“My Dear Lord Grayleigh,“You have not, I hope, forgotten your promise to be, as Sibyl said, one of the big-wigs at my bazaar.”
“My Dear Lord Grayleigh,
“You have not, I hope, forgotten your promise to be, as Sibyl said, one of the big-wigs at my bazaar.”
“But Ihadforgotten it,” muttered Grayleigh to himself. “That woman is, in my opinion, a poor, vain, frivolous creature. Why did she hamper Ogilvie with that place in his absence? Now, forsooth, she must play at charity. When that sort of woman does that sort of thing she is contemptible.”
He lowered his eyes again, and went on reading the letter.
“I was obliged to postpone the original date,” continued his correspondent, “but I have quite fixed now that the bazaar shall be held at our new lovely place on the 24th. You, I know, will not disappoint me. You will be sure to be present. I hope to clear a large sum for the Home for Incurables at Watleigh. Have you heard how badly that poor dear charity needs funds just now? If you hesitate for a moment to come and help, just cast a thought on the poor sufferers there, the children, who will never know the blessing of strength again. Think what it is to lighten the burden of their last days, and do not hesitate to lend your hand to so worthy a work. I have advertised you in the papers as our principal supporter and patron, and the sooner we see you at Silverbel the better.“With kind regards, I remain,“Yours sincerely,“Mildred Ogilvie.“P.S.—By the way, have you heard that our dear little Sibyl has met with rather a nasty accident? She fell off that pony you gave her. I must be frank, Lord Grayleigh, and say that I never did approve of the child’s riding, particularly in her father’sabsence. She had a very bad tumble, and hurt her back, and has since been confined to her couch. I have had the best advice, and the doctors have been very silly and gloomy in their reports. Now, for my part, I have not the slightest faith in doctors, they are just as often proved wrong as right. The child is getting much better, but she is still, of course, confined to her bed. She would send you her love if she knew I was writing.”
“I was obliged to postpone the original date,” continued his correspondent, “but I have quite fixed now that the bazaar shall be held at our new lovely place on the 24th. You, I know, will not disappoint me. You will be sure to be present. I hope to clear a large sum for the Home for Incurables at Watleigh. Have you heard how badly that poor dear charity needs funds just now? If you hesitate for a moment to come and help, just cast a thought on the poor sufferers there, the children, who will never know the blessing of strength again. Think what it is to lighten the burden of their last days, and do not hesitate to lend your hand to so worthy a work. I have advertised you in the papers as our principal supporter and patron, and the sooner we see you at Silverbel the better.
“With kind regards, I remain,“Yours sincerely,“Mildred Ogilvie.
“P.S.—By the way, have you heard that our dear little Sibyl has met with rather a nasty accident? She fell off that pony you gave her. I must be frank, Lord Grayleigh, and say that I never did approve of the child’s riding, particularly in her father’sabsence. She had a very bad tumble, and hurt her back, and has since been confined to her couch. I have had the best advice, and the doctors have been very silly and gloomy in their reports. Now, for my part, I have not the slightest faith in doctors, they are just as often proved wrong as right. The child is getting much better, but she is still, of course, confined to her bed. She would send you her love if she knew I was writing.”
Lord Grayleigh let this letter drop on to the table beside him. He sat quite still for a moment, then he lit a cigarette and began to pace the room. After a pause he took up Mrs. Ogilvie’s letter and re-read the postscript.
After having read it a second time he rang his bell sharply. A servant appeared.
“I am going to town by the next train; have the trap round,” was Grayleigh’s direction.
He did go to town by the next train, his children seeing him off.
“Where are you going, father?” called out Freda. “You promised you would take us for a long, long drive this afternoon. Oh, this is disappointing. Are you coming back at all to-night?”
“I don’t think so, Freda. By the way, have youheard that your little friend Sibyl has met with an accident?”
“Has she?” replied Freda. “I am very sorry. I like Sibyl very much.”
“So do I!” said Gus, coming up, “she’s the best sort of girl I ever came across, not like an ordinary girl—quite plucky, you know. What sort of accident did she have, father?”
“I don’t know; I am going to see. I am afraid it has something to do with the pony I gave her. Well, good-by, youngsters; if I don’t return by the last train to-night, I’ll be back early to-morrow, and we can have our drive then.”
Lord Grayleigh drove at once to Victoria Station, and took the next train to Richmond. It was a two-mile drive from there to Silverbel. He arrived at Silverbel between five and six in the afternoon. Mrs. Ogilvie was pacing about her garden, talking to two ladies who had come to call on her. When she saw Lord Grayleigh driving up the avenue, she uttered a cry of delight, apologized to her friends, and ran to meet him—both her hands extended.
“How good of you, how more than good of you,” she said. “This is just what I might have expected from you, Lord Grayleigh. You received my letter and you have come to answer it in person.”
“I have come, as you say, to answer it in person. How is Sibyl?”
“Oh, better. I mean she is about the same, but she really is going on very nicely. She does not suffer the slightest pain,and——”
“Can I see her?”
“Of course you can. I will take you to her. Dear little thing, she will be quite delighted, you are a prime favorite of hers. But first, what about the bazaar? Ah, naughty man! you need not think you are going to get out of it, for you are, as Sibyl says, one of the big-wigs. We cannot do without big-wigs at our bazaar.”
“Well, Mrs. Ogilvie, I will come if I can. I cannot distinctly promise at the present moment, for I may possibly have to go to Scotland; but the chances are that I shall be at Grayleigh Manor, and if so I can come.”
Mrs. Ogilvie was walking with Lord Grayleigh down one of the corridors which led to the Chamber of Peace while this conversation was going on. As he uttered the last words she flung open the door.
“One of the big-wigs, Sibyl, come to see you,” she said, in a playful voice.
