Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine.Treasure Trove!Miggles did not easily recover from her fright. The good body was in precarious health: it was only the power of mind over body which kept her going, and when the motive power was temporarily eclipsed it was startling, even alarming, to behold the corresponding physical change. The light faded from the eyes; the chin dropped; a dozen unsuspected lines furrowed the face; beaming middle-age was transformed in a moment into suffering age.“I think, my dears,” she announced apologetically, “so sorry to spoil your walk, but IthinkI’ll go home! Bulls, you know, bulls! Theyaredisconcerting. When you’ve lived all your life in towns you are not accustomed... I’ve got a little,” she gasped painfully, “stitch in my side! It will soon be gone.”The grey hue of her face showed only too plainly the explanation of that stitch. Miggles knew it herself, but, as ever, preferred to make light of her ailments. She leant on Piers’s arm, glancing affectionately in his face, and made no objections when Vanna came forward to support her on the other side.“Iamhonoured! Quite a triumphal procession!” she gasped, with blue lips.The two schoolboys had scampered off to join in the chase. Jean was preparing to follow Miggles and her supporters, when a hand was laid on her arm, and Robert Gloucester’s voice spoke in her ear:“You and I are going on to the wood.”Jean jerked herself free with a haughty air.“Excuse me, I am going home. I must look after Miss Miggs.”“Miss Miggs has plenty of helpers. She doesn’t need you. I do. Be kind to me, Jean. I’ve waited so long.”So long! It was not yet a fortnight since he had arrived in England; but time has different values, as Jean had discovered for herself. These last days had counted for more in life than all the years which had gone before. She looked for one moment into the brown eyes bent upon her, then hastily lowered her lids. But she turned down hill in the direction of the wood. There was nothing in the world so mad or impossible that she could have refused Robert Gloucester when he looked at her with his clear eyes lighted by that flame.They walked in silence along the quiet lane, golden with buttercups, into the cool shadow of the wood. “Now!” said Jean’s heart, beating painfully against her side. “Now!” She was not unversed in occasions of the kind, and as a rule had no difficulty in “heading off” her suitor by a baffling flow of conversation, but to-day no words would come. She looked at the soft carpet of moss beneath her feet; she looked at the branches overhead; she looked down the gladelike vista, and saw ahead a green space encircled by trees—a sunlit, sun-kissed space, doubly bright from contrast with the surrounding shade. “There!” said the voice in her heart. “It will be there.” It seemed fitting that Robert Gloucester should tell his love in the light and the sun.Right into the centre of the sunny space they walked, and as by a mutual impulse halted, face to face. For once Robert’s radiant calm was eclipsed. Before the tremendous purport of the moment, confidence, tranquillity, all the varied qualities which combined to sustain the equilibrium of his character, were swept aside as though they had never been. The world held but one person, and that was Jean; if Jean failed him, nothing was left.At that moment the physical strain of long sojourn abroad showed itself painfully in sunken cheek and pallid hue. In the light grey clothes, which hung so loosely on his thin form, he looked like the ghost of a man, a ghost with living eyes—glowing, burning eyes, aflame with love and dread. He stood with hands clasped at his back, not daring a touch.“Jean!” he said breathlessly, “I am a beggar at your gate, I am starving, Jean, and I have nothing to offer you—nothing but myself and my love!”Afterwards Jean had many criticisms to make concerning the fashion of Robert’s avowal—criticisms at which she would make him blush when his hair was grey; but at the moment she was conscious of one thing only—that Robert was in torture and that she could ease him. With a smile which was divine in its abandon she held out her hands towards him.“But that’s all I want,” said Jean, trembling.They sat for an hour by the side of an old oak, the sunshine flickering through the branches on the illumined loveliness of Jean’s face, on Robert’s rapturous joy. Even to a cold, outside eye they would have appeared an ideal couple: what wonder that to each the other seemed the crowning miracle of the world! The perfect moment was theirs; the ineffable content, the amazement of joy which God in His mercy vouchsafes to all true lovers. The love lasts, but the glory wanes; of necessity it must wane in a material world, but the memory of it can never die. It lives to sweeten life, to be a memory of perfect union, a foretaste of the life beyond!They talked in the tongue of angels, in such words as can never be transcribed in print; they marvelled and soared, and then at last came down to facts. A shadow flitted across Robert’s face; his voice took an anxious note.“I am a poor man, Jean. Until now I have not cared, but I’m grieved for your sake. I should like to have kept you like a queen, but I am poor, and I fear shall never be otherwise. We shall have to live in a small house with a couple of servants, and think twice of every sovereign we spend.”“Shall we?” asked Jean absently. She was occupied in measuring her small white hand against Robert’s sunburnt palm, and had no attention to spare for such minor details. Her own dress allowance of a hundred a year had invariably to be supplemented by an indulgent father, but it seemed to her a matter of supreme unimportance whether Robert were rich or poor. At that moment she would have received with equanimity the news that he was a huckster of goods, and that she would be expected to follow his barrow through the streets. Monetary conditions simply did not exist; but on another point there was no end to her exactions.“Howmuch do you love me?”“Beyond all words, and all measures, beyond the capacity of mortal man. That is why I feel a giant at this moment—a god! There’s no room for my love in a man’s poor frame.”Jean dimpled deliriously. This was just as it should be, and such good hearing that it could bear endless repetition.“And am I the first? Have you never loved any one before?”“Not for a moment. The thought of marriage never entered my head. I thought I was far better off as I was. Oh, Jean, imagine it!”Jean smiled at him with shy, lovely eyes.“And never flirted, nor run after a pretty girl?”“Goodness,yes!” The emphasis of Robert’s affirmative was a trifle disconcerting to Jean’s complacence. “What do you take me for, Jean? I adore pretty girls. I should be a fool if I didn’t. At balls and picnics it’s part of the programme to get up a passing flirtation. I wish I had a sovereign for every one I’ve enjoyed in the last ten years. Half a dozen dances and supper, and forget all about her next day—you know the sort of thing! It doesn’t enter intoourcalculations.”Jean stared, considered, and finally laughed.“No, it doesn’t! Thank goodness I am not jealous. I have dozens of faults, as you will find out to your cost, poor boy; but that’s not one. I don’t mind how many pretty girls you admire. We’ll admire them together. You are mine; we belong to each other. As you say, that sort of thing doesn’tenter.” She sat silent, musing with parted lips. A bird hopped lightly across the grass, peered at them for a moment with bright, curious eyes, and soared up to the blue. The air was sweet with the fresh, pungent scent of the earth.“Whatisit?” questioned Jean, as every lover has questioned since the days of Eve. “What is it that makes the difference, the yawning, illimitable difference between just one person and all the rest of the world? Why do we love each other like this? You have seen hundreds of girls, but you have never wished to marry one. Men have loved me, and I hated them the moment they began to make love. But you—ifyouhadn’t!—Robert, what should I have done? I should have lived on—I am so strong, but my heart would have died; there would have been nothing left. And a fortnight ago we had not met! People will say that it is madness, that we cannot know our own minds; but the marvel of it is—we knew at once! I was frightened, and ran away, but I knew; deep down in my heart I knew that you would follow. Tell me whenyoubegan to know—the very first moment!”And then Robert retold the story to which Vanna had listened on the night of the ball, with the thrilling addition of the encounter in the conservatory, and Jean listened, thrilled, and trembling with agitation.“Yes, it is true. I was waiting for you. It was meant to be. We were made to meet and love each other.”“From the beginning of the world, my Rose, my Treasure!” said Robert Gloucester.

Miggles did not easily recover from her fright. The good body was in precarious health: it was only the power of mind over body which kept her going, and when the motive power was temporarily eclipsed it was startling, even alarming, to behold the corresponding physical change. The light faded from the eyes; the chin dropped; a dozen unsuspected lines furrowed the face; beaming middle-age was transformed in a moment into suffering age.

“I think, my dears,” she announced apologetically, “so sorry to spoil your walk, but IthinkI’ll go home! Bulls, you know, bulls! Theyaredisconcerting. When you’ve lived all your life in towns you are not accustomed... I’ve got a little,” she gasped painfully, “stitch in my side! It will soon be gone.”

The grey hue of her face showed only too plainly the explanation of that stitch. Miggles knew it herself, but, as ever, preferred to make light of her ailments. She leant on Piers’s arm, glancing affectionately in his face, and made no objections when Vanna came forward to support her on the other side.

“Iamhonoured! Quite a triumphal procession!” she gasped, with blue lips.

The two schoolboys had scampered off to join in the chase. Jean was preparing to follow Miggles and her supporters, when a hand was laid on her arm, and Robert Gloucester’s voice spoke in her ear:

“You and I are going on to the wood.”

Jean jerked herself free with a haughty air.

“Excuse me, I am going home. I must look after Miss Miggs.”

“Miss Miggs has plenty of helpers. She doesn’t need you. I do. Be kind to me, Jean. I’ve waited so long.”

So long! It was not yet a fortnight since he had arrived in England; but time has different values, as Jean had discovered for herself. These last days had counted for more in life than all the years which had gone before. She looked for one moment into the brown eyes bent upon her, then hastily lowered her lids. But she turned down hill in the direction of the wood. There was nothing in the world so mad or impossible that she could have refused Robert Gloucester when he looked at her with his clear eyes lighted by that flame.

They walked in silence along the quiet lane, golden with buttercups, into the cool shadow of the wood. “Now!” said Jean’s heart, beating painfully against her side. “Now!” She was not unversed in occasions of the kind, and as a rule had no difficulty in “heading off” her suitor by a baffling flow of conversation, but to-day no words would come. She looked at the soft carpet of moss beneath her feet; she looked at the branches overhead; she looked down the gladelike vista, and saw ahead a green space encircled by trees—a sunlit, sun-kissed space, doubly bright from contrast with the surrounding shade. “There!” said the voice in her heart. “It will be there.” It seemed fitting that Robert Gloucester should tell his love in the light and the sun.

Right into the centre of the sunny space they walked, and as by a mutual impulse halted, face to face. For once Robert’s radiant calm was eclipsed. Before the tremendous purport of the moment, confidence, tranquillity, all the varied qualities which combined to sustain the equilibrium of his character, were swept aside as though they had never been. The world held but one person, and that was Jean; if Jean failed him, nothing was left.

At that moment the physical strain of long sojourn abroad showed itself painfully in sunken cheek and pallid hue. In the light grey clothes, which hung so loosely on his thin form, he looked like the ghost of a man, a ghost with living eyes—glowing, burning eyes, aflame with love and dread. He stood with hands clasped at his back, not daring a touch.

“Jean!” he said breathlessly, “I am a beggar at your gate, I am starving, Jean, and I have nothing to offer you—nothing but myself and my love!”

Afterwards Jean had many criticisms to make concerning the fashion of Robert’s avowal—criticisms at which she would make him blush when his hair was grey; but at the moment she was conscious of one thing only—that Robert was in torture and that she could ease him. With a smile which was divine in its abandon she held out her hands towards him.

“But that’s all I want,” said Jean, trembling.

They sat for an hour by the side of an old oak, the sunshine flickering through the branches on the illumined loveliness of Jean’s face, on Robert’s rapturous joy. Even to a cold, outside eye they would have appeared an ideal couple: what wonder that to each the other seemed the crowning miracle of the world! The perfect moment was theirs; the ineffable content, the amazement of joy which God in His mercy vouchsafes to all true lovers. The love lasts, but the glory wanes; of necessity it must wane in a material world, but the memory of it can never die. It lives to sweeten life, to be a memory of perfect union, a foretaste of the life beyond!

They talked in the tongue of angels, in such words as can never be transcribed in print; they marvelled and soared, and then at last came down to facts. A shadow flitted across Robert’s face; his voice took an anxious note.

“I am a poor man, Jean. Until now I have not cared, but I’m grieved for your sake. I should like to have kept you like a queen, but I am poor, and I fear shall never be otherwise. We shall have to live in a small house with a couple of servants, and think twice of every sovereign we spend.”

