"Rely upon it, the spiritual life is not knowing or learning, but doing. We only know so far as we can do; we learn to do by doing; and we learn to know by doing; what we do truly, rightly, in the way of duty, that and only that we are."—Rev. Frederick Robertson.
When Alwyn heard that Greta was downstairs, he brightened perceptibly. "She is a dear creature," he said; "except in looks she has not changed a bit. She used to be rather a pretty girl,—interesting-looking, that was the word for Greta; but she is very graceful still. Will you give my love to her, Mrs. Luttrell? I shall hope to see her to-morrow or the next day," and then he turned wearily on his pillow, as though talking were too great an effort.
The following afternoon Greta came earlier; but, as she was unable to stay long, Olivia found an opportunity of going round to Mayfield Villas.
It was just in the gloaming,—Aunt Madge's rest hour, as she called it,—and there was unmistakable gladness in her voice, when Olivia's tall figure appeared on the threshold. "Welcome, welcome, little stranger," she said, merrily; "do you know, Livy, that you have played truant for four whole days. I was just thinking of sending Deb round this evening to know if anything were the matter. Oh, I see," as her bright, penetrating glance read her niece's face. "You have something wonderful to tell me. Draw up your chair and I will be as quiet as a mouse. I am a splendid listener, as my dear Fergus used to say."
"Something wonderful," repeated Olivia, breathlessly. "Why, Aunt Madge, I feel as though I were in the third volume of a sensational novel. What do you think? Robert Barton, whom Marcus found starving on a doorstep, is Mr. Gaythorne's long-lost son, Alwyn."
It was evident that Mrs. Broderick was intensely surprised, for she quite flushed up with excitement.
"Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning. I will not interrupt," she said, quickly, and Olivia, nothing loath, gave a graphic account of the afternoon at Galvaston House.
"Is it not grand, Aunt Madge?" she finished, but Mrs. Broderick's voice was not so steady as usual as she answered,—
"So the blessing has come to him, and he will have his heart's desire; but there is a heavy load laid on him, too, poor, stricken man. Oh, Livy, we must just pray for him until he is able to pray for himself."
"His brain is really much clearer to-day," returned Olivia; "he spoke quite sensibly to Marcus, only his speech is a little affected. He asked why his son had left the house, and then Marcus told him that he was weak and needed rest, and that I was taking care of him.
"'Crampton will see that he has all he requires,' he said, and Mrs. Crampton came over of her own accord last night. Do you know, Aunt Madge, I felt so ashamed of her seeing him in that bare little room, and I tried to explain to her that it was only a sort of disused lumber room, but she soon made plenty of suggestions for his comfort. She has sent a pair of thick curtains for the window, and a big rug that nearly covers the floor, and a softer mattress and another pillow. And now the room looks so cosy. Marcus quite stared when he went up this morning. It was quite touching to see Mr. Alwyn with her. He actually kissed her and called her his dear old 'Goody.' I find she has lived with them ever since they were quite children. I think she was Olive's nurse. And the fuss she made over him, calling him her 'poor, ill-used lamb.' It almost made me cry to hear her."
"Poor fellow, he has certainly had his fill of husks."
"Yes, indeed; but Mrs. Crampton is determined to kill the fatted calf now. The things she sends over would feed half a dozen prodigal sons,—game and soups, and jellies and fruit. She says her master has given hercarte blanche, and that the doctor has laid a great stress on nourishment, so of course we can say nothing."
"Well, Livy, your life is not exactly stagnant just now."
"No, indeed; but, oh, there is one thing I forgot to tell you. Marcus has another patient,—that is number five. Actually the surgery bell rang twice yesterday."
Mrs. Broderick clapped her hands. Then she said, in a teasing voice, "Are you not glad that you kept Martha?" and Olivia laughed.
"Why, Aunt Madge," she said in an amused tone, "Marcus actually proposed this morning that we should get an older and more capable servant, but I told him I would rather work twice as hard than part with Martha; she is such a good, willing little soul."
"Of course, as long as Mr. Alwyn keeps his room we shall have plenty of running about, and Dot is cutting some more teeth, and is rather fretful, so our hands are full; but the only thing that troubles me is that I see so little of Marcus. He is out most of the evening, either at Galvaston House or in Brunswick Place. Alas, things are no better there, and if this influenza epidemic comes on, as the doctors predict, he will have a busy spring."
"No doubt, but as we have only to live one day at a time, we will not trouble our heads about that. Well, you have given me food enough for some days. I shall send Deb round to-morrow evening to inquire after the invalids, but you must not come again until you are more at leisure. Teething troubles and the care of a sick man are enough for any woman."