Lord Grayleigh saw a white little face with very blue eyes turned eagerly in his direction. He did not know why, but as he looked at the child somethingclutched at his heart with a strange fear. He turned to Mrs. Ogilvie and said,
“Rest assured that I will come.” He then went over, bent toward Sibyl and took her little white hand.
“I am sorry to see you like this,” he said. “What has happened to you, my little girl?”
“Oh, nothing much,” answered Sibyl, “I just had a fall, but I am quite all right now and I am awfully happy. Did you really come to see me? It is good of you. May I talk to Lord Grayleigh all by myself, mother darling?”
“Certainly, dear. Lord Grayleigh, you cannot imagine how we spoil this little woman now that she is lying on her back. I suppose it is because she is so good and patient. She never murmurs, and she enjoys herself vastly. Is not this a pretty room?”
“Beautiful,” replied Lord Grayleigh, in an abstracted tone. He sank into a chair near the window, and glanced out at the smoothly kept lawn, at the flower-beds with their gay colors, and at the silver Thames flowing rapidly by. Then he looked again at the child. The child’s grave eyes were fixed on his face; there was a faint smile round the lips but the eyes were very solemn.
“I will come back again, presently,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “By the way, Sib darling, Lord Grayleighis coming to our bazaar, the bazaar for which you are dressing dolls.”
“Nursie is dressing them,” replied Sibyl in a weak voice—the mother did not notice how weak it was, but Lord Grayleigh did. “It somehow tires me to work. I ’spect I’m not very strong, but I’ll be better perhaps to-morrow. Nursie is dressing them, and they are quite beautiful.”
“Well, I’ll come back soon; you mustn’t tire her, Lord Grayleigh, and you and I have a great deal to talk over when you do come downstairs.”
“I must return to town by the next train,” said Lord Grayleigh; but Mrs. Ogilvie did not hear him. She went quickly away to join the friends who were waiting for her in the sunny garden.
“Lord Grayleigh has come,” she said. “He is quite devoted to Sibyl; he is sitting with her for a few minutes; the child worships him. Afterward he and I must have a rather business-like conversation.”
“Then we will go, dear Mrs. Ogilvie,” said both ladies.
“Thank you, dear friends; I hope you don’t think I am sending you away, but it is always my custom to speak plainly. Lord Grayleigh will be our principal patron at the bazaar, and naturally I have much to consult him about. I will drive over to-morrowto see you, Mrs. Le Strange, and we can discuss still further the sort of stall you will have.”
The ladies took their leave, and Mrs. Ogilvie paced up and down in front of the house. She was restless, and presently a slight sense of disappointment stole over her, for Lord Grayleigh was staying an unconscionably long time in Sibyl’s room.
Sibyl and he were having what he said afterward was quite a straight talk.
“I am so glad you have come,” said the little girl; “there are some things you can tell me that no one else can. Have you heard from father lately?”
“I had a cablegram from him not long ago.”
“What’s that?”
“The same as a telegram; a cablegram is a message that comes across the sea.”
“I understand,” said Sibyl. She thought of her pretty fancy of the phantom ships that took her night after night to the breast of her father.
“What are you thinking about?” said Lord Grayleigh.
“Oh, about father, of course. When he sent you that message did he tell you there was much gold in the mine?”
“My dear child,” said Lord Grayleigh, “what do you know about it?”
“I know all about it,” answered Sybil. “I am deeply interested, deeply.”
“Well, my dear little girl, to judge from your father’s message, the mine is full of gold, quite full.”
“Up to the tip top?”
“Yes, you can express it in that way if you like, up to the tip top and down, nobody knows how deep, full of beautiful yellow gold, but don’t let us talk of these things any more. Tell me how you really fell, and what that naughty pony did to you.”
“You must not scold my darling nameless pony, it was not his fault a bit,” said Sibyl. She turned first red and then whiter than usual.
“Do you greatly mind if Idon’ttalk about it?” she asked in a voice of sweet apology. “It makes mefeel——”
“How, dear?”
“I don’t know, only I get the up and down and round and round feel. It was the feel I had when pony sprang; he seemed to spring into the air, and I fell and fell and fell. I don’t like to get the feel back, it is so very round and round, you know.”
“We won’t talk of it,” said Lord Grayleigh; “what shall I do to amuse you?”
“Tell me more about father and the mine full of gold.”
“I have only just had the one cablegram, Sib, inwhich he merely stated that the news with regard to the mine was good.”
“I am delighted,” said Sibyl. “It’s awfully good of Lord Jesus. Do you know that I have been asking Lord Jesus to pile up the gold in the mine. He can do anything, you know, and He has done it, you see. Isn’t it sweet and dear of Him? Oh, you don’t know all He has done for me! Don’t you love Him very much indeed, Lord Grayleigh?”
“Who, Sibyl?”
“My Lord Jesus Christ, my beautiful Lord Jesus Christ.”
Lord Grayleigh bent and picked up a book which had fallen on the carpet. He turned the conversation. The child’s eyes, very grave and very blue, watched him. She did not say anything further, but she seemed to read the thought he wished to hide. He stood up, then he sat down again. Sibyl had that innate tact which is born in some natures, and always knew where to pause in her probings and questionings.
“Now,” she continued, after a pause, “dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman will be rich.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Holman,” said Lord Grayleigh; “who are they?”
“They are my very own most special friends. They keep a toy-shop in Greek Street, a back streetnear our house. Mrs. Holman is going to buy a lot of gold out of the mine. I’ll send her a letter to tell her that she can buy it quick. You’ll be sure to keep some of the gold for Mrs. Holman, she is a dear old woman. You’ll be quite sure to remember her?”
“Quite sure, Sibyl.”
“Hadn’t you better make a note of it? Father always makes notes when he wants to remember things. Have you got a note-book?”
“In my pocket.”
“Please take it out and put down about Mrs. Holman and the gold out of the mine.”