“Shall we?” asked Jean absently. She was occupied in measuring her small white hand against Robert’s sunburnt palm, and had no attention to spare for such minor details. Her own dress allowance of a hundred a year had invariably to be supplemented by an indulgent father, but it seemed to her a matter of supreme unimportance whether Robert were rich or poor. At that moment she would have received with equanimity the news that he was a huckster of goods, and that she would be expected to follow his barrow through the streets. Monetary conditions simply did not exist; but on another point there was no end to her exactions.

“Howmuch do you love me?”

“Beyond all words, and all measures, beyond the capacity of mortal man. That is why I feel a giant at this moment—a god! There’s no room for my love in a man’s poor frame.”

Jean dimpled deliriously. This was just as it should be, and such good hearing that it could bear endless repetition.

“And am I the first? Have you never loved any one before?”

“Not for a moment. The thought of marriage never entered my head. I thought I was far better off as I was. Oh, Jean, imagine it!”

Jean smiled at him with shy, lovely eyes.

“And never flirted, nor run after a pretty girl?”

“Goodness,yes!” The emphasis of Robert’s affirmative was a trifle disconcerting to Jean’s complacence. “What do you take me for, Jean? I adore pretty girls. I should be a fool if I didn’t. At balls and picnics it’s part of the programme to get up a passing flirtation. I wish I had a sovereign for every one I’ve enjoyed in the last ten years. Half a dozen dances and supper, and forget all about her next day—you know the sort of thing! It doesn’t enter intoourcalculations.”

Jean stared, considered, and finally laughed.

“No, it doesn’t! Thank goodness I am not jealous. I have dozens of faults, as you will find out to your cost, poor boy; but that’s not one. I don’t mind how many pretty girls you admire. We’ll admire them together. You are mine; we belong to each other. As you say, that sort of thing doesn’tenter.” She sat silent, musing with parted lips. A bird hopped lightly across the grass, peered at them for a moment with bright, curious eyes, and soared up to the blue. The air was sweet with the fresh, pungent scent of the earth.

“Whatisit?” questioned Jean, as every lover has questioned since the days of Eve. “What is it that makes the difference, the yawning, illimitable difference between just one person and all the rest of the world? Why do we love each other like this? You have seen hundreds of girls, but you have never wished to marry one. Men have loved me, and I hated them the moment they began to make love. But you—ifyouhadn’t!—Robert, what should I have done? I should have lived on—I am so strong, but my heart would have died; there would have been nothing left. And a fortnight ago we had not met! People will say that it is madness, that we cannot know our own minds; but the marvel of it is—we knew at once! I was frightened, and ran away, but I knew; deep down in my heart I knew that you would follow. Tell me whenyoubegan to know—the very first moment!”

And then Robert retold the story to which Vanna had listened on the night of the ball, with the thrilling addition of the encounter in the conservatory, and Jean listened, thrilled, and trembling with agitation.

“Yes, it is true. I was waiting for you. It was meant to be. We were made to meet and love each other.”

“From the beginning of the world, my Rose, my Treasure!” said Robert Gloucester.

Chapter Ten.The Wedding Day.Jean Goring and Robert Gloucester were married in the early days of October, after a bare three months’ engagement. They themselves found the period one of ideal happiness, but, as is usually the case, it was somewhat trying to their relations and friends. Jean, in her gay young beauty, had filled the centre of the stage for many friends, who were bound to suffer when the light shone no more upon them, and Jean had neither eyes, ears, nor heart for any one but herfiancé. Mr Goring gave his consent to the engagement with a readiness which was largely based upon the affection which his prospective son-in-law had already awakened.“He’s a splendid fellow—a man in a thousand. Thank Heaven you’ve chosen a man who won’t bore me to death hanging about the house. It’s a poor match in a worldly sense, but that’s your affair. You had chances of rich men before now, and wouldn’t look at them. I believe in letting people live their own lives, in their own way. I’ll give you a good trousseau, and allow you two hundred a year; but I can’t do more. There’s the boys’ education coming on.”“Oh, thank you, father. That’s sweet of you. I never expected so much. We shall be poor, of course, but I shan’t mind. It will be rather fun living in a small house and playing at housekeeping. I never cared much for money.”Mr Goring grimaced expressively. Jean had not cared for money, simply because she had never realised its value. Every want had been supplied, and there had been a comfortable certainty of a lenient parent in the background when her own generous allowance ran short. Graceless mortals never realise the value of the blessings which are theirs in abundance. Jean had enjoyed easy means and perfect health all her life, and took them as much for granted as light and air.“Hadn’t you better take some cooking lessons, or something?” asked her father uneasily. It crossed his mind at that moment that he had not done his duty by the man whom Jean was about to marry, in allowing his girl to grow up in absolute ignorance of her work in the world. “Gloucester doesn’t strike me as a man likely to make money, and you ought to be trained. Talk to Miggles. Ask her. She has about as good an idea of running a house as any woman I know. It’s a good thing you are going to live within reach of home. I’m thankful Gloucester thinks of settling in town.”“Yes, oh, yes! Of course, if they gave him a really good offer for India—I should rather like to live in India!”Jean smiled into space, blissfully unconscious of the pain on her father’s face. He was not a demonstrative man, and no one but himself knew how he had loved and cherished this child of his youth—the daughter who had inherited the beauty and charm of the girl-wife with whom he had spent the golden year of his life. To his own heart he acknowledged that Jean was his dearest possession—dearer than wife, dearer than sons, dearer than life itself, and Jean could leave him without a pang—would “rather like” to put the width of the world between them!“India’s a long way off, Jean. I should miss you if you went.”“But we’d come home, father. We’d have a long holiday every five years.”Well! well! Mr Goring reminded himself that in his own youth he had been equally callous. He recalled the day of his first marriage, and saw again the twisted face of his mother as she bade him adieu at the door. He had known a pang of regret at the sight, regret forhersuffering, her loss; not for his own. For himself, the moment had been one of unalloyed triumph; he had heaved a sigh of relief as the carriage bore him away and he was alone with his bride. It was natural that it should be so—natural and right; but when one came to stand in the parent’s place, how it hurt! He set his teeth in endurance.Mrs Goring regarded the engagement and prospective marriage primarily as a disagreeable upset to domestic routine, and did not rest until she had secured Vanna’s consent to prolong her visit until the bride had departed.“There will be so much to arrange, endless letters to write, and people to see. Jean will be worse than useless, and poor dear Miss Miggs is not fit to rush about. If youwouldstay and help, my dear, I should be unutterably grateful. When you undertake a thing it is always well done.”“I should like to stay,” replied Vanna simply. The first days of Jean’s rapturous happiness had been hard for her friend. It was not in human nature to avoid a feeling of loss, of loneliness, of hopeless longing for such happiness for herself, but it was a comfort to know that she could be of real practical help. Jean, of course, had declared in words that nothing, no, nothing, could ever lessen the warmth of her friendship, and Vanna had faith to believe that in the years to come the love between them would increase rather than diminish. In the meantime, however, she must needs stand aside, and be content to be neglected, ignored, regarded at times as an unwelcome intruder—a difficult lesson to learn.At the very first meeting after the engagement the difference of relationship had made itself felt, for Jean had shown a distinct annoyance when Vanna referred to the prophecy of the rose.“He had told you—you knew? He talked about it to you afterwards. You knew how he felt—” Her face flushed with resentment; there was a cool aloofness in her glance, as though a friend whom she had trusted had been discovered prying into hidden treasures. “Please don’t speak of it again; don’t let any one else know. Promise me never to mention it.” That was all, but her manner said as plainly as words, “It is our secret—Robert’s and mine. What right have you on our holy ground?”Vanna was by nature just and reasonable, and she told herself that in Jean’s place she might have felt the same irritation, though perhaps she would have been more chary about showing it. She held herself in check, and was careful never again to refer to the forbidden topic.On another occasion, when called to give her advice on a matter in consultation between the lovers, Robert had addressed hisfiancéeas “Rose” when Vanna, looking up quickly, surprised a swift glance of reproach on Jean’s face.“You have forgotten,” said that look. “We are not alone. That name is not for the ears of a stranger. It is for use only between you and me, when we are alone in our own kingdom, with the world shut out.”The lonely ones of the world smart under many darts planted by these wordless arrows.And Piers Rendall? Vanna was perplexed and mystified by his reception of the news. She had dreaded to see him amazed, broken down, despairing, and when he arrived at the Cottage the day after the great event, had felt her heart throb with a sympathy that was painful in its intensity. They were seated in the hall drinking tea, a happy family group, the lovers side by side on an old oak settle, when the gate clicked, and Piers’s tall figure was seen walking up the path. He looked anxiously towards the open door, and Vanna felt convinced that he had noticed the absence of the couple the afternoon before, and had a premonition of the news which lay in store. She lowered her eyes, and braced herself, as if it had been upon her own shoulders that the blow were about to fall.“Oh, it’s Piers! I must tell Piers!” cried Jean gaily. Now that the deed was done, her former reserve had given way to an abandon of light-hearted joy. She told the great news to every one she met; it was her great joy to tell it, her regret that there were so few to listen.Now, at sight of her old friend, she sprang from her seat.“Robert, come,” she cried, stretching out a beckoning hand, and standing proudly linked together, the lovers met the unconscious Piers on the threshold.“Piers! Piers! I’m so glad you came. I did so want to see you. Guess what has happened! Guess—quick! We are so happy—so ridiculously happy. Guess!”Piers stood still, looking from one to the other with a swift, questioning glance. Despite herself, despite her dread, Vanna felt it impossible to restrain from one look at his face. She turned shrinking eyes upon him, but what she saw was strangely, wonderfully different from what she had expected.Piers stood looking from one to the other of the triumphant lovers, and for the first time since she had known him, Vanna saw his face illumined with happiness and content. It seemed incredible, but it was true. The dark eyes had lost their hard, irritable brilliance, and shone deep and soft; the discontent of the mouth was turned into a happy smile.“You mean—you mean—” he stammered incredulously. “By Jove! you are engaged—you two! Is it really possible?”“Yes! Yes!” Jean jumped on her feet, like a small excited child. “You’ve guessed it; it’s true. Congratulate us, Piers. We love to be congratulated.”“By Jove!” ejaculated Piers once more. Jean’s assumption of haughtiness had evidently put him off the scent, for the news appeared to take him completely by surprise. “By Jove, Idocongratulate you. You deserve congratulations. Gloucester, you are the luckiest man on earth. Jean, he is the only man I have ever met who is worthy of you. You’re a wise girl; you’ve done the right thing. I do congratulate you with all my heart.”Jean jumped again, while Robert looked down at her, his soul in his eyes.“Oh, you nice Piers! How nicely you say it. I knew you would be pleased. Come in, come in; we’re having tea. Come and congratulate the family.”Piers duly went the round, repeating his congratulations in more formal manner to Mr and Mrs Goring; but it was not until tea was over and they had adjourned into the garden that he and Vanna had any conversation together. He was still overflowing with excitement and pleasure, and eager to discuss the great news with Jean’s chosen friend.“I saw that he admired her, of course—every one does; but she was so off-hand and casual that I never imagined that things were near adénouement. I’ve seen her more encouraging to half a dozen other fellows. But it’s splendid; the best news I’ve heard for an age. Jean and Gloucester—those two together—it’s poetry, romance, the ideal! He is a man in a thousand; she will be safe with him. Humanly speaking, her future is assured. You feel that, don’t you—the absolute goodness and sincerity of the fellow?”“Oh, yes! I told you so once before. It was of him that I spoke when we were discussing temperaments, and I told you of a man I had just met whose ‘aura’ was so radiantly attractive—that afternoon in the glen.”“The Happy Land,” he corrected, looking down at her with a smile. “So that was Gloucester, and we agree in our estimate of his character. That’s good! Dear little Jean, I’m so glad of her happiness.”Vanna laughed, an inexplicable sense of relief sending her spirits racing upwards.“And I’m so glad thatyou’reglad. I was so afraid that this would give you pain. I expected—I imagined—I thought you also were in love with Jean.”His face sobered swiftly.“And so did I; but it was only imagination. It gave me no pain to hear this news, and if it had, I should deserve no pity. I’ve known her for years; I had my chance, but I never took it; was never even sure that Iwantedto take it; was contented to drift. Gloucester carried the camp in fourteen days.” The old shadow of discontent was clouding his face once more; he was seeing in imagination Robert’s face as he looked at Jean, and telling himself drearily: “Love is a gift, as much as other great powers. It is not in every nature to rise to a wonderful, transforming passion. He can, that man. One can read it in his face. He has not frittered away his gift; it was all there, unused, unsullied, waiting for Jean, until she should appear. He has a genius for loving, and like all geniuses he makes his power felt. Jean felt it. It is that that has drawn her to him. To gain Jean in a fortnight, while I, poor weakling, wavered for years, asking myself if I loved her!Love! I don’t understand the meaning of the word. I never shall. It’s the same there as in everything else: I only half-way—never to the end...”Vanna was doubly relieved to be assured of Piers’s well-being when the family returned to town, and she saw Edith Morton’s suffering behind her gallant assumption of content. Can anything be more pitiful than the position of a woman who loves, and finds herself passed over in favour of a chosen friend? She cannot escape to distant scenes, as a man may do in a similar strait; her pride forbids her to withdraw from accustomed pursuits; day by day, night by night, she must smile while her heart is torn, while her eyes smart with the tears she dare not shed, while her soul cries out for the sympathy she may not ask.Vanna’s heart ached for Edith during those weeks, when every conversation turned upon preparations for the forthcoming wedding, and the lovers were blissfully engaged in the finding and furnishing of their home; but Jean herself exhibited a curiousvolte-face.“We were quite mistaken about Edith,” she informed Vanna casually one day. “Robert and she have been like brother and sister all their lives; there was never any question of sentiment on either side. I can’t think why we imagined anything so foolish.”Vanna did not reply. She divined, what was indeed the truth, that Jean’s disbelief was the result, not of conviction, but of deliberate intent. She simply did not choose to allow a painful thought to disturb the unclouded sunshine of her day. She was selfish—frankly, openly, designedly selfish, as young things are apt to be to whom love comes before suffering has taught it lessons; to whom it appears a right, a legitimate inheritance, rather than a gift to be received with awe, to be held with trembling.And so the weeks passed. Summer turned into autumn, and one October morning Jean and Robert stood side by side before the altar of a dim old church, and spoke the words which made them one for life, while Vanna Strangeways and Edith Morton stood among the group of white-robed bridesmaids, hiding the ache in their hearts behind smiling faces. To one was given the best gift of life; from the others was taken away, by the saddest of ironies, that which they had never possessed.The church and the house were crowded with guests; the paraphernalia of a “smart wedding” was duly and ceremoniously enacted. The newly married pair stood backed against the drawing-room fireplace to receive their guests, who passed by in a line, thence defiling into the library to regard a glittering display of gifts; thence again to the dining-room to partake of the formal, sit-down luncheon which was the fashion of the day. The bride and bridegroom sat at the top of the horseshoe table with the bridesmaids and their attendant groomsmen ranged on either side, Vanna and Piers Rendall, as foremost couple, occupying the place of honour. At the conclusion of the meal Jean stood up in her place, her gauze-like veil floating behind her, and cut the great white cake, while the spectators broke into cheers of applause. There were certain points at which it was the custom to cheer at these wedding feasts—this was one of them; another, perhaps the most popular, was when it came to the turn of the stammering bridegroom to return thanks for the speech in which his health had been proposed. It was at the point when the inevitable reference was made to the newly made partner that the laughter was timed to break out; but no one laughed when Robert Gloucester pronounced for the first time those magic words “My wife!”Down the length of the long tables more than one of the elder guests hurriedly glanced aside, or bit at the end of a moustache, hearing in that voice a magic note which wafted them back through the long years of prose and difficulty to the day when they, too, stood upon the glad threshold of life.Later on Jean disappeared to died her bridal trappings, and came down half an hour later in hat and coat, to run the blockade of the assembled guests in the hall,en routeto the carriage at the door. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were shining; as each hand was stretched out she pressed it warmly in her own; to each good wish she returned a gracious acknowledgment; when a face was held forward expectantly she was ready with a kiss and a caress. Every one praised her graciousness, her affectionate remembrance of old friends. “She kissed mesolovingly.” “She said goodbye to mesosweetly.” A buzz of appreciation followed her as she went; but in reality Jean had walked in a dream, seeing an indistinct blur of faces, hearing a meaningless babble of words, conscious only of Robert’s figure waiting for her at the door.Mr Goring had escaped from the crowd and bustle to stand bare-headed on the pavement, whence he could catch a last glimpse of his daughter as she drove away from the house which had been her home. His face looked pinched and worn in the keen autumn air; he smiled and joked with the men by his side, but his eyes were restless, and kept turning back to the door through which Jean would pass for the last time as a daughter of the house. Another moment and she was there; the crowd surged after her on to the pavement. He stood before her, and held out his hand. She held up her cheek, smiled, and leapt lightly into the carriage, the door of which Robert was holding open. He sprang to his seat, there was a vision of two heads bent forward, of two radiant, illumined faces; the coachman flicked up his horses—they had passed out of sight.Mr Goring shivered, and turned back to the house.“The happiest moment of my wedding day?” answered Jean to a question put to her some months later. “The happiest moment of all was when the carriage drove off from the door, and left you all behind!”