"Dear Aunt Madge!" exclaimed Olivia, affectionately. "If I could only be as unselfish as you. I do believe you never think of yourself at all."
"Nonsense," returned Mrs. Broderick, "I am an old bundle of selfishness. Well, I shall be thinking of those two poor things. My heart aches for that young man, but I pity his father, too. I was reading about the deaf man with an impediment in his speech this morning; it is the lesson for to-day, you know, and I could not help pondering for some time on those words, 'Jesus took him apart from the multitude.' Just as though quiet and stillness were needed for the healing. I think that is the lesson that sickness teaches us; the poor sufferer is led apart to wait for the word of healing; sometimes he waits long, but the time has not been lost. 'Lord, it is good for us to be here;' I think some of us will say that when our painful sojourning at the Mount of Suffering is over. Yes, it is good for us to have drunk of His cup without complaining."
Aunt Madge's eyes had a dreamy look in them; the beautiful voice vibrated in Olive's ear like music; but as she stooped to kiss her, somewhat awed by her unusual solemnity, the old kind smile returned to her lips.
"Good-bye, Livy darling, my love, and congratulations to Marcus."
Olivia was putting a good face on things, but Marcus, oppressed with the heavy responsibility of three serious cases, hardly knew how hard she worked from morning to night. Dot, feverish and fretful, was always wanting to be in her mother's arms. Martha, with all her willingness, was too young and inexperienced to be a very efficient help; so, although Olivia always wore a bright expression when Marcus came in for his meals, and chatted to him in her old cheerful way, she was often too weary to sleep.
It was a relief, therefore, when Alwyn was able to leave his room and lie on the couch downstairs. Greta's afternoon visits were then a real boon; she could leave them together while she went out and did her business.
Olivia's healthy, robust constitution always needed fresh air and regular exercise. Confinement to the house tried her, and the small rooms and low ceilings at No. 1, Galvaston Terrace, were certainly rather cramping. Half an hour's brisk walk always refreshed her and acted like a tonic. She would look in at Mayfield Villas for ten minutes and give her report of the invalids, and then come back to tea looking so fresh and invigorated that Alwyn once told her that she was as good as a whiff of moorland air.
Alwyn was slow in recovering from that terrible shock. His nerves had suffered severely, and at times his restlessness and depression were sad to see.
"If he could only be reconciled to his father," Greta would sigh; "but the thought of another interview seems to terrify him. He is so painfully morbid," she went on, "and distrusts himself. He is afraid of saying and doing the wrong thing; somehow he seems to have lost all faith in his father's love."
"'I long for his forgiveness. I know that I have been a bad son,' he said, yesterday. 'But he will never believe in my penitence.' Oh, it is dreadful the way he talks and works himself up."
"Marcus says it is a good deal owing to nervous exhaustion," returned Olivia; "but he is very sorry for him. Mr. Gaythorne has begged more than once to see him; he is evidently craving for a sight of him, but Marcus dare not bring them together yet. Mr. Gaythorne is only just able to sit up, and he is very weak. And then while Mr. Alwyn is in this nervous state he is hardly to be trusted."
"Yes, we must be patient, I suppose. I have perfect faith in Dr. Luttrell's opinion," and then her manner changed, and she said, mournfully, "Do you know how badly he thinks of father? He is afraid he will never leave his bed again."
"Yes, I know; and Dr. Bevan agrees with him. Poor Greta, I am so sorry for you," and she laid her hand affectionately on her shoulder.
"Yes, but I dare not murmur," returned the girl, in a low voice. "It would be more merciful to let him die than linger on in suffering, and"—with a little burst of feeling—"the disease that is killing him has not been brought on by his own fault. Oh, the gratitude I felt when Dr. Luttrell said that it has been latent in the system, and that only lately Dr. Bevan suspected it. But, oh, dear Mrs. Luttrell, do not wish him to live. No one who cared for him could wish it."
"Poor child. Yes, I know; Marcus explained things to me."
"He is quite himself," went on Greta, drying her eyes. "And so dear and affectionate, but it hurt me so to hear him asking my pardon for the life he had led me. 'I have not deserved such a good daughter,' he said over and over again. 'Since your poor mother died you have been my one blessing.'"
"Dear Greta, you will let these words comfort you?"