Lord Grayleigh produced a small note-book.
“What do you wish me to say?” he inquired.
“Put it this way,” said Sibyl eagerly, “then you won’t forget. Some of the gold inthe——”
“Lombard Deeps Mine,” supplied Lord Grayleigh.
“Some of the gold in the Lombard Deeps Mine,” repeated Sibyl, “to be kept special for dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman. Did you put that? Did you putdearMr. and Mrs. Holman?”
“Just exactly as you have worded it, Sibyl.”
“Her address is number ten, Greek Street, Pimlico.”
The address being further added, Sibyl gave a sigh of satisfaction.
“That is nice,” she said, “that will make themhappy. Mrs. Holman has cried so often because of the dusty toys, and ’cos the children won’t come to her shop to buy. Some children are very mean; I don’t like some children a bit.”
“I am glad you’re pleased about the Holmans, little woman.”
“Of course I am, and aren’t you. Don’t you like to make people happy?”
Again Lord Grayleigh moved restlessly.
“Have you any other notes for this book?” he said.
“Of course I have. There’s the one who wants to marry the other one. I’m under a vow not to mention names, but they want to marrysobadly, and they will in double quick time if there’s gold in the mine. Will you put in your note-book ‘Gold to be kept for the one who wants to marry the other,’ will you, Lord Grayleigh?”
“I have entered it,” said Lord Grayleigh, suppressing a smile.
“And mother, of course,” continued Sibyl, “wants lots of money, and there’s my nurse, her eyes are failing, she would like enough gold to keep her from mending stockings or doing any more fine darning, and I’d like Watson to have some. Do you know, Lord Grayleigh, that Watson is engaged to be married? He is really, truly.”
“I am afraid, Sibyl, I do not know who Watson is.”
“Don’t you? How funny; he is our footman. I’m awfully fond of him. He is full of the best impulses, is Watson, and he is engaged to a very nice girl in the cookery line. Don’t you think it’s very sensible of Watson to engage himself to a girl in the cookery line?”
“I think it is thoroughly sensible, but now I must really go.”
“But you won’t forget all the messages? You have put them all down in your note-book. You won’t forget any of the people who want gold out of the Lombard Deeps?”
“No, I’ll be certain to remember every single one of them.”
“Then that’s all right, and you’ll come to darling mother’s bazaar?”
“I’ll come.”
“I am so glad. You do make me happy. I like big-wigs awfully.”
A few days before the bazaar Lady Helen Douglas arrived at Silverbel. She had returned from Scotland on purpose. A letter from Lord Grayleigh induced her to do so. He wrote to Lady Helen immediately after seeing Sibyl.
“I don’t like the child’s look,” he wrote; “I have not the least idea what the doctors have said of her, but when I spoke on the subject to her mother, she shirked it. There is not the least doubt that Mrs. Ogilvie can never see a quarter of an inch beyond her own selfish fancies. It strikes me very forcibly that the child is in a precarious state. I can never forgive myself, for she met with the accident on the pony I gave her. She likes you; go to her if you can.”
It so happened that by the very same post there had come an urgent appeal from Mrs. Ogilvie.
“If you cannot come to the bazaar,” she wrote to Lady Helen, “it will be a failure. Come you must. Your presence is essential, because you are pretty and well born, and you will also act as a lure to another person who can help me in various ways. I, of course, allude to our mutual friend, Jim Rochester.”
Now Lady Helen, even with the attraction of seeing Mr. Rochester so soon again, would not have put off a series of visits which she was about to make, had not Lord Grayleigh’s letter decided her. She therefore arrived at Silverbel on the 22d of September, and was quickly conducted to Sibyl’s room. She had not seen Sibyl for a couple of months. When last they had met, the child had been radiant with health and spirits. She was radiant still, but that quick impulsive life had been toned down to utter quiet. The lower part of the little body was paralyzed, the paralysis was creeping gradually up and up. It was but a question of time for the loving little heart to be still for ever.
Sibyl cried with delight when she saw Lady Helen.
“Such a lot of big-wigs are coming to-morrow,” she said, “but Lord Grayleigh does not come until the day of the bazaar, so you are quite the first. You’ll come and see me very, very often, won’t you?”
“Of course I will, Sibyl. The fact is I have come on purpose to see you. I should not have come to the bazaar but for you. Lord Grayleigh wrote to me and said you were not well, and he thought you loved me, little Sib, and that it would cheer you up to see me.”
“Oh, you are sweet,” answered the child, “and I do, indeed I do love you. But you ought to have come for the bazaar as well as for me. It is darling mother’s splendid work of charity. She wants to help a lot of little sick children and sick grown up people: isn’t it dear of her?”
“Well, I am interested in the bazaar,” said Lady Helen, ignoring the subject of Mrs. Ogilvie’s noble action.
“It is so inciting all about it,” continued the little girl, “and I can see the marquee quite splendidly from here, and mother flitting about. Isn’t mother pretty, isn’t she quite sweet? She is going to have the most lovely dress for the bazaar, a sort of silvery white; she will look like an angel—but then she is an angel, isn’t she, Lady Helen?”
Lady Helen bent and kissed Sibyl on her soft forehead. “You must not talk too much and tire yourself,” she said; “let me talk to you. I have plenty of nice things to say.”
“Stories?” said Sibyl.
“Yes, I will tell you stories.”
“Thank you; I do love ’em. Did you ever tell them to Mr. Rochester?”
“I have not seen him lately.”
“You’ll be married to him soon, I know you will.”
“We need not talk about that now, need we? I want to do something to amuse you.”
“It’s odd how weak my voice has grown,” said Sibyl, with a laugh. “Mother says I am getting better, and perhaps I am, only somehow I do feel weak. Do you know, mother wanted me to dress dolls for her, but I couldn’t. Nursie did ’em. There’s one big beautiful doll with wings; Nurse made the wings, but she can’t put them on right; will you put them on proper, Lady Helen?”