Jean Goring and Robert Gloucester were married in the early days of October, after a bare three months’ engagement. They themselves found the period one of ideal happiness, but, as is usually the case, it was somewhat trying to their relations and friends. Jean, in her gay young beauty, had filled the centre of the stage for many friends, who were bound to suffer when the light shone no more upon them, and Jean had neither eyes, ears, nor heart for any one but herfiancé. Mr Goring gave his consent to the engagement with a readiness which was largely based upon the affection which his prospective son-in-law had already awakened.

“He’s a splendid fellow—a man in a thousand. Thank Heaven you’ve chosen a man who won’t bore me to death hanging about the house. It’s a poor match in a worldly sense, but that’s your affair. You had chances of rich men before now, and wouldn’t look at them. I believe in letting people live their own lives, in their own way. I’ll give you a good trousseau, and allow you two hundred a year; but I can’t do more. There’s the boys’ education coming on.”

“Oh, thank you, father. That’s sweet of you. I never expected so much. We shall be poor, of course, but I shan’t mind. It will be rather fun living in a small house and playing at housekeeping. I never cared much for money.”

Mr Goring grimaced expressively. Jean had not cared for money, simply because she had never realised its value. Every want had been supplied, and there had been a comfortable certainty of a lenient parent in the background when her own generous allowance ran short. Graceless mortals never realise the value of the blessings which are theirs in abundance. Jean had enjoyed easy means and perfect health all her life, and took them as much for granted as light and air.

“Hadn’t you better take some cooking lessons, or something?” asked her father uneasily. It crossed his mind at that moment that he had not done his duty by the man whom Jean was about to marry, in allowing his girl to grow up in absolute ignorance of her work in the world. “Gloucester doesn’t strike me as a man likely to make money, and you ought to be trained. Talk to Miggles. Ask her. She has about as good an idea of running a house as any woman I know. It’s a good thing you are going to live within reach of home. I’m thankful Gloucester thinks of settling in town.”

“Yes, oh, yes! Of course, if they gave him a really good offer for India—I should rather like to live in India!”

Jean smiled into space, blissfully unconscious of the pain on her father’s face. He was not a demonstrative man, and no one but himself knew how he had loved and cherished this child of his youth—the daughter who had inherited the beauty and charm of the girl-wife with whom he had spent the golden year of his life. To his own heart he acknowledged that Jean was his dearest possession—dearer than wife, dearer than sons, dearer than life itself, and Jean could leave him without a pang—would “rather like” to put the width of the world between them!

“India’s a long way off, Jean. I should miss you if you went.”

“But we’d come home, father. We’d have a long holiday every five years.”

Well! well! Mr Goring reminded himself that in his own youth he had been equally callous. He recalled the day of his first marriage, and saw again the twisted face of his mother as she bade him adieu at the door. He had known a pang of regret at the sight, regret forhersuffering, her loss; not for his own. For himself, the moment had been one of unalloyed triumph; he had heaved a sigh of relief as the carriage bore him away and he was alone with his bride. It was natural that it should be so—natural and right; but when one came to stand in the parent’s place, how it hurt! He set his teeth in endurance.

Mrs Goring regarded the engagement and prospective marriage primarily as a disagreeable upset to domestic routine, and did not rest until she had secured Vanna’s consent to prolong her visit until the bride had departed.

“There will be so much to arrange, endless letters to write, and people to see. Jean will be worse than useless, and poor dear Miss Miggs is not fit to rush about. If youwouldstay and help, my dear, I should be unutterably grateful. When you undertake a thing it is always well done.”

“I should like to stay,” replied Vanna simply. The first days of Jean’s rapturous happiness had been hard for her friend. It was not in human nature to avoid a feeling of loss, of loneliness, of hopeless longing for such happiness for herself, but it was a comfort to know that she could be of real practical help. Jean, of course, had declared in words that nothing, no, nothing, could ever lessen the warmth of her friendship, and Vanna had faith to believe that in the years to come the love between them would increase rather than diminish. In the meantime, however, she must needs stand aside, and be content to be neglected, ignored, regarded at times as an unwelcome intruder—a difficult lesson to learn.

At the very first meeting after the engagement the difference of relationship had made itself felt, for Jean had shown a distinct annoyance when Vanna referred to the prophecy of the rose.

“He had told you—you knew? He talked about it to you afterwards. You knew how he felt—” Her face flushed with resentment; there was a cool aloofness in her glance, as though a friend whom she had trusted had been discovered prying into hidden treasures. “Please don’t speak of it again; don’t let any one else know. Promise me never to mention it.” That was all, but her manner said as plainly as words, “It is our secret—Robert’s and mine. What right have you on our holy ground?”

Vanna was by nature just and reasonable, and she told herself that in Jean’s place she might have felt the same irritation, though perhaps she would have been more chary about showing it. She held herself in check, and was careful never again to refer to the forbidden topic.

On another occasion, when called to give her advice on a matter in consultation between the lovers, Robert had addressed hisfiancéeas “Rose” when Vanna, looking up quickly, surprised a swift glance of reproach on Jean’s face.

“You have forgotten,” said that look. “We are not alone. That name is not for the ears of a stranger. It is for use only between you and me, when we are alone in our own kingdom, with the world shut out.”

The lonely ones of the world smart under many darts planted by these wordless arrows.

And Piers Rendall? Vanna was perplexed and mystified by his reception of the news. She had dreaded to see him amazed, broken down, despairing, and when he arrived at the Cottage the day after the great event, had felt her heart throb with a sympathy that was painful in its intensity. They were seated in the hall drinking tea, a happy family group, the lovers side by side on an old oak settle, when the gate clicked, and Piers’s tall figure was seen walking up the path. He looked anxiously towards the open door, and Vanna felt convinced that he had noticed the absence of the couple the afternoon before, and had a premonition of the news which lay in store. She lowered her eyes, and braced herself, as if it had been upon her own shoulders that the blow were about to fall.

“Oh, it’s Piers! I must tell Piers!” cried Jean gaily. Now that the deed was done, her former reserve had given way to an abandon of light-hearted joy. She told the great news to every one she met; it was her great joy to tell it, her regret that there were so few to listen.

Now, at sight of her old friend, she sprang from her seat.

“Robert, come,” she cried, stretching out a beckoning hand, and standing proudly linked together, the lovers met the unconscious Piers on the threshold.

“Piers! Piers! I’m so glad you came. I did so want to see you. Guess what has happened! Guess—quick! We are so happy—so ridiculously happy. Guess!”

Piers stood still, looking from one to the other with a swift, questioning glance. Despite herself, despite her dread, Vanna felt it impossible to restrain from one look at his face. She turned shrinking eyes upon him, but what she saw was strangely, wonderfully different from what she had expected.

Piers stood looking from one to the other of the triumphant lovers, and for the first time since she had known him, Vanna saw his face illumined with happiness and content. It seemed incredible, but it was true. The dark eyes had lost their hard, irritable brilliance, and shone deep and soft; the discontent of the mouth was turned into a happy smile.

“You mean—you mean—” he stammered incredulously. “By Jove! you are engaged—you two! Is it really possible?”