"Oh, yes; I was repeating them in my dreams all night. When he was talking to me I felt that I had got the old father back. What do you think, Mrs. Luttrell? he actually asked me if I should go on living at Brunswick Place when he was gone, and then it came into my head to tell him about Ivydene, and he was so interested. I am sure he was pleased when I told him that I should like to go back there. He actually wanted me to write to the lawyer about it. But when he saw how shocked I was at the idea, he said perhaps we had better wait a little."
Olivia thought over this conversation when Greta left her; her heart ached for the lonely girl. When Marcus came in a few minutes later, he seemed struck with her unusual gravity.
"Is there anything wrong, Livy?" he asked. "You seem in the doldrums." And as she smiled and shook her head, he continued cheerfully, "I am glad to hear it. Do you know I have actually a free evening until ten? I feel as though I was a schoolboy again, and had an unexpected holiday. In my opinion, only busy people know how to enjoy a holiday properly."
"And I am really to have you to myself for three whole hours," and Olivia's face beamed with delight. As Marcus drew his chair to the fire and took up the long-neglected book, Greta's troubles went into the background.
"Oh don't read just now," she said, imploringly; "let us talk a little first, Marcus, is it very naughty of me? but once or twice during the last few days, when you have been too busy to stay with me, or to play with Dot, I have thought that even prosperity will have its limitations; that being a successful doctor means that I shall see far too little of you."
Then Marcus drew back his head with one of his boyish laughs.
"Oh, Livy, what a child you are! have you just found out that? How delightfully illogical a woman can be! It stands to reason that I cannot be in two places at once."
"Oh, of course your patients will want you, and I am not really grumbling. Do you suppose that I shall not be proud of your success? I was only trying to tell you that, in spite of all our difficulties and little petty troubles, I have been perfectly happy."
"Especially on Saturday evenings, when you totted up your little red book, and the balance was always on the wrong side. I have seen you pull an uncommonly long face on those occasions. I am not quite sure about the perfect happiness then." Then, as Olivia looked reproachfully at him, his teasing manner changed.
"Dear Olive," he said, tenderly, "I am not really laughing at you. I understand quite well what you mean. I am not such an old married man that I cannot appreciate a compliment like that, when my wife tells me with her own lips that my society can sweeten even poverty and hardship.
"You are quite right, love; prosperity will have its limitations; these pleasant evening hours will often have to be sacrificed. But in all professions we must take the rough with the smooth. We must just put our shoulder to the wheel, you and I, and 'Doe the nexte thinge,' eh, Livy?"
"Oh, yes," she answered, eagerly, "and yours is such a grand work. I have always been so thankful you are a doctor. When I was quite young I used to tell mother that I wanted to marry a clergyman. But I think a doctor comes next. Oh, Marcus, did you ever read Whittier's verses on this subject? Greta brought me his poems and read them to me. I think I know the last two verses by heart,—
"'Beside the unveiled mysteriesOf life and death go standWith guarded lips and reverent eyesAnd pure of heart and hand.The good physician liveth yetThy friend and guide to be,The Healer by GennesaretShall walk thy rounds with thee.'"
And as Olivia repeated the lines in a voice tremulous with deep feeling, Dr. Luttrell's firm lips unbent with a moved expression.
"That is beautiful," he said. "I think those words ought to be illuminated and hung up in every doctor's waiting-room."
"'The Healer by GennesaretShall walk thy rounds with thee.'"
"But by all thy nature's weakness,Hidden faults and follies known,Be thou in rebuking evil,Conscious of thy own."—Whittier.
It was some few weeks before Mr. Gaythorne was allowed to see any one, and then Olivia was his first visitor. To her great surprise he had asked for her.
"I think I can trust you," Marcus said to her; but there was a trace of anxiety in his manner that did not escape her. "You must talk to him, of course; but you must be very careful not to agitate him; he wants all his strength for to-morrow;" for on the following day father and son were to meet again.
Olivia felt a little nervous. Marcus's professional gravity frightened her.
"Do you not think it would be better for me to wait a day or two," she asked. "It is very nice of him to want to see me, but it seems to me that Mr. Alwyn ought to be his first visitor;" but although Marcus agreed with her, he said that Mr. Gaythorne had expressed such a strong wish to see her first, that he dared not refuse him.
"He was never fond of contradiction," he returned. "And we should only excite him if we opposed his wish. Although he is quite himself, little things irritate him; don't make yourself nervous beforehand; you will say the right thing when the time comes for saying it;" and, though Olivia could not be sure of this, she felt that it was sensible advice.
But when the moment came and she saw how shrunken and aged the invalid looked, and heard the slight hesitation in his speech as he held out his hands to her with a pathetic smile, Olivia's warm womanly nature was not at fault, for she bent over him and kissed his cheek as a daughter might have done.