“I should like to,” replied Lady Helen; “I have a natural aptitude for dressing dolls.”
“The big doll with the wings is in that box over there. Take it out and sit down by the sofa so that I can see you, and put the wings on properly. There’s plenty of white gauze and wire. I want you to make the doll as like an angel as you can.”
Lady Helen commenced her pretty work. Sibyl watched her, not caring to talk much now, for Lady Helen seemed too busy to answer.
“It rests me to have you in the room,” said the child, “you are like this room. Do you know Miss Winstead has given it such a funny name.”
“What is that, Sibyl?”
“She calls it the Chamber of Peace—isn’t it sweet of her?”
“The name is a beautiful one, and so is the room,” answered Lady Helen.
“I do wish Mr. Rochester was here,” was Sibyl’s next remark.
“He will come to the bazaar, dear.”
“And then, perhaps, I’ll see him. I want to see him soon, I have something I’d like to say.”
“What, darling?”
“Something to you and to him. I want you both to be happy. I’m tremendous anxious that you should both be happy, and I think—I wouldn’t like to say it to mother, for perhaps it will hurt her, but I do fancy that, perhaps, I’m going to have wings, too, not like dolly’s, but real ones, and if I have them Imight——”
“What, darling?”
“Fly away to my beautiful Lord Jesus. You don’t know how I want to be close to Him. I used to think that if I got into father’s heart I should be quite satisfied, but even that, even that is not like being in the heart of Jesus. If my wings come I must go, Lady Helen. It will be lovely to fly up, won’t it, for perhaps some day I might get tired of lying always flat on my back. Mother doesn’t know, darling mother doesn’t guess, and I wouldn’t tell her for all the wide world, for she thinks I’m going to get quite well again, but one night, when shethought I was asleep, I heard Nursie say to Miss Winstead, ‘Poor lamb, she’ll soon want to run about again, but she never can, never.’ I shouldn’t like to be always lying down flat, should you, Lady Helen?”
“No, darling, I don’t think I should.”
“Well, there it is, you see, you wouldn’t like it either. Of course I want to see father again, but whatever happens he’ll understand. Only if my wings come I must fly off, and I want everyone to be happy before I go.”
Lady Helen had great difficulty in keeping back her tears, for Sibyl spoke in a perfectly calm, contented, almost matter-of-fact voice which brought intense conviction with it.
“So you must marry Mr. Rochester,” she continued, “for you both love each other so very much.”
“That is quite true,” replied Lady Helen.
Sibyl looked at her with dilated, smiling eyes. “The Lombard Deeps Mine is full to the brim with gold,” she said, in an excited voice. “I know—Lord Grayleigh told me. He has it all wrote down in his pocket-book, and you and Mr. Rochester are to have your share. When you are both very, very happy you’ll think of me, won’t you?”
“I can never forget you, my dear little girl. Kiss me, now—see! the angel doll is finished.”
“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” said the child, her attention immediately distracted by this new interest. “Do take it down to mother. She’s dressing the stall where the dolls are to be sold; ask her to put the angel doll at the head of all the other dolls. Take it to mother now. I can watch from my window—do go at once.”
Lady Helen was glad of an excuse to leave the room. When she got into the corridor outside she stopped for a moment, put her handkerchief to her eyes, made a struggle to subdue her emotion, and then ran downstairs.
The great marquee was already erected on the lawn, and many of the stall-holders were arranging their stalls and giving directions to different workmen. Mrs. Ogilvie was flitting eagerly about. She was in the highest spirits, and looked young and charming.
“Sibyl sent you this,” said Lady Helen.
Mrs. Ogilvie glanced for a moment at the angel doll.
“Oh, lay it down anywhere, please,” she said in a negative tone. But Lady Helen thought of the sweet blue eyes looking down on this scene from the Chamber of Peace. She was not going to put the angel doll down anywhere.
“Please, Mrs. Ogilvie,” she said, “you must takean interest in it.” There was something in her tone which arrested even Mrs. Ogilvie’s attention.
“You must take a great interest in this doll,” she continued. “Little Sibyl thinks so much of it. Forgive me, Mrs. Ogilvie,I——”
“Oh, what is it now,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “what can be the matter? Really everyone who goes near Sibyl acts in the most extraordinary way.” She looked petulantly, as she spoke, into Lady Helen’s agitated face.
“I cannot help thinking much of Sibyl,” continued Lady Helen, “and I am very—more than anxious about her. I am terribly grieved, for—Ithink——”
“You think what? Oh, please don’t begin to be gloomy now. You have only seen Sibyl for the first time since her accident. She is very much better than she was at first. You cannot expect her to look quite well all of a sudden.”
“But have you had the very best advice for her?”
“I should rather think so. We had Sir Henry Powell down twice. Everything has been done that could be done. It is merely a question of time and rest. Time and rest will effect a perfect cure; at least, that is my opinion.”
“But what is Sir Henry Powell’s opinion?”
“Don’t ask me. I don’t believe in doctors. Thechild is getting better, I see it with my own eyes. It is merely a question of time.”
“Sibyl is getting well, but not in the way you think,” replied Lady Helen. She said the words with significance, and Mrs. Ogilvie felt her heart throb for a moment with a sudden wild pain, but the next instant she laughed.
“I never knew anyone so gloomy,” she said, “and you come to me with your queer remarks just when I am distracted about the great bazaar. I am almost sorry I asked you here, Lady Helen.”
“Well, at least take the doll—the child is looking at you,” said Lady Helen. “Kiss your hand to her; look pleased even if you are not interested, and give me a promise, that I may take to her, that the angel doll shall stand at the head of the doll stall. The child wishes it; do not deny her wishes now.”