“Yes! Yes!” Jean jumped on her feet, like a small excited child. “You’ve guessed it; it’s true. Congratulate us, Piers. We love to be congratulated.”

“By Jove!” ejaculated Piers once more. Jean’s assumption of haughtiness had evidently put him off the scent, for the news appeared to take him completely by surprise. “By Jove, Idocongratulate you. You deserve congratulations. Gloucester, you are the luckiest man on earth. Jean, he is the only man I have ever met who is worthy of you. You’re a wise girl; you’ve done the right thing. I do congratulate you with all my heart.”

Jean jumped again, while Robert looked down at her, his soul in his eyes.

“Oh, you nice Piers! How nicely you say it. I knew you would be pleased. Come in, come in; we’re having tea. Come and congratulate the family.”

Piers duly went the round, repeating his congratulations in more formal manner to Mr and Mrs Goring; but it was not until tea was over and they had adjourned into the garden that he and Vanna had any conversation together. He was still overflowing with excitement and pleasure, and eager to discuss the great news with Jean’s chosen friend.

“I saw that he admired her, of course—every one does; but she was so off-hand and casual that I never imagined that things were near adénouement. I’ve seen her more encouraging to half a dozen other fellows. But it’s splendid; the best news I’ve heard for an age. Jean and Gloucester—those two together—it’s poetry, romance, the ideal! He is a man in a thousand; she will be safe with him. Humanly speaking, her future is assured. You feel that, don’t you—the absolute goodness and sincerity of the fellow?”

“Oh, yes! I told you so once before. It was of him that I spoke when we were discussing temperaments, and I told you of a man I had just met whose ‘aura’ was so radiantly attractive—that afternoon in the glen.”

“The Happy Land,” he corrected, looking down at her with a smile. “So that was Gloucester, and we agree in our estimate of his character. That’s good! Dear little Jean, I’m so glad of her happiness.”

Vanna laughed, an inexplicable sense of relief sending her spirits racing upwards.

“And I’m so glad thatyou’reglad. I was so afraid that this would give you pain. I expected—I imagined—I thought you also were in love with Jean.”

His face sobered swiftly.

“And so did I; but it was only imagination. It gave me no pain to hear this news, and if it had, I should deserve no pity. I’ve known her for years; I had my chance, but I never took it; was never even sure that Iwantedto take it; was contented to drift. Gloucester carried the camp in fourteen days.” The old shadow of discontent was clouding his face once more; he was seeing in imagination Robert’s face as he looked at Jean, and telling himself drearily: “Love is a gift, as much as other great powers. It is not in every nature to rise to a wonderful, transforming passion. He can, that man. One can read it in his face. He has not frittered away his gift; it was all there, unused, unsullied, waiting for Jean, until she should appear. He has a genius for loving, and like all geniuses he makes his power felt. Jean felt it. It is that that has drawn her to him. To gain Jean in a fortnight, while I, poor weakling, wavered for years, asking myself if I loved her!Love! I don’t understand the meaning of the word. I never shall. It’s the same there as in everything else: I only half-way—never to the end...”

Vanna was doubly relieved to be assured of Piers’s well-being when the family returned to town, and she saw Edith Morton’s suffering behind her gallant assumption of content. Can anything be more pitiful than the position of a woman who loves, and finds herself passed over in favour of a chosen friend? She cannot escape to distant scenes, as a man may do in a similar strait; her pride forbids her to withdraw from accustomed pursuits; day by day, night by night, she must smile while her heart is torn, while her eyes smart with the tears she dare not shed, while her soul cries out for the sympathy she may not ask.

Vanna’s heart ached for Edith during those weeks, when every conversation turned upon preparations for the forthcoming wedding, and the lovers were blissfully engaged in the finding and furnishing of their home; but Jean herself exhibited a curiousvolte-face.

“We were quite mistaken about Edith,” she informed Vanna casually one day. “Robert and she have been like brother and sister all their lives; there was never any question of sentiment on either side. I can’t think why we imagined anything so foolish.”

Vanna did not reply. She divined, what was indeed the truth, that Jean’s disbelief was the result, not of conviction, but of deliberate intent. She simply did not choose to allow a painful thought to disturb the unclouded sunshine of her day. She was selfish—frankly, openly, designedly selfish, as young things are apt to be to whom love comes before suffering has taught it lessons; to whom it appears a right, a legitimate inheritance, rather than a gift to be received with awe, to be held with trembling.

And so the weeks passed. Summer turned into autumn, and one October morning Jean and Robert stood side by side before the altar of a dim old church, and spoke the words which made them one for life, while Vanna Strangeways and Edith Morton stood among the group of white-robed bridesmaids, hiding the ache in their hearts behind smiling faces. To one was given the best gift of life; from the others was taken away, by the saddest of ironies, that which they had never possessed.

The church and the house were crowded with guests; the paraphernalia of a “smart wedding” was duly and ceremoniously enacted. The newly married pair stood backed against the drawing-room fireplace to receive their guests, who passed by in a line, thence defiling into the library to regard a glittering display of gifts; thence again to the dining-room to partake of the formal, sit-down luncheon which was the fashion of the day. The bride and bridegroom sat at the top of the horseshoe table with the bridesmaids and their attendant groomsmen ranged on either side, Vanna and Piers Rendall, as foremost couple, occupying the place of honour. At the conclusion of the meal Jean stood up in her place, her gauze-like veil floating behind her, and cut the great white cake, while the spectators broke into cheers of applause. There were certain points at which it was the custom to cheer at these wedding feasts—this was one of them; another, perhaps the most popular, was when it came to the turn of the stammering bridegroom to return thanks for the speech in which his health had been proposed. It was at the point when the inevitable reference was made to the newly made partner that the laughter was timed to break out; but no one laughed when Robert Gloucester pronounced for the first time those magic words “My wife!”

Down the length of the long tables more than one of the elder guests hurriedly glanced aside, or bit at the end of a moustache, hearing in that voice a magic note which wafted them back through the long years of prose and difficulty to the day when they, too, stood upon the glad threshold of life.

Later on Jean disappeared to died her bridal trappings, and came down half an hour later in hat and coat, to run the blockade of the assembled guests in the hall,en routeto the carriage at the door. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were shining; as each hand was stretched out she pressed it warmly in her own; to each good wish she returned a gracious acknowledgment; when a face was held forward expectantly she was ready with a kiss and a caress. Every one praised her graciousness, her affectionate remembrance of old friends. “She kissed mesolovingly.” “She said goodbye to mesosweetly.” A buzz of appreciation followed her as she went; but in reality Jean had walked in a dream, seeing an indistinct blur of faces, hearing a meaningless babble of words, conscious only of Robert’s figure waiting for her at the door.

Mr Goring had escaped from the crowd and bustle to stand bare-headed on the pavement, whence he could catch a last glimpse of his daughter as she drove away from the house which had been her home. His face looked pinched and worn in the keen autumn air; he smiled and joked with the men by his side, but his eyes were restless, and kept turning back to the door through which Jean would pass for the last time as a daughter of the house. Another moment and she was there; the crowd surged after her on to the pavement. He stood before her, and held out his hand. She held up her cheek, smiled, and leapt lightly into the carriage, the door of which Robert was holding open. He sprang to his seat, there was a vision of two heads bent forward, of two radiant, illumined faces; the coachman flicked up his horses—they had passed out of sight.

Mr Goring shivered, and turned back to the house.

“The happiest moment of my wedding day?” answered Jean to a question put to her some months later. “The happiest moment of all was when the carriage drove off from the door, and left you all behind!”