"Dear Mr. Gaythorne," she said, earnestly, "if you knew how thankful we all are that you are better."
"Thank you, thank you," he said, with a faint flush of pleasure. "You speak kindly and as though you meant it. Sit down, my dear, we must have a little talk together, you and I. If I ever get my boy back, if the breach between us is ever healed, it will be owing to you and Dr. Luttrell."
"Oh, please do not say that, we were only the means under Providence."
"Yes, yes," with a touch of impatience—"I am not forgetting that. In some ways I am a civilised heathen; but I have never omitted my prayers, thank God. 'He loveth best who prayeth best.' Who said that, Mrs. Luttrell? Perhaps I never prayed enough, or my boy would not have wandered so far. Ah, well, do you remember how hard I was on you for sheltering tramps, and now I can only say, God bless you for your divine charity."
Olivia's eyes glistened, but she only pressed his hand in acknowledgment of this. "And to-morrow you are to see him," she said, softly.
"Yes, to-morrow," he repeated slowly, "that is why I must not talk much to-day; but I wanted to thank you for bringing Alwyn, and to tell you how grateful I am to you both.
"I am an old man," he continued, "old in sorrows more than in years; for, with Jacob, I can truly say that 'few and evil have been my years.' Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, my dear, take warning by me; you have a little one of your own, and perhap in future years you may have sons growing up beside you, never for one instant let anything come between you and them."
He paused for a moment and then went on: "When Alwyn was a little child, I simply worshipped him; his own mother begged me with tears in her eyes not to set my heart so much on him. He was delicate, and I knew what she meant, that she feared whether we should rear him; and I remember, as she said this, that I struck my hand passionately against his little cot, 'if that boy dies I shall never hold up my head again;' how well I remember that speech. Oh, my dear, the time came when I wished that I had no son, when the sharpness of the serpent's tooth entered my very vitals. God grant that you and Dr. Luttrell may never have to blush for a son's misdoings."
"Dear friend, remember you are not to agitate yourself."
"No, no, I will take care; but I think it does me good to talk a little; the steam must have vent, you know, and I have kept silence for so many years. All these weeks they have kept my boy from me; but they were right," his voice trembling with weakness. "I could not have borne it, neither could Alwyn. Ah, how changed and ill he looked."
"Dear Mr. Gaythorne," returned Olivia, beseechingly, "indeed I must go away now, unless you will consent to rest and let me read to you a little."
"Well, well, do as you like," he replied, closing his eyes, "you all tyrannise over the sick man, but perhaps I am a bit tired," and then Olivia found a book and soon had the satisfaction of seeing him sink into a peaceful sleep. What a grand face it looked with its fine chiselled features and grey peaked beard lying against the dark red cushions. Alwyn would never be such a handsome man as his father, Olivia thought. There was power and intellect on the broad forehead, the thin lips and obstinate chin were hidden under the drooping grey moustache.
Olivia sat by him for some time, and then softly left the room. When Marcus had paid his evening visit he was able to assure her that her little visit had done his patient no harm.
Mr. Gaythorne had stipulated that he should see his son alone, but Dr. Luttrell, who was keenly alive to the danger of any strong excitement, had decided to remain in the house during the interview.
Alwyn seemed so unnerved and miserable that it was impossible to do more than give him a word of warning.
"Say as little as possible, Gaythorne," he had observed as they walked across together; "if you take my advice, you will just let bygones be bygones. Don't be more emotional than you can help; remember how ill he has been, very little excites him."
And though Alwyn only nodded in answer to this, Marcus was sure that he understood him; but as he stood by the hall fire caressing Eros he could not help feeling very anxious.
"They are neither of them to be trusted," he thought, and he determined that if the talk were too prolonged he would make some excuse to go in and interrupt them; then he raised his head uneasily and listened as the sound of a man's stifled sobs reached his ear.
It was what he had feared, that Alwyn, weak and unstrung, would break down utterly, and the next moment Dr. Luttrell had opened the door of the library.
Neither of them perceived him as he stood for a moment, watching them with keen professional eyes. Alwyn was kneeling with his face hidden on his father's knees, and Mr. Gaythorne's clasped hands were resting on his head. "My boy, we must both say it," he whispered. "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them"—but Marcus heard no more, he closed the door again softly—the scene was too sacred—not even to his dearer self—his wife—did he ever speak of what he had seen.