“Oh, take her any message you like, only leave me, please, for the present. Ah, there she is, little darling.” Mrs. Ogilvie took the angel doll in her hand, and blew a couple of kisses to Sibyl. Sibyl smiled down at her from the Chamber of Peace. Very soon afterward Lady Helen returned to her little friend.
It was on the first day of the bazaar when all the big-wigs had arrived, when the fun was at its height, when the bands were playing merrily, andthe little pleasure skiffs were floating up and down the shining waters of the Thames, when flocks of visitors from all the neighborhood round were crowding in and out of the marquee, and people were talking and laughing merrily, and Mrs. Ogilvie in her silvery white dress was looking more beautiful than she had ever looked before in her life, that a tired, old-looking man appeared on the scene.
Mrs. Ogilvie half expected that her husband would come back on the day of the bazaar, for if theSaharakept to her dates she would make her appearance in the Tilbury Docks in the early morning of that day. Mrs. Ogilvie hoped that her husband would get off, and take a quick train to Richmond, and arrive in time for her to have a nice straight talk with him, and explain to him about Sibyl’s accident, and tell him what was expected of him. She was anxious to see him before anyone else did, for those who went in and out of the child’s room were so blind, so persistent in their fears with regard to the little girl’s ultimate recovery; if Mrs. Ogilvie could only get Philip to herself, she would assure him that the instincts of motherhood never really failed, that her own instincts assured her that the great doctors were wrong, and she herself was right. The child was slowly but gradually returning to the paths of health and strength.
If only Ogilvie came back in good time his wife would explain these matters to him, and tell him not to make a fool of himself about the child, and beg of him to help her in this great, this auspicious occasion of her life.
“He will look very nice when he is dressed in his, best,” she said to herself. “It will complete my success in the county if I have him standing by my side at the door of the marquee to receive our distinguished guests.”
As this thought came her eyes sparkled, and she got her maid to dress her in the most becoming way, and she further reflected that when they had a moment to be alone the husband and wife could talk of the wonderful golden treasures which Ogilvie was bringing back with him from the other side of the world. Perhaps he had thought much of her, his dear Mildred, while he had been away.
“Men of that sort often think much more of their wives when they are parted from them,” she remembered. “I have read stories to that effect. I dare say Philip is as much in love with me as he ever was. He used to be devoted to me when first we were married. There was nothing good enough for me then. Perhaps he has brought me back some jewels of greater value than I possess; I will gladly wear them for his sake.”
But notwithstanding all her dreams and thoughts of her husband, Ogilvie did not come back to his loving wife in the early hours of the first day of the bazaar. Neither was there any message or telegram from him. In spite of herself, Mrs. Ogilvie now grew a little fretful.
“As he has not come in time to receive our guests, if I knew where to telegraph, I would wire to him not to come now until the evening,” she thought. But she did not know where to telegraph, and the numerous duties of the bazaar occupied each moment of her time.
According to his promise Lord Grayleigh was present, and there were other titled people walking about the grounds, and Lady Helen as a stall-holder was invaluable.
Sibyl had asked to have her white couch drawn nearer than ever to the window, and from time to time she peeped out and saw the guests flitting about the lawns and thought of her mother’s great happiness and wonderful goodness. The band played ravishing music, mostly dance music, and the day, although it was late in the season, was such a perfect one that the feet of the buyers and sellers alike almost kept time to the festive strains.
It was on this scene that Ogilvie appeared. During his voyage home he had gone through almostevery imaginable torture, and, as he reached Silverbel, he felt that the limit of his patience was almost reached. He knew, because she had sent him a cable to that effect, that his wife was staying in a country place, a place on the banks of the Thames. She had told him further that the nearest station to Silverbel was Richmond. Accordingly he had gone to Richmond, jumped into the first cab he could find, and desired the man to drive to Silverbel.
“You know the place, I presume?” he said.
“Silverbel, sir, certainly sir; it is there they are having the big bazaar.”
As the man spoke he looked askance for a moment at the occupant of his cab, for Ogilvie was travel-stained and dusty. He looked like one in a terrible hurry. There was an expression in his gray eyes which the driver did not care to meet.
“Go as fast as you can,” he said briefly, and then the man whipped up his horse and proceeded over the dusty roads.
“A rum visitor,” he thought; “wonder what he’s coming for. Don’t look the sort that that fine young lady would put up with on a day like this.”
Ogilvie within the cab, however, saw nothing. He was only conscious of the fact that he was drawing nearer and nearer to the house where his little daughter—but did his little daughter still live? WasSibyl alive? That was the thought of all thoughts, the desire of all desires, which must soon be answered yea or nay.
When the tired-out and stricken man heard the strains of the band, he did rouse himself, however, and began dimly to wonder if, after all, he had come to the wrong house. Were there two houses called Silverbel, and had the man taken him to the wrong one? He pulled up the cab to inquire.
“No, sir,” replied the driver, “it’s all right. There ain’t but one place named Silverbel here, and this is the place, sir. The lady is giving a big bazaar and her name is Mrs. Ogilvie.”
“Then Sibyl must have got well again,” thought Ogilvie to himself. And just for an instant the heavy weight at his breast seemed to lift. He paid his fare, told the man to take his luggage round to the back entrance, and jumped out of the cab.
The man obeyed him, and Ogilvie, just as he was, stepped across the lawn. He had the air of one who was neither a visitor nor yet a stranger. He walked with quick, short strides straight before him and presently he came full upon his wife in her silvery dress. A large white hat trimmed with pink roses reposed on her head. There were nature’s own pink roses on her cheeks and smiles in her eyes.
“Oh, Phil!” she cried, with a little start. Shewas quite clever enough to hide her secret dismay at his arriving thus, and at such a moment. She dropped some things she was carrying and ran toward him with her pretty hands outstretched.
“Why, Phil!” she said again. “Oh, you naughty man, so you have come back. But why didn’t you send me a telegram?”