Chapter Eleven.Contrasted Fates.While Jean was blissfully enjoying the first weeks of her married life, the friend who had been to her as a second mother was lying dangerously ill in her upper room. The bustle of the last few months, culminating in the excitement of the wedding, had proved too much for Miggles’s weak heart; and having gallantly kept on her feet until the supreme need was past, she had the less strength left with which to fight the enemy.“Don’t tell Jean. Promise not to tell Jean!” That was her first and most insistent cry; and being satisfied on the point, she laid herself down, and spoke no more for many weary days and nights.Once again Vanna found herself bound to the household, and had the consolation or feeling of help to the mistress and of comfort to the invalid, who seemed to cling pathetically to Jean’s friend in the absence of her own dear nursling.Hospital nurses were much rarer luxuries in the seventies than at the present day, and in this case the duty of nursing the invalid was undertaken by Mrs Goring, her maid, and Vanna, equally. The maid slept in the sick-room, ready to pay any attention which was required during the night; Mrs Goring was exact and punctilious in administering medicines and food at the right intervals, and in seeing that the sick-room was kept scrupulously in order; it devolved upon Vanna to ease the invalid by the innumerable, gentle little offices which seem to come by instinct to women of sympathetic natures, and later on as she grew stronger, to amuse her by reading aloud, talking, and—what in this case was even more welcome—lending an attentive ear while the other discoursed.The sudden breakdown had called attention to the state of Miggles’s heart, which had troubled her at times for some years back. The result was serious, so serious that the doctor had warned her that her days of active service were over. Henceforth she must be content to live an idle life, in some quiet country spot, where she would be free from the bustle and excitement of town life. Mr and Mrs Goring proposed that she should live in the Cottage at Seacliff, where the capable woman who acted as caretaker could wait upon her and do the work of the house, and Miggles, as usual, was full of gratitude for the suggestion.“A haven, my dear, opened out to me at the very moment I need it,” she said ardently to Vanna. “It’s been like that with me all my life. Goodness and mercy! I’ve always loved that dear little house by the sea; there’s no place on earth where I would rather end my days. The doctor says I shall go off quite suddenly. He didn’t want to tell me, but I explained that I was not at all afraid. From battle, murder, andlingeringdeath, that’s the way I’ve always said it—not that I wish to put myself above the Prayer Book, but one must be honest, and that’s how I felt in my heart. I’ve no claim upon any one, and a long, expensive illness is a great drag. I’d be so ashamed! ‘Our times are in His hand,’ my dear; but if it’s not presumptuous, I hope He’ll take me soon. Next summer, perhaps, before the boys want to come down for the holidays. I should like to have the winter just to be quiet and prepare. June, now! June would be a sweet month to pass away in. Would it not, my dear?”“Miggles!” cried Vanna, half laughing, half in tears. “Miggles, how can you be so callous? I absolutely refuse to discuss the date of your death. It’s not a cheerful subject for us, whatever it may be for you; and I hope you’ll be spared for a long, long rest after your busy life. How can you talk about dying in that matter-of-fact way, as if it were a removal from one house to another? Have you no dread, not of the mere act of death—that is often a real ‘falling asleep,’ but of the leap in the dark, the unknown change, the mystery behind?”Miggles lay back against her pillow, a large, unwieldy figure, with thin bands of hair brushed back beneath an old-fashioned night-cap, her hands clasped peacefully on her knee.“No, my dear,” she said tranquilly; “the mystery doesn’t trouble me. I’m a poor, weak creature, and I was never clever at understanding. I only know that it’s going to be a change for the better, so of course I’m ready to go. When I hear people talk of shrinking and trembling at the thought of death, I think they can’t really believe what they profess, or why should they prefer to live on, lonely, and suffering, and poor, rather than make a little journey to gain peace and rest? It’s not reason, my dear, it’s not reason.”Miggles was silent, blinking her little eyes, and panting after the exertion of talking. Gradually a pucker gathered on her forehead, and an expression of anxiety spread over her face.“There is only one thing that troubles me—only one thing; but it’s very serious. I can’t”—she turned solemn, innocent eyes upon the girl’s face—“I can’t feel myself a sinner! That’s a great secret, my dear, but you’ve been so kind to me this last week that I feel I can make the confidence. Of course I should not wish it repeated. No! isn’t it sad? I’ve tried my best, but I can’t do it. It seems to me that I have done my best. I was a good daughter. My dear mother died blessing my name; and with the dear Gorings I’ve done my duty—for love, I’ve done it, far more than money. All through I’ve done my duty, and I have loved God and the people round me. I’ve never felt ill-will towards a living creature; and when I come to search for my sins, dear—really and truly—I tell you in confidence,I can’t find them,” cried Miggles sadly. She lowered her chin, glancing sideways at Vanna as a shamed child might do discovered in the perpetration of an infantile peccadillo, and Vanna smiled a tender, humorous response.“Can’t you, Miggles? Not if you try very hard? I can’t help you, I’m afraid. My bad memory refuses to remind me of your crimes. It’s a serious state of affairs.”“It is, dear,” agreed Miggles gravely. “I’ve been taking myself to task, lying here upon this bed, and examining into the state of my soul. I fed very grateful, and full of faith, and quite tranquil and happy at the thought of passing away. I could not fed that, you know, if I had a ‘conviction of sin,’ like all the good people in books. It has always put me so terribly out of the way when I have failed to please any one, and they have been cold and stand-off in their manner. It does happen like that sometimes, even with the best intentions... If I believed I had grieved my dear Heavenly Father, how wretched I should be! But I don’t, dear, I don’t. I am quite happy, quite at peace. The question is,Am I justified? It would be rather a comfort to be a Catholic sometimes—would it not, dear?—and confess to a dear, saintly old priest. Not, of course, that I could subscribe to their creed I can tell you that I’ve been quite upset in church sometimes when they intone the Litany, and call themselves miserable sinners in such very despondent tones. I did not feel myself a miserable sinner, and it was no use pretending that I did. That made me wretched in another way, for I thought I must be a Pharisee, which would be worst of all!”“Dear Miggles, the Litany was written at the time of the Plague of London, and was meant to be a sort of national penitential psalm. The plague was believed to have been sent as a punishment for the sins of the nation, and the priests marched in procession through the streets intoning this cry for mercy. It was never intended to be used as a regular part of the Church service in times of peace and prosperity; and I think a good many people feel like you, who would not have the courage to put their thoughts into words. A service of praise would often seem more dignified and inspiring. Dear, good, kind little soul, why trouble yourself to find trouble? If you have peace, you have the greatest of all blessings, and a blessing that is never enjoyed, dear Miggles, until it has been won. I’m struggling for it now, but it’s a long way off. I have still many battles to fight.”The old woman looked at the young one with a long, questioning glance.“Yes, dear child! I have seen it, and wondered. But you are so young still, and your life is ahead. We shall see you happy like Jean, starting your home with a fine young husband—”“No!” Vanna held up a warning hand. “Miggles, you have confided in me. I’ll tell you something about myself, but you must never allude to it again. It doesn’t bear speaking of. There is a reason why I can never marry. I can’t tell you what it is, but it is fixed—irrevocable. I shall never be happy like Jean.”Miggles stretched out her hand and laid it upon the dark head, smoothing the hair with gentle touch. But she did not speak. In the course of her sixty years she had heard many such assertions from the lips of girls who had afterwards lived to become happy wives and mothers. She told herself that dear Vanna had no doubt suffered a disappointment, and was feeling cast-down and hopeless in consequence. Quite natural, poor dear—quite; but in time youth would reassert itself; she would meet some one else, such an attractive girl as she was, and would find that the heart which she supposed dead was still capable of love and joy. Oh, certainly she would marry and be happy; but for the moment one could not tell her so. That would be cruel. Time! time! that was the best medicine. She smoothed and stroked with tender, motherly touch, and Vanna, blessing her for her silence, felt the sudden crystallising of an idea which had been growing quietly in her mind during the past week.“Miggles,” she said quietly, turning her head sideways, so as to be able to look the other in the face without disturbing that caressing hand. “Miggles, how would you like it if I came down to live with you at Seacliff? Carter can look after the house and make you comfortable, but you would have no companion, and might feel lonely sometimes. Evenings seem very long and dreary when one is alone. We are two solitary women, alone in the world, without any ties; we might help each other. What do you say?”Miggles subsided into instant tears. “It’s too good of you. Oh, my dear, my dear, I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you. It’s too good of you, too sweet. I shall always remember and bless you for thinking of it, but it would be too selfish—too grasping. I could not allow it.”“Miggles, listen! I’ve been puzzling what to do with myself this next year; I have no home, now that my aunt is dead, and no tie to any special place. That’s a lonely feeling, Miggles, when you are only twenty-three. It would be a solution of the problem if you could let me come to you. I sounded Mr Goring and he was willing; more than willing, delighted at the idea. And I have some money of my own, you know, dear, and as Mr Goring would not hear of my paying anything towards the household expenses, I am going to spend it on pleasures and luxuries. I have a lovely plan—to buy a comfortable little pony carriage in which to drive you along the lanes, and give you fresh air without fatigue. Then, when you don’t feel inclined to go out I’ll use the horse for riding. I love riding, and it will be good exercise to scour the countryside. Perhaps sometimes there’ll be a Meet. If there were hunting I should feel quite gay. Iwantto come, if you care to have me.”“Care!” Miggles laughed, cried, gasped, ejaculated, panted, in such extravagance of joy, such depths of humility, such paeans of gratitude, that Vanna had to exercise her prerogative as nurse, administer a soothing draught, and insist upon a rest forthwith.“Not another word. If you are good and obedient, I’ll come; if you are not, I won’t. I am not going to saddle myself with a rebellious patient. So now you know. Kiss me, and shut your eyes—”“But,” protested Miggles, “but—but—”Long after Vanna had left the room she lay awake, staring with wistful, puzzled eyes at the opposite wall. A social creature, devoted to her kind, no one but herself knew how heavily the prospect of loneliness had weighed upon her. Vanna’s proposition had been like a flash of sunshine lighting up a grey country, but she could not rejoice with a full heart until she was satisfied of the girl’s happiness.“A young thing like that shut up with an old, ailing woman—it’s not right, not fitting. I must not be selfish. I need quiet at the end of my days, but at twenty-three! To take her to that lonely place, away from all her friends: can it be right? I’d love her, and mother her, but with all my will I can’t do the thing she needs most of all—be young with her again. She is sad, dear child, and it’s only a friend of her own age who can comfort and cheer—”Suddenly Miggles jerked in her bed; the fixed eyes brightened; the heavy cheeks broadened into a smile.“Ah-h!” she murmured happily. “Ah-h!Thatis well,that’swell. That will bring it all right”; and nestling down in the pillows, she composed herself happily to sleep.Across the trouble of her mind there had flashed the remembrance of the visits of Piers Rendall.

While Jean was blissfully enjoying the first weeks of her married life, the friend who had been to her as a second mother was lying dangerously ill in her upper room. The bustle of the last few months, culminating in the excitement of the wedding, had proved too much for Miggles’s weak heart; and having gallantly kept on her feet until the supreme need was past, she had the less strength left with which to fight the enemy.

“Don’t tell Jean. Promise not to tell Jean!” That was her first and most insistent cry; and being satisfied on the point, she laid herself down, and spoke no more for many weary days and nights.

Once again Vanna found herself bound to the household, and had the consolation or feeling of help to the mistress and of comfort to the invalid, who seemed to cling pathetically to Jean’s friend in the absence of her own dear nursling.

Hospital nurses were much rarer luxuries in the seventies than at the present day, and in this case the duty of nursing the invalid was undertaken by Mrs Goring, her maid, and Vanna, equally. The maid slept in the sick-room, ready to pay any attention which was required during the night; Mrs Goring was exact and punctilious in administering medicines and food at the right intervals, and in seeing that the sick-room was kept scrupulously in order; it devolved upon Vanna to ease the invalid by the innumerable, gentle little offices which seem to come by instinct to women of sympathetic natures, and later on as she grew stronger, to amuse her by reading aloud, talking, and—what in this case was even more welcome—lending an attentive ear while the other discoursed.

The sudden breakdown had called attention to the state of Miggles’s heart, which had troubled her at times for some years back. The result was serious, so serious that the doctor had warned her that her days of active service were over. Henceforth she must be content to live an idle life, in some quiet country spot, where she would be free from the bustle and excitement of town life. Mr and Mrs Goring proposed that she should live in the Cottage at Seacliff, where the capable woman who acted as caretaker could wait upon her and do the work of the house, and Miggles, as usual, was full of gratitude for the suggestion.

“A haven, my dear, opened out to me at the very moment I need it,” she said ardently to Vanna. “It’s been like that with me all my life. Goodness and mercy! I’ve always loved that dear little house by the sea; there’s no place on earth where I would rather end my days. The doctor says I shall go off quite suddenly. He didn’t want to tell me, but I explained that I was not at all afraid. From battle, murder, andlingeringdeath, that’s the way I’ve always said it—not that I wish to put myself above the Prayer Book, but one must be honest, and that’s how I felt in my heart. I’ve no claim upon any one, and a long, expensive illness is a great drag. I’d be so ashamed! ‘Our times are in His hand,’ my dear; but if it’s not presumptuous, I hope He’ll take me soon. Next summer, perhaps, before the boys want to come down for the holidays. I should like to have the winter just to be quiet and prepare. June, now! June would be a sweet month to pass away in. Would it not, my dear?”

“Miggles!” cried Vanna, half laughing, half in tears. “Miggles, how can you be so callous? I absolutely refuse to discuss the date of your death. It’s not a cheerful subject for us, whatever it may be for you; and I hope you’ll be spared for a long, long rest after your busy life. How can you talk about dying in that matter-of-fact way, as if it were a removal from one house to another? Have you no dread, not of the mere act of death—that is often a real ‘falling asleep,’ but of the leap in the dark, the unknown change, the mystery behind?”

Miggles lay back against her pillow, a large, unwieldy figure, with thin bands of hair brushed back beneath an old-fashioned night-cap, her hands clasped peacefully on her knee.

“No, my dear,” she said tranquilly; “the mystery doesn’t trouble me. I’m a poor, weak creature, and I was never clever at understanding. I only know that it’s going to be a change for the better, so of course I’m ready to go. When I hear people talk of shrinking and trembling at the thought of death, I think they can’t really believe what they profess, or why should they prefer to live on, lonely, and suffering, and poor, rather than make a little journey to gain peace and rest? It’s not reason, my dear, it’s not reason.”

Miggles was silent, blinking her little eyes, and panting after the exertion of talking. Gradually a pucker gathered on her forehead, and an expression of anxiety spread over her face.

“There is only one thing that troubles me—only one thing; but it’s very serious. I can’t”—she turned solemn, innocent eyes upon the girl’s face—“I can’t feel myself a sinner! That’s a great secret, my dear, but you’ve been so kind to me this last week that I feel I can make the confidence. Of course I should not wish it repeated. No! isn’t it sad? I’ve tried my best, but I can’t do it. It seems to me that I have done my best. I was a good daughter. My dear mother died blessing my name; and with the dear Gorings I’ve done my duty—for love, I’ve done it, far more than money. All through I’ve done my duty, and I have loved God and the people round me. I’ve never felt ill-will towards a living creature; and when I come to search for my sins, dear—really and truly—I tell you in confidence,I can’t find them,” cried Miggles sadly. She lowered her chin, glancing sideways at Vanna as a shamed child might do discovered in the perpetration of an infantile peccadillo, and Vanna smiled a tender, humorous response.

“Can’t you, Miggles? Not if you try very hard? I can’t help you, I’m afraid. My bad memory refuses to remind me of your crimes. It’s a serious state of affairs.”

“It is, dear,” agreed Miggles gravely. “I’ve been taking myself to task, lying here upon this bed, and examining into the state of my soul. I fed very grateful, and full of faith, and quite tranquil and happy at the thought of passing away. I could not fed that, you know, if I had a ‘conviction of sin,’ like all the good people in books. It has always put me so terribly out of the way when I have failed to please any one, and they have been cold and stand-off in their manner. It does happen like that sometimes, even with the best intentions... If I believed I had grieved my dear Heavenly Father, how wretched I should be! But I don’t, dear, I don’t. I am quite happy, quite at peace. The question is,Am I justified? It would be rather a comfort to be a Catholic sometimes—would it not, dear?—and confess to a dear, saintly old priest. Not, of course, that I could subscribe to their creed I can tell you that I’ve been quite upset in church sometimes when they intone the Litany, and call themselves miserable sinners in such very despondent tones. I did not feel myself a miserable sinner, and it was no use pretending that I did. That made me wretched in another way, for I thought I must be a Pharisee, which would be worst of all!”