The Prodigal had eaten his fill of husks and had returned to his father's roof and his father's love. But in this case the father had also sinned, for surely undue severity and exacting hardness and failure of sympathy are sins to be bitterly repented. No one can gather grapes of thorns, or glean corn from a harvest of tares. And no parent who has first unwisely indulged his son, and then ruled him with a rod of iron, can well claim the glad obedience of a free son.
If Alwyn Gaythorne, trammelled and embittered by his father's tyranny, had dashed recklessly down the path that leads to destruction, his father had first driven him to the verge of frenzy.
Young limbs will not always adjust themselves to the Procrustean bed. Alwyn, who had inherited his father's strong will, refused to bear the yoke of his despotism.
"I would rather starve, and have room to breathe," he had once said to Greta. "There is no room here."
Another half-hour passed before Dr. Luttrell ventured into the room again. He found Mr. Gaythorne leaning back in his chair looking very white and exhausted, but with a peaceful expression on his face. Alwyn had just left his side and was standing by the window with a miniature in his hand.
"Dr. Luttrell," observed the old man feebly, as he gave him some restorative, "my son will stay with me to-night." And then Alwyn flushed as he met the doctor's eyes.
"He wishes it very much, and perhaps it will be better," he said in a low voice. "Will you explain how it is to Mrs. Luttrell? I will see her tomorrow."
"Very well, but there must be no more talking to-night. If you will go into the next room I will see you presently," and Alwyn nodded.
"It is all right, happiness never kills," observed Mr. Gaythorne, "and for the matter of that, grief, either. We must just bide our time." Then with a flash of strong feeling in the deeply-set eyes, he held out his hand to the young doctor.
"God bless you, Luttrell. He says you have been like a brother to him. And as for your wife, he has no words for her goodness. May Heaven repay you both for what you have done for me and my boy."
When Marcus returned home he found Greta sitting with his wife; they both looked at him anxiously.
"Mr. Gaythorne will not part with his son," he informed them. "Mrs. Crampton is getting a room ready for him, so your labours will be lightened, Livy. She looks tired, does she not, Miss Williams? though she will not confess it. Well, it has all passed off well. Mr. Gaythorne is very much exhausted, but nurse is getting him to bed, and I have told Alwyn to rest. I left Mrs. Crampton fussing round him, so he will be all right," and then Olivia smiled as though she were satisfied.
But more than once that evening she observed to Marcus how quiet the house seemed without their guest.
"Do you know I quite miss him," she said. "I suppose one always get attached to any one for whom one takes trouble. He was the sort of person who was always wanting something; you could never forget him for a moment. I wonder what Martha will say when I tell her he is gone away for good. He gave her plenty to do, but I expect she will be sorry to lose him."
And Olivia was right. Martha burst out crying in quite a lamentable manner.
"Oh, ma'am," she sobbed, "and he was such a kind young gentleman. I am sorry, that I am, that he won't live with us no more. And he painted Miss Baby and the kitten so beautiful too; and he thought such a deal of you and master." But though Olivia smiled at Martha's lugubrious speeches, she could not help being rather sorry herself.
Alwyn was not a perfect character by any means, but somehow he had such nice ways with him,—little caressing ways that go to a woman's heart. His nature was affectionate and emotional, and all his troubles had not hardened him. Even Marcus had observed more than once lately that "he could not help liking the fellow."
"He was not cut out for a black sheep," he said once, "and the character does not suit him. He has the makings of a good man, only he has let himself drift so terribly. Well, he has pulled himself up in time. He could not have roughed it much longer."
When Olivia returned from her next visit to Galvaston House she went straight to Marcus.
"I just felt I must come and tell you all about it," she said in her enthusiastic manner. "I have had such a happy afternoon. Mr. Alwyn was reading to his father when I went in, and they both looked so comfortable and contented. They made me stay and pour out their coffee for them. At first Mr. Alwyn wanted to leave us; he declared that two was company and three none, and that he was only in the way; but of course I would not hear of that, and I was so glad to see him too."
"They both looked so comfortable and contented.""They both looked so comfortable and contented."
"They both looked so comfortable and contented.""They both looked so comfortable and contented."
"He is his father's right hand already, and does all sorts of things for him. It is so lovely to see them together. When he went out of the room for a moment, Mr. Gaythorne told me that he could scarcely realise sometimes that it was Alwyn."
"He has just Olive's ways," had been Mr. Gaythorne's words. "I could almost fancy it was my little Olive near me. If he were only stronger I should not have a wish ungratified, but I cannot help troubling about his cough. Dr. Luttrell thinks a sea voyage would do him good, but I do not know how I am to bring myself to part with him.