“I had not time, Mildred; I thought my own presence was best. How is the child?”
“Oh, much the same—I mean she is going on quite,quitenicely.”
“And what is this?”
Ogilvie motioned with his hand as he spoke in the direction of the crowd of people, the marquee, and the band. The music of the band seemed to get on his brain and hurt him.
“What is all this?” he repeated.
“My dear Phil, my dear unpractical husband, this is a bazaar! Have you never heard of a bazaar before? A bazaar for the Cottage Hospital at Watleigh, the Home for Incurables; such a useful charity, Phil, and so much needed. The poor things are wanting funds dreadfully; they have got into debt, and something must be done to relieve them Think of all the dear little children in those wards, Phil; the Sisters have been obliged to refuse several cases lately. It is most pathetic, isn’t it? Oh, bythe way, Lord Grayleigh is here; you will be glad to see him?”
“Presently, not now. How did you say Sibyl was?”
“I told you a moment ago. You can go and see her when you have changed your things. I wish you would go away at once to your room and get into some other clothes. There are no end of people you ought to meet. How strange you look, Phil.”
“I want to know more of Sibyl.” Here the husband caught the wife’s dainty wrist and drew her a little aside. “No matter about other things at present,” he said sternly. “How is Sibyl? Remember, I have heard no particulars; I have heard nothing since I got your cable. How is she? Is there much the matter?”
“Well, I really don’t think there is, but perhaps Lady Helen will tell you. Shall I send her to you? I really am so busy just now. You know I am selling, myself, at the principal stall. Oh, do go into the house, you naughty dear; do go to your own room and change your things! I expected you early this morning, and Watson has put out some of your wardrobe. Watson will attend on you if you will ring for him. You will find there is a special dressing room for you on the first floor. Go, dear, do.”
But Ogilvie now hold both her hands. His ownwere not too clean; they were soiled by the dust of his rapid journey. He gripped her wrists tightly.
“Whereis the child?” he repeated again.
“Don’t look at me like that, you quite frighten me. The child, she is in her room; she is going on nicely.”
“But is she injured? Can she walk?”
“What could you expect? She cannot walk yet, but she is getting better gradually—at least, I think so.”
“What you think is nothing, less than nothing. What do the doctors say?”
As Ogilvie was speaking he drew his wife gradually but surely away from the fashionably dressed people and the big-wigs who were too polite to stare, but who were all the time devoured with curiosity. It began to be whispered in the crowd that Ogilvie had returned, and that his wife and he were looking at certain matters from different points of view. There were several men and women present, who, although they encouraged Mrs. Ogilvie to have the bazaar, nevertheless thought her a heartless woman, and these people now were rather rejoicing in Ogilvie’s attitude. He did not look like a person who could be trifled with. He drew his wife toward the shrubbery.
“I will see the child in a minute,” he said; “nothingelse matters. She is ill, unable to walk, lying down. I want to hear full particulars. If you will not tell them to me, I will send for the doctor. The question I wish answered is this,what do the doctors say?”
Tears filled Mrs. Ogilvie’s pretty, dark eyes.
“Really, Phil, you are too cruel. After these weeks of anxiety, which only a mother can understand, you speak to me in that tone, just as if the dear little creature were nothing to me at all.”
“You can cry, Mildred, as much as you please, and you can talk all the sentimental stuff that best appeals to you, but answer my question now. What do the doctors say, and what doctors has she seen?”
“The local doctor here, our own special doctor in town, and the great specialist, Sir Henry Powell.”
“Good God, that man!” said Ogilvie, starting back. “Then she must have been badly hurt?”
“She was badly hurt.”
“Well, what did the doctors say? Give me their verdict. I insist upon knowing.”
“They—they—of course, they are wrong, Phil. You are hurting me; I wish you would not hold my hands so tightly.”
“Speak!” was his only response.
“They said at the time—of course they were mistaken, doctors often are. You cannot imagine howmany diagnoses of theirs have been proved to be wrong. Yes, I learned that queer word; I did not understand it at first. Now I know all about it.”
“Speak!” This one expression came from Ogilvie’s lips almost with a hiss.
“Well, they said at the time that—oh, Phil, you kill me when you look at me like that! They said the casewas——”
“Hopeless?” asked the man between his white lips.
“They certainlysaidit. But, Phil; oh, Phil, dear, they are wrong!”
He let her hands go with a sudden jerk. She almost fell.
“You knew it, and you could have that going on?” he said. “Go back to your bazaar.”
“I certainly will. I think you are terribly unkind.”
“You can have those people here, and that band playing, when you knowthat? Well, if such scenes give you pleasure at such a time, go and enjoy them.”
He strode into the house. She looked after his retreating figure; then she took out her daintily laced handkerchief, applied it to her eyes, and went back to her duties.
“I am a martyr in a good cause,” she said to herself; “but it is bitterly hard when one’s husband does not understand one.”
This was better than the phantom ship. This was peace, joy, and absolute delight. Sibyl need not now only lie in her father’s arms at night and in her dreams. She could look into his face and hear his voice and touch his hand at all hours, day and night.
Her gladness was so real and beautiful that it pervaded the entire room, and in her presence Ogilvie scarcely felt pain. He held her little hand and sat by her side, and at times when she was utterly weary he even managed to raise her in his arms and pace the room with her, and lay her back again on her bed without hurting her, and he talked cheerfully in her presence, and smiled and even joked with her, and they were gay together with a sort of tender gaiety which had never been theirs in the old times. At night, especially, he was her best comforter and her kindest and most tender nurse.
For the first two days after his return Ogilvie scarcely left Sibyl. During all that time he asked no questions of outsiders. He did not even inquire for the doctor’s verdict. Where was the good of asking a question which could only receive one answer?The look on the child’s face was answer enough to her father.