“Dear Miggles, the Litany was written at the time of the Plague of London, and was meant to be a sort of national penitential psalm. The plague was believed to have been sent as a punishment for the sins of the nation, and the priests marched in procession through the streets intoning this cry for mercy. It was never intended to be used as a regular part of the Church service in times of peace and prosperity; and I think a good many people feel like you, who would not have the courage to put their thoughts into words. A service of praise would often seem more dignified and inspiring. Dear, good, kind little soul, why trouble yourself to find trouble? If you have peace, you have the greatest of all blessings, and a blessing that is never enjoyed, dear Miggles, until it has been won. I’m struggling for it now, but it’s a long way off. I have still many battles to fight.”

The old woman looked at the young one with a long, questioning glance.

“Yes, dear child! I have seen it, and wondered. But you are so young still, and your life is ahead. We shall see you happy like Jean, starting your home with a fine young husband—”

“No!” Vanna held up a warning hand. “Miggles, you have confided in me. I’ll tell you something about myself, but you must never allude to it again. It doesn’t bear speaking of. There is a reason why I can never marry. I can’t tell you what it is, but it is fixed—irrevocable. I shall never be happy like Jean.”

Miggles stretched out her hand and laid it upon the dark head, smoothing the hair with gentle touch. But she did not speak. In the course of her sixty years she had heard many such assertions from the lips of girls who had afterwards lived to become happy wives and mothers. She told herself that dear Vanna had no doubt suffered a disappointment, and was feeling cast-down and hopeless in consequence. Quite natural, poor dear—quite; but in time youth would reassert itself; she would meet some one else, such an attractive girl as she was, and would find that the heart which she supposed dead was still capable of love and joy. Oh, certainly she would marry and be happy; but for the moment one could not tell her so. That would be cruel. Time! time! that was the best medicine. She smoothed and stroked with tender, motherly touch, and Vanna, blessing her for her silence, felt the sudden crystallising of an idea which had been growing quietly in her mind during the past week.

“Miggles,” she said quietly, turning her head sideways, so as to be able to look the other in the face without disturbing that caressing hand. “Miggles, how would you like it if I came down to live with you at Seacliff? Carter can look after the house and make you comfortable, but you would have no companion, and might feel lonely sometimes. Evenings seem very long and dreary when one is alone. We are two solitary women, alone in the world, without any ties; we might help each other. What do you say?”

Miggles subsided into instant tears. “It’s too good of you. Oh, my dear, my dear, I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you. It’s too good of you, too sweet. I shall always remember and bless you for thinking of it, but it would be too selfish—too grasping. I could not allow it.”

“Miggles, listen! I’ve been puzzling what to do with myself this next year; I have no home, now that my aunt is dead, and no tie to any special place. That’s a lonely feeling, Miggles, when you are only twenty-three. It would be a solution of the problem if you could let me come to you. I sounded Mr Goring and he was willing; more than willing, delighted at the idea. And I have some money of my own, you know, dear, and as Mr Goring would not hear of my paying anything towards the household expenses, I am going to spend it on pleasures and luxuries. I have a lovely plan—to buy a comfortable little pony carriage in which to drive you along the lanes, and give you fresh air without fatigue. Then, when you don’t feel inclined to go out I’ll use the horse for riding. I love riding, and it will be good exercise to scour the countryside. Perhaps sometimes there’ll be a Meet. If there were hunting I should feel quite gay. Iwantto come, if you care to have me.”

“Care!” Miggles laughed, cried, gasped, ejaculated, panted, in such extravagance of joy, such depths of humility, such paeans of gratitude, that Vanna had to exercise her prerogative as nurse, administer a soothing draught, and insist upon a rest forthwith.

“Not another word. If you are good and obedient, I’ll come; if you are not, I won’t. I am not going to saddle myself with a rebellious patient. So now you know. Kiss me, and shut your eyes—”

“But,” protested Miggles, “but—but—”

Long after Vanna had left the room she lay awake, staring with wistful, puzzled eyes at the opposite wall. A social creature, devoted to her kind, no one but herself knew how heavily the prospect of loneliness had weighed upon her. Vanna’s proposition had been like a flash of sunshine lighting up a grey country, but she could not rejoice with a full heart until she was satisfied of the girl’s happiness.

“A young thing like that shut up with an old, ailing woman—it’s not right, not fitting. I must not be selfish. I need quiet at the end of my days, but at twenty-three! To take her to that lonely place, away from all her friends: can it be right? I’d love her, and mother her, but with all my will I can’t do the thing she needs most of all—be young with her again. She is sad, dear child, and it’s only a friend of her own age who can comfort and cheer—”

Suddenly Miggles jerked in her bed; the fixed eyes brightened; the heavy cheeks broadened into a smile.

“Ah-h!” she murmured happily. “Ah-h!Thatis well,that’swell. That will bring it all right”; and nestling down in the pillows, she composed herself happily to sleep.

Across the trouble of her mind there had flashed the remembrance of the visits of Piers Rendall.