"Oh, by-the-bye, did Alwyn tell you that Greta Williams is coming to see us? She was my Olive's friend, so of course she will be welcome," and then, in rather a meaning voice, "I rather think she is Alwyn's friend too."
Olivia made no answer to this remark, but more than once lately she had noticed that Greta and Alwyn seemed very much engrossed with each other, and she was almost sure that Marcus had noticed it too.
"Surely Greta would never consent to marry him," she thought. "With her sad experience she would never venture to link her life with a man whom she could not wholly respect."
Greta's nature was a noble one. She had lofty aims and a high sense of duty. In spite of her gentleness she had plenty of firmness and backbone.
It was one thing to be sorry for her old friend and playmate, and to show him a sister's tenderness, but quite another to give herself to him, and more than once Olivia had felt uneasy, but delicacy had led her to keep her thoughts to herself.
"I do hope she would not carry self-sacrifice to such a length as that," said the young wife to herself. "Alwyn may be lovable, but he would never satisfy a girl like Greta. A woman ought to be able to look up to her husband, as I look up to my dear Marcus, and not be always trying to drag him up to her level.
"I do want Greta to be married. When her father dies she will be so utterly alone, but I cannot reconcile myself to her marrying Alwyn Gaythorne. For one thing, his health is so unsatisfactory that his wife would never be easy about him. Eyen Marcus owned the other day that he feared he would never be fit for much. But there is no use in trying to manage other people's lives. As Aunt Madge says, it takes all our strength and cleverness to manage our own. 'A meddler is always a muddler;' how well I remember her saying that. We did not make the world, and we cannot rule the world. When I see grown-up folk trying to arrange for other people, I always think of children playing at snap-dragon. One gets one's fingers burnt so badly when we try to pull out our neighbour's plum. No, no; bearing other people's burdens never meant that."
"Death is a black camel that kneels at the gate of all."—Abd-el-Kader.
After all, the dreaded influenza epidemic did not make its appearance, and, though people still talked learnedly of germs and microbes, and put meddling fingers into the medical pie, it was decided by the legitimate authorities that the mischief had blown over for the present.
It is a curious fact that there is a fashion even in talk. A subject is discussed until it is worn thread-bare. When the germ theory was exhausted the bicycle craze took its place. Perhaps future students of hieroglyphics may yet discover in some palimpsest that in old days the Egyptian maidens had quaint iron machines that carried them swiftly through the desert.
In the early March days, when the winds were keen and blusterous, Mr. Williams died; his end was very sudden.
Greta had just retired to her room for the night when the nurse noticed a change in him and hastily summoned her. A messenger was sent for Dr. Luttrell, but before he could reach the house Mr. Williams was dead.
He could have done nothing if he had been there. That was the sole comfort Marcus could give to the stricken daughter, and she knew that he spoke the truth.
The bow of the king of terrors is never drawn at a venture. The arrow goes deep and true, but to Greta and Olivia he was only the angel of sorrow, who did his master's bidding. Alwyn in after years worked out this idea in a noble picture called the "House of Mourning."
The little one, evidently the sole child and heir of a goodly heritage, lay panting out his feeble life on the pillow. The broken-hearted parents bent over him hand in hand. The filmy look of unshed tears in the mother's eyes was wonderfully rendered. On the threshold stood a kingly presence, in dark trailing robes of majesty and a starry crown on his head. The face, solemn and beautiful, wore an expression of infinite pity; the arms were stretched out to the child with a gesture of tenderness.
Underneath was written those striking words: "Is it well with the child?" and the answer, "It is well." It was that picture that made Alwyn Gaythorne's name.
Olivia hurried round to Brunswick Place as soon as her husband broke the news to her, and spent the greater part of each day there for the next week or two.
It was touching to see how the poor girl clung to her friends; she would do nothing without their advice.
Dr. Luttrell saved her as much as possible. He and Alwyn did the necessary business, and Olivia brought her work and Dot, and strove in every way to cheer and console her.
It was a very quiet funeral. Only Marcus and his wife and Alwyn and the lawyer were present. When they went back to the house the will was read. The provisions were perfectly simple. Everything, with the exception of a few minor legacies, was left to Greta,—the house in Brunswick Place and an income of nearly three thousand a year.
Olivia opened her eyes a little widely when she heard this. She had no idea that Greta would be such a rich woman. But Greta herself seemed utterly indifferent.