Meanwhile, outside in the grounds, the bazaar went on. The marquee was full of guests, the band played cheerily, the notable people from all the country round arrived in carriages, and bought the pretty things from the different stall-holders and went away again.
The weather was balmy, soft and warm, and the little skiffs with their gay flags did a large trade on the river. Lord Grayleigh was one of the guests, returning to town, it is true, at night, but coming back again early in the morning. He heard that Ogilvie had returned and was naturally anxious to see him, but Ogilvie sent word that he could not see anyone just then. Grayleigh understood. He shook his head when Mrs. Ogilvie herself brought him the message.
“This cuts him to the heart,” he said; “I doubt if he will ever be the same man again.”
“Oh, Lord Grayleigh, what nonsense!” said the wife. “My dear husband was always eccentric, but as Sibyl recovers so will he recover his equanimity. It is a great shock to him, of course, to see her as she is now, dear little soul. But I cannot tell you how bad I was at first; indeed, I was in bed for nearly a week. I had a sort of nervous attack—nervous fever,the doctor said. But I got over it. I know now so assuredly that the darling child is getting well that I am never unhappy about her. Philip will be just the same by-and-by.”
Grayleigh made no reply. He gave Mrs. Ogilvie one of his queer glances, turned on his heel and whistled softly to himself. He muttered under his breath that some women were poor creatures, and he was sorry for Ogilvie, yes, very sorry.
Grayleigh was also anxious with regard to another matter, but that anxiety he managed so effectually to smother that he would not even allow himself tothinkthat it had any part in Ogilvie’s curious unwillingness to see him.
At this time it is doubtful whether Ogilvie did refuse to see Grayleigh in any way on account of the mine, for during those two days he had eyes, ears, thoughts, and heart for no one but Sibyl. When anyone else entered her room he invariably went out, but he quickly returned, smiling as he did so, and generally carrying in his hand some treasure which he had brought for her across the seas. He would then draw his chair near the little, white bed and talk to her in light and cheerful strains, telling her wonderful things he had seen during his voyage, of the sunsets at sea, of a marvelous rainbow which once spanned the sky from east to west, and of manycurious mirages which he had witnessed. He always talked to the child of nature, knowing how she understood nature, and those things which are the special heritage of the innocent of the earth, and she was as happy during those two peaceful days as it was ever the lot of little mortal to be.
But, in particular, when Mrs. Ogilvie entered the sick room did Ogilvie go out. He had during those two days not a single word of private talk with his wife. To Miss Winstead he was always polite and tolerant; to nurse he was more than polite, he was kind, and to Sibyl he was all in all, everything that father could be, everything that love could imagine. He kept himself, his wounded conscience, his fears, his heavy burden of sin in abeyance for the sake of the fast-fleeting little life, because he willed, with all the strength of his nature, to give the child every comfort that lay in his power during her last moments.
But the peaceful days could not last long. They came to an end with the big bazaar. The band ceased to play on the lawn, the pleasure boats ceased to ply up and down the Thames, the lovely Indian summer passed into duller weather, the equinoctial gales visited the land, and Ogilvie knew that he must brace himself for something he had long made up his mind to accomplish. He must pass out ofthis time of quiet into a time of storm. He had known from the first that he must do this, but until the bazaar came to an end, by a sort of tacit consent, neither the child nor the man talked of the gold mine.
But now the guests having gone, even Lady Helen Douglas and Lord Grayleigh having left the house, Ogilvie knew that he must act.
On the morning of the third day after his return Mrs. Ogilvie entered Sibyl’s room. She came in quietly looking pale and at the same time jubilant. The result of the bazaar was a large check which was to be sent off that day to the Home for Incurables at Watleigh. Mrs. Ogilvie felt herself a very good and charitable woman indeed. She wore her very prettiest dress and had smiles in her dark eyes.
“Oh! my ownest darling mother, how sweet you look!” said little Sibyl. “Come and kiss me, darling mother.”
Mrs. Ogilvie had to bend forward to catch the failing voice. She asked the child what she said. Sibyl feebly repeated her words.
“Don’t tire her,” said Ogilvie; “if you cannot hear, be satisfied to guess. The child wishes you to kiss her.”
Mrs. Ogilvie turned on her husband a look of reproach. There was an expression in her eyes whichseemed to say: “And you think that I, a mother, do not understand my own child.” But Ogilvie would not meet his wife’s eyes. He walked to one of the windows and looked out. The little, white couch had been moved a trifle out of the window now that the weather was getting chilly, and a screen was put up to protect the child from any draught.
Ogilvie stood and looked across the garden. Where the marquee had stood the grass was already turning yellow, there were wisps of straw about; the scene without seemed to him to be full with desolation. Suddenly he turned, walked to the fireplace, and stirred the fire into a blaze. At that moment Miss Winstead entered the room.
“Miss Winstead,” said Ogilvie, “will you sit with Sibyl for a short time? Mildred, I should like a word with you alone.”
His voice was cheerful, but quite firm. He went up to Sibyl and kissed her.
“I shall soon be back, my little love,” he said, and she kissed him and smiled, and watched both parents as they went out of the room.
“Isn’t it wonderful,” she said, turning to her governess, “how perfect they both are! I don’t know which is most perfect; only, of course I can’t help it, but I like father’s way best.”
“I should think you did,” replied Miss Winstead.“Shall I go on reading you the new fairy tale, Sibyl?”
“Not to-day, thank you, Miss Winstead,” answered Sibyl.
“Then what shall I read?”
“I don’t think anything, just now. Father has been reading the most beautiful inciting things about a saint called John, who wrote a story about the New Jerusalem. Did you ever read it?”
“You mean a story out of the Bible, from the Book of Revelation?”
