. But we must +be in London just now. Our own beloved border is too remote." Cicely +thought with a shudder of that wild Welsh border on which the Congreve +mansion stood, and instinctively she drew her costly furs more closely +round her dainty person, as if the very memory of the remote region +gave her a sensation of chill. +</P> + +<P> +"You are in town on business, of course," she went on, more for the +sake of saying something, than because she felt the slightest grain of +interest in the affairs of her husband's elderly cousin. "I must bring +Baba to see Cousin Ellen before we go to Bramwell. Baba is the +duckiest wee thing in the world—in my prejudiced opinion—and I +believe Cousin Ellen will like her." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur disliked all modern terms of endearment. He looked frigidly +at Cicely; and wondered, not for the first time, what his sensible and +sober-minded cousin, John Redesdale, could possibly have seen to +admire, in this frivolous creature who was now his widow. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not surprised poor John died," Sir Arthur reflected; "such +flightiness, such flippancy, must have grated on him terribly." It was +not given to Sir Arthur to understand his fellow-men, much less his +fellow-women; and it is doubtful whether he would have believed John +Redesdale himself, if that dear and noble man had risen from the dead, +to assure his cousin of his passionate and unswerving devotion to +Cicely, his much-loved wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Ellen will be very pleased to see your little girl," Sir Arthur +said stiffly, after that swift moment of thought. "You know we always +call her Veronica. We disapprove of pet names, and Veronica is a +valued name in our family." The vexed question of Baba's style and +title, being one that recurred on every occasion when Cicely and Sir +Arthur met, the little lady made a hasty change of subject, saying +brightly: +</P> + +<P> +"I will bring her one day. You know she was ill at Graystone. She +gave me a terrible fright, but she is quite well again, and I think we +owe a great deal to Christina, Baba's delightful nurse—a lady, a most +dear and charming girl, who is as much of a companion for me, as for +her own special charge." +</P> + +<P> +"A lady? A lady nurse? I hope you are wise in this, my dear Cicely; +it is rather an innovation, a departure from the good old ways. Now, I +have a theory that a middle-aged nurse of the very respectable, +old-fashioned type, is the best sort of person to be about a child." +</P> + +<P> +"If only one could dig her out of anywhere," Cicely answered with her +bright smile; "but she is so scarce nowadays, as to be practically +prehistoric. I have had every variety of nurse, and they seemed to me +to oscillate between minxes and humbugs, until I found Christina." +</P> + +<P> +"And with this young woman you no doubt had excellent references?" said +Sir Arthur, fixing a piercing glance upon his companion; "too much care +could not be exercised about the person who has charge of your little +girl." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely gave what she afterwards explained to herself as a mental gasp, +but she was mistress of the situation. She looked into Sir Arthur's +severe face, with a smile upon her own, and said smoothly— +</P> + +<P> +"I do agree so entirely with you about being very careful who one +engages as a nurse for a little child. I often feel that Baba's whole +future depends on the hands that mould her now, when her dear little +character is so much clay, to be made into what shape the hands choose." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur, let loose on another of his favourite hobby-horses, the +education of the young, forgot to notice that his cousin's pretty widow +had omitted to answer the question he had put to her, and cantering +away on the above horse, did not realise that he was as ignorant as +before, about Christina's references. He was still descanting forcibly +on the most absolutely perfect, and, in fact, the only way of training +a child in the way it should go, when the door of the hotel +sitting-room opened, and Lady Congreve entered. She was a +depressed-looking little woman, with the meek mouth and deprecating +eyes of a wife whose lord's word is law—and more than law—and her +first glance was not for their guest, but for the masterful gentleman +standing with legs firmly apart on the hearth-rug, giving his opinion, +in the full certainty that Cicely's interested attention, signified +complete acquiescence in all his views. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! my dear, there you are," he broke off to say, with a gracious wave +of his hand to his wife. "Cicely and I have been talking about +education, and I am glad to think she sees matters quite as I see them." +</P> + +<P> +The tiniest smile dimpled about Cicely's mouth. Sir Arthur's +interpretation of her total silence during his harangue, pleased her +sense of humour, but, being of a peace-loving disposition, and averse +to argument, especially with such an obstinately one-sided arguer as +Sir Arthur, she allowed his statement to pass without contradiction, +and greeted Lady Congreve with the charming cordiality, that gave her +so delightful a personality. +</P> + +<P> +"I am so sorry you have to be in town at this time of the year, just +when you must want to be at home," she said sympathetically. Lady +Congreve cast another fleeting glance at her husband, then looked with +a sigh round the stiffly-furnished sitting-room, with its suite of +brightly upholstered furniture, and its particularly unhomelike air. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a great disappointment to us both," she answered, in her soft, +deprecating voice, that to Cicely always seemed to be apologising for +daring to make itself heard at all. "I dislike this terribly noisy, +wicked city as much as dear Arthur does; and we had looked forward to +our usual pleasant Christmas gathering. To me, Christmas is scarcely +Christmas if it is not spent in a home—a real home." +</P> + +<P> +In the flash of a second, Cicely, with her wonted kindly impulsiveness, +made up her mind to do what in the bottom of her soul, she knew she +loathed doing, and what she knew would rob her own Christmas of all its +joyousness. She looked from one to the other of the two Congreves—Sir +Arthur still upright on the hearth-rug; his wife a small, dejected heap +in an armchair—and said in her most gracious manner— +</P> + +<P> +"I do wonder if you will do what I am going to ask you to do? I know +you are here on business, but just at Christmas time itself, just for +Christmas Day and Boxing Day, you can't do any business at all, so will +you come and spend at least those days with us at Bramwell? We go +to-morrow; could you come three days hence—on Christmas Eve, or +earlier, if you will. I quite see that your own home is too far away, +but our home is so near, only an hour by train, and we mean to try and +have a home-like Christmas. Do come." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Congreve's pathetic little face brightened, a gleam of pleasure +shot into her wistful eyes. Somewhere in that small, crushed soul of +hers—the soul that for nearly forty years her husband had manipulated +with ruthless hands—she had a profound longing for all the colour and +glory of life, and in some nebulous and inexplicable way, Cicely had +always seemed to her the embodiment of both. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Arthur!" she faltered. "Could we? It would be delightful; such a +relief after this great wilderness of an hotel. Could we go, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur drew his brows together in a judicial way peculiar to him, +and bearing no relation to the importance of the matter in hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Very kind of you to think of such an arrangement, my dear Cicely," he +began; "very kind, indeed. And it is true, as you say, that ordinary +business cannot be transacted at Christmas-time. But—we are not here +on quite ordinary business. I think I told you when I last saw you, +that my unfortunate brother-in-law is giving us great uneasiness." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you did mention it," Cicely answered, again racking her brain in +vain to remember what constituted the misfortunes of the +brother-in-law, "but I did not know——" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite so, quite so," Sir Arthur interrupted, waving her words aside; +"we do not discuss the subject frequently, because, as you are aware, +it is one which is most repugnant to us. But, for my poor sister's +sake, I feel bound to come forward now, greatly as I dislike being +mixed up with such an affair. I belong to those who believe that the +touch of pitch defiles." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely wondered more and more who and what the recalcitrant +brother-in-law could be, that the mention of him drew such strong +expressions from Sir Arthur's lips, brought so stern a look to his +face; but he did not allow her time to ask any questions, or make any +comment on his speech, resuming with scarcely a pause— +</P> + +<P> +"I am using what influence I possess, to have the whole matter hushed +up, as far as is compatible with right and justice. The poor man +himself is not likely to live long enough to be punished; and if +scandal can be averted from our family, which for so many generations +has been <I>sans reproche</I>, I shall feel rewarded for all my trouble." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely reflected that it was quite useless to try and disentangle the +meaning of Sir Arthur's mysterious and incomprehensible words; and, +being by nature the least inquisitive of beings, she asked no further +questions. +</P> + +<P> +"But if all that you have to do leaves you free for two or three days +at Christmas, please come to us," she said; "we shall be only a very +small party. My brother Wilfred can't come, and I am afraid Rupert +Mernside, my cousin, may not be with us this year; but my dear old +governess, Miss Doubleday, always comes to us for Christmas, and Baba, +Christina, and I are the gay and youthful elements. I like to make +Christmas a very happy time for my girlie," she added, almost +apologetically when she saw how, at her words, Sir Arthur's lips closed +tightly. "You think it rather wrong to be young and gay, don't you?" +she went on, a touch of defiance in her pretty voice; "but, you see, I +am—anyhow—not at all old—and I want to keep myself as young as ever +I can for Baba." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no objection to youth, as such," Sir Arthur answered, with a +lofty condescension that gave Cicely an overpowering wish to giggle +feebly; "but I should have thought you, a widow, with so many cares, so +many responsibilities, and above all with an immortal soul entrusted to +your care, that you would have put childish things behind you, and +taken up life with greater seriousness." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know," Cicely answered very softly, though her eyes shone, +"John, my dear husband, told me he hoped I should always keep my young +heart, and I hope I shall. I want to be young—as he liked me to +be—when I meet him again. And I want to keep Baba always with her +child soul, too," she went on, a sudden dreaminess in her glance. +"John used to say that the Kingdom of Heaven was for the child-like, +and the children. But I mustn't waste your time and Cousin Ellen's in +argument," she exclaimed, with a brisk change of tone; "only promise to +come to Bramwell for Christmas, and we will try to make you happy. And +I am sure you will like my dear little Christina." +</P> + +<P> +"You are not allowing her to presume on her being a lady, I do trust, +Cicely?" Sir Arthur said gravely. "You keep her in her place? If she +has undertaken to be a children's nurse, she should learn to occupy the +position usually occupied by children's nurses, and only that." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely lifted lovely pleading eyes to his censorious blue ones. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid you will think me all sorts of dreadful things, but I +could not keep Christina exclusively in the nursery. When you see her, +you will understand what I mean. She and Baba are a good deal with me, +and at Bramwell they will probably be with me still more." There was a +gentle dignity about her manner, which made even the outrageous +autocrat before her, understand that he had touched the limit of +interference. Cicely might appear to be sweet and yielding; and, +indeed, she was almost invariably more inclined to yield her own will, +than to struggle to attain it, but there was no lack of character in +her small person, and when she had once determined that a course of +action was expedient or right, nothing had power to turn her from that +course. +</P> + +<P> +"Your cousin Ellen and I will enjoy spending Christmas with you very +much," Sir Arthur said, beating his retreat with dignity. "I have no +doubt I can manage to be out of London for three days, and I should +like to see Bramwell again. John and I had many talks about the +alterations and improvements he carried out there." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely had a vivid recollection of her husband's whimsical description +of Sir Arthur's well-meant, but annoying, suggestions about those same +alterations, and she was conscious again of a giggle choked on its way +to birth, but she contrived to make a suitable reply, adding hastily— +</P> + +<P> +"And when you were in town in November, you told me you had some +business with Scotland Yard about a pendant. I do hope the police have +found the jewel for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Alas! no. It is altogether a most singular thing about that pendant. +I told you it was a family heirloom, a magnificent emerald with three +letters A.V.C. twisted together above it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"The police had a very strange clue the other day, a clue that, so far, +has come to nothing. A pawnbroker in a back street in Chelsea, came +forward, and stated that a pendant, answering in every particular to +the stolen one, had been offered to him for sale, a few weeks ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why didn't he send for the police, and give the person offering +it for sale into custody?" Cicely asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Because the police had not then notified the pawnbrokers of London of +the loss. In fact, as far as I can make out, the attempted sale must +have taken place at almost identically the same time when I came to +London to make enquiries about the pendant. The pawnbroker himself, it +seems, did not see the pendant. Two of his assistants were in charge +of the shop, when a young woman came in, and asked them what they would +give her for it. They seem to have suspected her from the first, for +she was obviously very poor, and not at all the sort of person likely +to be possessed of such a magnificent ornament. They made her an +offer, and apparently she took flight, and left the shop in a violent +hurry. She evidently saw and understood their suspicions of her, but +unfortunately they lost sight of her in the fog, and all trace of her +is completely gone." +</P> + +<P> +"I think I remember you suspected a young woman of the theft? Does the +description of the young person who went to the pawnbroker, answer to +the woman who was alone in the railway carriage with Cousin Ellen's +dressing-bag?" +</P> + +<P> +"The pawnbroker's assistants can only give a confused account of a +shabbily-dressed girl, who seemed badly in need of money. Their +descriptions are far from explicit. According to our maid, the young +woman in the railway carriage, was neatly dressed and very respectable +in appearance, but the two people might very easily be identical." +</P> + +<P> +"Very easily," Cicely answered; "but it is unfortunate that the +pawnbroker's assistants let the girl go. By now, I suppose, the +pendant may be broken up, and the stones untraceable." +</P> + +<P> +"Only too likely," Sir Arthur answered; "and yet I cannot help still +hoping to recover the thing intact. I cannot bear to think that a +jewel my mother so greatly valued, one which indeed has become an +heirloom, should be irretrievably lost." +</P> + +<P> +"Not irretrievably, I hope," Cicely answered, as she rose to go. +"Perhaps, when you come to us at Bramwell, you will be able to bring us +good news of the missing jewel, and—" she added with some hesitation, +"and about your brother-in-law, too." Again she wished that she could +in the least recollect what the scandal had been. Possibly, she might +never even have heard it, for John, her chivalrous and tender husband, +had kept from her ears everything that could vex or soil them, and if +she had ever heard the story, it had long since been buried in +oblivion. At her words, Sir Arthur's face clouded. +</P> + +<P> +"All! there will never be any good news about that wretched man. The +best news about him, the only news I can honestly say I wish to hear, +would be that he was safely in his grave. My sister, poor silly woman, +is infatuated about him still, I believe. She was always a fool where +he was concerned, always a fool." Sir Arthur's tones were irascible; +"you never saw her, of course?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never saw either of your sisters," Cicely answered gently; "they—I +think they had been married and had gone right away, long before I knew +any of you. You see it is only six years since I married John." +</P> + +<P> +"Only six years. And it is more than twenty years since both my +sisters left the old home. Both left it under a cloud; both insisted +on marrying men of whom my father and mother did not approve. Ah! it +was a sad business altogether, a sad business. They both belonged to +the order of women who go on caring for a man, whatever follies or sins +he may commit. I confess I cannot understand the attitude of mind of +such women." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I daresay not," Cicely answered, her eyes thoughtfully fixed on +his severe face. "I expect you feel that love and respect must always +go hand in hand, and that when a man has once lost a woman's respect, +he ought to lose her love as well." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, I think so. When respect goes, everything had better go. +I have no patience with the sentimental clinging to a man who has +forfeited all right to affection." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose"—Cicely paused, into her eyes there came a queer little +gleam, which neither of her companions could understand. "I suppose +when a woman takes a man for better or worse, the worse may mean evil +doing, and perhaps it is possible for her to hate the sin, and yet to +love—the sinner?" +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur looked a trifle taken aback, but he disliked being worsted +in an argument, and he would not ever own that he could be worsted by a +woman. Hence, he begged the question. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well," he said airily; "there is often a great deal of +sentimental nonsense talked about love, and I can answer for it, my +dear Cicely, that my poor sisters paid very dearly for their +sentimentality. One vanished completely from our ken; went down into +the depths of poverty and obscurity, and we could never hear of her +again. The other, I have seen and remonstrated with times without +number, but all in vain; and now—she has got that miserable husband of +hers in hiding somewhere, and I am bent on finding them both, and +preventing worse scandals—if I can." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you will do as you wish." Cicely was shaking hands now with +little Lady Congreve, who had taken no part in the conversation, beyond +giving occasional utterance to a faint ejaculation, or a timid laugh. +"I hope we shall all have a very happy Christmas together at Bramwell. +I will let you know, about trains. Till then, <I>au revoir</I>." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"MY MOTHER GAVE IT TO ME." +</H4> + +<P> +"Baba would like her doctor man to come to her Christmas-tree; Baba +does love her doctor man." At the sound of the pleading voice, the +sight of the appealing blue eyes, Cicely put down her pen with a laugh, +and caught the child in her arms. +</P> + +<P> +"You most absurd and beguiling infant, why do you want your doctor man, +as you call him?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cos Baba does. She loves him awful, drefful much," and to give her +mother some glimmering idea of the depth of her affection, Baba clasped +her hands round her own small person, and looked into Cicely's face, +with another appealing glance. +</P> + +<P> +"Christina, do you imagine Dr. Fergusson could be induced to come over +here for Christmas?" Cicely questioned, as Baba's nurse came into the +cosy boudoir at Bramwell Castle; "this picanniny of mine wants him +invited to her Christmas-tree." +</P> + +<P> +"I should think it would depend on how busy he is just now. The +practice seemed to be a big one. But perhaps at this time people will +be considerate enough not to fall ill, and will give the doctor a +little rest. Surely, Dr. Fergusson could motor over? It can't be very +far from here to Graystone." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite within a motor drive; and he was so very good to Baba, I should +like to ask him to come if he will. Rupert writes, that, as he feared, +he cannot be with us. He has had to start off post haste to Naples. +That tiresome boy, Jack Layton, a mutual cousin of Rupert's and mine, +has gone and got typhoid there, and of course Rupert, being a sort of +unattached, universal fairy godfather, has been sent for to look after +him." +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mr. Mernside a fairy godfather?" Christina smiled at the quaint +nomenclature. +</P> + +<P> +"I always think so. He is ready to do any thing for any of his +aggravating relations, at any moment, and as Jack has selected this +particular moment to get typhoid, Rupert will be away for Christmas. I +wonder whether Dr. Fergusson would think it very odd and +unconventional, if I invited him here, on our rather short +acquaintance?" +</P> + +<P> +Cicely looked thoughtfully across her pretty room at Christina, and the +girl laughed, and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"He is not so silly," she answered. "Dr. Fergusson is just one of +those simple, straightforward men who take things as they are meant, +and don't hunt round for ulterior motives. He won't even begin to +think whether your invitation is conventional or unconventional, he +will only think how good it is of you to ask him at all." +</P> + +<P> +"How wise you are," Lady Cicely exclaimed; "where does that little dark +head of yours get all its wisdom?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina laughed again. In those days of her happy life with Baba and +Baba's mother, her bright young laugh rang out very often—the laugh +that seemed such a true index to her young, bright soul. She had put +behind her all the misery and hardship of the past, and, with the +wholesome philosophy natural to her, lived in the full enjoyment of her +present content; and the few weeks of happiness, good food, and freedom +from anxiety, had changed the white-faced, hollow-eyed girl who had +perforce tried to pawn her mother's jewel, into a charming, and very +pretty semblance of her former self. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not wise," she said; "only I have had a good many rough times, +and I have learnt to do what one of my landladies called, 'sizing up +men and women.' I have had to size people up, and try to get a just +estimate of them." +</P> + +<P> +"And you have 'sized up' Dr. Fergusson?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have found out that he is the very soul of simplicity and +straightforwardness, and that he is so kind that there is nothing he +would not do for his fellow creatures," she answered eagerly; "and as +for worrying about the conventional, I am sure it never enters his head +to do such a thing." +</P> + +<P> +It flashed across Cicely's mind to wonder whether Christina's praise of +the doctor rose from any warmer feeling than that of friendly +gratitude, but the girl's eyes met hers so frankly, her manner was so +simple, and the very outspokenness of her enthusiasm, seemed to point +to such a heart-whole condition, that the brief thought was dismissed. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could accept your most tempting invitation," Fergusson wrote, +in reply to Cicely's letter; "but, alas! Christmas does not promise +much diminution of the work here. If, however, you will allow me to +come to you for Miss Baba's tree, on the afternoon of the +twenty-fourth, I could manage to do that in my car. It will give me +great pleasure to see my small patient again." +</P> + +<P> +As she folded up the letter, Cicely felt that it would also give her +pleasure to see the kindly-faced doctor, whose personality during +Baba's illness, had impressed her as being so helpful, who, in some dim +and unexplained way, made her think of the husband, for whose loss her +heart had never ceased to ache. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I am very glad Cousin Arthur and Cousin Ellen cannot +arrive before eight o'clock dinner on Christmas Eve," she said to +Christina, after receiving Fergusson's letter; "they mean so well, poor +dears, but they are such sadly wet blankets. Cousin Arthur would +certainly send our spirits down to zero, by telling us that the more we +enjoyed ourselves the more wrath to come was being stored up for us! +You know he says he never sees any beautiful scenery without +remembering that it will all be burnt some day!" +</P> + +<P> +"How delicious! I am afraid I am looking forward to seeing Sir Arthur; +he is at least original." +</P> + +<P> +"He won't approve of you, or Baba, or of anything any of us do," Cicely +answered; "his attitude of mind is disapproving. He has got the kind +of mind that always gets out of bed on the wrong side." +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps, at the back of her own mind, her little ladyship was not sorry +that Sir Arthur and Fergusson should have no opportunity of meeting; +for, as her natural astuteness told her, if Sir Arthur looked with +disapproving eyes upon Rupert, with how much more disapproval would he +regard a stranger, who was also a doctor. Sir Arthur belonged to the +old school of county magnates, who looked upon men of medicine as on a +level very little higher than a butcher or baker, and entirely refused +to entertain the notion that doctor and gentleman could ever be +synonymous terms. And Cicely was well aware that the old gentleman's +disapproval might conceivably find voice, and that she would be +reproached for receiving such guests in "poor dear John's" house. +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately for everyone's peace of mind, the Congreves, being unable +to leave London until late on Christmas Eve, were also unable to play +the part of kill-joys at Baba's Christmas-tree, and the little party +which assembled in the big hall of the Castle, was composed of +congenial and friendly folk, who were ready to become little children +again, to play with a little child. +</P> + +<P> +The hall, oak-panelled, and hung with suits of armour, and weapons +handed down from war-like Redesdale ancestors, had long since been +converted into a luxurious lounge, where, if comfortably upholstered +chairs, big palms, masses of flowers, and tables strewn with the latest +books, were incongruities, the incongruity at least made the hall a +most pleasant and sociable sitting-room. And so Fergusson thought it, +when from the sharpness of the grey winter day, he passed through an +outer vestibule, into the well-warmed, well-lighted place. Only he +himself knew with what an unaccountable sinking of the heart he had +driven up the beech avenue leading to the Castle, and realised what an +imposing place it was, to which he had been bidden. Involuntarily, and +in sharp contrast, the thought of his own modest house rose before his +mental vision, and the usually cheery doctor, for perhaps the first +time in his disciplined and philosophical existence, felt disposed to +curse the Fates, for dividing rich and poor by gulfs of such appalling +dimensions. But that sinking of the heart, and all the other unwonted +sentiments stirred in him by the sight of the great pile of Bramwell, +its stately park and lordly surroundings, were swept away by the +cordial greeting bestowed upon him, by the little lady of the house, +and by Baba's enthusiastic welcome. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba's doctor man," the child cried, with a small shriek of delight +when he appeared, and Baba monopolised her doctor man during the whole +two hours he was able to spend with them. But if to the larger number +of the party assembled in the hall, Fergusson seemed to have neither +eyes nor ears for anyone but the child-queen of the occasion, +Christina's observant eyes told her that his glance often rested upon +Cicely's fair head, and that whenever it did so, a great tenderness +crept into that glance. As she had told Lady Cicely, the rough school +in which her life had lately been spent, had taught her to study and +understand her fellow beings, and the doctor's secret, unknown to +himself, was shared by Christina, on that happy Christmas Eve. She was +a very safe and discreet guardian of secrets, this girl with the sweet +eyes, but she gave a quick little sigh when she understood the meaning +of Fergusson's glance, for to her, as to himself, there seemed an +unbridgeable gulf, between the hard-working doctor, and the dainty +<I>châtelaine</I> of Bramwell Castle. Before he left, Fergusson contrived +to make his way to Christina's side, and to say in an undertone:— +</P> + +<P> +"I think you will be sorry to know that your beautiful lady of the +lonely valley is in great trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" Christina exclaimed softly, her eyes darkening; "has the end come +for him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, five days ago. She is wonderful, but the heart-break in her eyes +is pitiful to see. I sometimes doubt whether her strength will hold +out; she is very fragile, and all the strain has told on her more than +I like." +</P> + +<P> +"Was he buried at——" Christina was beginning, when Fergusson finished +the sentence quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, not at Graystone. I don't know where she took him, but it was +away from that part of the country altogether. She and her faithful +Elizabeth went with him, and now she is back in that lonely house +again. I have tried to persuade her to leave it—to go to London—to +go anywhere away—but she answers me she is happier there, and I cannot +oppose her. But it is all a tragedy, an inexplicable tragedy." +</P> + +<P> +He could say no more, but what he had told Christina, filled the girl's +heart with sadness; her beautiful lady had made a profound impression +upon her, and the thought of the sorrowful woman in that lonely house +in the valley, hurt the girl's tender soul. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad we asked Dr. Fergusson," Cicely said to her, when later on +in the evening the two were alone together in Baba's day nursery; +"there is something so cheering about him, something," she added, with +a wistful look into Christina's face, "that makes me think of my +husband." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he like Mr. Redesdale?" Christina asked sympathetically. +</P> + +<P> +"No, not in the least—it is not that. At least, his eyes are brown, +and my husband had brown eyes, but it is not exactly a likeness that +can be defined feature for feature. It is something subtly +indefinable, but when I see Dr. Fergusson, and when he talks to me, it +makes me think of John. It makes me almost feel as if John were here +again." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<SPAN STYLE="letter-spacing: 4em">*****</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P> +"You are to come down to dinner to-night, and you are to wear the new +frock," Lady Cicely's tones were very decided, her blue eyes shone, her +face was dimpling with smiles. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! but—indeed—I don't think I ought; how can I? It—it wouldn't be +suitable, would it, for Baba's nurse to dine downstairs?" +</P> + +<P> +"Will you let Baba's mother decide what is best for the nurse to do?" +Cicely answered, laughing, and patting Christina on the shoulder; "you +are just to do what I tell you, and I tell you you must come down to +dinner to-night, and wear the new frock." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know how to thank you for that," Christina said, with girlish +eagerness. "I haven't ever had a frock like it in all my life. You +see, when my father and mother were alive, we never went to parties, so +I didn't have evening gowns. And since I have been working for myself, +of course I haven't needed any, but this one you have given me is much, +much too lovely." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I am the best judge of that, too! I want you to look suitably +dressed when you come downstairs, and you must look your very best +to-night, to disarm Cousin Arthur." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid already he doesn't approve of me," Christina said +ruefully; "he looked at me with such severe eyes after church this +morning, and began at once to ask me about my theories of education. +And—I haven't got any." A ripple of laughter broke from her. "I had +to say so, and he seemed so shocked." +</P> + +<P> +"But he is very easily shocked; take heart of grace and remember that. +And dear old Miss Doubleday thinks you are managing Baba splendidly. +She is a competent judge because she had the managing of me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I don't think there was anything wrong with her system of +education," Christina said quickly, with a glance of shy admiration at +her employer, who had sunk into the nursery rocking-chair, and was +swinging her daintily-shod feet up and down before the fire; "if Baba +grows up like her mother, she need not wish for anything better. I +like kind old Miss Doubleday, she is so friendly to me." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Doubleday, Cicely's old governess, was spending Christmas at +Bramwell, and had shown appreciation of Christina and her ways. +</P> + +<P> +"You nice little enthusiast!" Cicely looked affectionately up at the +girl, who stood on the hearth beside her; "you idealise everybody, +don't you, Christina?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know about idealising," Christina spoke thoughtfully, "but, +when I care about people, I do see all the best in them——" +</P> + +<P> +"And are blind to all the worst? Yes, I understand," Cicely laughed, +"if you liked Cousin Arthur, you would even see him through +rose-coloured spectacles?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is a very good man," Christina answered sturdily; "there is +something about that uncompromising puritan spirit that appeals to me. +His views may be narrow——" +</P> + +<P> +"They certainly are," Cicely murmured <I>sotto voce</I>, "but they are all +on the side of loftiness and right." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could make out why there is something familiar to me about +his face and manner. I am sure I have never seen him before, and yet I +seem to have associations of some sort with him. He looks so sad and +worried, too; and that very look on his face is vaguely familiar." +Christina spoke thoughtfully, her brows drawn together. +</P> + +<P> +"There has been some trouble about a brother-in-law," Cicely answered. +"I know I ought to have the story at my fingers' ends, but I can't +remember one single detail of it, and I don't like to tell Cousin +Arthur so. Nor do I like to ask any questions. He and Cousin Ellen +both look so much gloomier and more upset than they were in town. I +have been wondering whether any fresh developments have occurred. +However, it isn't any real business of mine, and we will try to give +the poor dears a happy time here. I must go and dress, and you are to +do as I told you; put on your new frock, and come down to the +drawing-room. Janet is quite able to manage Baba for one evening." +</P> + +<P> +Christina's fingers shook with eagerness, as she drew from its tissue +wrappings Lady Cicely's Christmas present to her—the simple, yet +charming gown, which to her girlish eyes seemed the acme of all that +was most lovely. Poor little girl, she had never seen herself in a +dress cut low at the neck before, and though this gown was only cut in +the most modest of squares, her own reflection in the glass told her +that the rounded lines of her throat and neck were enhanced by the +delicate lace that trimmed the soft silk of the gown, and that the +dress itself, in its severely simple lines, suited admirably the +slimness of her graceful young form. Her eyes shone like stars, there +was a colour in her cheeks, and she had piled her dusky hair into a +loose and becoming knot, on the top of her small, well-shaped head. +</P> + +<P> +"I do really believe I look very nearly pretty," she said naïvely, +nodding to herself in the mirror. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish——" but she did not put her wish into words, only, as the +colour deepened on her face, and she turned away from the sight of her +own confusion, she found herself thinking that it was a pity Mr. Jack +Layton had chosen this inopportune moment to fall ill with typhoid, and +that Mr. Mernside had not been able to make one of the house party this +evening. At sight of Christina, Baba, who was being prepared for bed +by Janet, danced about the nursery in her pink dressing-gown, clapping +her hands and chanting in a shrill monotone— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Baba's pretty lady, Baba's pretty lady, oh!" until her nurse +caught the small, soft creature in her arms, cuddling her closely and +covering her laughing, rosy face with kisses. +</P> + +<P> +"But you <I>is</I> Baba's pretty lady to-night," the child said solemnly, +stroking Christina's neck and face with her dimpled hands. "I like you +in a white frock, and when the pink colour runs up your cheeks. Put +something round your neck," she went on imperiously. "Mummy's got lots +of sparkle things to put round her neck, and you must have something +sparkle on your pretty white neck." +</P> + +<P> +"Something sparkle on your pretty white neck." Why should she not, +just for this once, wear the only piece of jewellery she possessed? As +it was Christmas Day, and everything was more than usually festive, +surely she might put on the lovely pendant her mother had given her? +Christina stood still in the middle of the nursery, cogitating upon the +momentous question, whilst Baba danced round her, holding the pink +dressing-gown well above her pink slippered feet, and shaking her +golden curls whilst she chanted again— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Baba's pretty lady; Baba's pretty lady, oh!" +</P> + +<P> +"Even though I am a nurse, I am a lady, too," Christina reflected; "and +Lady Cicely has given me this beautiful frock, so that I may look my +best downstairs, and, my pendant would be right with the white gown. I +think it wouldn't be wrong to wear it." +</P> + +<P> +Her thought was quickly translated into action. Going back to the +night nursery, she extracted from the bottom of her modest trunk, the +box in which she kept her treasure, and drawing out the pendant on its +slender chain, held it up to catch the rays of light from the hanging +lamp over the chest of drawers. The great emerald shone brightly like +some vividly green star, Christina thought, and the brilliants with +which it was set, sparkled and scintillated in the light. +</P> + +<P> +"It does look nice," the girl whispered complacently, as she clasped +the chain, and saw the exquisite jewel resting against the whiteness of +her neck, "and I wonder what those twisted letters A.V.C. mean? +Mother's first name was Mary, her second name was Helen, and not +anything beginning with A or V, and of course I don't know what was her +surname. I wonder why the initials are A.V.C." +</P> + +<P> +But her speculations were of short duration, and soon forgotten in the +excitement of going downstairs to join the rest of the party in the +hall, after receiving Baba's bear-like good-night hug, and parting +words of admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to have such a very happy evening," Christina said to +herself, as she went along the corridor, and stood for a moment at the +top of the wide staircase, looking down into the hall below. "I didn't +think I was ever in my life going to have such a happy time, as Lady +Cicely lets me have, and to-night will be lovely, just lovely. And how +beautiful the hall looks." Her face was bright with eagerness, her +eyes shining with excitement, as she ran down the stairs, quite unaware +of what a charming picture she made against the background of dark oak, +in her simple white gown, with her crown of dusky hair, and the shining +happiness of her eyes. She was right in designating the hall as +beautiful. Lighted by myriads of candles, the old walls reflected the +bright armour, and the leaping flames of the huge fire that burnt on +the hearth; the carpets and rugs were all of rich soft hues, that +harmonised with the black oak and the shining armour, and pots of +bright azaleas, of roses, and of tall lilies, filled the place with +colour and fragrance. Christina drew a long breath of delight, and the +momentary shyness that had swept over her, when the little group by the +fireplace turned to watch her descend the stairs, was dissipated when +Lady Cicely put out a hand, and said kindly: +</P> + +<P> +"Come close to the blaze, dear, and enjoy it. Is that monkey of mine +safely in bed?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is on her way there, but I left her dancing round the nursery, +singing improvised songs about my clothes, and——" +</P> + +<P> +Her sentence was cut short by a sharp exclamation from Sir Arthur, who, +as she came near the fire at Cicely's invitation, cast a keenly +enquiring glance at her, taking in each detail of her person, from the +crown of her hair to the tip of the shoe just showing beneath her white +gown. And when that inquisitorial glance fell upon the jewel resting +on her neck, that sharp exclamation broke from him. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you come by that pendant?" he questioned, the words jerked out +with an abruptness totally lacking in courtesy. "Did it not strike you +as rather rash to flaunt it here, in my very face?" +</P> + +<A NAME="img-224"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-224.jpg" ALT=""'How did you come by that pendant?' he questioned." BORDER="2"> +<P CLASS="capcenter"> +"'How did you come by that pendant?' he questioned. +</P> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"To—flaunt—it here?" Christina said shakily, her hand going +instinctively to her treasure. "I—don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come, my dear young lady," Sir Arthur answered curtly, waving +Cicely aside, when she made an attempt to intervene. "You cannot—you +really cannot, pretend to misunderstand my very simple question. I +asked you—where did you get that pendant?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina's eyes, wide with fright, and bewildered with the shock of +being questioned so brusquely and severely, looked from Sir Arthur to +Lady Cicely, as though appealing for help, and Cicely said quietly— +</P> + +<P> +"Cousin Arthur—what does all this mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"It means," he said grimly, "that your child's nurse—her <I>lady</I> +nurse—is wearing the pendant for which the police and I have been +searching in vain. It means——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, oh, no!" Cicely broke in. "I can't believe what you are implying. +It couldn't be true. Christina tell Sir Arthur he is making a mistake. +Tell him where your pendant comes from." +</P> + +<P> +"From my mother," the girl faltered, still too taken aback by the +unexpected onslaught, to be able to think clearly. "This pendant +belonged to her; she gave it to me, and I——" +</P> + +<P> +"Tut, tut!" Sir Arthur interrupted irritably; "it is futile to try and +throw dust in our eyes in this way. That pendant is +unmistakable—quite unmistakable—no one who had once seen it, could be +under any delusion about it. It is unique—an heirloom in our family. +The very letters above the emerald, are initials of an ancestress of +mine." +</P> + +<P> +Christina stood there silently whilst the above words were hurled at +her, but her face grew paler and paler, fear deepened in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"My mother—gave it to me," she said again, when as Sir Arthur ended, +there was an expectant pause, as though some explanation was demanded +from her; "she gave it to me when she died—it was hers." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you can, of course, tell us for what names the letters stand?" +Sir Arthur said slowly, a tinge of contempt in his voice; and because +of that note of contempt, Cicely moved nearer to the shrinking girl, +whose frightened, bewildered expression moved the little lady's heart +to pity for her, and indignation against the angry old man. +</P> + +<P> +"Cousin Arthur," she said impulsively, "it is not fair to judge +Christina, before she has explained about the pendant. Everybody in +this land is innocent until he is proved guilty—that is surely only +the bare law," and Cicely laughed a little nervously, looking round for +support to Miss Doubleday, her kindly old governess, who, also moved by +pity for the accused girl, had drawn nearer to Christina. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to do nothing unfair," was Sir Arthur's chilly rejoinder; "if, +as Miss Moore tells us, that pendant belonged to her mother, she will +be able to tell us, too, what the initials signify." +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't—know," Christina faltered. "I—have often wondered—I——" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps one of them is the initial of your mother's maiden name?" Miss +Doubleday said gently, anxious to do everything in her power to help +the now trembling girl. +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know my mother's maiden name——" Christina was beginning, +when a short laugh broke from Sir Arthur. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not know your mother's maiden name?" he said slowly; "come, +come, surely you cannot expect us to believe that." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know whether you will believe it or not," Christina answered, +with a sudden flash of defiance, "it is true. And I don't know what +the initials are, but—my mother gave me the pendant. I am telling you +the simple truth. I cannot say more." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you will tell us you never tried to—sell—or pawn that piece +of jewellery, at a pawnbroker's shop in Chelsea a few weeks ago?" Sir +Arthur asked next, his glance taking in the look of consternation that +flashed over her face, the new, shrinking terror in her eyes. "Ah! you +cannot deny that fact?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, oh! no," Christina put out her hands as if to ward off an actual +blow. "I did try to pawn it. I was so dreadfully poor, but—the man +frightened me. I came away from the shop, then——" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly; they frightened you, because they showed you plainly that +they suspected you of having come by the pendant dishonestly. You ran +away from the shop." +</P> + +<P> +The dreadful truth of every word spoken, the dreadful difficulty—nay, +so it seemed to Christina, the impossibility of refuting the accusation +levelled against her, made her feel helpless, tongue-tied, like some +creature caught in a trap, from which there was no way of escape. She +had no means, none at all, of proving her own story. Her mother, who +had given her the jewel, was dead. She had never shown it to anyone; +she had never had occasion to show it to anybody; as far as she knew, +there was not a living soul in the world, who could come forward to +declare that the pendant was hers. Even Mrs. Donaldson, her late +employer, could not have vouched for her truth and honesty in this +respect, for Mrs. Donaldson had not known that she possessed the +beautiful thing; she had only been her mother's acquaintance, not even +an intimate friend. +</P> + +<P> +"But surely," the practical Miss Doubleday here intervened, "surely, if +Miss Moore were guilty of stealing the pendant, she would not wear it +here, under your very eyes, Sir Arthur. It is not likely——" +</P> + +<P> +"I understood Miss Moore to say she was ignorant of the meaning of the +initials above the pendant," the old gentleman answered coldly; +"presumably, therefore, she is not aware that C stands for Congreve. +There is no reason to suppose that she knew from whose bag she was +taking the pendant, when she took it." +</P> + +<P> +"But I did not take it," Christina cried; "indeed, indeed, I did not. +It is my own, my very own; all I have told you is true." Sir Arthur +ignored her words, turning gravely to his cousin. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Cicely, I am very sorry to be unintentionally the cause of so +much unpleasantness for you, but I am afraid that, in the interests of +justice, I shall be obliged to make this the subject of police +investigation." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"WHO DO YOU MEAN BY SIR ARTHUR?" +</H4> + +<P> +Boxing Day had dawned bright and sunny, but before the afternoon, rain +began to fall, and a rising wind was sweeping over the moor, when, +between three and four o'clock, Denis Fergusson drove along the upland +road. A case of pneumonia in a desolate hamlet had suddenly taken a +grave turn, and as he sped across the open stretch of country, his +thoughts were concentrated on his patient, and on the gravity of her +condition. Having threshed out in his mind all the possibilities with +regard to this anxious charge, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to +his afternoon at Bramwell Castle two days before, to Baba's winsome +ways, to the sweetness of Baba's mother, to his own dream idyll, the +dreaming of which had, he was convinced, been such an absurdity, and +yet—and yet, the dream had seemed so wonderful. +</P> + +<P> +"People may scoff at the bare idea of love at first sight," he mused, +as the car passed on its rapid way in the gathering twilight, +"but—sometimes it happens—even to the most prosaic of us." And out +of the grey mists that crept over the brown expanse of heather and +bracken, he seemed to see Cicely's face, smiling that fascinating smile +of hers, which was so childlike, so appealing, so sweet. +</P> + +<P> +"And her eyes are like the speedwell in the June hedges," his thoughts +ran on; "such a heavenly blue, and when she looks up into your face, +and her eyes look at you, with the wistfulness of a lovely child's +eyes, you want to take her in your arms, and kiss her—and kiss her——" +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove, my good fellow, you are a fool," he broke in upon his own +inward colloquy, "an abject fool. The little lady of the speedwell +eyes, is as far above you as the stars in heaven, and you know it. A +struggling South London doctor might quite as well aspire to the planet +Venus, as to the lady of Bramwell Castle. The less such ideas are +encouraged, the better." +</P> + +<P> +Resolutely thrusting from him the thoughts that had obtruded themselves +unbidden, he drove rapidly on, whilst the grey mists deepened upon the +country side; the rain that had begun in a fine drizzle, began to come +down in torrents, and the wind rose gradually to the fury of a +hurricane. Across the open stretch of heathland, the gale broke with +terrific force, the rain lashed Fergusson's face and ran in swift +streams down his mackintoshed shoulders and arms; and it was with a +little sigh of relief that he turned out of the main road, and into the +lane at whose bottom stood the lonely house. Here there was a certain +amount of shelter from the high hedges and overshadowing trees, though +the great gusts of wind shook the trees until they creaked, and +groaned, and bent beneath the blast; and even in the depths of the +desolate valley itself, Fergusson found himself nearly lifted from his +feet by the hurricane, when he alighted at the green gate in the wall. +Elizabeth appeared quickly in answer to his ring, and her grave face +made him say sharply— +</P> + +<P> +"She is not worse?" +</P> + +<P> +"She seems less like herself to-night," the servant answered, a little +catch in her voice; "she doesn't always know where she is, or who is +talking to her. I think—she has got to the end. She can bear no +more." The expression used, struck the doctor strangely. +</P> + +<P> +"I think she has got to the end." The same feeling had been in his own +mind when last he had visited the beautiful, lonely lady; it had seemed +to him, too, as though she had come to the end of her powers of +endurance—as though, having borne lash after lash from fortune, she +could bear no more. +</P> + +<P> +When he entered her room, he found her lying very still, her face +scarcely less white than the pillow against which it rested, her great +eyes fixed on the leaping flames of the fire, her hands folded on the +sheet, in a way which he had noticed was peculiar to her, the fingers +of her right hand close clasped about the plain gold ring, that rested +on the third finger of her left. +</P> + +<P> +"Whatever the poor chap who has gone to his account was or did, this +woman loved him with an amazing love," Fergusson thought, as he had +thought a hundred times before, whilst he spoke gently to his patient, +seating himself beside her, and observing her closely, though he talked +of everything and anything excepting her health. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know," she said presently, her voice very low and dreamy. "I +think I have come to the end." This repetition of Elizabeth's words, +and of his own thoughts, startled Fergusson, but he did not betray his +surprise, only answering gently— +</P> + +<P> +"You are worn out now. You have had a long strain, and you were not +quite fit to stand it." She smiled up at him, an infinitely pathetic +smile. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not only that. I don't want to be morbid. I don't mean to be +morbid. But something—seems to have snapped inside me—some vitality, +some power has gone, and—I have come to the end." +</P> + +<P> +"You feel that now, because of the shock and strain, and because, at +the best of times, you are not strong. By and by——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! but I don't think there will be any by and by," she interrupted +quietly, "and I am not sorry. Life has brought so much more pain than +joy—that—I am not either sorry or afraid. Only I wish I could have +done more for my world, before I went out of it," she added half +whimsically, half sadly, a little smile breaking over her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps what you have been, has had even more influence over your +world than what you have done," Fergusson said quietly; "it is not +always the most apparently active people, who have the greatest effect +on their fellows." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled at him again, but she did not continue the conversation, +allowing it to drift away to other topics, until Fergusson, having +given her his orders, and promised to send her a new medicine on the +morrow, took his departure. +</P> + +<P> +"What a baffling mystery the woman is," he reflected, as he walked +across the garden to the door in the wall. "I am not more curious than +the average man, but I confess she has aroused my curiosity. What has +her life been? And why has she——" At this point in his meditations +he opened the door, and was on the point of passing out into the road, +when he became aware of a figure, leaning against the wall close to the +door itself. The last remnants of daylight had almost died away, the +rain was falling in pitiless torrents, and Fergusson, peering through +the twilight gloom, recognised with horror the face of Christina Moore, +looking terribly white and exhausted in the dimness. Her crouching +position seemed to indicate that she was tired out, and when Fergusson +went quickly to her side, and put a hand on her shoulder, she shrank +back and shivered from head to foot, lifting such frightened eyes to +his, that he peered this way and that, thinking she must be fleeing +from some dastardly pursuer. But, excepting for the moaning of the +wind in the trees, and the swishing of the rain, no sound broke the +silence, and save the girl herself, there was no sign of any other +human being in the lane. +</P> + +<P> +"What has happened?" he asked, speaking very quietly, to calm her +overmastering excitement; "come into the house out of the rain, and +tell me what is the matter. Why, you are wet through," he added +sharply, as he put his hand through the girl's arm, and drew her up the +flagged path to the front door. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'm wet through," she answered in slow, mechanical tones. "I—I +believe it has rained ever since I left the station." +</P> + +<P> +"The station? Have you walked from the station?" They were standing +in the hall now, and by the light of a hanging lamp in its centre, +Fergusson could see that the wet was running from Christina's garments, +and dropping in small pools on the floor, and that the look of +exhaustion was deepening on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I walked," she said. "I hadn't much money. I was afraid I +shouldn't have enough for the cab. They might have called me a thief +again—and—I am not a thief—indeed, indeed, I am not." Her eyes met +his once more, with so strange and dazed a look, that he began to +wonder whether some great shock had unhinged her brain, but he only +said, more quietly than before:— +</P> + +<P> +"I am quite sure you are not a thief. I will call Elizabeth, and she +will take care of you. Does Mrs. Stanforth expect you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! no, no," Christina spoke breathlessly; "only I was so frightened, +I didn't know what to do, when they said I was a thief, for I can't +prove that I am not. I can't prove anything. I have only my bare +word. Everybody who could help me is dead." +</P> + +<P> +Feeling more and more mystified by every word she spoke, Fergusson rang +the bell, and when Elizabeth promptly answered his summons, and stared +in mute surprise at the dripping figure standing under the lamp, he +said tersely:— +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Moore has arrived unexpectedly, and she is very wet. Will you +put her to bed with hot bottles, and give her something hot to drink? +Don't let her talk to-night. I will come round and see her in the +morning." +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps Elizabeth, in the long years of her service with Margaret, had +learnt to accustom herself to surprises, and she expressed no +astonishment now; but a look of compassion for the drenched and +exhausted girl crossed her kindly face; and, with a comprehending nod +to the doctor, she took Christina's hand and led her upstairs, the girl +going with her, as unresistingly as a little child might have done. +</P> + +<P> +"Worn out, utterly worn out, and frightened to death," Fergusson +commented inwardly; "now what can have happened to bring her here in +this condition, and to make her say such extraordinary things about not +being a thief. I must tell Mrs. Stanforth what liberties I have taken +with her house, and come back as early as I can to-morrow." He ran +lightly upstairs again to his patient's room, and told her of +Christina's unlooked-for arrival, finding, to his relief, that she was +in no wise startled or upset by what she heard. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor little girl," was her soft comment; "we will take great care of +her. Elizabeth loves having a young thing to mother; we will do our +best for her, and perhaps in the morning she will be able to explain +herself. It is difficult to imagine what can have happened; she seemed +to be so happy in her work." +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible to suppose that Lady Cicely can have been unkind to +her," Fergusson answered thoughtfully; "she could not be unkind to a +living soul. However, speculation is a fruitless task; we must wait +till Miss Moore can tell us her own story. I did not dare question her +to-night, she was already completely overwrought." +</P> + +<P> +And it was still a very wan and white Christina, who was taken the next +morning into Margaret's room by Elizabeth; and Margaret's observant +eyes saw at once that all the girl's nerves were on the stretch, that +she was in a condition of acute tension. The wish to help this young +thing in her hour of need, the sudden necessity for stretching out a +succouring hand to another human being, acted as a trumpet call to +Margaret's own strong character, and she looked more herself this +morning, than she had done for many weeks. +</P> + +<P> +"You poor child," she said to Christina, a motherly tenderness in her +accents; "have you slept properly; and are you rested?" +</P> + +<P> +"I woke rather often," the girl answered with a nervous glance about +her. "I kept on starting up, and fancying they had come with the +police." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should anyone come with the police?" Margaret asked gently; "tell +me what has happened—why are you afraid? Surely Lady Cicely cannot +have treated you unfairly or unkindly?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—o," Christina faltered. "I think she believed in me, but—Sir +Arthur——" +</P> + +<P> +"Sir Arthur," Margaret interrupted, a sudden sharp note in her voice; +"who—do you mean by Sir Arthur?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sir Arthur Congreve. He is Lady Cicely's cousin—her husband's +cousin." Margaret's white face flushed brightly, but she did not +speak. "It was he who accused me of—being a thief; and I was so +frightened, so dreadfully frightened, that I ran away." +</P> + +<P> +"Ran away? Oh! my dear; try to collect yourself, and tell me quietly +all about everything. Why did Sir Arthur make such an accusation +against you?" +</P> + +<P> +"He saw—a piece of jewellery I was wearing, and he—said it had +belonged to his wife—that—Lady Congreve had been robbed, and that I +had robbed her. He was sure of it, quite, quite sure, and I had +nothing but my bare word to give him; I could prove nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"But—I can't understand. Why should Sir Arthur imagine you would wish +to steal El—— I mean his wife's jewel. Had she lost it at Bramwell +Castle?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; she lost it some weeks ago in a train. A young woman took it from +her bag; and they are sure I was the young woman. You see, when I came +to Lady Cicely, I only had references from people who were dead, or +much too far off to be got at, like the solicitor who is I don't know +where in Africa. She took me on trust, and—there isn't anybody here +who can say I am honest, not anybody." Christina's words ended in a +little wail; she put her head down upon the coverlet, and Margaret's +hands softly caressed her dusky hair. +</P> + +<P> +"But why did you run away?" she asked. "Surely it would have been +better to face the difficulty? They may think your running away is a +sign of guilt." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," the girl answered, lifting her head, and looking into +Margaret's face with despairing eyes. "I thought of that so often as I +was coming along in the train, but I was afraid to go back. I am +afraid to try to face it out, because you see I can prove nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"When did Sir Arthur make this accusation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yesterday; I think it was yesterday," Christina frowned with the +effort of memory. "It was on Christmas evening—yes, that was +yesterday. And when Sir Arthur said he would send for the police, I +ran out of the hall, and up to my room. I think I was almost mad. I +tore off my frock—my pretty frock that Lady Cicely had given me, and +when there came a knock at the door, and I heard Lady Cicely's voice, I +would not let her in at first. And then I opened the door, and she +came in, and begged me to tell just the whole truth. And I said I had +told the truth—I couldn't make it any different. And she was so +sad—her eyes looked all hurt, and she said she couldn't doubt me, and +yet Sir Arthur was determined to send for the police. And—then she +said she would send up my dinner to the nursery. It was Christmas Day, +you know," the girl went on, a wistful look in her eyes; "and I had +been looking forward so very much to Christmas, in a happy homely home +like Bramwell Castle; and my new frock was so sweet; and then—to think +of having to eat my Christmas dinner alone in the nursery, accused of +being a thief," a little sob caught her breath. "But I didn't eat the +dinner at all," she went on hurriedly. "After Lady Cicely had gone +down again, I thought and thought about the police coming, until I +couldn't bear it any more. So I just put on my serge frock, and my +thick coat and hat; and whilst dinner was going on in the dining-room, +I slipped away, and out of the house. I felt like a wild thing, mad +with terror, my only wish was to get right away as fast as I could—I +was afraid, I was so afraid. And I did not know where to go, or what +to do; and, when the thought of you came into my head, I knew I must +come straight to you." +</P> + +<P> +"But, my dear," Margaret's gentle voice broke in, "you say all this +happened last night. Where did you sleep? How could you get away from +Bramwell Castle, on Christmas night?" +</P> + +<P> +"I walked to one of the nearest stations; not the one they generally +use, but another—Hansley—where no one knew me by sight, and there was +no train till early in the morning. So I just stayed in the +waiting-room all night. They let me—though it wasn't really +allowed—but they let me do it, because there was nowhere else for me +to stay; and in the morning I came away again, and because it was +Boxing Day, the trains were very bad and very slow, and I did not get +to Merlands Station till ever so late; and then I walked here." +</P> + +<P> +"Walked here? From Merlands? But, my dear, it must be seven miles." +</P> + +<P> +"It seemed like a hundred," Christina answered wearily. "I didn't know +how to get myself along at last; and it blew and rained, and I thought +I should die on the road. Only I wanted to get to you." +</P> + +<P> +Margaret's caressing hand again stroked the girl's dark hair. +</P> + +<P> +"You poor little thing," she said. "I am glad you came to me, but I am +sorry you came away at all. It will make things so much worse for you." +</P> + +<P> +"But you will keep me here?" Christina pleaded, a look of panic terror +in her eyes. "You won't make me go back to Bramwell? You won't let me +be given up to the police?" +</P> + +<P> +"We must talk it all over with Dr. Fergusson," was the gentle +rejoinder. "I don't feel that I am quite strong enough to decide what +is best for you to do, but Dr. Fergusson will know. He has such a +sound judgment, and he judges rightly, as well as soundly." +</P> + +<P> +"It was cowardly of me to run away," the girl exclaimed, clasping her +hands together with a curiously childish gesture; "but—I felt so +alone—so frightened—and I had no proof that what I said was true. I +have no proofs now. I can't even make it clear to you, that I am not +telling a pack of lies." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you?" Margaret smiled. "I don't think I want proofs of your +truthfulness; you carry truth in your face. All the same, for your own +sake, and for the sake of justice, I am sorry you can produce no proofs +of your statement." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do anything but give my word," the girl said despairingly. +"Mother gave me the jewel just before she died. It was a great +treasure of hers; she valued it immensely. I think she meant to tell +me something more when she gave it me, only—the sentence she began was +never finished. The two last words she spoke, the very last, were, +'Tell Arthur'—and then—she died." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell—Arthur?" The same startled look which the mention of that name +had before brought into Margaret's eyes, flashed into them again. "Who +was—Arthur?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know. I never knew anything about my mother's people. I do +not even know her maiden name. And that sounds so improbable, that it +made my story about the jewel seem more than ever ridiculous, when I +told it at Bramwell Castle." +</P> + +<P> +"What a strange complication," Margaret's dark eyes fixed themselves +thoughtfully on Christina's face. "I wonder why your mother kept you +in ignorance of her maiden name, and of her family? Have you any idea +what made her so reticent? +</P> + +<P> +"No; until lately it never struck me how odd and unusual it is that I +should not know these things. I never mixed with other girls. We +lived a very isolated life, my father and mother and I, and I accepted +everything in it without question. But now I realise that it was not +ordinary and normal. And I often wonder about it. But—I shall never +know what it all meant. They are dead—my father and mother, and the +clergyman who knew us in Devonshire is dead; and, as I told you, the +solicitor went to Africa; and I don't know where he is." +</P> + +<P> +"But these people with whom you lived—the Donaldsons. Surely they +must know something of your history?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! no, they would know nothing. I only knew Mrs. Donaldson at all, +because she was staying in the village near our home, and mother was +kind to her children, when they were ill. She was in no way an +intimate friend of ours. And the people—the very few people we knew +in the village, were only acquaintances. There is nobody in the whole +world who could vouch for my innocence." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a curious predicament. We can only ask Dr. Fergusson's advice, +and act upon it. I wish I could understand why there is something so +oddly familiar about your face and voice." Her own low voice was +puzzled. "I believe I have asked you this before; but are you sure, +quite sure, we never met until you saw me here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite sure," Christina answered emphatically. "I couldn't have +forgotten you. But I think I must be very like somebody, for last +night"—she shivered—"just as I crossed the hall of the Castle, I saw +Lady Congreve give a big start, and she said to Lady Cicely quite loud, +I couldn't help hearing her—'My dear Cicely, who is she like?' I +think I must have a double somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you must," Margaret replied slowly. "It is very curious. +But, to go back to the more vital matter of the moment. Did you bring +away the jewel which has caused all this trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes," Christina answered simply. "It was on my neck when Sir +Arthur saw it, and I never took it off. I can show it to you now." +Slipping her hand inside her frock, the girl unfastened the slender +gold chain, drew out the pendant, and handed it to the woman in the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"You see," she said, "it is very beautiful and very unique; that +wonderful emerald, with the twisted letters above it; the letters——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I see," Margaret's voice was low and hoarse, and Christina, +roused from her absorption in her own thoughts of the jewel, and of all +that had happened, started when she saw the expression on the other's +face. "I see," Margaret repeated; "the emerald—with brilliants round +it, and above it the twisted letters—A.V.C. But how comes it that +your mother possessed this pendant with the letters A.V.C.? What does +it mean? My dear child, what <I>does</I> it mean?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"YOU ARE MY OWN SISTER'S CHILD." +</H4> + +<P> +"She has totally disappeared, and, of course, her disappearance makes +Cousin Arthur more sure than ever that she is guilty; and oh! Rupert, +it is just a horrid tangle, and I wish you had come home sooner." +</P> + +<P> +"So do I." Rupert, standing by the fireplace in Cicely's boudoir in +Bramwell Castle, looked kindly down at his cousin; "but it is really a +piece of good luck that I am here now. I expected to have to spend +some weeks in Naples, but it turned out that young Jack had given us +all a causeless scare. He hadn't got typhoid, only rather a good +spurious imitation of it, and he is doing perfectly well. So, having +wiped off an old score with him, I came away." +</P> + +<P> +"Wiped off an old score?" Cicely looked mystified. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; young ass! He played a low-down practical joke upon me a few +weeks ago; and I am glad to say he was convalescent enough to be able +to receive the piece of my mind which I offered him before I left +Naples." Rupert laughed rather grimly; then said quickly: "However, +Layton and his practical joke are immaterial now. Tell me about Miss +Moore. You say Sir Arthur accuses her of stealing? It sounds a +preposterous notion." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Rupert, Cousin Arthur is nothing if not preposterous, and the +worst of it is, that this time he has some sort of method in his +madness. It seems perfectly obvious, that Christina was wearing a +pendant that had belonged to Cousin Ellen; and they accuse her of +having stolen it." Cicely next proceeded to tell in full the story of +the accusation and its results, and Rupert listened in silence, until +she had finished. Then he said slowly— +</P> + +<P> +"But no girl in her senses would flaunt a stolen thing in the faces of +the people from whom she stole it. Common sense might have told Sir +Arthur that elementary fact." +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't know the meaning of common sense," Cicely exclaimed. "He +made up his mind Christina was the young woman who was in the train, +and stole the pendant from Cousin Ellen's bag, and you might as well +try to shake Mont Blanc down, as alter Cousin Arthur's fixed +convictions. He frightened Christina out of her wits with threats of +the police, and she ran away." +</P> + +<P> +"Pity she did that," Rupert said tersely. "She would have been wiser +to face it out; and I can't believe she can be guilty. It is +impossible to connect guilt with her." As he spoke, he saw a mental +picture of a low, fire-lit room, a girlish face uplifted to his in the +dancing light of the flames, sweet eyes full of sympathy, a mouth just +curved into a smile, that made him think vaguely of the way his mother +had smiled at him, though the girl herself was such a bit of a thing, +and so young. "I can't think of her as guilty," he repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you can't," Cicely said impatiently. "I should as soon +believe I was a thief myself, as believe Christina to be one. Don't +imagine I doubt her. I never doubted her for a moment. Only—I wish +she hadn't gone away; and I wish I knew where she had gone." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert's face grew grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Has she any friends or relations to whom she would be likely to go?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid not. You know she was rather a waif and stray, when I +first engaged her as Baba's nurse. You were doubtful then about my +wisdom in taking her with practically no references. But she has been +invaluable with Baba; and I have learnt to care for her, too. She is +such a dear soul!" +</P> + +<P> +"A restful soul," Rupert said dreamily; and, as Cicely stared at him in +surprise, a little look of embarrassment crossed his face. "I saw her +at Graystone, when I went to call upon Baba," he said, trying to speak +lightly, because of the surprise in Cicely's glance; "she seemed to be +just the sort of restful, cheery nurse you would want for a child." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Cicely answered, wondering why Rupert's first dreamy words "a +restful soul," seemed to have no connection with the latter part of his +sentence. +</P> + +<P> +"She suits Baba admirably. The poor baby is utterly woebegone without +her. Baba calls Christina her pretty lady; and she has been crying her +small heart out over her loss." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Moore went away on Christmas night, you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; two nights ago. She took nothing with her in the way of luggage. +She must have walked to the station. She went to Hansley. We have +discovered that much, and she sat all night in the waiting-room, +because there was no train till the early morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you know to what place she booked?" Rupert questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"She booked to Torne Junction; beyond there we cannot trace her. +Cousin Arthur ramped all yesterday, and talked a great deal of +bombastic nonsense. To-day, to my great relief, he and Cousin Ellen +departed. But he still threatens the police. I am only hoping he may +let the police question lapse for a day or two; he is very busy hunting +down a derelict brother-in-law." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Cicely, what do you mean—a derelict brother-in-law?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing about the poor thing," Cicely spread out her hands, and +laughed. "Cousin Arthur takes it for granted that I have his family +history at my finger ends, and I can't remember that John ever told me +whether Cousin Arthur ever had a brother-in-law. But the dear old man +throws out mysterious hints about the derelict, who has evidently done +something terrible, and he sighs and groans over his poor sister, the +derelict's wife, but I don't know what has happened to either the +sister or her husband. Meanwhile——" +</P> + +<P> +"Meanwhile, we have no right to let a young girl like Miss Moore lose +herself or get into difficulties, if we can possibly prevent it," +Rupert said. "Her running away was an undoubted blunder, but it is our +business to find her, and try to set things straight. The difficulty +is to know where to begin to look for her. Scotland Yard suggests +itself as the place to which in common sense one should apply for help." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want publicity and fuss if it can be avoided," Cicely said +doubtfully. "Cousin Arthur's rigid sense of justice, makes him declare +with unwavering obstinacy that it is a case for the police, the whole +police, and nothing but the police. But being an ordinary silly, +fluffy, little woman, I have the ordinary woman's horror of the law." +</P> + +<P> +"You are so entirely typical of the silly, fluffy woman," Rupert said +drily, but looking at his cousin with affectionate, laughing eyes. +"However, without bringing the majesty of the law to bear upon the +theft, or rather supposed theft—for I don't myself believe in +it—there is no reason why Scotland Yard should not help us to find +Miss Moore. Perhaps I can induce Sir Arthur to hold his hand for the +present about the accusation against her. He must be amenable to——" +</P> + +<P> +The sentence was broken off short, as the door opened, and a footman +entered and handed a telegram to his mistress. +</P> + +<P> +"For Cousin Arthur," she said, glancing from the orange-coloured +envelope to Rupert. "I wonder whether I had better just open it, or +have it re-telegraphed straight on to him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Open it, I should think," Rupert answered carelessly; "it may be some +trivial matter which you can answer," and acting upon his words, Cicely +drew out the pink paper from its orange cover, and read the lines +written upon it; read them slowly, and with a puzzled frown, that +changed suddenly to an expression of delight. +</P> + +<P> +"What an extraordinary coincidence. You need not wait, James. I will +send the answer down to the telegraph boy in a few minutes. Look at +this, Rupert," she went on, as the footman left the room. "Isn't it +extraordinary that this telegram should have come in the very middle of +our conversation?" +</P> + +<P> +Rupert took the flimsy paper from her hand, and as he read the words, +his cousin saw an extraordinary change flash over his face—a dusky +colour mounted to his forehead, a strange brightness leapt to his eyes; +and, having read the words to himself, he read them aloud— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Come here at once. Wire to post office, Graystone; and any train +shall be met. Christina Moore with me. Have made important +discovery.—MARGARET STANFORTH." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"At last," he murmured under his breath, as with curious deliberation +he folded up the telegram, and handed it back to Cicely. "At last I +have found her." +</P> + +<P> +The low-spoken words reached Cicely's ears, and she stared at her +cousin's transformed face, saying almost involuntarily— +</P> + +<P> +"But—Rupert—I can't understand. Are you really so pleased to have +found Christina?" +</P> + +<P> +Rupert looked at her with a sudden confusion in his glance. +</P> + +<P> +"Did I speak my thoughts aloud?" he said; "look here, Cicely, I am +afraid I was not thinking of Miss Moore at that moment, though I am +glad, very glad, to hear she is safe. And she is in such good hands, +too," he added softly, the light in his eyes making Cicely realise all +at once that there was a Rupert she had never known, besides the Rupert +who had always been so steadfast a rock upon which to lean. +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't fair to have said so much, and not to say more," he added +quickly. "This lady who telegraphs—Margaret Stanforth—is—a friend +of mine, a most noble and dear friend. I—had lost sight of her, +and—I am glad to know where she is." Although the words were bald to +the point of coldness, Cicely saw that the usually self-controlled man +was deeply stirred by an emotion that almost overmastered him, and she +tactfully refrained from directly answering his words, saying only— +</P> + +<P> +"I am very glad Christina is in such good hands. I must telegraph this +message on to Cousin Arthur at once. It is evidently most important." +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently," Rupert replied absently, but he roused himself to re-write +the telegram for Cicely; and, only when it had been despatched, did he +turn to her and say— +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder whether it would be wrong of me to take advantage of the +information this telegram has given me; whether I might go to +Graystone, too?" +</P> + +<P> +"But, you see, there is no actual address on the message," Cicely +answered, her quicker woman's wit having discovered the omission. +"Graystone post office is mentioned, but it is obvious that for some +reason the lady's own address has been left out. I—don't feel that I +can give any advice when I know none of the circumstances, but—it +seems like taking an unfair advantage to—to act on this telegram, +which you are not supposed to have seen at all." +</P> + +<P> +"And some fools in this world declare a woman has no sense of honour," +Rupert exclaimed with a short laugh. "You can give me points about +honour, that's certain. Of course, you are right," he laughed again, a +rueful, rather bitter little laugh. "I can't go and hunt her out on +the strength of a telegram I was never meant to see. But, my God! it +is hard to keep away." He turned from Cicely, and, putting his arms +upon the mantelpiece, leant his head upon them for a moment—only for a +moment—then he straightened himself, and said quietly— +</P> + +<P> +"After all, I have got to forget this telegram, ignore it, and make +myself feel that things are 'as they were.'" +</P> + +<P> +"I am so sorry, Rupert," Cicely said gently, answering the look on his +face rather than his actual speech. "Is there nothing anybody can do +for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You dear and kind little person," he answered. "No, there is nothing. +Mrs. Stanforth is my friend, the best friend man ever had, and if, just +now, she finds it best that there should be silence between us, I am +ready to accept her decision. Only silence is—the very devil," he +ended, with again a rueful laugh. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<SPAN STYLE="letter-spacing: 4em">*****</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P> +That telegram to Sir Arthur Congreve would have been despatched on the +previous day, but for Margaret's sudden and startling collapse during +her conversation with Christina. The girl's mention of the pendant +which she asserted had been given her by her mother; and, the sight of +the pendant itself, had produced in the elder woman a terrible +excitement, which had ended in her sinking back amongst her pillows in +a dead faint. The words she had spoken before she became unconscious, +had seemed to Christina like the incoherent ramblings of a delirious +person, and in the alarm caused by Margaret's unconsciousness, she had +set them aside, and to all intents and purposes forgotten them. +Indeed, so little importance had she attached to them, that when Dr. +Fergusson came to see his patient, Christina only accounted for +Margaret's sudden collapse, by the long and interesting conversation in +which they had been engaged, and she added in accents of self-reproach— +</P> + +<P> +"I think I ought not to have come here at all, and certainly I ought +not to have shown her how upset and frightened I was." +</P> + +<P> +"Your coming, and even the telling of your story, ought not to be +enough to account for Mrs. Stanforth's collapsing in this way," the +doctor answered, a puzzled look in his eyes. "She is such a singularly +sane, well-balanced woman, that one feels there must have been +something quite unusual to account for her fainting so suddenly. As +far as you know, she had no shock?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; none," Christina replied. "I mean, I know of no shock. I was +just sitting by her bed, telling her about Sir Arthur and his +accusation, and she was very much interested, and asked if I had the +pendant with me. And directly she saw it, she got quite white, and she +said something I could not understand, about the initials over the +emerald; and then, all at once, she dropped back and was unconscious in +a few seconds." +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson looked keenly at the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Stanforth had never seen this pendant before?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; never," it was Christina's turn to look puzzled. "I had never +seen her until the day she came out to the gate to ask me to fetch a +doctor. To all intents and purposes she and I are strangers." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems rather incomprehensible, like a good many things connected +with this house," Fergusson said, under his breath. He and Christina +stood in what was evidently the drawing-room of the house—a long low +room, furnished with the rather heavy and uninteresting furniture of +the early Victorian period, the light-coloured chintzes on the chairs +and sofas, and the pale grey of the walls, giving the only relief to +the dinginess of the apartment. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not more inquisitive than the rest of mankind," Fergusson went +on, his eyes glancing round the room into which he had never before +penetrated, "but I confess this establishment and its mistress do +arouse my curiosity. However, her affairs are no affair of ours," he +wound up briskly, "and my business now is to make her——" he broke off +abruptly, and looked keenly at Christina, a great sadness in his eyes. +"No, I can't say 'make her well'; there is no hope of that; but I've +got to make her better." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean," Christina asked; "do you mean—that she—can't—get +really well?" +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson shook his head. "She is worn out; something has worn her +out; whether a long strain, or a great sorrow, I cannot say. But she +has no more resisting power; she has come to the end of it all. And +she is too ill now to be able to right herself again." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems so dreadful," Christina whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"So much in life seems so dreadful," he answered kindly; "but when some +day we learn the reason for all that made things so impossible to +understand, we shall know that the pattern has been worked out exactly +right, by Hands far more skilful than ours. We can see only such a +little bit of the pattern now. By and by we shall see the whole." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Stanforth is asking for the young lady," Elizabeth's voice +sounded from the door. "She seems more like herself now; and she wants +the young lady to come to her at once." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor and Christina moved quickly away together to the bedroom, +where Margaret lay with her face towards the door, her dark eyes full +of wistful eagerness. Christina thought she had never seen anyone who +looked so fragile, so ethereal; it seemed to the girl as though a +breath might have power to blow her away. Yet her voice was curiously +strong, and the eagerness in her eyes was apparent, too, in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"It was stupid of me to faint," she said, putting out her hands to the +girl. "I expect I am not very strong, and all that suddenly flashed +upon me when you showed me the pendant, came as a great shock." +</P> + +<P> +"When I showed you the pendant?" Christina repeated, and there was +unfeigned surprise in her glance. "But did you know; had you seen——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I think—I know all about the pendant," came the slow reply; +"though I am not sure that I have actually seen it before—I think I +know all about it. I believe I can clear up the mystery that has +puzzled Arthur—Sir Arthur—and I hope I can prove to him that you are +not a thief." +</P> + +<P> +"But—how strange," Christina faltered, whilst Dr. Fergusson, standing +at the end of the bed, looked intently at his patient, wondering +whether by any possibility she could be wandering, and deciding that +her eyes and manner were too sane and quiet, to allow such a +possibility to be considered. +</P> + +<P> +"Not really strange"; a smile illuminated the beautiful face in the +bed; "in real life these coincidences happen oftener than people think, +and I only wonder I was so foolish as not to see the truth before." +</P> + +<P> +"What truth?" Christina asked, feeling more than ever puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—my dear—that you and I have a real tie to one another. I +think—no, I am almost sure—that you are my own sister's child." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" It was the only word that Christina could utter for a long, long +moment; then she exclaimed under her breath, "But—how could such a +wonderful thing be true? Why do you think it is possible? Could I +really, really belong to you? <I>Oh!</I>" She spoke breathlessly, her +colour coming and going, her eyes bright, and Margaret smiled again. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe you could really belong to me," she said, "and it was that +beautiful pendant of yours which gave me the clue, which made me +realise why I had so constantly felt as if I must have known you +before. I am sure your mother was my dear elder sister; and there is +so much in you like her—little ways of looking and speaking, little +gestures—oh! I don't know why I did not see long ago that you must be +Helen's daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"Mother's name was Helen," the girl said, "and she often talked to me +about her lovely sister, but she always spoke of her as Peg." +</P> + +<P> +"That name makes me remember myself as very young indeed," Margaret +answered tremulously, her eyes suddenly misty with tears. "When I was +just a wild girl with my hair all down my back, Helen called me Peg. +And Arthur always thought a nickname rather <I>infra dig</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Arthur?" Christina said quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Arthur, my brother Arthur. Ah! I forgot. You do not understand +the wheels within wheels of all this strange discovery. Sir Arthur +Congreve is my brother, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Your brother?" Christina's tone rang with amazement, and the doctor +started. +</P> + +<P> +"My brother; and if my surmises are correct, which I am sure they are, +he is your uncle." +</P> + +<P> +"How funny," Christina said, a little twinkle in her eyes; "and he very +nearly handed his own niece over to the police—if it is all really +true. Only it seems like some sort of wonderful fairy tale, that +couldn't possibly be true." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you account for the pendant which, according to Sir Arthur, +belongs to his wife, Lady Congreve, being in Miss Moore's possession," +Fergusson here put in. "I do not doubt Miss Moore for an instant—not +for a single instant—but why was Sir Arthur so sure she was wearing +his wife's jewel?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because the pendant Miss Moore wears, is an exact replica of the one +belonging to Lady Congreve," Margaret answered composedly; "but I do +not suppose either Arthur or his wife have the least idea that the +pendant was ever copied." +</P> + +<P> +"Copied?" Christina echoed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. The pendant belonging to Arthur's wife, is an heirloom in our +family, passing always to the wife of the eldest son. But Helen, your +mother, dear—I am quite sure she was your mother—was the eldest of we +three. Helen first, next Arthur, and then me. I was the baby. And +because Helen was her firstborn and, I think, her favourite child, our +mother had the family pendant copied for her after she went away. The +initials are the initials of an ancestor of ours to whom the pendant +belonged. A.V.C.—Amabel Veronica Congreve." +</P> + +<P> +"But my mother never saw her own mother, or any of her people, after +she first left them," Christina said. "They were angry with her for +marrying my father. She never saw them again." +</P> + +<P> +"No, she never saw them again. Both she and I—married against their +wishes, and after I—left my old home, I never went back to it any +more. But I think our mother's heart must have yearned over Helen, for +she had that pendant copied, just as I said, and she sent it to Helen. +She told me so herself. I did not leave home till three years later +than Helen." +</P> + +<P> +"Then your mother and Mrs. Moore corresponded?" Dr. Fergusson asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No, not quite that. My father was terribly angry at Helen's marriage, +as he was afterwards about mine. But Helen wrote to my mother when her +baby was born, and it was then that the pendant was copied and sent. +No one but I knew that my mother had had it done; my father was a very +stern man. He would have been terribly angry with my mother if he had +known of this, and she told no one but me. Arthur never knew." +</P> + +<P> +"The whole thing seems to be growing clearer and clearer," Fergusson +said slowly, "and you will be able to make it plain to Sir Arthur." +</P> + +<P> +A shiver ran through Margaret's frame. +</P> + +<P> +"It means—that I must see—Arthur," she said; and for the first time +since she had begun speaking, her voice shook. "I must see him, and +tell him all the story of the pendant—all—the real necessity for +hiding is over," she added under her breath; "it is only cowardice to +avoid Arthur now." +</P> + +<P> +"There is one thing that puzzles me,"; the doctor left his post at the +foot of the bed, and, coming to his patient's side, laid a finger on +her wrist. "I do not want you to worry yourself now, with any more +thoughts and questionings. Only answer me this one thing. If you knew +your sister's married name, why did you never connect Miss Moore with +her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not know her real name," was the reply; "she married a singer. +She met him in town. I was a young girl at home in the country, and I +never saw him. In the singing world he was known as Signor Donaldo; +and we only knew of him by that name." +</P> + +<P> +"My father's name was Donald," Christina exclaimed. "And I knew that +once he had sung, but before I can remember anything he had lost his +voice; he played the organ in the village church, and he taught music, +too, and singing as well. But he was never called anything but Moore. +I never knew him by any other name. Mother has often told me he could +not bear to remember the time when he had a beautiful voice; and I +think he must have dropped his singing name, when he lost his voice." +</P> + +<P> +"And he and Helen—were happy?" The words seemed to break +involuntarily from Margaret's lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I think father and mother never stopped being lovers," Christina +answered simply. "They were just the whole world to one another, just +the whole whole world." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"PER INCERTAS, CERTA AMOR." +</H4> + +<P> +Sir Arthur glanced round the bleak little wayside station with +disapproval. The December day was grey and raw; the December wind +blustered along the exposed platform, in chilling tempestuous gusts; +and the upland country that stretched to right and left of the line, +wore a highly uninviting aspect. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, what is Margaret doing in this desolate part of the world?" he +reflected irritably; "and why does she send me such a ridiculously +mysterious telegram? Women have no sense of proportion; they must +always indulge in subtleties and mysteries." These irascible +meditations brought him to the station exit, before which stood a +closed brougham, the only conveyance of any sort within sight. Beyond +the tiny station, a white road wound away over the moors, but, +excepting for two cottages on the brow of the first hill, there was no +sign to be seen of any human habitation. +</P> + +<P> +"Has that carriage been sent to meet Sir Arthur Congreve?" the old +gentleman enquired of the one porter lounging by the gate, and the man +nodded before replying with bucolic slowness:— +</P> + +<P> +"That carriage be come from t' 'White Horse' up to Graystone, to fetch +Sir Arthur Congreve. Driver he told me so hisself." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, very well," Sir Arthur said impatiently, making his way to +the carriage door, and opening it, before the porter, now engaged in +thoughtfully scratching his head, had collected his wits sufficiently +to perform this act of courtesy for the traveller. "I conclude you +know where I am to be driven," he added, speaking to the man on the box. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; to the house in the valley; the house where the +gentleman——" +</P> + +<P> +"That will do, as long as you know where you are to go," Sir Arthur +said, cutting short the coachman's volubility, and entering the +brougham, glad to sit back amongst the cushions, and shut the window +against the sweeping blast. +</P> + +<P> +The uplands looked their very greyest and worst on that December day. +A low grey sky stooped to meet the hill-sides, on which brown heather +and brown bracken made a depressing tone of colour, to mingle with the +greyness of the clouds, and of the mists that crept up from the +valleys. The bareness of the wide stretch of moor was broken here and +there by a clump of fir-trees, which showed dark and sombre against the +grey background, and the fogginess of the atmosphere obscured the great +view, which was usually the chief charm of the uplands. Sir Arthur was +at no time an admirer of scenery, and to-day he turned his gaze +shudderingly from the barren landscape; and, drawing a paper from his +pocket, proceeded to bury himself in its contents, and to thrust the +outer world as far as possible away from his consciousness. By nature +an unimaginative man, he had ruthlessly stamped out any germ of +imagination or poetry, which might have been latent within him, setting +himself with grim resolution to thrust away the beautiful as a snare, +and to regard everything about him as merely temporal and destructible. +He forgot, or perhaps he deliberately chose not to recognise, that the +eternal is set around the temporal, not as a thing apart, but +encompassing it, permeating it, so that temporal and eternal are one. +He had sternly set his face against all the softer aspects of life, +doing his duty grimly, and with stiff back, disinclined at any time to +any relaxation in discipline either for himself or his +fellow-sinners—more ready to rule by fear than by love, a man who +would have made an equally excellent Ironside or Grand Inquisitor, +according to the peculiar turn of his religious convictions. +</P> + +<P> +As he drove now along the lonely white road, his thoughts chiefly +centred themselves upon Margaret, his beautiful sister Margaret, who, +in spite of her sins and follies, as he considered them to be, had +always held a place in her brother's heart. He gave her the place +grudgingly; he would have gone to the stake rather than confess that +her beauty made, or ever had made, any appeal to him. And yet, as he +was driven quickly onwards under the lowering skies, it was his +sister's beautiful face that rose persistently before him, her face, as +he had last seen it, when she was a radiant girl, in the glory of her +happy girlhood. It was odd; it was even annoying to him that just this +particular vision out of the past should fill his mind now, but for +once in his grim and well-disciplined life, he was unable to drive away +the haunting vision. +</P> + +<P> +The garden of the old house made the setting of the picture—the garden +that was now his own, and the sunk lawn, with the sun-dial amongst the +rose-trees, that had been his father's pride. Margaret had stood +beside the sun-dial, on that far-off June day, her fingers lightly +tracing the motto that ran round the dial's face, her laughing eyes +lifted to her brother. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! but you don't believe in the motto, you see." The words came +echoing back to him across the years, until he almost felt as though he +could actually hear the low voice again, and Margaret's voice had +always had such unspeakable charm. +</P> + +<P> +"You think a motto like this just silly and sentimental, don't you, +Arthur?" And once more her fingers had traced the faint lettering, +whilst she slowly read the words aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Per incertas, certa amor</I>." (Through uncertainty, certain is love.) +</P> + +<P> +"I mean that to be my motto, as well as the motto of the sun-dial"; +just a tiny ring of defiance seemed to creep into her voice with the +last words; Sir Arthur remembered it even now, and he had answered her +gravely, out of the depths of his convictions. He had spoken with +solemnity, of duty, as higher than love; and she had laughed again, her +deep soft laugh, though the look in her eyes had belied her laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Love is the greatest thing in the world," she had said, very slowly, +very quietly, but the words rang with the sureness of a great +certainty. "Love is the only thing that matters in all the world, +because to love properly is to be perfect. Duty, right, goodness, they +all follow upon love—real love. Love is the greatest thing in the +world. Through all uncertainty—love is—sure." +</P> + +<P> +Well, she had acted up to her creed. She had loved and suffered for a +man who was not worthy to touch the hem of her garment, in his, Sir +Arthur's, opinion;—but women, as he had before reflected, women had no +sense of proportion; they were incomprehensible; Margaret no less +incomprehensible than all the rest of her sex. He had reached this +point in his reflections when he observed that the carriage was no +longer bowling along the smooth high road, but had turned into a steep, +and rather rough lane, which wound downwards between high hedges, that +presently merged themselves into dense woods, ending abruptly at last +in a small clearing, upon which stood a house surrounded by a wall. +Before the green gate in this wall, the carriage stopped. Sir Arthur's +keen eyes noted with approval, the quietly respectful manner of the old +servant who admitted him; he had been more than half expecting to find +himself in some kind of dread and unwonted Bohemia, the very thought of +which sickened his soul; and Elizabeth, with that air of the +old-fashioned maid, who has only lived in the right sort of house, +impressed him favourably. +</P> + +<P> +"My mistress wished me to take you straight to her room, sir," she +said; "and the doctor asked me to say, that any great agitation would +be very bad for her." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she ill, then?" The question came with sharpness. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir, very ill. The doctor is anxious to keep her as quiet as +possible; but he thought it best she should see you, her heart is so +set upon it." +</P> + +<P> +Those words made Sir Arthur's own heart contract a little, and before +his mental vision there flashed again the beautiful radiant face of the +girl in the white gown, the girl who had stood beside the sun-dial, +saying in her deep sweet voice— +</P> + +<P> +"Love is the greatest thing in the world." +</P> + +<P> +The words still rang in his brain as Elizabeth ushered him into a big +bedroom, and his eyes fell upon the woman propped up with pillows, her +face turned towards the door. +</P> + +<P> +The radiant face of the girl beside the sun-dial seemed to fade slowly +from his mind, whilst he stood silently looking at the woman in the +bed, the woman who put out her hand to him with a faint smile, and said +softly— +</P> + +<P> +"It was good of you to come, Arthur. You will let us meet now as +friends after all these years?" +</P> + +<P> +The words were a question rather than an assertion, but he did not +answer the question. He stood as though rooted to the floor, staring +at her, in an astonishment too great at first for words. Then he said +slowly— +</P> + +<P> +"But I shouldn't have known you—I shouldn't have known you, Margaret. +I can't believe——" He broke off abruptly, a tremor in his voice, and +Margaret said gently— +</P> + +<P> +"I daresay I am very much changed since you last saw me. In those days +I was only a girl; now I am a woman, who has known so much of life—so +very much of life. It seems as though my irresponsible girlhood +belongs to another existence, and life has set its marks upon my face." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he answered vaguely, still staring at her. "I am afraid—your +life——" +</P> + +<P> +"There has been very much sorrow—and very much joy," she interrupted, +as gently as she had spoken before; "and now—I am within sight of the +end, and—I am glad." +</P> + +<P> +He came close to her, and for the first time touched her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say that?" he asked, his usually grim voice curiously +softened. "You are ill now, but I hope with care—in time——" +</P> + +<P> +She interrupted him again, a smile on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not a question of care, or time. I am glad it is not. It +is only a question of how long my strength will hold out. You +know—Max—is—dead?" She said the words as simply as though she were +merely saying that somebody had gone into the next room, and her +brother started. +</P> + +<P> +"Dead?" he exclaimed. "No; I did not know. I heard he was in England, +heard it vaguely and undecidedly, and I have been trying to find you +both. I wanted to prevent any—any talk—any scandal." +</P> + +<P> +"There need never be any talk now. He came to England—only a few +weeks before he died. He—had been—wandering about Europe—and then +he came—to England—to die." She spoke quietly, but the pauses in her +sentence, seemed to show what a mental strain she was enduring. +"Marion helped him to get here. I was too ill to do it, and—I did not +dare to do too much, lest through me any clue to his whereabouts should +be given. I do not think he was ever safe—not safe for a single +instant. But—he is out of their reach now—safe at last." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur's mouth set tightly, there was a gleam of indignation in his +eyes, but he remembered the doctor's orders, and refrained from +uttering the biting speech upon his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Marion—who is Marion?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"She was English maid to Max's mother—a faithful soul, such a faithful +soul. All our letters to one another passed through her hands. She +took this house; she brought Max here; she sent for me; and then—the +long strain told. She had borne so much; she could bear no more. +It—was all very dreadful; she lost her reason; she went suddenly mad; +and the doctors do not think she can ever be well again. She is quite +happy now, quite peaceful, they tell me, like a little child, but her +mind has gone." +</P> + +<P> +"And you, Margaret, surely now you must regret," Sir Arthur began +impetuously, the natural man asserting itself, in spite of all the +doctor's warnings. But again his sister's low voice broke the thread +of his speech. +</P> + +<P> +"Regret?" she said. "Oh! no. It hurts me to think that I hurt our +father and mother, but for myself—I cannot be sorry. I love him so, +and for all our lives together, I had his love—he was always mine." +</P> + +<P> +"But"—do what he would, Sir Arthur felt impelled to give voice to the +flood of thought within him—"he was not worthy of you, Margaret. You +can't pretend that he was worthy of your love?" A great rush of colour +poured over her white face, her thin hands trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"Worthiness or unworthiness do not seem to come into it at all," she +answered, her voice all shaken and low. "When one loves, one loves in +spite of everything—in spite of everything." +</P> + +<P> +Something in her tone, and in the strange illumination of her eyes, +momentarily silenced Sir Arthur; he dimly felt himself to be in the +presence of a force infinitely greater than anything that had ever come +into his own experience. He would not have owned that he had +limitations—to a man of his type, the difficulty of owning to +limitations is almost insuperable—but far down in the depths of his +mind, he vaguely realised that Margaret had reached a height to which +he had never attained. +</P> + +<P> +"And—after all, Arthur—whatever you may feel," Margaret went on, more +quietly, the colour ebbing from her face, "doesn't it still seem fairer +to say—<I>De mortuis</I>——" +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur bent his head; and before his mind rose the half-defaced +letters of that other Latin proverb, which Margaret had traced with her +finger on the sun-dial, out amongst the roses in the sunshine of June. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Per incertas, certa amor</I>." +</P> + +<P> +And she was still certain of her love—in spite of—everything! +Silence fell between them after those last words of hers; and it was +she who presently broke it, speaking with an effort, and in more +ordinary and matter-of-fact tones. +</P> + +<P> +"But I did not telegraph to you to come here, in order to worry you +with any of my own affairs. I thought I ought to ask you to come, +because a strange thing has happened—a most curious coincidence. +Bring that chair nearer to the bed, and sit down. You look so judicial +standing over me." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur meekly obeyed, feeling within himself a faint wonder, at his +own unquestioning obedience, yet compelled to do what that low voice +commanded. There was a certain queenliness about this woman, a +dignified aloofness, which had a curiously compelling effect upon those +about her. The man who so obediently drew up a chair, and seated +himself, felt it hard to realise that this was his own sister, his +younger sister Margaret, whom in the days of their unregenerate youth, +some people had called "Peg." It had been almost impossible to see in +her changed face, the features of the beautiful girl who had laughed +amongst the roses by the sun-dial, and yet, in spite of the change +wrought by sorrow, and suffering, and the ploughshares of life, she was +regally beautiful, even more beautiful than in the days of her girlhood. +</P> + +<P> +"I understood from your telegram that you wanted to see me about +Ellen's pendant, though I cannot conceive why you should know anything +about its whereabouts." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I don't know anything about <I>Ellen's</I> pendant," was the +answer. "But I do know something about the pendant you mistook for +Ellen's, on Christmas Day. The ornament Christina Moore was wearing, +was not Ellen's, but her own." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense, my dear Margaret," Sir Arthur answered testily. "The jewel +is unique, and I know every detail of it. I hope you have not brought +me here to try to persuade me not to prosecute that wretched nurse of +Cicely's. Cicely herself is also trying to make me act against my +better judgment, and refrain from calling in the police." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you won't want to prosecute, when you hear why I sent for +you," was the gentle rejoinder. "It was a very weighty reason that +made me ask you to come, Arthur." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you telegraph to me?" he asked. "Tell me those weighty +reasons——" +</P> + +<P> +"A very strange coincidence has happened, one of those coincidences +which are more common in real life, than people think. I—have +discovered—beyond all possibilities of doubt, that Christina Moore—is +our own niece. She is Helen's daughter." +</P> + +<P> +For a long moment Sir Arthur said no single word; he only looked at his +sister blankly, with a stare of incredulous astonishment. Then he said +slowly:— +</P> + +<P> +"Our—our—niece? Helen's daughter? Impossible—quite, quite +impossible. My dear Margaret—you have been taken in by an impostor. +Such an idea is incredible. And—what proofs have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is no question of being deceived. The discovery was not forced +upon my attention; I made it for myself. Christina had no idea that +there was any relationship between us. She was taken completely by +surprise, when I told her she was my sister's child." +</P> + +<P> +"You have let your imagination run away with you, Margaret. How can +you be sure of what you say? Where are your proofs? I don't believe +for a moment, that Miss Moore had any connection with Helen. I don't +believe it at all." +</P> + +<P> +And as Sir Arthur's lips went into a determined line, Margaret smiled +faintly, remembering the days of their youth, when her brother had set +his mouth in just such obstinate curves, if he were in disagreement +with any of his family. +</P> + +<P> +Very quietly, but very firmly, Margaret made herself heard, dominating +the man by that strength of personality, of which he had already become +strangely aware; forcing him, against his own inclinations, to hear her +story, from beginning to end. +</P> + +<P> +"At present I have, as you say, no proofs," she said. "No legal +proofs. But those should be the least difficult to find. We must get +Helen's marriage certificate, and Christina's birth and baptismal +certificates. I have been thinking it all out, when I lay awake at +night. And we must make all necessary enquiries at Staveley—the +village where Christina lived with her father and mother. +Unfortunately, the clergyman she knew there, is dead; and the +solicitor, who seems to have done Helen's business for her, is in +Africa, and Christina does not know his address. But—the pendant, the +emerald pendant, was certainly sent to Helen by our mother; and before +Helen died, she tried to send you a message. She sank into +unconsciousness with your name on her lips—'Tell Arthur'—those were +the very last words she spoke." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur's severe face softened; some of the hardness in his eyes +died away; it was in a shaken and softened voice that he said: +</P> + +<P> +"It is difficult even now to believe that all this can be true; and +yet—there is a certain ring of truth about it. I should like to see +this Miss Moore. I cannot understand why, if she was innocent of +theft, she ran away from Bramwell." +</P> + +<P> +"She is very young; she was very frightened. She knew she could +produce no proof of her innocence. And you must remember, Arthur, that +I am the only person living, who knows there was a replica of Ellen's +pendant. Christina's coming to me was providential. I—think she was +sent into my care." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur was silent; indeed, he spoke no more until Christina, +summoned by Margaret's bell, came into the room, her face flushing and +paling by turns, when she saw the upright figure seated beside the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"I wished to see you," Sir Arthur said, in the magisterial tones which +were wont to strike terror into the hearts of guilty offenders. "My +sister tells me a very remarkable story; and although, pending much +more absolute proof, I suspend judgment, I should like to hear your own +view of this strange thing." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what to think about it all," the girl answered, a little +shrinking fear in her eyes, as they met those piercing blue ones. "I +have told—everything I know—to—to—her," she faltered, glancing at +Margaret. "I can only say it all over again to you. It is all true. +I have never in all my life said anything that wasn't true," she added +proudly. +</P> + +<P> +"Your mother never mentioned any of her relations to you, by name? +Never spoke of her old home?" +</P> + +<P> +"She spoke of her home, and always as if she had loved it dearly, as if +it had broken her heart to leave it. But she never told me where it +was; she never said any name, until the day she died; until she gave me +the——and said 'Tell Arthur'—I think perhaps she could not bear to +speak of her people, because she loved them all so much, that it hurt +her to talk about them." +</P> + +<P> +"The whole matter must be carefully investigated. I can accept nothing +without proof, but, naturally, if it can be proved that you are our +sister's child, suitable care will be taken of you. And for the +present," he still spoke in the judicial tones, to which the Bench was +accustomed, "for the present I shall waive the matter of the pendant. +Meanwhile——" +</P> + +<P> +"Meanwhile, my own strong feeling is that Christina should go back to +Bramwell," Margaret put in; "it is not fair to put Lady Cicely to +inconvenience, and Christina feels, with me, that she had no right to +run away, and leave such a kind and considerate employer in the lurch. +If Lady Cicely would like to have her back, Christina is sure she ought +to go." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed," Christina said eagerly, a little shamed look in her +eyes. "I know I ought never to have come away, but I was so +frightened, so dreadfully frightened," and she clasped her hands +together, with an unconsciously childlike gesture, that stirred the +latent humanity in Sir Arthur. Beneath his crust of frigidity, there +was a certain kindliness of heart, and Christina's appealing eyes, and +suddenly clasped hands, moved him to say, not ungently— +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well, there is no occasion to be frightened now. I will look +into the whole of this strange business, and nothing more shall be said +about the pendant, until I have found out whatever there is to be +found." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall leave the pendant here," Christina said quickly, her eyes +meeting those of the old man with a flash of pride, that seemed to give +man and girl a sudden curious likeness to one another. "I will fetch +it now and give it to her, and then you will know that I am +honest—that I shall not run away with it. I will fetch it directly, +and give it—to—Aunt Margaret!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"SHE HAS A SWEET, STRONG SOUL." +</H4> + +<P> +"There was never another man in my world but Max. There never could +have been another. Some women are made that way. They can only give +their best once." +</P> + +<P> +"But—I would take—the second best. I would be thankful even for the +crumbs from the rich man's table. Only let me have the right to take +care of you, to give you——" +</P> + +<P> +"To give me everything, and to receive nothing in return? No, Rupert, +I could not let you do that, even if——" +</P> + +<P> +"Even if?" he repeated after her, his eyes fastened hungrily on her +face, his voice deep and appealing. "Can't you understand that I don't +want to worry you for anything in return. I only want to be near you, +to do all that man can do for you." +</P> + +<P> +"And I am grateful, more grateful than I can ever express in words. +Sometimes I am sorry you ever chanced to meet me, on that oasis in the +desert. I think I have been a hindrance in your life, not the help I +should like to have been. No—wait—don't contradict me for a minute," +and Margaret held up her hand with a smile, as the man on the low chair +beside her couch, bent forward in eager disclaimer. "Because of me, +you have never married, when you ought to have had a wife, and a home, +and children of your own." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think I could look at another woman, after I had once seen +you?" he exclaimed vehemently, and she answered gently— +</P> + +<P> +"Some day, I hope you will have a woman in your life, a woman who will +bring you all the happiness you have missed, who——" +</P> + +<P> +"I want no woman but you," he cried, a note of sullen passion in his +voice. "Margaret—you say—he—was the only man in your world. Can't +I make you understand that you are—what you have been ever since I +first saw you—the only woman in mine?" +</P> + +<P> +She put out her hand to him, the transparent hand, whose only ornament +was its heavy wedding ring, and he stooped down and kissed it, with a +curiously reverent gesture that made her eyes misty. +</P> + +<P> +"You have been such a good friend," she said; "but believe me, there +cannot ever be anything but friendship between us two and—there is +such a little time now left for anything." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" he asked, with a sudden catch in his breath, his +eyes fixed on her thin face, which seemed all at once to have become so +ethereal in its whiteness; "why do you speak as if——" +</P> + +<P> +"As if—an end were coming? Because—the end is very near." His eyes +did not leave her face, but a look of pain leapt into them, a look of +such intolerable pain, that Margaret exclaimed quickly— +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot bear to hurt you, but it is better to tell you just the plain +truth, even if it hurts you. The end is going to be very soon. Dr. +Fergusson thinks it can't be far off now, and I am glad, Rupert. I +don't think I can tell you how glad." +</P> + +<P> +He made some inarticulate sound, dropping his head into his hands, and +her soft voice went on, with soothing monotony— +</P> + +<P> +"There was a great deal of hardship and trouble in my early married +life, and I never managed to get over it all. I have been ill almost +ever since you knew me, and—in the last few months—I have come to the +end of my tether. When Max—went away,"—her voice broke—"all that +was left of my life and vitality seemed to go, too. I have tried to +live, and I wanted to live, but the disease has got the better of me, +and—I am glad the end is in sight." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you send for me because"—he lifted his head and looked at her. +</P> + +<P> +"I sent for you because I wanted to make everything clear to you, and +because I did not want to go right away for ever, without seeing my +friend again. And—I wanted to help you—about your own future, if I +could." +</P> + +<P> +"My own future," Rupert laughed drearily. "Do you think my own future, +and anything about me, matters two straws, when you—when you"—his +voice trailed away into silence. He sat very still, his face turned +towards the window, through which the trees in the wood beyond the +house, were already showing a veil of delicate green. +</P> + +<P> +"My friendship will have been a very poor thing if it spoils your +life," Margaret said gently, her gaze following his to the April trees, +and the dappled April sky. +</P> + +<P> +"A poor thing?" He turned back to her, a great light in his eyes. "Do +you think I regret loving you? Do you think I regret for a single +second, having known and loved you? When I first met you, I had the +sort of contemptuous tolerance for women, which I had found in other +men. It was you who taught me what a good woman can be to a man. Even +now, I am not fit to touch the hem of your gown, but since I knew you, +I have at least lived straight. I can look you in the face, and say +that my hands and heart are clean." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad," she said simply, her deep eyes shining. "You don't know +how glad I am, if I have helped you ever so little. And, some day—I +am speaking very plainly because I am a dying woman, and dying people +can speak the direct truth—some day I want you to give a woman your +heart; I want you to take her hands in your hands; I want you to find +the happiness, which, for my sake, you have missed in all these years." +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible," he said passionately. "You are asking too much. How +could I ever think of another woman, when I have been your friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some day," she answered, her wonderful smile flashing over her face; +"and—I am developing into a matchmaker, Rupert," she added lightly. +"I have even chosen the woman. You did not credit me with gifts as a +matchmaker, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk of such things in such a way," he exclaimed almost roughly. +"How can you laugh and talk lightly, when——" +</P> + +<P> +"When I ought to be thinking only of 'graves and epitaphs'?" she quoted +whimsically. "No, don't look so hurt and sorry. Let me still be +whimsical, even if I am going to die. Leave me my sense of humour to +the end. And—let me match-make for you. It pleases me to picture +you—happy—with—a wife I have chosen for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't," he said, actual anger in his voice, but once again her hand +touched his hand, and the touch quieted him. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not be hurt or angry with me," she said. "I asked you to +come to see me, because I wanted to thank you for your loyal friendship +and a sort of instinct made me long to tell you—of someone—who some +day I think will comfort you." +</P> + +<P> +"Comfort me?" he exclaimed bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, comfort you," eyes and voice were very steady. "Rupert, you +know—of course you know—all about my little niece, my dear little +niece Christina? You know by what a strange coincidence I discovered +who she was, and you know how Arthur found all the proofs of identity, +and showed beyond the possibility of doubt, that she is the daughter of +my own sister Helen? You know all that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know all that. I have often seen Miss Moore; she is a very +charming girl, and I liked her for insisting on staying with Baba for +the present, so that Cicely should not be left stranded. It seemed to +show grit, and a fine character." +</P> + +<P> +"She has grit, and a fine character. She has more; she has a most +lovable character; and, Rupert, she would make a man who cared for her, +a most tender and loving wife." +</P> + +<P> +"A man who cared for her," Rupert repeated with emphasis; "not a man +whose whole heart was given to another woman." +</P> + +<P> +"Some day—when the other woman—has gone—right away—remember what I +said. That is all. It is not a thing to be discussed, even between +two friends. Only—remember that my little Christina is worthy to be +loved. She has a sweet and a strong soul." +</P> + +<P> +More than once on that April afternoon, Rupert tried to take Margaret's +conversation back to his own deep love for her; but, just as her +brother Arthur had found, four months earlier, so he found now, that +some dominating force in her personality kept him at bay—mastered him, +in spite of himself. It was she who finally gave him a gentle word of +dismissal, so gentle, that he could not be hurt, even though the +parting from her seemed to him to tear his heart in two. +</P> + +<P> +"I may come again?" he said, his speech sounding terse and abrupt, +because of his very excess of feeling; and she smiled into his face, a +strange smile, which he could not understand. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she answered; "you may—come again; and, Rupert, forgive me if +by being your friend I have only hurt you. I have done nothing for +you, excepting give you pain. I think——"—she paused, and her eyes +turned to the soft sky behind the delicate April leaves—"I think I +have done so little, so terribly little with my life." +</P> + +<P> +"But you have <I>been</I> so much," he answered, his hand holding hers +closely, in a long warm clasp; "and it is what you are that matters, +and that influences your fellow beings—what you are, so much more than +what you do. And what you are lives for ever," he added, in a burst of +inspiration very rare in the man, who so seldom gave expression to his +thoughts. "There is no end to a good influence; it never dies; it +could not ever die. What you are has helped everyone who knows—and +loves you." +</P> + +<P> +"But this is not good-bye," he said a moment later, before he left the +room. "You say I may come again; this is only <I>au revoir</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Au revoir</I>, then," she answered, that inexplicable smile breaking +over her face again. "But," she whispered under her breath, as the +door closed behind him, "it will be <I>au revoir</I> in a land where there +will not be any more heart-breaks or good-byes—the land—that is +not—very far off—but—near—so very near." +</P> + +<P> +She had known the truth when she told Rupert he might come again, +knowing that her days were actually numbered, that the end of which she +had told him, was very close at hand. +</P> + +<P> +And so it was, that when Rupert Mernside next journeyed down to the +lonely house in the valley, where the touch of spring lay on woodland +and copse, where primroses lifted starry eyes under the hazels, and +wind flowers swung in the April breeze, he came to follow Margaret to +the quiet churchyard on the hill-side. +</P> + +<P> +Christina had chosen the place where her grave should be—Christina, +who had been with her at the end, who had seen the amazing radiance of +her face, when the end came. All night she had lain in a state of +profound unconsciousness, from which they had not thought she would +ever rally. But as morning broke, as the sunlight shone in through the +uncurtained window, Margaret's eyes opened, and that amazing radiance +flashed into them, the smile on her face making the girl who watched +her, draw a swift breath of wonder. It was evident that the dying +woman knew nothing of what passed in the room about her; her eyes +looked, not at surrounding objects, but at something beyond, and away +from them all—something that was coming towards her, or towards which +she was going. +</P> + +<P> +"Max," she said, her voice grown suddenly strong. "Ah! Max—I +knew—you would wait for me. I—knew—you would be there," and with +that wonderful radiance in her eyes, that wonderful smile upon her +face, she had passed out into the Rest, that lies about our restless +world. +</P> + +<P> +"I think she would like to lie just here," Christina said, when, +walking round the churchyard with Sir Arthur and Dr. Fergusson, they +came to a halt under a low wall, from which the ground sloped abruptly +away, in a series of terraces. In that sunny corner, violets nestled +against the grey stones, their fragrance drifting out upon the April +breeze, and on the wall itself, a robin sat and sang, of spring-time, +of resurrection, of life. +</P> + +<P> +"She would like this place," the girl repeated softly. "It is so still +and sunny, and the great view is so beautiful—like herself, so +beautiful and restful," she added under her breath, so that only +Fergusson heard the words. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur, a more quiet and subdued Sir Arthur, looked across the +sloping churchyard to the great sweep of country, whose horizon was +bounded by far blue hills, and perhaps some faint perception of +Christina's meaning filtered into his narrow soul, although he only +said:— +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder why she wished to be buried here. I should have thought she +would have liked to be near her husband." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think she felt she was ever far away from him," Christina +answered, carried out of herself for the moment, and forgetting her +usual awe of her grim uncle. "She knew that wherever their bodies +might be, she and he would be together. She knew they could not ever +be really apart—he and she." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur looked at her without replying. His silence was a strange +testimony to Margaret's power, for he was kept silent by the +unaccustomed feeling (a feeling experienced for the first time in his +self-sufficient existence)—that in his sister, and in the new niece +who looked at him with such certainty in her eyes, he had come face to +face with forces of which he was ignorant. Perhaps he could not, or +would not, have put this feeling into words, nevertheless, it was +there, far down in his heart, a new factor to be reckoned with, if ever +he chose to reckon with it. The day of Margaret's funeral was one of +those perfect spring days, which come to us sometimes as a foretaste of +summer. Beyond the little churchyard, the wide expanse of moorland lay +flooded with sunshine, spikes of young bracken showing vividly green +amongst the brown of the heather, clumps of gorse shining golden in the +sunlight, a soft mist of green upon the hazel copses at the moorland's +foot. Larks sprang singing to the April sky, and upon the stone wall +close against the open grave, a robin sat once more, and sang his song, +of resurrection, of life, of love. +</P> + +<P> +The group that gathered in that sunny corner, fragrant with the +sweetness of violets, was a very small one. Sir Arthur and Christina, +Rupert Mernside, Lady Cicely, Dr. Fergusson, and Elizabeth—these were +the six mourners who followed Margaret to her last resting-place, and +as Christina's eyes wandered round the little group, she felt that she +knew upon which of the six the beautiful woman's death had fallen as +the most heavy blow. +</P> + +<P> +Her heart contracted when her fleeting glance rested for a second on +Rupert's stricken face; and she glanced away again quickly, feeling +that to look into his face, meant also to look into his stricken soul, +and that she had no right to read so much of the inmost being of +another human creature. Cicely had insisted upon coming to Graystone +for the funeral. +</P> + +<P> +"Although I never knew your sister," she said to Sir Arthur, "I want to +do this one small thing, to show how much I reverenced her. Christina +has told me of her, and I know how beautiful she was, body and soul." +</P> + +<P> +Thus it came about that Cicely sat next to Denis Fergusson in the tiny +village church, where the first part of the funeral service was said, +stood next to Fergusson beside the grave by the sunny wall, and, when +all was over, moved away down the steep churchyard path, by Fergusson's +side. +</P> + +<P> +He looked down at her tiny form with a delicious sense of having a +right at least, in this moment, to protect and watch over her, and, as +they went out of the lych-gate, she turned to him with a grateful look +in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you for taking care of me," she said, with that pretty +impulsiveness that constituted one of her greatest charms. "I am glad +I came to-day—even though—it has made me remember——" she hesitated, +and Fergusson saw that her eyes swam with tears. +</P> + +<P> +They were walking slowly along the upland road, in the wake of the rest +of the party, and Fergusson slackened his pace a little, to give her +time to recover her composure, whilst he said gently:— +</P> + +<P> +"I understand. I quite understand." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you are a very understanding person," she answered, the falter +in her voice making his heart contract with an almost unbearable +longing to comfort her. "I—have not heard—that service we have just +heard, since it was said—over—John—my husband. It has made me +remember—that day—and all it meant to me." +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson looked away from her sweet face, aquiver with emotion, out +across the wide moorland, where the larks sang in the sunshine, to the +far line of blue hills, then he said slowly— +</P> + +<P> +"The words hold wonderful comfort. The triumphant sense of a sure and +certain hope, always seems to me to be the keynote of the whole." +</P> + +<P> +"Those were the words that stayed in my mind, penetrating through +everything else," she said softly, "and though—John had gone away into +what seemed unbreakable silence, I knew—that—he had not really gone. +I had the sure and certain hope—oh! and more than hope—that he +was—very safe, and very near me all the time." +</P> + +<P> +The naïve expression, the simplicity of the words, spoken from the +depths of a simple and sincere heart, flooded Fergusson's heart again +with a sense of reverent love, that almost amounted to adoration; but +no opportunity to answer her was given him, for Sir Arthur turned back +to join Cicely, and a few minutes' further walk brought them to the inn +at Graystone, where they were to lunch, before their drive to the +railway station. Rupert parted from the rest at the door of the inn. +Perhaps Christina was the only member of the party, who realised that +he had come to the end of his tether, that an imperative necessity for +solitude was upon him, that his power of endurance was nearly at an +end. She was standing behind Sir Arthur, when Rupert bade them all +good-bye; it was with her that he shook hands last of all, and as she +looked up into his face, her eyes held some strange comfort for him. +He did not put it into words; he could not have explained even to +himself, had he tried to do so, why it was that the glance of those +sweet eyes sent a little restful feeling into his troubled heart; but +as he went away, some of the tension of misery seemed to relax, the +numbness of his pain grew less; in some dim way his hurt had been +salved. +</P> + +<P> +"Your cousin seems to have been a most devoted friend to my poor +sister," Sir Arthur said, after lunch, when he and the two ladies and +Fergusson were seated in the small sitting-room of the inn awaiting +their carriage. "I cannot conceive why, in the world she could not +have married a man like that, instead of the poor miserable fellow who +made her life and his own, a burden to them both." +</P> + +<P> +"She loved her husband very much," Christina put in gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! she loved him—she loved him far too much," Sir Arthur answered +testily. "I cannot understand, I never shall be able to understand, +how a woman can throw away all her heart and life, on a man who is +totally unworthy of her." +</P> + +<P> +Back into Christina's mind flashed the remembrance of words Margaret +had spoken long before: "You don't know what it is to care so much for +a man, that no matter what he is or does, he is your world, your whole +world," but it was Cicely, not she who answered sagely— +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe a man can ever really understand the way a woman +loves. A woman's love is made up of so many ingredients, she herself +can hardly analyse it, and no man could ever begin to get near its true +analysis." +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur looked at her with the kindly smile of one who listens to +the prattling of a child, then resumed his own train of thought and +words, as if she had not spoken at all. +</P> + +<P> +"My brother-in-law was a perpetual source of anxiety to me," he said; +"not that I knew him. I only saw him once, and I was not favourably +impressed on that occasion; but I can honestly say that until I heard +he was in his grave, I had no really quiet moments." +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing of the story," Cicely said; "I have only heard you +speak of your brother-in-law, as if the subject was a painful one. I +do not even know his name." +</P> + +<P> +"He was a Russian by birth—no, don't go, there need be no secret about +the matter, certainly not from you, who were so good to my poor +sister," Sir Arthur said, as Fergusson showed signs of leaving the +room. "Max Petrovitch was his real name, and my sister originally met +him at the house of friends in town. He was then closely connected +with the Young Russia movement—or rather, to call things by their true +names, he was a red-hot Nihilist. Margaret—went with him to Siberia, +you know." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely uttered an exclamation, but Sir Arthur went on without pause. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she went to Siberia with him. I don't know on what precise count +he was exiled, but he was always on the side of revolutionary methods, +as against those of law and order, and although I believe—I do firmly +believe—that he never had a hand in any scheme of assassination, +still, he was tarred with the pitch-black brush of anarchy. There is +no doubt that the time in Siberia sowed the seeds of Margaret's +ill-health; it sapped her strength and vitality; it was—the beginning +of the end. Her maid Elizabeth has told me the truth about it all." +He was silent for a few seconds before resuming. +</P> + +<P> +"Then Max—escaped, and for a long time, I understand, Margaret knew +nothing of his whereabouts; but she herself, by his wish, left Siberia, +and went to Paris, and there—after what vicissitudes God only +knows—he joined her, for a time. But—here the inherent weakness of +the man appeared. God forbid that I should be unfair to the dead—but, +he was a coward; and because he was afraid, because he was afraid of +being recaptured, and sent back to Siberia, he gave up the party to +which he belonged—he sold himself to the Secret Police. And from the +moment that was known, he must have led a life of horror. His +footsteps were dogged; he was tracked down from place to place; he was +a doomed man, and he knew it. Certainly he was guarded to an extent by +the Secret Police, but, those who wanted his life cared very little for +that. I believe he wandered over Europe, seeking a place of safety in +vain, and at last—ill, worn-out, and despairing—he came to England, +to die in that lonely house in the valley, where Margaret has also +died. Her illness sent her back to her own land; she could not travel +about with him, but when they got him there, they sent for her, and she +was with him to the last." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor soul! oh, poor soul!" Cicely said softly. "And she loved him +through it all?" +</P> + +<P> +"She loved him with a most amazing love," Fergusson put in, speaking +for the first time. "I was there during his last illness, and at his +death; and, as I said before, I say it again: 'God grant to every man +when death comes, to have such a woman, and such a woman's love, with +him at the last!'" +</P> + +<P> +He spoke gravely, and as his words ended, he looked at Cicely, and +their eyes met in a long involuntary glance, which, as Christina caught +it, seemed to her full of some strange meaning, that set her own heart +athrob. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"IF YOU GO ACROSS THE SEA!" +</H4> + +<P> +"Such money as Margaret had she has left to you, Christina, and in +telling you this, I should like to make a final protest against your +remaining in Lady Cicely's household, in a subordinate and dependent +position." +</P> + +<P> +"How dear of Aunt Margaret—how very, very dear of her, to give me her +money," Christina said; "and with that money I shouldn't be dependent +any more, should I?" and she looked into Sir Arthur's grim face, with a +smile whose inner meaning that worthy did not feel quite able to +fathom. Was it merely the smile of guileless simplicity, or was she, +in a mild way, presuming to chaff him? +</P> + +<P> +"In the stricter sense of the word, no, you would not be dependent. +But that is a mere shuffling of words. You would still be in a +subordinate position here, and the position is a false one." +</P> + +<P> +Christina, standing by the window in Cicely's great London +drawing-room, devoutly wished that somebody would come in, or that +something would happen, to end this interview with her uncle, who never +failed to have one of two disastrous effects upon her: either he made +her feel angry—really viciously angry, as she expressed it—or he made +her hopelessly inclined to giggle. +</P> + +<P> +"And to-day I want to giggle," she said to herself, "and if I do, he +will never forgive me or forget." +</P> + +<P> +Aloud she said, with a gravity she was far from feeling— +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to be rude and contradict you, Uncle Arthur, but I cannot +feel I am in a false position here. Cicely really needs me, for +herself, as well as for Baba; this is a very happy home for me, and, +because I still take care of Baba just as I did before, I don't feel I +am doing anything beneath my dignity, or—subordinate." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could make you understand the fitness of things," Sir Arthur +answered, with a grieved air, which never failed to amuse his niece. +"Your Aunt Ellen and I would gladly offer you a home, but—I fear that, +at the bottom of your heart, this Babylon, this Vanity Fair, makes an +appeal to you." +</P> + +<P> +"I do like London," was the frank response, "and though it is very good +of you to ask me to come to your house, I think I am really wanted +here. Cicely would miss me, Baba would miss me, and—I like doing all +I can for them. Cicely has been so good to me all through." +</P> + +<P> +"Wilful woman," Sir Arthur said, with a shrug of the shoulders; "you +often remind me of your poor Aunt Margaret. You have her set obstinacy +of character. She was never able to see any other point of view but +her own, and you are very like her." +</P> + +<P> +"I—should like to be like Aunt Margaret," the girl answered; "and if +she did like her own points of view, I think they were always very +beautiful views. I have never met anybody like her." +</P> + +<P> +"She was a good woman," Sir Arthur said, smitten with sudden +compunction. "I had no business to say a word against her; she was a +good woman, but the thought of her wasted life hurts me." +</P> + +<P> +"Not wasted," Christina said; "I don't think her life was wasted. Her +influence can't die away, even now. It was such a wonderful +influence—like herself, so beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he repeated, "poor Margaret. She was a good woman, and it hurts +me to think of all the trouble of her life. You are like her in many +ways. God grant that your life may not hold the sorrows her life held." +</P> + +<P> +Uncle and niece were silent for a few moments after those +solemnly-uttered words, and Christina stood looking out across the +square, where the trees waved delicate green leaves against a +background of May sky, her thoughts full of the beautiful woman who had +entered so strangely into her life, through whose instrumentality so +vast a change had come to her. +</P> + +<P> +From first to last, Margaret's personality had made a great appeal to +Christina, and looking out now into the May sunshine, across the +fragrant window-boxes of geranium and mignonette, a vivid recollection +came to her of that December afternoon, when Margaret had stood in the +lane, pleading with her to fetch a doctor. What apparent inconsequence +had led her to drive past that lonely house in the lane, and how +strange had been the outcome of that inconsequent drive. +</P> + +<P> +What big results had rested upon such a seemingly small event! Her +relationship to Sir Arthur and his sister Margaret, would probably +never have been discovered, but for that meeting in the lane; and no +one but Margaret would ever have been able to elucidate the mystery +about the emerald pendant. It was strange, so strange as to be like +some story-book happening, instead of an event in real, everyday life! +</P> + +<P> +Sir Arthur's voice brought her back from her thoughts of the past. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry, my dear Christina, that you have made up your mind to stay +here, in the very anomalous position you now occupy. But, I quite see +that it is useless to argue further with you. If, however, you should, +at some future date, see things differently, your Aunt Ellen and I will +still be willing to offer you a home under our roof." +</P> + +<P> +Christina's thanks were none the less warm, because, in her heart of +hearts, she decided that no power on earth would ever induce her to +make a home with her uncle and aunt. +</P> + +<P> +"But I couldn't live with them, could I?" she said to Cicely an hour +later, when the two sat together in the rose-coloured boudoir, which, +at Christina's first visit to the house, had aroused her deep +admiration. "Uncle Arthur is so—so very kind, but——" +</P> + +<P> +"But, he moves along like a horse in blinkers, and he cannot see +anything on either side of him, and not much in front." +</P> + +<P> +"He says I am like Aunt Margaret, and that she only saw one point of +view," Christina answered demurely. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, my dear, it is evidently a family failing," Cicely retorted; +"but never mind what Cousin Arthur says. You are to stay with me, and +be as happy as you can, and because you are sweet enough still to look +after Baba, that does not lower you in anyone's eyes." +</P> + +<P> +"One argument Uncle Arthur used to try and induce me not to stay here, +was, that you might marry again, and then, he said, I should be +stranded." +</P> + +<P> +The colour flew into Cicely's face, but she answered collectedly— +</P> + +<P> +"Why should Cousin Arthur think absurdities of that kind? I——" +</P> + +<P> +"He said you were very young, and—very attractive"—Christina laughed, +a low, mischievous laugh, as the colour deepened on the other's +face—"and he would have it, too, that people would want to marry you +for your money and position." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no intention of marrying again," Cicely said firmly, "and, if I +did, I hope I should have sense enough to know whether I was wanted for +my stupid position, or for myself." +</P> + +<P> +"There are some people," Christina said, the words coming from her lips +almost involuntarily "who would be afraid to ask you to marry them, +just because of your money and position." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see why a man's silly pride should stand in the way of his +love," Cicely retorted; but Christina shook her head sagely. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! but men do let their pride spoil their love," she said, "and they +let their pride spoil other people's lives too," she added, with a +wisdom beyond her years. "A man might easily think it would be +dishonourable to ask you to marry him—a man who was not rich, or +distinguished." She spoke very slowly; in some odd way it seemed, even +to herself, as though the words were put into her mouth to speak, and +as she uttered them she was looking so intently out of the window, that +she did not observe the varying expressions of emotions that flitted +over Cicely's face. +</P> + +<P> +"One would not know how to beat down the sort of pride you describe," +she answered, after a pause, during which Christina's eyes fixed +themselves upon a flock of pigeons, wheeling about the plane-trees in +the square. "A woman is so tied, so handicapped; she can only possess +her soul in patience, and wait." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe I should wait," again it seemed to Christina, as +though the words were being forced from her. "If I knew that only +pride, silly, ridiculous pride, was holding a man back, a man who loved +me and I him—well, I don't believe I would wait. I think—there's a +limit to possessing one's soul in patience." +</P> + +<P> +"But Christina—surely!"—Cicely's blue eyes opened wide, she looked +into the girl's animated face, with wondering incredulity. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely—yes," Christina answered with an audacious little laugh. "If +the man cared for me, and I knew it, I—would not let his pride spoil +his life and mine. If he was too proud to ask me—why, then, I should +ask him—that is all." With the laughing words, she turned and left +the room, murmuring that it was time she attended to Baba's tea; but +after she had gone, Cicely sat very still, her mind haunted by the +words the other had just spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"I would not let his pride spoil his life and mine. If he was too +proud to ask me—why, then, I should ask him, that is all." +</P> + +<P> +"But such a big 'all,'" Cicely reflected, her eyes, like Christina's, +following the wheeling flight of the wood-pigeons about the +plane-trees' tops; "it is such an impossible thing even to contemplate +doing, and yet——" +</P> + +<P> +And yet! Sitting there alone, she reviewed the past happy years, when +John had been her safeguard, her protector, the shadow of a great rock +in her life, shielding her from everything that could hurt or vex her. +And after those years of full content had come the lean years of +sorrow—the blank desolation of her widowhood, the loneliness, the +overpowering loneliness, which no kindly friends nor kindred could +really lessen or assuage. And now, new possibilities of happiness +seemed to be opening before her, if—but again it was such a big "if." +How could she put out her hand to snatch at what had not been offered +to her, what might never be offered to her, but which, nevertheless, +she knew with a woman's sure knowledge was hers? +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think it is being unfaithful to John," she thought; "it does +not make me love John less, because I know—that other—could bring me +a measure of joy again." +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments she gave free rein to her thoughts, letting them +range over the past few months, allowing her memory to bring back Denis +Fergusson's kindly, shrewd face, with the brown eyes that held so much +both of tenderness and humour, and the mouth that could smile so +cheerily, and set itself into lines of such strength and steadfastness. +During those anxious days of Baba's illness at Graystone, she had of +necessity seen Fergusson constantly, and perhaps it had been borne in +upon her then, that he, too, was of the nature of a great rock, strong +to lean upon, and very steadfast; and perhaps she had been drawn to +him, in that mysterious drawing together of one particular man to one +particular woman, which must always be a wonder of the universe. +</P> + +<P> +Whenever she and Fergusson had met, she had been conscious of her own +power over him, conscious also that something was holding him back. +And now, as it seemed to her, Christina had given her the clue, to what +had often sorely puzzled her. Her own outlook upon life was an +eminently simple one, and she had never dreamed that her rank or wealth +could make a bar to the friendship, and the something deeper than +friendship, of such a man as Denis Fergusson. Christina's words had +given her food for thought, and they had also brought her face to face +with the knowledge of herself, and of all that Denis was beginning to +mean to her. He possessed that same steadfast quality which had been +one of her husband's noblest characteristics, and the one perhaps that +had made the chief appeal to her more yielding nature. And Fergusson's +cheery strength and unfailing optimism, had gone far also towards +drawing her to him. But instinctively she had been aware of a barrier +between them, of something which he was rearing up against her, and +though the instinctive knowledge of the barrier had wounded and puzzled +her, it was only now, with Christina's words ringing in her ears, that +she understood the meaning of all the puzzle. The doctor was a poor +man, or at any rate comparatively poor, whilst she had more than enough +and to spare of this world's goods, and a title into the bargain; and +because the man was proud as well as poor, he had erected that barrier, +of which she had been confusedly conscious. +</P> + +<P> +Well! Christina—straightforward Christina, with her almost boyish +love for all that was most natural, most frank and simple—had said, "I +would not let his pride spoil his life, and mine. If he was too proud +to ask me, then I should ask him!" +</P> + +<P> +"But"—Cicely rose from her chair, and crossed the room to the +window—"but, of course, any such step as that was out of the question +for her—impossible and out of the question. She could never overcome +her pride, to such an extent as that—never!" +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Fergusson has called, my lady, and desired me to say that if you +were disengaged, he would be very glad if he could see you for a few +minutes." James, the footman, stood in the doorway, and even upon +James's slow intelligence, it dawned that his mistress looked unusually +lovely, and unusually young. But his dense mind did not especially +connect the youth or loveliness with anything or anybody; he only dimly +saw and wondered, whilst for the fraction of a second Cicely hesitated. +Should she order James to bring the doctor up to the boudoir—to this +dainty room in which she made a point of only receiving those who were +her most intimate friends? Or should she go down to the drawing-room, +and receive him as she received acquaintances? The two questions +revolved in her mind, and they were quickly answered. +</P> + +<P> +"I will come down to the drawing-room," she said, scarcely knowing +herself why she came to this decision; coming to it more by instinct, +than by any power of reasoning. She paused yet another moment to +collect her forces, then went slowly down the great staircase, and +opened the drawing-room door, without lingering on the threshold, as +she was more than half inclined to do. +</P> + +<P> +Fergusson came forward quickly to greet her, and she saw that, though +he smiled, and spoke in his customary, cheery manner, his eyes held a +troubled look, and there was a worn expression on his face, which she +had never seen there before. His manner, too, had a nervousness very +foreign to it, and he talked rapidly, as though he were afraid of +silence, and must continue speaking at all costs. +</P> + +<P> +"I must apologise for troubling you," he said, and Cicely noted the +formality of his speech, "but I felt I should like to come and ask +about my little friend Baba, before I go away." +</P> + +<P> +"Go away?" Cicely could frame no other words than those two bare ones, +because for a second her heart seemed to stop beating, then raced on +again at headlong speed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes"—Fergusson still spoke fast and nervously,—"I have come to +rather a sudden decision, but I feel it is a wise one. I have made up +my mind to go abroad, to begin life in a new country. The old one is +over-crowded—we are all finding that fact out more and more, and I am +proposing to go to the Far West. It has always appealed to me—that +free life in a big, new country." +</P> + +<P> +"But your poor people—your people in South London," Cicely +interrupted, a sick pain gnawing at her heart; "surely they want you?" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders a little, and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not indispensable to them, or to anyone"—the last words he spoke +under his breath—"and I believe there is plenty of work waiting for +me, on the other side of the world. I have not made up my mind to this +hurriedly, but it seems the best and wisest thing to do." +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder why?" Cicely began slowly, her blue eyes looking full into +those troubled brown ones. "It seems"—she broke off, leaving her +sentence unfinished, her eyes dropping suddenly, because of what she +read in those other eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Does it seem to you a mad idea?—an act of impulse?" he asked, his +glance travelling hungrily over her down-bent face. "I have not come +to the decision impulsively. It is the best—the only thing to do." +The last part of the speech dropped hurriedly from his lips, he drew in +his breath sharply, almost as if he were being tried to the limits of +his strength. "I—could not—go away without coming to say good-bye to +you—and Miss Moore—and Baba," he added jerkily. +</P> + +<P> +"We should have been very angry with you if you had done such a horrid +thing," Cicely answered lightly, so lightly, that a hurt look crept +into the brown eyes watching her. He had not dared to hope she could +by any remote possibility care for him, so he said to himself. He had +never dreamt such wildly improbable dreams, but he had thought she +would be a little sorry to lose a friend for ever; and when he left +England, he intended to leave it for ever, to cut adrift from all old +friendships, all old ties. And yet she looked up at him with laughter +in her eyes, and talked brightly of being angry with him, if he had +gone without a farewell! He felt oddly hurt and ruffled, and Cicely, +as keenly aware of the hurt, as she had been a moment before of the +significant look in his eyes, only knew that her own heart was beating +with an excess of joy that frightened her—only realised that the game +lay in her own small hands, if only—she could play the game as it +should be played. +</P> + +<P> +"You—have not given up your house and practice—yet?" she questioned, +and her tone was still brisk, almost business-like, and there was a +hurt note in his voice as he answered— +</P> + +<P> +"My house is in an agent's hands for letting, and I am only going on +with the work, until I can find someone to take it over; as soon as +everything is settled here, I shall be off. To tell you the honest +truth, I shall be glad to go." Cicely's heart leapt in an insane way, +because of the sudden ring of bitterness in his accents, she moved a +step nearer to him (they had both remained standing since her +entrance), she had even uttered the words, "I wish"—when the door was +flung wide open, and James announced, "Mrs. Deane." +</P> + +<P> +Cicely was not quite sure whether she most wished to laugh or cry, when +this very ordinary little acquaintance, a walking mass of platitudes, +propriety, and dullness, walked into the room. Too well she knew that +Mrs. Deane, once established in her drawing-room, would not be quickly +dislodged, and, with an inward sigh, she resigned herself to her fate, +whilst Fergusson held out his hand in farewell. +</P> + +<P> +"I must be getting on my way," he said; "perhaps I might just go up to +the nursery, to say good-bye to Miss Moore and Miss Baba?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," Cicely answered with her pretty smile. "Baba would +bitterly resent it, if her dear doctor went across the sea, without +saying good-bye to her." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>If</I>—you go across the sea," she mentally ejaculated, as the door +closed behind his tall form, and she settled herself down to listen to +Mrs. Deane's totally uninteresting conversation. +"<I>If</I>—you—go—across—the sea!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"I CAME TO-DAY, TO TELL YOU SO." +</H4> + +<P> +If Fergusson had left the great house in the square with his spirits at +zero, they had travelled many degrees below that point on the following +morning. He sat alone in the room he used as study and general +sitting-room, and, spread on the table before him were two letters, one +from a house-agent informing him that a possible client was in treaty +for his house; the other from a medical practitioner in the north of +England, who expressed a desire to come in person, and learn all +particulars about the practice. +</P> + +<P> +"Burning my boats with a vengeance," Fergusson muttered, looking round +the room which he had learnt to love, and smiling a troubled smile that +had no joy behind it. That glance round the room, brought back to his +remembrance, in an odd flash of memory, Christina's first visit to him, +when he was occupying Dr. Stokes's house in the country. There was +real humour in his smile when he recalled the girl's look of surprise, +and her naïve acknowledgment of the discrepancy she saw between his +appearance, and that of the house in which he was. Looking round the +study of his South London abode, he wondered whether Christina would +consider his present surroundings more in keeping with his personality, +than those in which she had first seen him. Certainly there was +nothing here of the smug respectability which had characterised Dr. +Stokes's well-kept establishment. No two chairs matched one another, +but they were all comfortable and restful, the walls were distempered a +soft rich yellow that gave an effect of sunlight even on the greyest +days, and the few pictures hanging against the sunny background, were +excellent photographs framed in oak, and representing some of the best +Old Masters of the Italian School. Bookcases covered a considerable +amount of the wall space, books covered the tables, and were even piled +upon a corner of the rather faded Turkey carpet. The box outside the +open window was filled with wallflowers, and their penetrating +fragrance made the room sweet. The view was not a wholly uninspiring +one, for a narrow strip of garden lay behind the house, and glimpses of +waving boughs were visible against the blue sky of May. The roar of +traffic from the main road a few paces away, the distant hum of +humanity, these were sounds dear to the ears of the doctor, to whom +human beings made so deep an appeal; he even had a weakness for the +raucous street cries, audible now and again above the persistent roar, +that was like the noise of Atlantic breakers on a rock-bound coast. +</P> + +<P> +He was sorry to be leaving the teeming London world, in which he had +spent so much of his busy life—more sorry than anyone else could +realise, he reflected grimly. Possibly, to the rest of mankind, a +practice in South London might not appear the acme of bliss—a practice +that dealt almost exclusively with the sordid, the poor, even the +criminal; but—he loved his work, he loved his people; it was +intolerably hard to tear himself away from them all, and yet—the +tearing was inevitable. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't stay here within measurable reach—of her—and of temptation, +and—play the man," his reflections ran on, "so—so I must run away." +He laughed shortly, as he picked up the two letters from his table, and +re-read them, feeling absurdly disinclined to reply to either. He knew +he must go. With the unwavering directness of an upright man, when +making a decision, he had seen what he conceived to be the right path +clearly marked for him; and, having seen it, he had no thought of +drawing back from following it. But, with all his strength and +decision of character, he nevertheless felt, at this juncture, a deep +repugnance to writing those letters, which would, as he expressed it to +himself, have the effect of burning his boats behind him. He knew that +good work awaited him in that far western land, where he had determined +to begin a new life; he knew, too, that to remain in England within +call, as it were, of a temptation which his sense of what was right and +honourable, bade him resist, was merely dallying with that sense of +right; and yet, the human man within him, cried out against the +necessity which he had faced, and acknowledged to be inevitable. +Although he already actually knew the contents of those two letters by +heart, he read both through again, then deliberately folded, and set +them aside, with another short laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"If they are answered by to-night's post, it is time enough," he +exclaimed. "They shall be answered to-night; these few hours of delay +will make no difference." He was half-amused, half-ashamed of his own +cowardice, as he called it, in postponing the inevitable, but a weight +seemed to be lifted off his heart when those letters were set aside +unanswered, when he turned away from the writing table, to go to his +downstairs surgery, feeling that the conflagration of those boats of +his had not yet begun. +</P> + +<P> +The busy morning of attending to the motley collection of fellow +creatures who thronged to his surgery door, was only half over; and he +was waiting in his tiny consulting-room, for the next patient, when a +tap on the door was followed by the entrance of Thompson, his +caretaker, and general factotum. Indeed, Thompson and his wife +constituted the entire staff of Fergusson's household, being the +doctor's devoted admirers, as well as his faithful servants; and when +he had broached to them his proposed change of life, they had +simultaneously announced their intention of going with him to the West, +and sharing his fortunes in the new land and new labours. +</P> + +<P> +Upon Thompson's face now, as he entered his master's little +consulting-room, there was an expression of mingled bewilderment and +pleasure, which made Fergusson look at him sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Thompson, what is it?" he asked, for it was seldom indeed that +any call from the house was allowed to interfere with the surgery work. +</P> + +<P> +"There's a lady called to see you, sir," the man answered. "When she +heard you was busy, she wanted to call again, but I didn't feel it +would be right to let a lady like her go away, and call again." +Fergusson smiled. Thompson was the worthiest soul on earth, but his +powers of discrimination were not great, and a "lady like her" was in +all probability a suburban "Miss," hoping to obtain a consultation at +surgery rates. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the lady?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"In your study, sir," Thompson answered, mild amazement in his voice. +"I couldn't show a lady like her nowhere else, could I, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +Again Fergusson smiled. He knew them so well—those ladies who made +such an appeal to Thompson's æsthetic soul, the ladies of rather +abnormally sized hats, garments they called "stylish," with lace +blouses, out of which rose an unnecessary length of neck, encircled by +artificial pearls. Oh! he knew precisely what sort of a lady he would +find in his study, and the knowledge did not make him hasten his steps, +as he went up the staircase to the sitting-room. Long before opening +the door, he had decided to make short shrift of the lady—he knew +precisely how he should frame his terse speech—and there was a +distinctly grim look upon his usually kindly face, when he entered the +room. But when he saw who it was that stood in the May sunlight, close +to the open window, the grim expression died away, unbounded +astonishment took its place, and he caught his breath suddenly, +standing stock still on the threshold, and staring at his visitor, as +if she was an apparition from another world. +</P> + +<P> +"You?" he said; and it seemed as though that single word were the only +one that he could bring himself to utter. "You?" he repeated, as he +moved slowly across the room, his eyes riveted upon Lady Cicely's face. +She stood very still, just where she had been when he first entered, +the sunlight falling upon the pure gold of her hair, and on the +exceeding fairness of her face; her eyes very blue, and very deep, +looking up at Fergusson with a strange mixture of embarrassment and +sweetness, which set his heart beating fast. +</P> + +<P> +In all the time of his acquaintance with her, she had never looked +younger or fairer than on this May morning. Her gown of some pale grey +material, exactly suited the pale pure tints of her hair and +complexion, and the great pink rose fastened against the soft feathers +of her grey boa, harmonised with the delicate colour that had risen to +her cheeks, as Fergusson entered. +</P> + +<P> +"I—promised I would come some day to see your house, and your +surgery," she said, hesitating a little between the words, but speaking +firmly nevertheless, "and—I thought I would come to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"What made you come to-day?" he asked, an odd abruptness that almost +amounted to roughness, in his voice. "Why to-day, of all days?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know," she answered. "I believe I acted—on impulse. It +just came into my head that I must come this morning, and—you know I +am rather a creature of impulse—and I came—straight away." +</P> + +<P> +"It is so curious you should have come to-day," he persisted, still +with that odd abruptness of voice and manner. "You have come in time +to see my boats burnt." +</P> + +<P> +"Your—boats—burnt?" her voice was puzzled; she looked into his face +with less of embarrassment, because in some indefinite way she felt +that he was more embarrassed than she, and it gave her courage. "Why +are you burning boats?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because, as I told you when I came to see you, I am giving up the life +here, giving it up altogether, irrevocably, for always. There is to be +no turning back." +</P> + +<P> +"No turning back," she repeated softly, her eyes watching the changing +expressions on his face. "Why no turning back?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why? Because I have made up my mind to begin a new life, in a new +world, and—when I make up my mind a thing must be done, I generally +carry it through." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" she said. "You generally carry it through?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he spoke almost harshly. "The boats will be burnt +to-day—finally burnt." +</P> + +<P> +She stood very still in the sunlight, her pretty head bent down, her +hands slowly moving over the knob of the dainty sunshade she carried, a +little smile lurking about the corners of her mouth; her eyes fixed on +the faded colours of the Turkey carpet. +</P> + +<P> +"I think—I should like—to be here for the burning of the boats," she +said. "It sounds so—subversive—so final." +</P> + +<P> +"It is subversive—it is final," was the short reply, and a flame of +anger against her shot up within him. "Why did she come here to +torture him? What had possessed her to come and stand here in his +room, in the sunlight, stand here amongst all his most cherished +belongings, just as in some of his mad dreams, he had pictured she +might stand—looking so fair, so young, so sweet? Why had she done it? +It was cruel, not just to a man who was trying to follow his code of +honour, to its bitterest consequences." So his thoughts ran, whilst +Cicely still stood there, moving her hands over the knob of her +sunshade, the little smile still hovering upon her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder," she said slowly, after a moment's silence—and Fergusson, +watching her intently, saw that a deeper colour crept into her face—"I +wonder—whether—the burning—is—really necessary?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite necessary." His tone was abrupt to the point of rudeness. "I +have made up my mind." +</P> + +<P> +"And—you—never—change—your mind?" She shot one swift glance at him +from her pretty eyes, lowering them again instantly, whilst her hands +moved more nervously, and her voice shook. +</P> + +<P> +"Not when I am sure I am acting rightly," he answered. "And in this +case I have no doubts." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent again, for what seemed to the man who watched her many, +many minutes, though only a few seconds had ticked by, before she said +gently— +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder—why you—are so very sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because there is no room for doubt," was the terse response, and again +there was silence, until Cicely said softly— +</P> + +<P> +"I—think you are wrong. I—believe there is great room for doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say that?" he exclaimed, that almost rough note in his +voice again. "How can you tell, how can you know, what I——" He +broke off with significant abruptness, and Cicely moved a few steps +nearer to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Fergusson," she said, her voice very low, her words hurried. "I +don't know—how to explain—what makes me say—that I am sure you are +wrong to—to burn your boats. I—came this morning—on purpose to tell +you——" +</P> + +<P> +"To tell me what?" he questioned, his own voice more gentle, because of +the nervousness in hers. +</P> + +<P> +"To tell you—you are—wrong to give up your work here, and go away." +</P> + +<P> +"Wrong? Why?" For the life of him, Fergusson could not utter another +syllable; he could only stand and stare and stare at the bent golden +head, wishing desperately that she would go away, before he was +conquered by his overmastering desire to seize her hands in his, and +draw her close against his breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Quite, quite wrong," she answered firmly, lifting her eyes again, and +looking into his face; "you mustn't go away. I came this morning—to +tell you—that you mustn't go away. Baba and I—can't spare you." The +last words were spoken so softly as to be almost inaudible; but they +reached Fergusson's ears, and he looked at the speaker, as though he +could hardly believe the evidence of his senses. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba—and—you?" he repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Baba—and—I," she whispered. "Oh! perhaps I ought not to have come, +but there seemed no other way to show you—what a dreadful mistake you +were going to make, and—Rupert says I am always a creature of +impulse," she ended with a little laugh. "I came—on—impulse, +because—because I had to come." She came closer to his side, and laid +one of her hands upon his coat sleeve, her blue eyes looking into his, +with the wistful, appealing eagerness of a child's eyes. "I—don't +know what Cousin Arthur would say—if he knew," she ended +inconsequently. +</P> + +<P> +"But—I can't quite understand even now," Fergusson said, with a not +very successful effort to speak quietly. "I—do not think I can be of +any use to—you—and little Baba. There are plenty of other doctors +who——" +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty of other <I>doctors</I>," she answered, a quiver in her voice; "but +only one you—and—and are all men always so dense? Please understand, +Baba—and I—ask you—to stay. We—are very bold—and brazen—Baba and +I!" +</P> + +<P> +She did not look up at him now. She did not see the look of radiant +joy that swept across his face, she only felt his arms go suddenly +round her, she only realised what a relief it was to hide her burning +cheeks against his rough coat, whilst he bent his head to hers, and +murmured passionate inarticulate little words, that would not frame +themselves into sentences, and yet seemed to flood her world with +happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't understand it," he said presently, putting his hand softly +under her chin and lifting her face, so that he could look deep into +her eyes; "you can't mean—that you—would stoop—to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know how to make you understand without telling you in plain +English that I—that you——" She broke off again, her eyes dropping +before the look in his, the colour deepening in her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"That you—and Baba—want me?" he quoted softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; we don't think we can do without you, Baba and I. We can't let +you go to the Far West, or—anywhere very far away from us. Only——" +</P> + +<P> +"Only?" he whispered, his lips close to hers. +</P> + +<P> +"Only—I didn't think I could ever be so—horribly brazen—as to ask a +man to——" +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't asked me anything," he answered whimsically, a smile on +his lips, a humorous twinkle in the eyes that looked so tenderly at her +rosy face. "You haven't asked me anything yet!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't make me more ashamed," she whispered. "It is dreadful to have +come—to have said—to——" +</P> + +<P> +"To have played the part of a gracious and lovely queen, whose Prince +Consort dares not speak, until she gives him the right?" His voice was +a caressing whisper, his arm held her more closely. "And even now, I +do not know whether I have any business to accept the right you give +me? You and I are such poles asunder." +</P> + +<P> +"Are we?" she answered softly, her hand touching his. "Are we really +'poles asunder,' just because I happen to have a little more money than +you have? Aren't we just a man and woman, who——" +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" he echoed gently, as she paused, and his face was bent very near +to hers, to hear her answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Who—care for each other," she whispered confusedly. "I don't +think—you ought to make me say all the—difficult things." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it so difficult to say you care for me," he answered, with a low +laugh of triumphant gladness. "I have got dozens of patients waiting +downstairs for me, but I don't want to do anything except go on telling +you how much I care for you, so much that I could not stay in England, +and not tell you the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"And why didn't you tell me?" she said reproachfully, lifting her head +to look again into his radiant face. +</P> + +<P> +"Because—your rank, and money, and surroundings—oh! everything about +you, put you far out of my reach," he answered, with a sudden return to +his old abruptness. "Even now I have not the smallest right to take +advantage of the wonderful thing you have done to-day. What will your +people say? What will the world say? What——" +</P> + +<P> +"Need you and I mind what the rest of mankind thinks, or says?" she +answered, a little flash of defiance in her eyes. "Perhaps in coming +here to-day I have been unwomanly and horrible; and yet, I had to come, +because I knew that happiness is too big a thing to be sacrificed to +pride, or to other people's opinions." +</P> + +<P> +"And—this is your happiness?" His voice was strangely softened. "Do +you really mean me to know that you could be happy with me, with a +rough sort of fellow like me?" +</P> + +<P> +"With a rough sort of fellow like you," she answered, laughing, a +tender mockery in her words. "I can't be happy without you, and—I +came to-day, to tell you so!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"THE KING OF MY KINGDOM." +</H4> + +<P> +The afternoon was very still. Overhead, the sky of October was mistily +blue, the autumn sunshine flooded upland and valley with a golden +glory; in the air was that quietness, that sense of waiting and +brooding, which marks an autumn day. From the cottages in the valley, +thin trails of blue smoke mounted straight into the veiled softness of +the sky. The touch of autumn's hand was already visible upon the +trees. In the copse over the brow of the hill, the hazels were +yellowing; the beech-trees showed orange and gold amongst their leaves; +the hawthorns wore a brave array of crimson and yellow leaves, and +bright red berries. Long ago the heather had faded, a soft dun colour +had taken the place of the royal purple, which earlier in the year had +carpeted the uplands, and the bracken blazed golden and brown upon the +moorland slopes. From the place where Christina sat, she could see the +white road that wound away across the heather to Graystone, and to +those far blue hills, about which the afternoon sun was weaving a veil +of light. In the valley to her right, the trunks of the pine-trees +were turning crimson in the sun's level beams, the birches' delicate +branches outlined against the blue of the sky, the soft amber of the +larches contrasting with the sombre green of the pines, and beneath the +trees, the carpet of bright bracken touched to gold by the sunshine. +From far away across the moor, came the sound of chiming bells, from +the copse across the road a robin sang his wonderful song of spring, +that will follow winter, of life that will come after death; and from +somewhere amongst the trees of the valley, a thrush was fluting the +first notes of his next year's song, that he had yet to learn. The +world was a very peaceful world on that October afternoon; and +Christina, sitting on a hummock of dry heather, rested her chin on her +hands, and looked over the wide landscape, with a great sense of its +abiding restfulness. The chiming bells, the robin's song, the +occasional soft murmur of the little breeze in the pines, harmonised +with the brooding peace of autumn, that seemed to be over all the land, +and the girl smiled, as she let the sense of restful peace sink deep +into her soul. She and Baba were spending a week with Mrs. Nairne at +Graystone, and on this Sunday afternoon, leaving the child in Mrs. +Nairne's charge, she had walked over the hill to the little churchyard, +to visit Margaret's grave. +</P> + +<P> +In that sunny corner of the churchyard, close to the old grey wall, she +had found violets in bloom, filling the air with their sweetness just +as they had filled it on the April day, when Margaret had been laid to +rest; and Christina held some of the purple, fragrant blossoms in her +hand, whilst she sat looking out over the great sweep of country, to +the golden sky behind the hills. Her thoughts were very full of the +beautiful woman whose life had so strangely crossed her own, and from +her thoughts of Margaret, by a natural transition, her mind wandered on +to the remembrance of the man who had stood by her side, at Margaret's +funeral. She recalled the look of heartbreak in Rupert Mernside's +eyes, when they had met hers; she remembered that glimpse she had had +into the man's tortured soul. How many times since that day, had +Cicely speculated about Rupert's friendship with Margaret, wondering +whether he had cared for her more deeply than as a friend, discussing +the why and wherefore of his disappearance from the midst of his own +circle, whilst all the time Christina knew in her heart, that she could +if she would, have answered all these questions. She knew that +Rupert's feeling for Margaret was not merely that of friendship, never +had been friendship only; and she knew, intuitively, that his usual +round of life had become intolerable to him, after Margaret's death. +She felt an odd sense of triumph in her knowledge of him; of triumph, +and of awe as well. For to Christina's simple and straightforward +nature, there was something awe-inspiring, in this strange, intimate +understanding of another human being's soul. +</P> + +<P> +Seated there upon the heather, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts +that she did not observe a figure moving slowly across the valley; and +not until the figure had detached itself from amongst the trees, and +was walking along the high-road in her direction, did she see that the +object of her thoughts was coming towards her. That he should have +come at that particular moment, struck her first as so extraordinary a +coincidence, that she could hardly believe the evidence of her own +eyes. But as the figure came a few paces nearer, she knew that she had +made no mistake; it was Rupert's face into which she looked, as she +sprang to her feet, Rupert's grey eyes that met hers with a smile, +despite their expression of haunting sadness. +</P> + +<P> +"I never dreamt of seeing you here," were his first unconventional +words of greeting; "and yet it seems natural to find you." +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps he was hardly aware himself why he spoke the last half of his +sentence, and although Christina's heart leapt as she heard it, +something within her seemed to respond to the spirit of his words. To +her, too, it seemed "natural," that they should meet out here on the +heather, in the sunlight, close to Margaret's grave. For the little +churchyard lay only just over the brow of the hill, and Rupert's +explanation of his presence on the moorland, was not needed by the +girl, who knew without any words of his that he had come to visit that +corner by the sunny wall, where the violets scented the air with their +fragrance. After that brief greeting, he made Christina sit down again +upon the heather, and flung himself beside her, his face turned, like +hers, to the western horizon. "I am glad they put those words on the +stone," he said abruptly; "whose thought were they?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I thought of them first," Christina answered; "they seemed the +fittest and most beautiful words for her." +</P> + +<P> +"Love—never faileth," he quoted slowly, his thoughts going back to the +white cross, upon which the words were engraved, "Love never faileth; +yes, you could not have chosen a better epitaph for her. Her soul was +built up of love, and her love never failed, never for a single moment. +It is a wonderful thing—the love of such a woman. Perhaps, in all the +world, there is nothing more wonderful than a woman's love." He seemed +to be speaking his thoughts aloud, rather than addressing her directly, +and she did not answer his speech, only sat very still, her hands +folded in her lap, her eyes looking out towards the golden west, a +little smile on her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"You know—I have been wandering over the earth—since—that day," +Rupert went on, speaking with singular abruptness. "I felt like that +man who went out, seeking rest—and finding none. I have found none." +</P> + +<P> +The ring of bitterness in his voice hurt the girl. She turned a +little, and looked down into his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry," she said; "so very sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you?" he answered. "It is not worth while being sorry for a man +who has made a mess of things, as I have done." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say that," she said quickly. "You made the most of a +beautiful friendship; you did Aunt Margaret no wrong in loving her. +You were always her helpful friend. And now——" +</P> + +<P> +"Now?" he echoed when she paused. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you will think me impertinent for saying what I was going to +say," she answered, the colour creeping into her face; "but I was going +to say, now you will not waste your life, in regretting what is past +and over. You are not the sort of person to waste life in regrets. I +should think you would take all the best of the love and friendship, +and work them into your life, to make it better." +</P> + +<P> +The words were as simply spoken, as they were simple in themselves. +Their very simplicity made an appeal to the man who heard them, for, +like all the best men, Rupert, man of the world though he was, had a +very simple nature. +</P> + +<P> +"Weave the past into the future," he answered thoughtfully. "Not sweep +it away and try to forget it, but let it be woven into my life? Is +that what you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that is what I mean, only you have put it into better words. I +never think it is quite right to try and sweep away a past, even if it +has hurt us. It always seems as if it must be so much better to use +all that was good in the past, and let it help to make the future +better. I don't think I believe in stamping things out, and burying +them, and being ruthless over them. Isn't it better to take the good +from them, and bury the rest?" +</P> + +<P> +Rupert's eyes were fixed on the girl's face, which had grown eager and +intent over the thoughts she was trying to express, and as he watched +her a smile broke up the ruggedness of his own features. She was quite +unconscious of his gaze, but a soft colour had come into her cheeks as +she spoke, her eyes were very deep and bright, and the man who looked +at her realised that hers was more than mere girlish prettiness. She +had taken off her hat, and the sunlight fell upon the dusky masses of +her hair, showing golden gleams in its dark threads. Her eyes, green +and deep and very soft, made Rupert think of a stream in Switzerland, +beside which he had stood only a few weeks back, a stream whose waters +shone in the sunbeams, showing dark and green and soft in the shade. +The colour that had crept into the pure whiteness of her cheeks, tinted +them as a white rose is sometimes tinted; and for the first time Rupert +was aware of a faint, yet definite likeness, between the girl at his +side and the woman he had loved. Perhaps it was in her expression more +than in any actual resemblance between the two women's faces, that the +likeness lay, for something of Margaret's nobility and serenity, seemed +to be reflected on the younger countenance, and with that flashing +thought, there flashed into his mind, too, the words Margaret had +spoken to him, before she died. He had never remembered those words +again until now, and they recurred to him with extraordinary force. +</P> + +<P> +"She would make a man who cared for her, a most tender and loving wife. +She has a sweet, strong soul." +</P> + +<P> +"A sweet, strong soul." Those words rang in his brain with odd +persistence, whilst his eyes watched Christina's profile, as she sat +silently looking out again across the moorlands. +</P> + +<P> +A—sweet—strong soul. And there was such a strange restfulness, too, +about the personality of the girl, young though she was; he remembered +how conscious he had been of that restfulness on the day when he had +sat and talked to her, in Mrs. Nairne's parlour. That same restfulness +stole over him now, and some of the haunting misery within him died +away. +</P> + +<P> +"So you don't believe in a ruthless chopping away of the past?" he +asked, going back to her last words. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! no," she exclaimed vehemently. "I am sure we are meant to use the +past as a foundation stone for the future. Each thing in turn comes +into our lives—joy, sorrow, pain, difficulty; and they all have to +help together to build it up into perfection. But—I have no business +to be sitting here preaching sermons," she added lightly. "I must go +home, and relieve Mrs. Nairne of Baba, and write to Cicely, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"No; wait here a little longer," he interrupted imperiously, laying a +hand on her arm, as she attempted to rise. "I am a returned traveller, +and you are to tell me all the news before you go back to Baba, who, I +am morally convinced, is supremely happy with Mrs. Nairne." +</P> + +<P> +"Supremely," Christina laughed. "She was going to help warm the scones +for tea; perhaps you will come and help us eat them," she added shyly. +"Baba would be so pleased if you came to have tea with us again." +</P> + +<P> +"And you? Would you be pleased?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," but she looked away from him as she spoke, and the soft +rose tints on her face deepened ever so slightly, "Baba and I were very +proud of giving you tea in the little parlour, last December." +</P> + +<P> +"I liked that parlour. I have pleasant recollections of it," he +answered. "I liked the low ceiling, and the oak panelled walls, and +the queer old-fashioned furniture. Yes, I will come and have tea with +you and Baba to-day, but first tell me all about everybody." +</P> + +<P> +"You know Cicely has married Dr. Fergusson?" +</P> + +<P> +"I saw it in a chance paper. I have heard no details. I have simply +drifted over Europe, where my fancy, or the demon of unrest led me, and +I let nobody know where I was. I know practically nothing. Why did +Cicely marry the doctor? He is a thorough good fellow, but——" +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't any 'but,'" Christina answered firmly. "Denis Fergusson +is one of the very best men in the world, and Cicely has been radiant +ever since—they were engaged. They were only married three weeks ago, +and I wish you could have seen her face, when she walked down the +church. You would not have said 'but' then!" +</P> + +<P> +"Were her people annoyed?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little, but only a little, and only at first. I think they +recognised how completely the marriage was for Cicely's happiness. +After all, Denis is a gentleman, an absolute and perfect gentleman, and +a good man; and those two things are all that matter." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, those things are all that matter. It is only sheer worldliness +that demands more. And if Cicely is happy, why—let worldliness go +hang. Poor little Cicely certainly needed a man to take care of her, +and Baba, and that big property; but—is Fergusson willing to give up +his work?" +</P> + +<P> +"Cicely won't hear of his giving it up. The surgery in South London is +to go on as usual, and Cicely has insisted on having an assistant +there, to do the work when Denis cannot go himself, so that, as she +expresses it, she is not depriving a poor man of his living, in +allowing a rich man to profit by the surgery and its practice." +</P> + +<P> +"I confess to being a little surprised that Fergusson ever got himself +up to the scratch of asking a rich woman to marry him," Rupert said, +with some hesitation. "It doesn't seem—quite like the man." +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't in the least like the man," Christina answered demurely. +"And—I'm afraid—I—made myself into a kind of—of matchmaker—or god +in the machine, or something of that sort." +</P> + +<P> +Rupert laughed outright. +</P> + +<P> +"It was all your doing, was it?" he questioned, looking at her with +smiling kindliness. "Did you——" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I can exactly tell you how I—I—worked the trick," she +laughed a little confusedly. "But Cicely says it wouldn't ever have +happened but for me. And I am glad." +</P> + +<P> +"So am I—very glad. Fergusson is a lucky man. A man who gets a woman +like Cicely to take care of him, may consider a part of every day well +spent, if he spends it in singing a <I>Te Deum</I> of his own. And Sir +Arthur's lost pendant—was it ever found?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; eventually the police traced the woman who had been in the +railway carriage with Lady Congreve's bag, and she confessed to having +stolen the jewel." +</P> + +<P> +After these words, silence again fell between them, until Christina +once more made an attempt to rise. +</P> + +<P> +"I ought to go back," she said, when Rupert's detaining hand again fell +on her arm. "Baba——" +</P> + +<P> +"Why should you go back when I want you here," was the audacious +response. "I want you much more than Baba does." +</P> + +<P> +The hand he had laid on her arm lingered there; over the latter half of +his sentence, his voice had sunk almost to a whisper, and the rose +tints on Christina's cheeks brightened. "I believe I have been wanting +you for quite a long time," he went on, deliberately, his eyes watching +how the colour came and went on her face, his hand still resting on her +arm. "Would you like to know how often, when I was wandering about the +byways of Europe, I thought of that evening in Mrs. Nairne's +oak-panelled parlour, when I told you so many things about myself? +Would you like to know how often you came into my mind?" +</P> + +<P> +Christina's dark head was a little bent, her eyes were fastened on a +clump of bracken, blazing golden in the level sun-rays, her voice was +very low and a little shaky. +</P> + +<P> +"I—shouldn't have thought you would remember me at all," she said, the +touch of his hand upon her arm filling her with a sensation of strange +gladness. +</P> + +<P> +"On that afternoon I told you, I am sure I told you, how restful you +were," Rupert continued, speaking with an eagerness that gave him an +oddly boyish manner; "something in your personality rested me then, and +I have never forgotten it. You rest me now," he added suddenly, his +hand slipping from her arm, and folding itself over her hand. "I came +here to-day, feeling as if the world were a sorry enough place, and I a +poor fool who had messed up my life, and was at the end of my tether. +But when I saw you, sitting here in the sunshine, I felt as if—some +day—the sunlight might come back to my life." +</P> + +<P> +"Could <I>I</I>—bring it back?" Her voice still shook, but she lifted her +eyes bravely to look into his face, and he bent nearer to her, and +gathered both her hands into his. +</P> + +<P> +"Little Christina," he said. "I don't know whether it is fair, even to +think of asking you to spend your fresh young life in bringing sunshine +back to mine, but—because I am a selfish brute—because—I—want +you—I am going to ask you what I believe I have no right to ask you. +And yet—it was Margaret's thought, too—Margaret's wish," he added, +under his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Margaret's wish!" the girl exclaimed. "That I—that you——" +She broke off confusedly, trying instinctively to draw her hands from +his, but feeling his clasp tighten over them. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I tell you what she said to me about you the very last time I +saw her?" he asked. "I think she knew I was going to be very lonely, +and she spoke of you. I have not forgotten the actual words she used; +they came back to me just now, as I sat here beside you; she said: 'She +would make a man who cared for her, a most tender and loving wife. She +has a sweet, strong soul.'" +</P> + +<P> +More and more vividly the colour deepened on Christina's face, and she +did not answer, because speech at that moment was a physical +impossibility. Only her hands lay passive in his grasp, she no longer +tried to draw them away. +</P> + +<P> +"I think Margaret knew—how I should learn to need you," Rupert went +on, his voice vibrating along the girl's nerves, and sending little +thrills of happiness through her whole being. "She understood how much +you could help me, if you would." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>If I would?</I>" she echoed, a tremulous gladness in her voice. +"But—I—am so young, so ignorant, not a bit worthy of—of all you +say," she ended incoherently. +</P> + +<P> +"Could you some day learn to care for me, if I tried to make you care?" +was his answer. "Could you—some day—care for an old fellow like me, +who hasn't even the best of his life and love to offer you? Could you +do that, little girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't call you an old fellow," she said indignantly; "and—I—don't +think—I have got to learn to care. I—think—I have—learnt—already." +</P> + +<P> +Very gently, with a sort of tender reverence, he drew her into his arms +and kissed her, then put her away from him again, and said quietly— +</P> + +<P> +"Is it fair to you, I wonder; is it fair to you to take all your best, +and give you only the second best in return?" +</P> + +<P> +"But if I would rather have your second best, than the best from any +other man in the world?" she said quickly. "What then? If it is a +greater joy to me to think of being your rest and sunshine, than to be +anything else in the world; what then?" +</P> + +<P> +She put her hands upon his shoulders, pushing him a little further from +her, that she might look fully into his eyes. "I don't believe any man +really ever understands a woman," she added, inconsequently, with a +laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you learnt your knowledge of mankind?" he questioned; "and +what makes you say we don't understand the other half of the world?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because, if you did, you would know that when a woman cares for a man, +she would rather just be a servant in his house than go altogether out +of his life. Perhaps we all prefer the best, but a woman who cares, +would rather have the second best, than nothing at all." +</P> + +<P> +"And are you a woman—who cares?" he whispered, drawing her back into +his arms, with a sudden sense of her sweetness, her desirableness; +"would you rather be——" +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't asked me yet to be anything," she answered, with a touch +of audacity, that sat charmingly upon her—"at least, you only +mentioned rest, and sunshine, and—and intangible things of that sort." +</P> + +<P> +"And if I asked you to be my wife?" His lips were very near to hers, +his voice in itself was a caress, and Christina's heart beats nearly +choked her. "If—I want you for my wife, little girl?" +</P> + +<P> +Her answer was quite inarticulate, if indeed she answered him at all, +but she allowed him to kiss her lips, and Rupert knew that her answer +was given him with that kiss. +</P> + +<P> +"You would not let any man kiss your lips, unless you loved him well +enough to marry him," he said, after a moment's pause, and Christina +looked at him with happy, laughing eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I would not let any man kiss me at all, unless I—wanted to marry +him," she answered; "and——" +</P> + +<P> +"You want to marry me?" Rupert interrupted with a boyishly spontaneous +laugh, such as she had never heard from him before. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I want to marry you," she said demurely, drawing herself away +from him again, and looking mischievously into his face; "and, do you +know, this—isn't the first time I—I have thought of marrying you?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" Rupert's mystified expression brought a dimpling +smile out upon her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember the girl who answered your advertisement in the +matrimonial column of a certain Sunday paper? That girl——" +</P> + +<P> +"Was it you?" he exclaimed. "Were you the girl to whom I wrote? The +girl I appointed to meet at Margaret's house? Could any coincidence be +more strange?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was C.M. who answered that advertisement, because she was at the +very end of her resources, her hope," Christina answered gravely. "I +felt horrible when I did it. I felt you would think the very worst of +me for writing to you at all, but I was nearly in despair that day; +there seemed just a loophole of escape for me, if I found—you +were—kind and good." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor little girl, my poor little girl." His arm drew her close. "You +wrote the dearest, most simple little letter. I never thought the +worse of you. I never thought badly of you at all. I made up my mind +to help you get work; and I recommended you to Cicely; at least, I went +so far as to tell Cicely I knew of someone who might do for Baba." +</P> + +<P> +"But she didn't take me on your recommendation?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, she said references were necessary, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"And in the end she took me practically with no references at all, +and—the story has just worked itself out to this wonderful ending." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it such a wonderful ending?" He helped her to her feet, and they +stood watching the golden sun drop slowly towards the golden hills. +"Is it—the ending you would have chosen for yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"When I told Baba fairy stories, the prince used to have a curious +family resemblance to you," she answered. "I—liked to make my fairy +prince like you—because——" +</P> + +<P> +"Because?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because—I think I knew you were the best prince in all the world," +she whispered, "the king—of my kingdom." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +LONDON: WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<HR> + +<BR><BR><BR> + + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +Ward, Lock & Co.'s +</P> + +<P CLASS="t1"> +POPULAR FICTION +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +A. E. W. 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The book is +worthy of much praise." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GARDEN OF LIES. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY NEWS.—"This novel is far in advance of anything that Mr. +Forman has hitherto accomplished. 'The Garden of Lies' belongs to that +class of story which touches the heart from the first. It is a real +romance, full of vigour and a clean, healthy life." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +TOMMY CARTERET. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY CHRONICLE.—"This is a fine book, thoroughly fine from start +to finish." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BUCHANAN'S WIFE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"'Buchanan's Wife' may be regarded as another +success for an already successful author." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A MODERN ULYSSES. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PEOPLE'S SATURDAY JOURNAL.—"Full of exciting incidents handled in a +bright, crisp style." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE QUEST. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +WORLD.—"'The Quest' is every whit as good as its author's best known +story, 'The Garden of Lies,' and to say that of it is to give it the +highest recommendation, which, indeed, it deserves." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FALSE EVIDENCE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +WESTERN MAIL.—"One takes up a story by Mr. E. Phillips Oppenheim with +the certainty of enjoyment, and the reader is never disappointed." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE POSTMASTER OF MARKET DEIGNTON. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FREEMAN'S JOURNAL.—"Mr. Oppenheim's undoubted genius for clever +construction and guarding his secret was never better shown than in +this story." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE PEER AND THE WOMAN. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE COVENTRY STANDARD.—"A thrilling story by that clever writer of +fiction, Mr. E. Phillips Oppenheim, which will add another work of +interest to the already long list of his delightful creations." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BERENICE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE YORKSHIRE OBSERVER.—"More sincere work than is to be found in this +novel Mr. Oppenheim has never written. The subject shows the author in +a new and unexpected light." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MR. MARX'S SECRET. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"'Mr. Marx's Secret' has a wonderful power of +fascination: it is strongly written, and is certain to appeal to that +popular author's admirers." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +JEANNE OF THE MARSHES. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BRISTOL MERCURY.—"'Jeanne of the Marshes' is charming and delightful +in the extreme; without a doubt it will be voted one of the best novels +of the season." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LONG ARM. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WORLD.—"'The Long Arm' is a clever story, which no one will lay +down till every line is read." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GOVERNORS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GLOBE.—"'The Governors' is by Mr. E. P. Oppenheim—need more be +said to assure the reader that it is as full of ruses, politics and +sensations as heart could desire." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MISSIONER. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE HUDDERSFIELD EXAMINER.—"We have nothing but the very highest +praise for this book. Deeply engrossing as a novel, pure in style, and +practically faultless as a literary work." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +CONSPIRATORS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"The author must be congratulated on having +achieved a story which is full of liveliness." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SECRET. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE STANDARD.—"We have no hesitation in saying that this is the finest +and most absorbing story that Mr. Oppenheim has ever written. It glows +with feeling; it is curiously fertile in character and incident, and it +works its way onward to a most remarkable climax." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A MAKER OF HISTORY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE STANDARD.—"Those who read 'A Maker of History' will revel in the +plot, and will enjoy all those numerous deft touches of actuality that +have gone to make the story genuinely interesting and exciting." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MASTER MUMMER. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"It is a beautiful story that is here set +within a story." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BETRAYAL. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"Mr. Oppenheim's skill has never been displayed +to better advantage than here.... He has excelled himself, and to +assert this is to declare the novel superior to nine out of ten of its +contemporaries." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ANNA, THE ADVENTURESS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY NEWS.—"Mr. Oppenheim keeps his readers on the alert from +cover to cover, and the story is a fascinating medley of romance and +mystery." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE YELLOW CRAYON. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY EXPRESS.—"Mr. Oppenheim has a vivid imagination and much +sympathy, fine powers of narrative, and can suggest a life history in a +sentence." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A PRINCE OF SINNERS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +VANITY FAIR.—"A vivid and powerful story. Mr. Oppenheim knows the +world and he can tell a tale, and the unusual nature of the setting in +which his leading characters live and work out their love story gives +this book distinction among the novels of the season." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE TRAITORS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ATHENAEUM.—"Its interest begins on the first page and ends on the +last. The plot is ingenious and well managed, the movement of the +story is admirably swift and smooth, and the characters are exceedingly +vivacious. The reader's excitement is kept on the stretch to the very +end." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A LOST LEADER. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY GRAPHIC.—"Mr. Oppenheim almost treats us to a romance which +is full of originality and interest from first to last." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MR. WINGRAVE, MILLIONAIRE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BRITISH WEEKLY.—"Like good wine Mr. Oppenheim's novels need no +bush. They attract by their own charm, and are unrivalled in +popularity. No one will read this present story without relishing the +rapid succession of thrilling scenes through which his characters move. +There is a freshness and unconventionality about the story that lends +it unusual attractiveness." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +AS A MAN LIVES. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SKETCH.—"The interest of the book, always keen and absorbing, is +due to some extent to a puzzle so admirably planned as to defy the +penetration of the most experienced novel reader." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A DAUGHTER OF THE MARIONIS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"Mr. Oppenheim's stories always display much +melodramatic power and considerable originality and ingenuity of +construction. These and other qualities of the successful writer of +romance are manifest in 'A Daughter of the Marionis.' Full of passion, +action, strongly contrasted scenery, motives, and situations." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MR. BERNARD BROWN. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ABERDEEN DAILY JOURNAL.—"The story is rich in sensational incident +and dramatic situations. It is seldom, indeed, that we meet with a +novel of such power and fascination." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MAN AND HIS KINGDOM. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FREEMAN'S JOURNAL.—"The story is worthy of Merriman at his very +best. It is a genuine treat for the ravenous and often disappointed +novel reader." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WORLD'S GREAT SNARE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WORLD.—"If engrossing interest, changing episode, deep insight +into human character and bright diction are the <I>sine qua non</I> of a +successful novel, then this book cannot but bound at once into popular +favour. It is so full withal of so many dramatic incidents, thoroughly +exciting and realistic. There is not one dull page from beginning to +end." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A MONK OF CRUTA. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BOOKMAN.—"Intensely dramatic. The book is an achievement at which +the author may well be gratified." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LITERARY WORLD.—"As a story of interest, with a deep-laid and +exciting plot, this of the 'Mysterious Mr. Sabin' can hardly be +surpassed." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A MILLIONAIRE OF YESTERDAY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"We cannot but welcome with enthusiasm a really +well-told story like 'A Millionaire of Yesterday.'" +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SURVIVOR. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE NOTTINGHAM GUARDIAN.—"We must give a conspicuous place on its +merits to this excellent story. It is only necessary to read a page or +two In order to become deeply interested." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GREAT AWAKENING. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE YORKSHIRE POST.—"A weird and fascinating story, which, for real +beauty and originality, ranks far above the ordinary novel." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +FRED M. WHITE +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WHITE BRIDE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +YORKSHIRE POST.—"A sensational but vivid and picturesque story, with a +plot so full of mysterious complications and development that it would +excite the envy and admiration of any past master of melodrama." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A QUEEN OF THE STAGE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +LIVERPOOL POST.—"A story full of mystery and of dramatic incident. It +is wholesome, absorbing, and capably written." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FOUR FINGERS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BLACKBURN TIMES.—"It is a live and bustling story, which once begun +will not be dropped until the end." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FIVE KNOTS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +WESTERN DAILY PRESS.—"Mr. White has written several books, all of +which have been enjoyed by a large number of readers, who will welcome +his latest contribution, and probably agree that it is the best thing +he has done." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SUNDIAL. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE NORTHERN WHIG.—"In the already extensive list of Mr. White's +novels it would be difficult to find one superior to the present story, +which holds the reader's attention from start to finish." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE CORNER HOUSE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WESTERN MORNING NEWS.—"It is an excellent romance which will be +eagerly read." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SLAVE OF SILENCE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SHEFFIELD TELEGRAPH.—"Attention is arrested at the outset, and so +adroitly is the mystery handled that readers will not skip a single +page." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A FATAL DOSE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE STANDARD.—"This novel will rank amongst the brightest that Mr. +White has given us." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LAW OF THE LAND. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"Mr. White's new novel may be strongly recommended. +It contains enough surprises to whip the interest at every turn." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A CRIME ON CANVAS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"The unravelling of the many tangled skeins is a process +that firmly holds the attention of the reader." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +NETTA. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"The author is an absolute master of sensation, and +tells his powerful tale in a way which grips the reader at once." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MORNING POST.—"As exciting reading as anyone could want." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +LOUIS TRACY +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SYLVIA'S CHAUFFEUR. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MORNING LEADER.—"'Sylvia's Chauffeur' is as pleasant a piece of light +reading as any one could desire." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE STOWAWAY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE READING STANDARD.—"This is a romantic story of adventure +excellently told. The plot is worked out with great skill and +ingenuity, the characters are convincing and consistent, for Mr. Tracy +is a delightful story-teller and this is some of his best handiwork." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A FATAL LEGACY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"In all the annals of fiction a more ingenious or +startlingly original plot has not been recorded." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +RAINBOW ISLAND. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LITERARY WORLD.—"Those who delight in tales of adventure should +hail 'Rainbow Island' with joyous shouts of welcome. Rarely have we +met with more satisfying fare of this description than in its pages." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ALBERT GATE AFFAIR. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BIRMINGHAM POST.—"Will worthily rank with 'The Fatal Legacy' and +'Rainbow Island,' both books full of wholesome excitement and told with +great ability." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE PILLAR OF LIGHT. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE EVENING STANDARD.—"So admirable, so living, so breathlessly +exciting a book. The magnificent realism of the lighthouse and its +perils, the intense conviction of the author ... are worthy of praise +from the most jaded reader." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +HEART'S DELIGHT. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"'Heart's Delight' establishes more firmly than +ever the reputation which he founded on 'The Final War'; like that +notable book it has a strong martial flavour." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE PUBLISHER'S CIRCULAR.—"Conan Doyle's successor, Louis Tracy, has +all the logical acuteness of the inventor of Sherlock Holmes without +his occasional exaggeration." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FENNELLS' TOWER. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +NORTH DEVON JOURNAL.—"An absorbing tale of love and crime from the +clever pen of Louis Tracy. The secret of the crime which forms the +basis of the plot is most skilfully covered, and the solution is a +genuine surprise." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SILENT BARRIER. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"The Silent Barrier" is a breezy romance of love and adventure in +Switzerland, comparable to an adventure story by the late Guy Boothby. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MESSAGE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DUNDEE COURIER.—"Written In a clear and crisp style, abounds with +thrilling situations, in which love, jealousy, intrigue, and mystery +play an important part." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +HAROLD BINDLOSS +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE PROTECTOR. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MORNING POST.—"Mr. Bindloss is always a sure find for a good story, +and in this one he has, if possible, excelled himself." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LIBERATIONISM 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MORNING LEADER.—"This is the author's best novel, and is one which no +lover of healthy excitement ought to miss." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +HAWTREY'S DEPUTY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WESTERN DAILY MERCURY.—"The whole story is told with the most +spontaneous verve, and is tinged with a delightful element of romance +which renders the book complete in its appeal from start to finish." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE IMPOSTOR. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE QUEEN.—"Mr. Bindloss writes books which are always good to read. +His writing is uniformly good, and his books are always sane, intensely +interesting, and dealing with subjects that cannot fail to concern a +wide public. He has a real gift for telling stories, and the interest +that he arouses in the reader's mind on the first page he sustains up +to the last page in the volume." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +HEADON HILL +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A ROGUE IN AMBUSH. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +READING STANDARD.—"A most ingenious and interesting story is this +latest creation of Mr. Headon Hill's nimble brain." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE HIDDEN VICTIM. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ABERDEEN JOURNAL.—"To those who revel in sensational fiction, +marked by literary skill as well as audacity and fertility of +invention, this story can be confidently commended." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +HER SPLENDID SIN. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PERTHSHIRE COURIER.—"Headon Hill has never told an intensely absorbing +story with more dramatic directness than this one." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A TRAITOR'S WOOING. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"Its plot has the freeness and force of a single +inspiration, and that a peculiarly happy one." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +J. C. SNAITH +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FIERCEHEART, THE SOLDIER. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SPEAKER.—"There is real subtlety in this powerful study. The +novel is crammed full of the finest romance and most heart-moving +pathos." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MISTRESS DOROTHY MARVIN. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE NOTTINGHAM GUARDIAN.—"Mr. Snaith stirs the blood, from the first +page to the last, carrying the reader along in a delightful state of +excitement, and all the characters live, move, and have their being." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +LADY BARBARITY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BLACK AND WHITE says:—"'Lady Barbarity' would cheer a pessimist in a +November fog. It is so gay, so good humoured, so full of the influence +of youth and beauty." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +GUY BOOTHBY +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE RACE OF LIFE. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ENGLISH REVIEW.—"Ahead even of Mr. Cutcliffe Hyne and Sir Conan +Doyle, Mr. Boothby may be said to have topped popularity's pole." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FOR LOVE OF HER. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE COURT JOURNAL.—"This book shows vivid imagination and dramatic +power. Moreover, sketches of Australian life, from one who knows his +subject, are always welcome." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE CRIME OF THE UNDER SEAS. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SPEAKER.—"Is quite the equal in art, observation, and dramatic +intensity to any of Mr. Guy Boothby's numerous other romances, and is +in every respect most typical of his powers." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A BID FOR FREEDOM. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SHEFFIELD TELEGRAPH.—"As fascinating as any of its forerunners, +and is as finely handled. A fully written romance, which bristles with +thrilling passages, exciting adventures, and hairbreadth escapes." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A TWO-FOLD INHERITANCE. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PUNCH.—"Just the very book that a hard-working man should read for +genuine relaxation. This novel is strongly recommended by the justly +appreciating 'Baron de Bookworms.'" +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +CONNIE HURT. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BIRMINGHAM GAZETTE.—"One of the best stories we have seen of Mr. +Boothby's." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE KIDNAPPED PRESIDENT. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PUBLIC OPINION.—"Brighter, crisper, and more entertaining than any of +its predecessors from the same pen." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MY STRANGEST CASE. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE YORKSHIRE POST.—"No work of Mr. Boothby's seems to us to have +approached in skill his new story. The reader's attention is from +first to last riveted on the narrative." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FAREWELL, NIKOLA. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"Guy Boothby's famous creation of Dr. Nikola +has become familiar to every reader of fiction." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MY INDIAN QUEEN. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SUNDAY SPECIAL.—"A vivid story of adventure and daring, bearing +all the characteristics of careful workmanship." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +LONG LIVE THE KING. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ABERDEEN FREE PRESS.—"It is marvellous that Mr. Boothby's novels +should all be so uniformly good." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A PRINCE OF SWINDLERS. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"Of absorbing interest. The exploits are described in +an enthralling vein." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A MAKER OF NATIONS. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SPECTATOR.—"'A Maker of Nations' enables us to understand Mr. +Boothby's vogue. It has no lack of movement or incident." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE RED RAT'S DAUGHTER. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"Mr. Guy Boothby's name on the title-page of a +novel carries with it the assurance of a good story to follow." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +LOVE MADE MANIFEST. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"A powerful and impressive romance. One of those +tales of exciting adventure in the confection of which Mr. Boothby is +not excelled by any novelist of the day." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PHAROS THE EGYPTIAN. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"This powerful novel is weird, wonderful, and +soul-thrilling. There never was in this world so strange and wonderful +a love story." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ACROSS THE WORLD FOR A WIFE. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BRITISH WEEKLY.—"This stirring tale ranks next to 'Dr. Nikola' in +the list of Mr. Boothby's novels. It is an excellent piece of +workmanship, and we can heartily recommend it." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LUST OF HATE. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY GRAPHIC.—"Mr. Boothby gives place to no one in what might be +called dramatic interest, so whoever wants dramatic interest let him +read 'The Lust of Hate.'" +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FASCINATION OF THE KING. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BRISTOL MERCURY.—"Unquestionably the best work we have yet seen +from the pen of Mr. Guy Boothby.... 'The Fascination of the King' is +one of the books of the season." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DR. NIKOLA. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"One hairbreadth escape succeeds another with rapidity +that scarce leaves the reader breathing space.... A story ingeniously +invented and skilfully told." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE YORKSHIRE POST.—"A more exciting romance no man could reasonably +ask for." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A BID FOR FORTUNE. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MANCHESTER COURIER.—"It is impossible to give any idea of the +verve and brightness with which the story is told. The most original +novel of the year." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IN STRANGE COMPANY. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WORLD.—"A capital novel. It has the quality of life and stir, and +will carry the reader with curiosity unabated to the end." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MARRIAGE OF ESTHER. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.—"A story full of action, life, and dramatic +interest. There is a vigour and a power of illusion about it that +raises it quite above the level of the ordinary novel of adventure." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BUSHIGRAMS. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.—"Intensely interesting. Forces from us, by +its powerful artistic realism, those choky sensations which it should +be the aim of the human writer to elicit, whether in comedy or tragedy." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SHEILAH McLEOD. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MR. W. L. ALDEN in THE NEW YORK TIMES.—"Mr. Boothby can crowd more +adventure into a square foot of canvas than any other novelist." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DR. NIKOLA'S EXPERIMENT. 5s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Illustrated by Sidney Cowell. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MAN OF THE CRAG. 5s. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +NORTH DEVON JOURNAL.—"A novel of absorbing interest. The plot is +developed very cleverly, and there is a delightful love theme." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +WHEN I WAS CZAR. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FREEMAN'S JOURNAL.—"A very brilliant work; every page in it +displays the dramatic talent of the author and his capacity for writing +smart dialogue." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BY SNARE OF LOVE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE OUTLOOK.—"As a writer of political intrigue, Mr. Marchmont has +scarcely a rival to-day, and his latest novel upholds his reputation." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE QUEEN'S ADVOCATE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LIVERPOOL COURIER.—"Mr. Marchmont is at his best in this tale. +His resource seems inexhaustible, and his spirits never flag." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A COURIER OF FORTUNE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE COURIER.—"A most thrilling and romantic tale of France, +which has the advantage of being exciting and fascinating without being +too improbable." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BY WIT OF WOMAN. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LEICESTER POST.—"The novel rivets the deep interest of the reader, +and holds it spellbound to the end." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IN THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"A well-sustained and thrilling narrative." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LITTLE ANARCHIST. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"A romance brimful of incident and arousing in the +reader a healthy interest that carries him along with never a pause." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +AN IMPERIAL MARRIAGE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCOTSMAN.—"The action never flags, the romantic element is always +paramount, so that the production is bound to appeal successfully to +all lovers of spirited fiction." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +JOSEPH HOCKING +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FINANCIAL TIMES.—"A strong knowledge of human nature, for which +Mr. Hocking is famous, is well portrayed in the pages of this novel, +and this, in conjunction with the interesting nature of the plot, +renders it particularly successful. The book will be appreciated by +novel readers." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ROGER TREWINION. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +T. P.'s WEEKLY.—"It is a foregone conclusion that Mr. Hocking will +always have a good story to tell. 'Roger Trewinion' can stand forth +with the best, a strong love interest, plenty of adventure, an +atmosphere of superstition, and Cornwall as the scene." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE COMING OF THE KING. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GLASGOW HERALD.—"Mr. Hocking's imagination is fertile, and his +skill in the arrangement of incident far above the average, and there +is an air of reality in all his writing which is peculiarly charming." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ESAU. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE OUTLOOK.—"Remarkable for the dramatic power with which the scenes +are drawn and the intense human interest which Mr. Hocking has woven +about his characters. 'Esau' is sure to be one of the novels of the +season." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +GREATER LOVE. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE.—"Though of a totally different character from +'Lest We Forget,' Mr. Hocking's latest story is entitled to take rank +along with that fine romance." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +LEST WE FORGET. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PUBLIC OPINION.—"His story is quite as good as any we have read of the +Stanley Weyman's school, and presents an excellent picture of the +exciting times of Gardiner and Bonner." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +AND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE? 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WEEKLY SUN.—"An engaging and fascinating romance. The reader puts +the story down with a sigh, and wishes there were more of these breezy +Cornish uplands, for Mr. Joseph Hocking's easy style of narrative does +not soon tire." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +JABEZ EASTERBROOK. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ROCK.—"Real strength is shown in the sketches, of which that of +Brother Bowman is most prominent. In its way it is delightful." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WEAPONS OF MYSTERY. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Weapons of Mystery" is a singularly powerful story of occult +influences and of their exertion for evil purposes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ZILLAH: A ROMANCE. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SPECTATOR.—"The drawing of some of the characters indicates the +possession by Mr. Hocking of a considerable gift of humour. The +contents of his book indicate that he takes a genuine interest in the +deeper problems of the day." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MONK OF MAR-SABA. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE STAR.—"Great power and thrilling interest.... The scenery of the +Holy Land has rarely been so vividly described as in this charming book +of Mr. Hocking's." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE PURPLE ROBE. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE QUEEN.—"Mr. Hocking's most interesting romance. It is exceedingly +clever, and excites the reader's interest and brings out the powerful +nature of the clever young minister. This most engrossing book +challenges comparison with the brilliance of Lothair." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCARLET WOMAN. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE METHODIST RECORDER.—"This is Mr. Hocking's strongest and best +book. We advise every one to read it. The plot is simple, compact and +strenuous; the writing powerful. It brings out sharply the real +character of the typical Jesuit, his training, motives, limitations, +aims." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ALL MEN ARE LIARS. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE CHRISTIAN WORLD.—"This is a notable book. Thoughtful people will +be fascinated by its actuality, its fearlessness, and the insight it +gives into the influence of modern thought and literature upon the +minds and morals of our most promising manhood." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ISHMAEL PENGELLY: AN OUTCAST. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE ATHENAEUM.—"The book is to be recommended for the dramatic +effectiveness of some of the scenes. The wild, half-mad woman is +always picturesque wherever she appears, and the rare self-repression +of her son is admirably done." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MANCHESTER EXAMINER.—"Rustic scenes and characters are drawn with +free, broad touches, without Mr. Buchanan's artificiality, and, if we +may venture to say it, with more realism than Mr. Hardy's country +pictures." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BIRTHRIGHT. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SPECTATOR.—"This volume proves beyond all doubt that Mr. Hocking +has mastered the art of the historical romancist. 'The Birthright' is, +in its way, quite as well constructed, as well written, and as full of +incident as any story that has come from the pen of Sir Conan Doyle or +Mr. Stanley Weyman." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"'Mistress Nancy Molesworth' is as charming a story of +the kind as could be wished, and it excels in literary workmanship as +well as in imaginative vigour and daring invention." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN. 3s. 6d. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"Mr. Hocking has produced a work which his +readers of all classes will appreciate.... There are exhibited some of +the most beautiful aspects of disposition." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +MARIE CONNOR LEIGHTON +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +GREED. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +WESTERN DAILY PRESS.—"The story is teeming with graphic incident, in +which the descriptive powers of Mrs. Leighton are splendidly revealed." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BRIDE OF DUTTON MARKET. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +CORK EXAMINER.—"Mrs. Leighton is the author of many sensational +novels, but the latest production of her pen surpasses any of her +previous works." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +CONVICT 413L. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BIRMINGHAM NEWS.—"This her latest essay sustains in a marked +degree the authoress's proved gift of rich and fertile imagination." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +JOAN MAR, DETECTIVE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GLOBE.—"Readers in want of excitement will be quite happy with +this book, which will keep them in a delightful atmosphere of mystery." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +JUSTICE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +An excellent story, well constructed, and the interest is kept going +till the last page. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PUT YOURSELF IN HER PLACE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SHEFFIELD DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"A novel equal to anything her pen has +written." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MONEY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE BOOKMAN.—"'Money' unfolds a striking and vividly imagined story. +It is crowded with incident and excitement." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FINCHLEY PRESS.—"We predict a great success for 'An Eye for an +Eye.' It certainly deserves it." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DEEP WATERS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—"A story that admits of no breathing space from +start to finish." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +NATURE BOOKS +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Picturesque, full of character, instructive, entertaining, often +thrilling—the stories are sure to be received with the same pleasure +as their predecessors have been by both the naturalist and the lover of +good literature."—ILLUSTRATED SPORTING AND DRAMATIC NEWS. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Under the guidance of Mr. Roberts we have often adventured among the +wild beasts of the land and sea, and we hope to do so many times in the +future. It is an education not to be missed by those who have the +chance, and the chance is every one's."—The Athenaeum. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE HOUSE IN THE WATER. 6s.<BR> +MORE KINDRED OF THE WILD. 6s.<BR> +THE BACKWOODSMEN. 6s.<BR> +KINGS IN EXILE. 6s.<BR> +NEIGHBOURS UNKNOWN. 6s.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +L. G. MOBERLY +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FORTUNE'S FOUNDLING. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +MORNING LEADER.—"Miss L. G. Moberly is, as our readers are aware, an +extremely skilful weaver of mysteries, and remarkably successful in +keeping up interest in them." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A WAIF OF DESTINY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IRISH INDEPENDENT.—"A work which bids fair to eclipse even the most +successful of the many deservedly popular works of fiction she has +written." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PHYLLIS. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"The book, clearly constructed and agreeably written, is +always interesting as a story and in its drawing of womanly character." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +HEART OF GOLD. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DURHAM CHRONICLE.—"The book has been written with great cleverness and +charm, and we willingly place our full store of compliments on Miss +Moberly's splendid and successful book." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A WAIF OF DESTINY. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SUNDAY TIMES.—"A singularly interesting book, absorbingly thrilling, +the mystery being well kept up until the very end." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IN THE BALANCE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE LADIES' FIELD.—"One of the most interesting of all her homely +stories." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +HOPE, MY WIFE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GENTLEWOMAN.—"Miss Moberly interests us so much in heroine, and in +her hero, that we follow the two with pleasure through adventures of +the most improbable order." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DAN—AND ANOTHER. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY NEWS.—"Must be considered one of the best pieces of work +that Miss Moberly has yet produced." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A TANGLED WEB. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY MAIL.—"A 'tangled web,' indeed, is this story, and the +author's ingenuity and intrepidity in developing and working out the +mystery calls for recognition at the outset." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ANGELA'S MARRIAGE. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IRISH INDEPENDENT.—"That Miss Moberly has a delightful and graceful +style is not only evident from a perusal of some of her former works, +but from the fascinatingly told story now under review." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SIN OF ALISON DERING. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FINANCIAL TIMES.—"Miss Moberly writes with great charm and skill, +and the reader is not likely to put down the book until the tangle is +finally cleared up." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A VERY DOUBTFUL EXPERIMENT. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IRISH INDEPENDENT.—"Miss Moberly's former works have well established +her ability to write fascinating fiction and create interest in her +actors, but we doubt if she has ever introduced a character whose +career would be followed with more absorbing interest than that of +Rachael Boyd." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A WOMAN AGAINST THE WORLD. 6s. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN.—"The whole tale is a powerful and enthralling one, and +cannot fail to enhance the growing reputation of the authoress." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +BY THE SAME AUTHOR. +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +<I>A FEW PRESS OPINIONS.</I> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +JOY. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH:—"Miss L. G. Moberly has a remarkable talent for +making a simple story thoroughly interesting and satisfying. It needs +much skill and a good deal of charm in writing to achieve, this, and +her latest novel is a fine example of her power." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE WESTERN MAIL:—"A thoroughly interesting and pleasant story. 'Joy' +contains really excellent work, and there is not a dull page in the +book or a pause in the story. The story throughout is absorbingly +bright." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +HOPE, MY WIFE. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY TELEGRAPH:—"A tale which may be praised for the pretty and +simple manner of its telling and the distinct charm of its character." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +ABERDEEN JOURNAL:—"Miss Moberly tells her tale so graphically, and yet +so sincerely that the attention of the reader does not flag for an +instant." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +A VERY DOUBTFUL EXPERIMENT. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +IRISH INDEPENDENT:—"A charming, attractive tale, ably conceived and +convincingly presented. Miss Moberly's former works have well +established her ability to write fascinating fiction and create +interest in her actors, but we doubt if she has ever introduced a +character whose career would be followed with more absorbing interest +than that of Rachel Boyd." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +DIANA. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN:—"The story is so cleverly handled as to keep its +interest always lively and stimulating; and the book cannot fail to be +enjoyed." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BRISTOL MERCURY:—"The story possesses a freshness doubly welcome on +account of the charm and skill with which it is unfolded. <I>Diana</I> is +a novel well worth reading." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +A TANGLED WEB. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +DAILY MAIL:—"An ingenious and most unusual plot. The reader will +wonder and be amazed. A 'tangled web' indeed is this story, and the +author's ingenuity and intrepidity in developing and working out the +mystery calls for recognition at the outset." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +FINANCIAL TIMES:—"This is an extremely well written and interesting +story, and ranks well with Miss Moberly's other popular works. The +plot is ingeniously carried through, and the interest thus aroused is +well sustained." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +THAT PREPOSTEROUS WILL. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE GLOBE:—"Molly is a bright, clever, affectionate damsel; and the +author has succeeded in making her as fascinating to the reader as to +her hero, Alan Dayrell." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE NOTTINGHAM GUARDIAN:—"The story of Miranda's transformation from +grub to butterfly is one of very great interest, the character of Mrs. +Gray, the lady under whom she is trained for her new position in +society, being portrayed with a delicate but sure hand." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +THE SIN OF ALISON DERING. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE FINANCIAL TIMES:—"The plot of this story is cleverly conceived and +well carried out. Miss Moberly writes with great charm and skill, and +the reader is not likely to put down the book until the tangle is +finally cleared up. As a character-study, the figure of Alison Dering +is drawn with considerable insight." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +DAN—AND ANOTHER. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE MORNING LEADER:—"A clever and carefully wrought book. The +characterization is natural and satisfying, and the various situations +are handled with strength and humour." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DUNDEE COURIER:—"The plot is a strong one, and it is unfolded in a +most convincing manner, showing the inner workings of a woman's mind +and the birth of a hopeless passion." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +ANGELA'S MARRIAGE. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE IRISH INDEPENDENT:—"That Miss Moberly has a delightful style is +not only evident from a perusal of some of her former works, but from +the fascinatingly told story now under review. Her characterization is +charming and the style simple and delicate, with the result that the +book will be found most interesting and entertaining." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE DAILY GRAPHIC:—"This capital story by L. G. Moberly is one of +those in which to a thoroughly well framed plot are added very +considerable skill in narration, and the results of her observation of +human nature." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +A WOMAN AGAINST THE WORLD. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE SCOTSMAN:—"The whole tale is a powerful and enthralling one, and +cannot fail to enhance the growing reputation of the authoress." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SHEFFIELD TELEGRAPH:—"Whilst full of dramatic interest it is told +quietly and gracefully." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE NORTHERN WHIG:—"The plot is cleverly constructed, and is developed +with a skill and a fascinating narrative power possessed only by a true +master of the art of novel-writing. The characters, too, are carefully +and well drawn and finely contrasted." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4b"> +LONDON: WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Christina, by L. G. Moberly + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTINA *** + +***** This file should be named 38573-h.htm or 38573-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/5/7/38573/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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