"How am I to live on here alone?" she said, with an outburst of grief, when she found herself left with Olivia. "Dear Mrs. Luttrell, you must both help me. All my friends must help me to some decision, but to live alone in this house just because it belongs to me; oh, I cannot do it," with a sudden shiver of repulsion. "I would sooner go into a hospital and learn nursing." But when Olivia repeated this speech to Marcus he only smiled.
"An attractive young woman with three thousand a year will soon discover some object of interest," he said, a little dryly. "But it would hardly do to hint at this just now. Nursing in a hospital is a fine work, no doubt, for anyone who has a vocation, but you may as well tell Miss Williams not to ask my advice. She has not the physical strength; besides, in her position, the idea is absurd.
"Why take the bread out of other women's mouths? No, no; just counsel her to patience, and in a few months we shall see which way the wind blows," for, though no word had yet passed between them, Marcus was quite aware of Alwyn Gaythorne'spenchantfor his old playfellow, though the idea was hardly more pleasing to him than it was to Olivia.
"There is not enough of him," he said to himself. "He does not come up to her mark. It is not her money, for Mr. Gaythorne is a rich man and his son will have plenty, but she stands on a higher plane than his, and, in my humble opinion, Miss Williams could do better for herself."
Strange to say, Mrs. Broderick differed from them. She had already made Greta's acquaintance, and they had mutually taken to each other. Greta had been charmed with Mrs. Broderick's cheerfulness and quaint speeches, and Aunt Madge, in her turn, had declared herself fascinated by Greta's gentleness. "She is exactly my idea of a young English gentlewoman," she had said after her first visit. "I thought the article had gone out of fashion. Oh," as Olivia looked shocked at this, "I grant you there are hundreds and thousands of good, honest girls, I'm thankful to say, but they are so terribly outspoken and up to date. Of course, I am only an old-fashioned frump and sadly behind the times, but though slang may not be sinful and a little outward roughness is only the husk, and there is plenty of sweet, sound kernel inside, yet I must own, Livy, I like gentleness as well."
Alwyn and Aunt Madge were already firm friends. She shared his artistic tastes and could talk intelligently to him on the subjects he liked best, and from the first she refused to see any defects in him.
"My dear Livy," she once said when Olivia had made a somewhat disparaging remark about his want of steadiness, "you are far too critical. You judge men by Marcus's standard, but you must remember every one is not a moral son of Anak.
"Now Mr. Alwyn is a great favourite of mine, and I think highly of him. Few young men would be so good-natured as to come two or three times a week to chat with an elderly invalid. And yet that is what Mr. Alwyn does, and he knows I enjoy his visits.
"Yesterday when he came in he found Miss Williams sitting with me, and they both looked as pleased as though they had not met for years. And it made me feel quite young to look at them. Oh!" in an exasperated tone, as Olivia shook her head, "I know what that means,—that you and Marcus forbid the banns,—but you might just as well try to stop an express train with a penny whistle, so you may as well save your breath.
"Those two mean to take each other for better or worse. They don't know it themselves yet, but it is written already in the book of fate."
"Oh, Aunt Madge, how can you say such things? You have not seen Greta more than three or four times."
"All the same, the oracle has spoken," with a wise nod of her head. "My dear, Greta Williams was born into this world to be someone's crutch. A strong, healthy-minded man could not utilise her best qualities. She would be simply wasted on him. She has got to mother her husband, you see, and that is what Mr. Alwyn wants his wife to do. Leave them alone, they will soon find out their need of each other. And then they will settle matters. And for pity's sake, Olive, don't you try and put a spoke in their wheel." But Olivia, who was a little huffy on the subject, refused to say another word.
"It was no business of hers or anyone's," she said, pointedly, "whom Alwyn Gaythorne chose to marry, but in her opinion it was always a pity to couple names together beforehand," and with this virtuous snub she rose to take her leave, but Mrs. Broderick only indulged in one of her hearty laughs.
"Livy, I do declare you are actually cross with me,—well, there, I will not say another word; don't look as though I have been talking treason. I quite allow your Greta is too good for any ordinary faulty man, and that even my young friend is not worthy of her," and at this admission Olivia's brow cleared.
"Thank you for saying that, Aunt Madge. I know we do not really differ, only—only," with a little laugh, "you are always so ready for a love-story."
"Yes, I love a lover," returned Mrs. Broderick, playfully, and then her manner changed. "No, I will not jest about it; life and death and love are no subjects for jests,—they are three splendid realities. Yes, my dear Olive, you are right, and love-stories, even the poorest, interest me. Haven't I lived mine? Do I not know how it glorifies life? but we can only read the first chapters here,—there is eternity for us presently. 'The many mansions,' I think I love those words more than any in the Bible; they always make me think that even there there will be a special home for Fergus and me and our boy."