“Perhaps so; I don’t quite know what part of the Bible. Oh, it’s most wonderful inciting, and father reads so splendid. It’s about what happens to people when their wings are grown long. Did you never read about it, Miss Winstead? The New Jerusalemisso lovely, with streets paved with gold, same as the gold in the gold mine, you know, and gates all made of big pearls, each gate one big whole pearl. I won’t ask you to read about it, ’cos I like father’s way of reading best; but it’s all most wonderful and beautiful.”
The child lay with a smile on her face. She could see a little way across the garden from where she lay.
Meanwhile Ogilvie and his wife had gone downstairs. When they reached the wide central hall, heasked her to accompany him into a room which was meant to be a library. It looked out toward the back of the house, and was not quite in the same absolute order as the other beautiful rooms were in. Ogilvie perhaps chose it for that reason.
The moment they had both got into the room he closed the door, and turned and faced his wife.
“Now, Mildred,” he said, “I wish to understand—God knows I am the last person who ought to reproach you—but I must clearly understand what this means.”
“What it means?” she repeated. “Why do you speak in that tone? Oh, it’s very fine to say you do not mean to reproach me, but your eyes and the tone of your voice reproach me. You have been very cruel to me, Philip, these last two days. What I have suffered, God only knows. I have gone through the most fearful strain; I, alone, unaided by you, have had to keep the bazaar going, to entertain our distinguished guests, to be here, there, and everywhere, but, thank goodness, we did collect a nice little sum for the Home for Incurables. I wonder, Philip, when you think of your own dear little daughter, and what shemay——”
“Hush!” said the man.
Mrs. Ogilvie paused in her rapid flow of words, and looked at him with interrogation in her eyes.
“I refuse to allow Sibyl’s name to enter into this matter,” he said. “You did what you did, God knows with what motive. I don’t care, and I do not mean to inquire. The question I have now to ask is, what is the meaning ofthis?” As he spoke he waved his hand round the room, and then pointed to the grounds outside.
“Silverbel!” she cried; “but I wrote to you and told you the place was in the market. I even sent you a cablegram. Oh, of course, I forgot, you rushed away from Brisbane in a hurry. You received the other cablegram about little Sibyl?”
“Yes, I received the other cablegram, and, as you say, I rushed home. But why are you here? Have you taken the house for the season, or what?”
Mrs. Ogilvie gave an excited scream, ending off in a laugh.
“Why, we have bought Silverbel,” she cried; “you are, you must be pleased. Mr. Acland lent me enough money for the first deposit, and you have just come back in time, my dear Phil, to pay the final sum due at the end of October, eighteen thousand pounds. Quite a trifle compared to the fortune you must have brought back with you. Then, of course, there is also the furniture to be paid for, but the tradespeople are quite willing to wait. We are rich, dear Phil, and I am so happy about it.”
“Rich!” he answered. He did not say another word for a moment, then he went slowly up to his wife, and took her hand.
“Mildred,” he said slowly, “do you realize—do you at all realize the fact that the child is dying?”
“Nonsense,” she answered, starting back.
“The child is dying,” repeated Ogilvie, “and when the child dies, any motive that I ever had for amassing gold, or any of those things which are considered essential to the worldly man’s happiness,goes out. After the child is taken, I have no desire to live as a wealthy man, as a man of society, as a man of means. Life to me is reduced to the smallest possible modicum of interest. When I went to Queensland, I went there because I wished to secure money for the child. I did bitter wrong, and God is punishing me, but I sinned for her sake.... I now repent of my sin, and repentancemeans——”
“What?” she asked, looking at him with round, dilated eyes.
“Restitution,” he replied; “all the restitution that lies in my power.”
“You—you terrify me,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “what are you talking about? Restitution! What have you to give back?”
“Listen, and I will explain. You knew, Mildred—oh,yes, you knew it well enough—that I went to Australia on no honorable mission. You did not care to inquire, you hid yourself behind a veil of pretended ignorance; but youknew—yes, you did, and you dare not deny it—that I went to Queensland to commit a crime. It would implicate others if I were to explain things more fully. I will not implicate others, I will stand alone now, in this bitter moment when the fruit of my sin is brought home to me. I will bear the responsibility of my own sin. I will not drag anybody else down in my fall, but it is sufficient for you to know, Mildred, that the Lombard Deeps Mine as a speculation is worthless.”
“Worthless!” she cried, “impossible!”
“Worthless,” he repeated.
“Then why, why did you send a cablegram to say the mine was full of gold? Lord Grayleigh told me he had received such a message from you.”
“I told a dastardly lie, which I am about to put straight.”
“But, but,” she began, her lips white, her eyes shining, “if you do not explain away your lie (oh, Phil, it is such an ugly word), if you do not explain it away, could not the company be floated?”
“It could, and the directors could reap a fortune by means of it. Do you understand, Mildred, what that implies?”
“Do I understand?” she replied. “No, I was always a poor little woman who had no head for figures.”
“Nevertheless you will, I think, take it in when I explain. You are not quite so stupid as you make yourself out. The directors and I could make a fortune—it would be easy, for there is enough gold in the mine to last for at least six months, and the public are credulous, and can be taken in. We should make our fortunes out of the widows and orphans, out of the savings of the poor clerks, and from the clergyman’s tiny stipend. We could sweep in their little earnings, and aggrandize our own wealth and importance, andlose our souls. Yes, Mildred, we could, but we won’t. I shall prevent that. I have a task before me which will save this foulest crime from being committed.”
Mrs. Ogilvie dropped into a chair; she burst into hysterical weeping.
“What you say can’t be true, Phil. Oh, Phil, darling, do have mercy.”
“How?” he asked.
“Don’t do anything so mad, so rash. You always had such a queer, troublesome sort of conscience. Phil, I cannot stand poverty, I cannot stand being dragged down; I must have this place; I have set my heart on it.”
He came up to her and took both her hands.
“Is it worth evil?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is anything under the sun worth evil?” She made no answer. He dropped her hands and left the room.