Chapter Twelve.The Cottage on the Cliff.For the next two years Vanna lived quietly in the cottage on the cliff, five miles from the nearest railway station, and as many more from anything in the shape of a town. The hamlet in which she had lived with her aunt had been quiet and uneventful, but in comparison with Seacliff it was a whirl of gaiety. During the summer months there was indeed a small influx of visitors, but Seacliff had not as yet sprung into popularity, and accommodation was limited to a few scattered houses along the sea-front and the big red hotel on the top of the cliff. The hotel was closed in the winter months, and the first day that Vanna looked across the bay and beheld the smoke rising from the chimneys, she knew a thrill of joy in the realisation that the long grey winter was at an end. Long and grey, yet not unhappy. Looking back over the monotonous record of the months, and remembering her own tranquillity and content, Vanna marvelled, as many of us have done in our time, at the unlooked for manner in which our prayers have met their response. She had asked for guidance; had pleaded, with a very passion of earnestness, for some miracle of grace to fill her empty life, but no miracle had happened, no flash of light had illumined the darkness; the heavens had appeared as brass to her cry—and yet, yet, had not the answer been vouchsafed? It would not have been her own choice to pass the best years of her youth in seclusion, with no other companion than a homely, unsophisticated old woman, over whom the shadow of death crept nearer and nearer. She had dreamt of romance and adventure, and not of a home bounded by two cliff walls; nevertheless, in this companionship and in this seclusion she had found peace, and as the time passed by a returning sense of joy and interest in life. She was loved, she was needed, she was understood; and the human creature of whom so much can be said is fortunate among his fellows. In addition to her sunny temperament, Miggles possessed the great gift of tact, and when the shadow of depression fell over the girl’s spirits she asked no questions, made no comment thereon, but ministered to her generously with the meed of appreciation. “What should I do without you, child?” “Ah, my dear, how I thank God for sending you to me these last years!” Such words as these, uttered with the good-night kiss, dried many a tear on the girl’s cheeks, and sent her to bed revived and peaceful.As the weeks passed by Vanna found friends out of doors also, and was surprised to discover the importance of her presence to the community in the little village.“Well, now, I tell you, I can’t think what we did without you all the dull old winters,” said Mrs Jones of the grocer’s emporium one day, as she scribbled down the weekly order with the much-battered stump of a lead pencil. “You’ve been a regular godsend, cheering us up, and giving us something to think of, instead of moping along from September to June. I’m sure we’ve cause to be grateful for all you’ve done.”Vanna flushed, surprised and a trifle overwhelmed by so gushing a compliment.“Really, Mrs Jones, I don’t feel that I deserve any thanks. I have been so much occupied with Miss Miggs that I have had no time to spare. I can’t think of anything I have done to help you.”“Oh, miss!” protested Mrs Jones, in accents of strong reproach. “Oh, miss;and three new hats since autumn!”Blessed sense of humour! That reply was sufficient to brighten Vanna’s whole day. It did more, for it served to nip in the bud that lassitude concerning the toilette, that feeling that “anything will do,” which creeps over those who dwell in lonely places. Henceforth Vanna realised that to the natives of this little sea-bound village she stood as a type of the great world of fashion, and that it was a real pleasure in their quiet lives to behold her moving about in their midst in pretty, tasteful attire. The knowledge proved beneficial to her appearance, and to her spirits.The pony carriage proved of less use than had been hoped, as the invalid’s nerves grew less and less able to face the precipitous road leading up to the house; but some time every day Vanna found time for a scamper on the back of her beloved Dinah, saddling her herself, rubbing her down, and giving her a feed of oats on her return. Miggles did not care for indoor pets, so that it was an extra pleasure to make friends with Dinah, to rub her soft nose, and bequeath odd gifts of sugar.Her informal riding-costume was composed of a dark green habit and a felt hat of the same shade, which, being somewhat battered out of the original shape, she had twisted into a Napoleonic tricorn, which proved surprisingly becoming on her small, daintily poised head.“I’ve never seen a riding-hat like that before. That’s the verylatestfrom Paris, I suppose, miss?” said Mrs Jones of the emporium; and Vanna had not the heart to undeceive her.Once or twice a week, instead of mounting to the downs, Vanna would turn inland to pay a visit to Mrs Rendall. The old lady was not an interesting personality, but she was lonely, which fact made perhaps the strongest of all appeals to Vanna’s sympathy at this period of her life.It grew to be an accepted custom that these visits should be paid on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, and as she trotted up the long avenue leading to the house Vanna never failed to see the white-capped figure at the library window watching for her approach. The conversation was almost identically the same on each of these visits. Mrs Rendall would discuss the weather of the last three days, inquire into Miss Miggs’s symptoms, relate accurately the behaviour of her own cough and the tiresome rheumatic pains in her left shoulder, chronicle the progress in the garden, and the delinquencies of her servant maids. Vanna seemed to herself to do little more than murmur a conventional yes and no from time to time; nevertheless Mrs Rendall invariably pleaded with her to prolong her visit, and never failed to add to her farewell the urgent reminder: “You’ll come on Wednesday? You won’t forget.” If the visitor chanced to turn her head at the bend of the avenue, the white-capped figure was again at the window, watching for the last, the very last glimpse of her retreating figure.At the sight of that watching figure a faint realisation came to Vanna of one of life’s tragedies—the pathetic dependence of the old upon the young; the detachment and indifference of youth to age. To herself these weekly visits were a duty and, frankly speaking, a bore. To the old woman, alone in her luxurious home, they formed the brightness and amusement of life, the epochs upon which she lived in hope and recollection.“Poor, dull old soul! I must go regularly. I must not shirk,” determined Vanna conscientiously, but she loved her duty none the more.It was towards the end of her third month’s residence at Seacliff that, on cantering up the drive of the Manor House, Vanna noticed a change in the position of the white-capped figure. It was there, watching as usual, but at the side, instead of the centre, of the library window, and by her stood a tall, dark figure. Vanna’s heart leapt within her; the blood rushed through her veins; in one moment languid indifference was changed to tingling vitality. She straightened herself on the saddle, and as Piers’s figure appeared in the porch, lifted her gauntleted hand to her hat in merry salute.The episode of Jean’s marriage, with the association of chief bridesmaid and groomsman, had brought the two friends of the bride into closer intimacy, so that the greeting between them was frank and cordial.“Salaam, Diana!”“Salaam, oh, Knight of the—!”Vanna paused, for it was no Knight of the Rueful Countenance who looked into her face as she drew rein by the door. The dark eyes looking into hers were alight with pleasure—with something more than pleasure. Vanna recognised a gleam of surprised admiration and thrilled at the sight even as it forced itself into words.“By Jove, how well you are looking.”“Rusticating suits me, you see.”She leapt lightly to the ground, and, gathering up the graceful long riding-skirt of that day, entered the house before him. As she passed along the ugly, commonplace hall, Vanna was confronted by her own reflection in the glass of the old-fashioned hat-stand, and started at the sight. This was not the girl whom she was accustomed to see in that same glass—the girl with the pale face, and listless eyes; this girl walked with a quick, lightsome tread; her daintily poised head, crowned by the picturesque green hat, assumed a new charm; the grey eyes were sparkling beneath the arched brows; the cheeks were flushed to the colour of a wild rose. This was the vision which Piers Rendall had beheld, the vision at which his hard eyes had softened in admiration.Vanna blushed at the sight of her own fairness, and felt the thrill of pure, undiluted joy which every true daughter of Eve knows at such moments. She tilted her head over her shoulder to answer Piers’s question, with a smile and a glance which would have done credit to Jean herself. What he asked she hardly knew—some of the conventional, unimportant questions which are tossed to and fro on such occasions. What she answered mattered still less; the mere fact of his presence eclipsed all. The bigness of him, the strongness, the firm, dark face, the deep bass voice, the masculine presence after the long, monotonous months, with no companionship save that of two old women. It was as if a part of the girl’s being which had been drugged to sleep awoke suddenly and clamoured for existence.At the door of the library Vanna knew a momentary pause. Conscious of her own transformed face, she shrank with something like shame from facing old Mrs Rendall. What would she say? What would she think? Another moment proved the needlessness of her dread, for on this happy day of reunion the mother had no eyes for any one but her son. In a mechanical fashion she went through the ordinary list of questions, and Vanna vouchsafed the ordinary replies; but the ordinary interest was impossible while Piers stood with his back to the fire, puffing at his cigarette, listening with a smile on his face.That smell of smoke impregnating an atmosphere which was usually equally reminiscent of furniture polish and paregoric—how intoxicating it smelt in Vanna’s nostrils! She kept her eyes riveted on the old lady’s face so long as conversation between them continued, but the moment that mother and son were engrossed with each other, her eyes returned greedily to the long, straight limbs, the close-cropped head, the strong, sinewy hands. Youth called to youth. Sex called to sex.At the end of ten minutes’ general conversation Piers made the move for which Vanna had anxiously been waiting.“When will lunch be ready, mother? Miss Strangeways must stay to lunch in honour of my return. We’ll go a little turn round the grounds and be back in half an hour. Then I’ll ride over with her, and see Miggles while you have your rest.”A shade of disappointment passed over Mrs Rendall’s face. It was hard to allow her son to pass out of her sight for even half an hour, but she assented quietly, after the manner of mothers of grown-up sons, and the two young people strolled out into the garden.The geranium beds were bare and brown, but the lawn was still a velvety green and the belt of evergreen trees presented a similitude of summer. Piers led the way forward, and Vanna followed, a smile upon her lips.“The Happy Land?”“The Happy Land. Naturally! It is an appropriate walk for you to-day. No need to ask how it goes. You look blooming—a different girl from when you were here last. And you really like it—this buried-alive existence? When I heard of the arrangement I could not believe it would last beyond a few weeks. It seemed unnatural—unfair. But you have stood it out. You have not been lonely?”Vanna hesitated. They stood at the entrance to the glen, looking down through a network of bare branches on the stream beneath. The ground was covered with a carpet of leaves, the sweet, soft smell of earth rose refreshingly in the wintry air.“Yes,” she said slowly. “I have been lonely, but—remember that I am bound to look on the bright side of things in this place!—I have had compensations. I am needed here. Miggles could not be left alone with a servant, and there is a great satisfaction in feeling oneself necessary. This new home was offered to me at a moment when I was adrift in the world, and every one in it is kind and loving. I have every comfort, and a dear luxury in the shape of Dinah. I am becoming quite an experienced horsewoman, and it is impossible to feel depressed after a gallop across the downs. And you know Miggles! It’s rather wonderful to live beside a person who is preparing for death as cheerfully and happily as most people prepare for a holiday. We talk about it every day, but never gloomily. In a peaceful kind of way she’s excited at the prospect. Quite suddenly she will exclaim, ‘Oh, I shall see Emma. I haven’t seen Emma since we were girls at school. I shall have somuchto tell Emma.’ And she is full of interest as to her new work. It is to be helping her earth friends. That’s quite decided. ‘It’s what I have been trained for, dear. It stands to reason I must go on.’ And she has quite definite ideas of what ought to be done—things that, according to her judgment, have been overlooked, and concerning which she can—very tactfully!—drop a gentle reminder. She has a mission on hand for each one of us. You are to receive special attention.”The young man smiled affectionately.“Bless her old heart! That’s well. I am thankful she is happy. It’s a great thing for her to have you; that’s natural enough, but—”He stopped short with that air of reservation which Vannafoundso attractive. Never once had he descended to the banality of a compliment in words; always it had been left to her to divine his approval from eyes and voice—a gratification delightfully freed from embarrassment. He bit his lip, frowned, and demanded suddenly, “How long do you mean to stay?”“I hope, as long as she lives. For my own sake as well as hers, for I’ve grown to love her, and she is a delightful companion. Beyond her simplicity and sweetness, she has such a pretty sense of humour. She makes me laugh in my darkest mood, and—which is equally important—she laughs at me. It would be too boring to live with a person who received one’s best sallies with silence or a strained smile; but Miggles is nothing if not appreciative. I shall certainly not leave her by any act of my own.”“And—afterwards?”Vanna looked up at him: her eyes were brave, but her lips trembled.From his tall stature he looked down upon the struggle on her face, the trembling lips, the brave, gallant eyes.“I don’t know—I can’t say. I don’t want to think. It’s a subject I can’t discuss—here. Talk of something else—something cheerful. Tell me about Jean. Have you seen her lately? When did you see her? How is she looking? Tell me everything you can about her.”Piers lifted his brows and slightly shrugged his shoulders.“Jean is—Robert! Robert is—Jean! There you have the situation in a word! Bound up in each other—blind, deaf, dumb to every other interest. I’ve called once or twice. Their house is charming. She is lovelier than ever; he is, if possible, still more radiantly content. They seem unfeignedly pleased to see one—for ten minutes! After that their attention begins to flag, and at the end of half an hour you feel that you would be a perfect brute to stay another second. I have come to the conclusion that it is kinder to leave them alone.”“I’m sure of it. I don’t even trouble Jean with letters more than once a month. I send constant bulletins of Miggles to Mrs Goring, so that she knows how things go, and for the rest—I bide my time. When a year or so has passed away, I hope they will still be as much in love; but there will be more room for outsiders. It’s just as well that I am away from town. It is easier to be philosophical at a distance. If I were in town and felt myself unwanted and out in the cold, I should probably be huffy and jealous. As it is, I look forward, and tell myself she will want me another day. One can afford to wait when there’s a surety at the end.”“Yes, that’s easy. If one were ever sure—” His brow darkened, but meeting her eyes, he smiled, throwing aside the dark thought, with an effort to match her own. “Doubt is forbidden, I suppose, with other repinings? Well! the Queen must be obeyed. Do you remember saying that it was little use to possess a Happy Land so far away that you could rarely see it? And behold the next move in the game is that you are plumped down at its very gates! How many times have you visited your domain since we were here together in summer?”“Not once. When I have ridden over it has been to see your mother, and I don’t care to leave Miggles for long at a time. Besides, I think I shirked it. It was winter, and the trees were bare, and I was alone, and it is difficult to be very happy all by oneself, and sometimes I was in a contrary mood, when I did not even want totry. But I am glad to be here to-day. I am glad you brought me.”“I must bring you again. I must come down oftener. As you are giving up your life to help Miggles, it is the duty of all her friends to make things as easy as possible. I shall feel that Seacliff has a double claim on me if I can help you as well as my mother. It will be good for us both to come here and be compelled towards happiness.”Vanna’s smile of acknowledgment was somewhat forced. It would have been unmixed joy to look forward to the promised visits, but for those two words which stood out in such jarring prominence that they seemed to obscure her joy. “Duty,” “Claim.” When in the history of woman did she appreciate a service thus offered by a member of the opposite sex?“That is very kind of you,” she answered formally. “After the excitements of London, Seacliff must seem very dull at this time of year. How long are you going to stay this time?”“Until—” he hesitated for a moment—“until Monday.”That evening, when Vanna went up to her own room, she sat for an hour beside her little window facing the bay, living over again the events of the day.Duty! Claim! For the hundredth time the words tolled in her ears. She looked over the grey waste of waters and saw in them a type of her own colourless life. Duty! Claim! But then the scene shifted. She was back again in the library of the Manor House, listening to old Mrs Rendall’s words of lament. “He is no sooner here than he has gone. He tells me he must positively leave on Friday.” Why had Piers elected to stay on? She was back again in the dining-room, feeling his gaze upon her—a gaze so deep, so pregnant with meaning that it had forced the question from her lips, “What is it? What are you thinking about?”“You! Here! In this house. The difference it makes—the astounding difference—”Whatdifference was it which her presence made? His eyes told her that it was a difference of gain.A twinkling light shone out on the darkness, flashed and waned, flashed again into brighter glow. The waste of waters was illumined with light.

For the next two years Vanna lived quietly in the cottage on the cliff, five miles from the nearest railway station, and as many more from anything in the shape of a town. The hamlet in which she had lived with her aunt had been quiet and uneventful, but in comparison with Seacliff it was a whirl of gaiety. During the summer months there was indeed a small influx of visitors, but Seacliff had not as yet sprung into popularity, and accommodation was limited to a few scattered houses along the sea-front and the big red hotel on the top of the cliff. The hotel was closed in the winter months, and the first day that Vanna looked across the bay and beheld the smoke rising from the chimneys, she knew a thrill of joy in the realisation that the long grey winter was at an end. Long and grey, yet not unhappy. Looking back over the monotonous record of the months, and remembering her own tranquillity and content, Vanna marvelled, as many of us have done in our time, at the unlooked for manner in which our prayers have met their response. She had asked for guidance; had pleaded, with a very passion of earnestness, for some miracle of grace to fill her empty life, but no miracle had happened, no flash of light had illumined the darkness; the heavens had appeared as brass to her cry—and yet, yet, had not the answer been vouchsafed? It would not have been her own choice to pass the best years of her youth in seclusion, with no other companion than a homely, unsophisticated old woman, over whom the shadow of death crept nearer and nearer. She had dreamt of romance and adventure, and not of a home bounded by two cliff walls; nevertheless, in this companionship and in this seclusion she had found peace, and as the time passed by a returning sense of joy and interest in life. She was loved, she was needed, she was understood; and the human creature of whom so much can be said is fortunate among his fellows. In addition to her sunny temperament, Miggles possessed the great gift of tact, and when the shadow of depression fell over the girl’s spirits she asked no questions, made no comment thereon, but ministered to her generously with the meed of appreciation. “What should I do without you, child?” “Ah, my dear, how I thank God for sending you to me these last years!” Such words as these, uttered with the good-night kiss, dried many a tear on the girl’s cheeks, and sent her to bed revived and peaceful.

As the weeks passed by Vanna found friends out of doors also, and was surprised to discover the importance of her presence to the community in the little village.

“Well, now, I tell you, I can’t think what we did without you all the dull old winters,” said Mrs Jones of the grocer’s emporium one day, as she scribbled down the weekly order with the much-battered stump of a lead pencil. “You’ve been a regular godsend, cheering us up, and giving us something to think of, instead of moping along from September to June. I’m sure we’ve cause to be grateful for all you’ve done.”

Vanna flushed, surprised and a trifle overwhelmed by so gushing a compliment.

“Really, Mrs Jones, I don’t feel that I deserve any thanks. I have been so much occupied with Miss Miggs that I have had no time to spare. I can’t think of anything I have done to help you.”

“Oh, miss!” protested Mrs Jones, in accents of strong reproach. “Oh, miss;and three new hats since autumn!”

Blessed sense of humour! That reply was sufficient to brighten Vanna’s whole day. It did more, for it served to nip in the bud that lassitude concerning the toilette, that feeling that “anything will do,” which creeps over those who dwell in lonely places. Henceforth Vanna realised that to the natives of this little sea-bound village she stood as a type of the great world of fashion, and that it was a real pleasure in their quiet lives to behold her moving about in their midst in pretty, tasteful attire. The knowledge proved beneficial to her appearance, and to her spirits.

The pony carriage proved of less use than had been hoped, as the invalid’s nerves grew less and less able to face the precipitous road leading up to the house; but some time every day Vanna found time for a scamper on the back of her beloved Dinah, saddling her herself, rubbing her down, and giving her a feed of oats on her return. Miggles did not care for indoor pets, so that it was an extra pleasure to make friends with Dinah, to rub her soft nose, and bequeath odd gifts of sugar.