Olivia certainly found it difficult to satisfy the various claims on her; her household tasks occupied most of the morning; as long as Martha remained their sole domestic, it was necessary for the mistress to superintend the cooking. To look after Marcus's comfort was her first and paramount duty, and it was seldom that she found herself at leisure until the afternoon, and then she and Greta were generally together, either at Brunswick Place or Galvaston Terrace.
Sometimes she would combine her duties by taking Greta with her when she went to Mayfield Villas, but she never ventured to take her to Galvaston House after her first visit, as she found that Mr. Gaythorne preferred her to come alone.
"Miss Williams is all very well," he said once, "and we are always pleased to see her, but I like my pleasures singly; besides, Alwyn always monopolizes her. Invalids are allowed to be exacting, so I may tell you plainly that I like to have you to myself," and after that Olivia went alone.
It was always a pleasure to her to go there, she had such a warm welcome from the father and son, and it did her heart good to see the light of happiness in the old man's eyes, he seemed hardly able to bear his son out of his sight. Alwyn's health, his comforts and his tastes were his chief topics of conversation. One day he made Alwyn take her upstairs and show her the new studio that had been planned; two rooms were to be thrown into one, and a fresh window put in.
Directly the work was commenced he and Alwyn were going to Bournemouth for a few weeks. The sea-voyage had been postponed for the present. Mr. Gaythorne fretted himself at the idea of parting so soon with his boy, and he hated the thought of his going alone.
"If there were someone to look after him," he would say to Dr. Luttrell; "but I feel as though I could never trust him to take care of himself again; look at him, he is a perfect wreck." And though Marcus still held to his opinion that a long voyage would be his best remedy, he thought it more prudent to wait a little, and on his side Alwyn seemed reluctant to go.
"I have been too much my ain lane already," he said; "I should prefer to stay at home a little longer," and then Bournemouth was selected as a compromise. Mrs. Crampton would go with them, and, at Mr. Gaythorne's request, Marcus went down first and chose their rooms.
"Why not go from Saturday to Monday, and take your wife down? I will frank your expenses," he said, "and the little trip will do you both good." And though Marcus hesitated over this, as Martha was too young to be trusted with the care of Dot, Greta came to the rescue by undertaking to look after the child.
Olivia could scarcely believe her ears when this magnificent project was unfolded to her. Two whole days with Marcus by the sea! And they had neither of them had an outing since their modest wedding-trip,—a week at St. Leonards.
"It will be another honeymoon," she said, flushing with pleasure. And as they sat together in the hotel garden that Saturday evening, she thought of the humble lodging to which Marcus had taken her, and what fun they had got out of their first attempt at housekeeping.
The little change did them both good, but, though neither of them would have owned it for the world, No. 1, Galvaston Terrace, certainly looked a little dreary on their return.
The bright spring weather only made the dinginess more apparent, but nothing would induce the landlord to treat them to a fresh coat of paint. Marcus whitewashed one or two of the rooms in the intervals of his work, and Olivia put up clean curtains and purchased a plant or two. As far as scrupulous cleanliness could avail, the little house was in first-rate order. Nevertheless Marcus gave vent to an impatient sigh now and then as he looked round the small, low room. The side windows had been blocked up in the days of the window-tax, and the one small window lighted the room imperfectly.
"If we could only move," he said once. "I want you and Dot to have more light and air. We are too near the cemetery, too. We should do much better in Compton Street or Norfolk Terrace." And then, as Olivia looked at him in surprise, he said a little impatiently:
"Oh, I know it is not to be done yet. We shall have to want a little longer. I believe it was that insufferable woman, Mrs. Tolman, put it into my head. She actually told me that we ought to move, as no good class of patients would ever come to Galvaston Terrace. It was just like her impudence—eh, Livy?"
"Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry," and Olivia put down her work and looked at him sympathetically. "I thought something had annoyed you the moment you came in. It is too bad of Mrs. Tolman always to tread upon people's corns in this fashion. She might wait until one asks her advice."
"Oh, but it is true, all the same," he returned, with a tinge of despondency in his voice.
"A good house in a good neighbourhood would make all the difference to the practice. A house in Brunswick Place, for example."
But Olivia only laughed. "Someone besides myself can build air-castles," she said, archly. "You might as well go on, Marcus. Why not be Dr. Bevan's partner, too?" Then Marcus started, and an odd little smile played round his mouth. The very same thought had already occurred to him.