Her informal riding-costume was composed of a dark green habit and a felt hat of the same shade, which, being somewhat battered out of the original shape, she had twisted into a Napoleonic tricorn, which proved surprisingly becoming on her small, daintily poised head.

“I’ve never seen a riding-hat like that before. That’s the verylatestfrom Paris, I suppose, miss?” said Mrs Jones of the emporium; and Vanna had not the heart to undeceive her.

Once or twice a week, instead of mounting to the downs, Vanna would turn inland to pay a visit to Mrs Rendall. The old lady was not an interesting personality, but she was lonely, which fact made perhaps the strongest of all appeals to Vanna’s sympathy at this period of her life.

It grew to be an accepted custom that these visits should be paid on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, and as she trotted up the long avenue leading to the house Vanna never failed to see the white-capped figure at the library window watching for her approach. The conversation was almost identically the same on each of these visits. Mrs Rendall would discuss the weather of the last three days, inquire into Miss Miggs’s symptoms, relate accurately the behaviour of her own cough and the tiresome rheumatic pains in her left shoulder, chronicle the progress in the garden, and the delinquencies of her servant maids. Vanna seemed to herself to do little more than murmur a conventional yes and no from time to time; nevertheless Mrs Rendall invariably pleaded with her to prolong her visit, and never failed to add to her farewell the urgent reminder: “You’ll come on Wednesday? You won’t forget.” If the visitor chanced to turn her head at the bend of the avenue, the white-capped figure was again at the window, watching for the last, the very last glimpse of her retreating figure.

At the sight of that watching figure a faint realisation came to Vanna of one of life’s tragedies—the pathetic dependence of the old upon the young; the detachment and indifference of youth to age. To herself these weekly visits were a duty and, frankly speaking, a bore. To the old woman, alone in her luxurious home, they formed the brightness and amusement of life, the epochs upon which she lived in hope and recollection.

“Poor, dull old soul! I must go regularly. I must not shirk,” determined Vanna conscientiously, but she loved her duty none the more.

It was towards the end of her third month’s residence at Seacliff that, on cantering up the drive of the Manor House, Vanna noticed a change in the position of the white-capped figure. It was there, watching as usual, but at the side, instead of the centre, of the library window, and by her stood a tall, dark figure. Vanna’s heart leapt within her; the blood rushed through her veins; in one moment languid indifference was changed to tingling vitality. She straightened herself on the saddle, and as Piers’s figure appeared in the porch, lifted her gauntleted hand to her hat in merry salute.

The episode of Jean’s marriage, with the association of chief bridesmaid and groomsman, had brought the two friends of the bride into closer intimacy, so that the greeting between them was frank and cordial.

“Salaam, Diana!”

“Salaam, oh, Knight of the—!”

Vanna paused, for it was no Knight of the Rueful Countenance who looked into her face as she drew rein by the door. The dark eyes looking into hers were alight with pleasure—with something more than pleasure. Vanna recognised a gleam of surprised admiration and thrilled at the sight even as it forced itself into words.

“By Jove, how well you are looking.”

“Rusticating suits me, you see.”

She leapt lightly to the ground, and, gathering up the graceful long riding-skirt of that day, entered the house before him. As she passed along the ugly, commonplace hall, Vanna was confronted by her own reflection in the glass of the old-fashioned hat-stand, and started at the sight. This was not the girl whom she was accustomed to see in that same glass—the girl with the pale face, and listless eyes; this girl walked with a quick, lightsome tread; her daintily poised head, crowned by the picturesque green hat, assumed a new charm; the grey eyes were sparkling beneath the arched brows; the cheeks were flushed to the colour of a wild rose. This was the vision which Piers Rendall had beheld, the vision at which his hard eyes had softened in admiration.

Vanna blushed at the sight of her own fairness, and felt the thrill of pure, undiluted joy which every true daughter of Eve knows at such moments. She tilted her head over her shoulder to answer Piers’s question, with a smile and a glance which would have done credit to Jean herself. What he asked she hardly knew—some of the conventional, unimportant questions which are tossed to and fro on such occasions. What she answered mattered still less; the mere fact of his presence eclipsed all. The bigness of him, the strongness, the firm, dark face, the deep bass voice, the masculine presence after the long, monotonous months, with no companionship save that of two old women. It was as if a part of the girl’s being which had been drugged to sleep awoke suddenly and clamoured for existence.

At the door of the library Vanna knew a momentary pause. Conscious of her own transformed face, she shrank with something like shame from facing old Mrs Rendall. What would she say? What would she think? Another moment proved the needlessness of her dread, for on this happy day of reunion the mother had no eyes for any one but her son. In a mechanical fashion she went through the ordinary list of questions, and Vanna vouchsafed the ordinary replies; but the ordinary interest was impossible while Piers stood with his back to the fire, puffing at his cigarette, listening with a smile on his face.

That smell of smoke impregnating an atmosphere which was usually equally reminiscent of furniture polish and paregoric—how intoxicating it smelt in Vanna’s nostrils! She kept her eyes riveted on the old lady’s face so long as conversation between them continued, but the moment that mother and son were engrossed with each other, her eyes returned greedily to the long, straight limbs, the close-cropped head, the strong, sinewy hands. Youth called to youth. Sex called to sex.

At the end of ten minutes’ general conversation Piers made the move for which Vanna had anxiously been waiting.

“When will lunch be ready, mother? Miss Strangeways must stay to lunch in honour of my return. We’ll go a little turn round the grounds and be back in half an hour. Then I’ll ride over with her, and see Miggles while you have your rest.”

A shade of disappointment passed over Mrs Rendall’s face. It was hard to allow her son to pass out of her sight for even half an hour, but she assented quietly, after the manner of mothers of grown-up sons, and the two young people strolled out into the garden.

The geranium beds were bare and brown, but the lawn was still a velvety green and the belt of evergreen trees presented a similitude of summer. Piers led the way forward, and Vanna followed, a smile upon her lips.

“The Happy Land?”

“The Happy Land. Naturally! It is an appropriate walk for you to-day. No need to ask how it goes. You look blooming—a different girl from when you were here last. And you really like it—this buried-alive existence? When I heard of the arrangement I could not believe it would last beyond a few weeks. It seemed unnatural—unfair. But you have stood it out. You have not been lonely?”

Vanna hesitated. They stood at the entrance to the glen, looking down through a network of bare branches on the stream beneath. The ground was covered with a carpet of leaves, the sweet, soft smell of earth rose refreshingly in the wintry air.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I have been lonely, but—remember that I am bound to look on the bright side of things in this place!—I have had compensations. I am needed here. Miggles could not be left alone with a servant, and there is a great satisfaction in feeling oneself necessary. This new home was offered to me at a moment when I was adrift in the world, and every one in it is kind and loving. I have every comfort, and a dear luxury in the shape of Dinah. I am becoming quite an experienced horsewoman, and it is impossible to feel depressed after a gallop across the downs. And you know Miggles! It’s rather wonderful to live beside a person who is preparing for death as cheerfully and happily as most people prepare for a holiday. We talk about it every day, but never gloomily. In a peaceful kind of way she’s excited at the prospect. Quite suddenly she will exclaim, ‘Oh, I shall see Emma. I haven’t seen Emma since we were girls at school. I shall have somuchto tell Emma.’ And she is full of interest as to her new work. It is to be helping her earth friends. That’s quite decided. ‘It’s what I have been trained for, dear. It stands to reason I must go on.’ And she has quite definite ideas of what ought to be done—things that, according to her judgment, have been overlooked, and concerning which she can—very tactfully!—drop a gentle reminder. She has a mission on hand for each one of us. You are to receive special attention.”

The young man smiled affectionately.

“Bless her old heart! That’s well. I am thankful she is happy. It’s a great thing for her to have you; that’s natural enough, but—”

He stopped short with that air of reservation which Vannafoundso attractive. Never once had he descended to the banality of a compliment in words; always it had been left to her to divine his approval from eyes and voice—a gratification delightfully freed from embarrassment. He bit his lip, frowned, and demanded suddenly, “How long do you mean to stay?”

“I hope, as long as she lives. For my own sake as well as hers, for I’ve grown to love her, and she is a delightful companion. Beyond her simplicity and sweetness, she has such a pretty sense of humour. She makes me laugh in my darkest mood, and—which is equally important—she laughs at me. It would be too boring to live with a person who received one’s best sallies with silence or a strained smile; but Miggles is nothing if not appreciative. I shall certainly not leave her by any act of my own.”

“And—afterwards?”

Vanna looked up at him: her eyes were brave, but her lips trembled.

From his tall stature he looked down upon the struggle on her face, the trembling lips, the brave, gallant eyes.

“I don’t know—I can’t say. I don’t want to think. It’s a subject I can’t discuss—here. Talk of something else—something cheerful. Tell me about Jean. Have you seen her lately? When did you see her? How is she looking? Tell me everything you can about her.”

Piers lifted his brows and slightly shrugged his shoulders.

“Jean is—Robert! Robert is—Jean! There you have the situation in a word! Bound up in each other—blind, deaf, dumb to every other interest. I’ve called once or twice. Their house is charming. She is lovelier than ever; he is, if possible, still more radiantly content. They seem unfeignedly pleased to see one—for ten minutes! After that their attention begins to flag, and at the end of half an hour you feel that you would be a perfect brute to stay another second. I have come to the conclusion that it is kinder to leave them alone.”

“I’m sure of it. I don’t even trouble Jean with letters more than once a month. I send constant bulletins of Miggles to Mrs Goring, so that she knows how things go, and for the rest—I bide my time. When a year or so has passed away, I hope they will still be as much in love; but there will be more room for outsiders. It’s just as well that I am away from town. It is easier to be philosophical at a distance. If I were in town and felt myself unwanted and out in the cold, I should probably be huffy and jealous. As it is, I look forward, and tell myself she will want me another day. One can afford to wait when there’s a surety at the end.”

“Yes, that’s easy. If one were ever sure—” His brow darkened, but meeting her eyes, he smiled, throwing aside the dark thought, with an effort to match her own. “Doubt is forbidden, I suppose, with other repinings? Well! the Queen must be obeyed. Do you remember saying that it was little use to possess a Happy Land so far away that you could rarely see it? And behold the next move in the game is that you are plumped down at its very gates! How many times have you visited your domain since we were here together in summer?”

“Not once. When I have ridden over it has been to see your mother, and I don’t care to leave Miggles for long at a time. Besides, I think I shirked it. It was winter, and the trees were bare, and I was alone, and it is difficult to be very happy all by oneself, and sometimes I was in a contrary mood, when I did not even want totry. But I am glad to be here to-day. I am glad you brought me.”

“I must bring you again. I must come down oftener. As you are giving up your life to help Miggles, it is the duty of all her friends to make things as easy as possible. I shall feel that Seacliff has a double claim on me if I can help you as well as my mother. It will be good for us both to come here and be compelled towards happiness.”

Vanna’s smile of acknowledgment was somewhat forced. It would have been unmixed joy to look forward to the promised visits, but for those two words which stood out in such jarring prominence that they seemed to obscure her joy. “Duty,” “Claim.” When in the history of woman did she appreciate a service thus offered by a member of the opposite sex?

“That is very kind of you,” she answered formally. “After the excitements of London, Seacliff must seem very dull at this time of year. How long are you going to stay this time?”

“Until—” he hesitated for a moment—“until Monday.”

That evening, when Vanna went up to her own room, she sat for an hour beside her little window facing the bay, living over again the events of the day.

Duty! Claim! For the hundredth time the words tolled in her ears. She looked over the grey waste of waters and saw in them a type of her own colourless life. Duty! Claim! But then the scene shifted. She was back again in the library of the Manor House, listening to old Mrs Rendall’s words of lament. “He is no sooner here than he has gone. He tells me he must positively leave on Friday.” Why had Piers elected to stay on? She was back again in the dining-room, feeling his gaze upon her—a gaze so deep, so pregnant with meaning that it had forced the question from her lips, “What is it? What are you thinking about?”

“You! Here! In this house. The difference it makes—the astounding difference—”

Whatdifference was it which her presence made? His eyes told her that it was a difference of gain.

A twinkling light shone out on the darkness, flashed and waned, flashed again into brighter glow. The waste of waters was illumined with light.

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