"Cherish those that love you; that if ye love, ye may be loved again."—Moschus.
When Greta woke on her wedding morning, she was greeted by the pale wintry sunshine. The weather was unusually mild for December, the sky blue and cloudless, and only the bare blackness of the trees and their stripped branches testified that winter had come.
"Happy the bride that the sun shines on," says the old proverb, and as Olivia repeated the saying, she felt her old cheerfulness and buoyancy return. Marcus had promised to meet them at the church, and to return with them to Brunswick Place, and her finery would not be thrown away.
It would be of course a very quiet wedding, the only guests would be the lawyer, Mr. Treherne, an old family friend, who had undertaken to give the bride away, and Alwyn's best man, a young artist.
As soon as the young couple had partaken of refreshment and Greta had changed her dress, they were to drive round to Galvaston House on their way to the station. The brief fortnight's honeymoon was to be spent at St. Leonards. Mr. Gaythorne had begged that they would not go very far away, and Alwyn had been reluctant to leave his father for a longer time.
Olivia had promised to spend the remainder of the day with Mr. Gaythorne, and, if possible, Marcus was to join them in the evening, but she had another visit to pay on her way to Brunswick Place, so when the brougham came round she drove over in solitary state to Maybrick Villas.
Mrs. Broderick regarded her niece with satisfied eyes. "Why, Livy," she said, admiringly, "I have not seen you look so well since your own wedding-day. Fine feathers make fine birds. You are quite a striking-looking woman. Marcus will be proud of his wife."
"You must not make me vain," returned Olivia, blushing. She was as pleased as a child with her beautiful dress. "Look what Alwyn has given me," and she exhibited a pair of delicate gold bangles. "You cannot think how smart I feel, for that pretty brooch that Marcus gave me the day before we were married was my sole piece of jewelry."
Mrs. Broderick smiled. "I am not much richer than you in that respect, Livy. I never would let Fergus spend his money on trinkets. I told him I was far too ugly, and that I preferred books. There are only two handsome rings to come to you, Livy, when I am gone," but Olivia frowned at this speech. She never could endure to think of anything happening to Aunt Madge.
Marcus was at the church door to meet her, and there was unmistakable approval in his eyes as they stood together for a moment in the porch. And as they walked up the empty church together each was thinking of the day three years ago when they had plighted their troth in this very church.
Greta made a sweet-looking bride, there was a chastened gravity on her fair face, but no tremor as she repeated the solemn responses, but Alwyn was painfully nervous, and looked so pale, that Olivia feared more than once he was ill.
He looked more like himself when the service was over, but that he realised his responsibilities intensely was evident from the few words he said to Olivia while Greta was changing her dress.
"I have not deserved all this, have I, Mrs. Luttrell?" he said, in his impulsive way. "I feel as though coals of fire were heaped upon me. Fancy a sweet girl like Greta consenting to link her lot with mine. How am I to live up to it? but she believes in me, and God bless her. I will try not to disappoint her," and there were tears in the young man's eyes as he said this.
"Good-bye, Olive darling," whispered Greta, as she put her arms affectionately round her friend. "I am glad that we are not to be long away, the dear new home will be quite ready for us," and then she took her husband's arm and the little group of friends watched them as they drove away.
When Olive went to Mr. Gaythorne an hour later she found him looking pleased and excited. "Alwyn is a happy man," he said, "he has got a good wife. Greta has tact as well as heart. She will let him have his own way whenever it is possible, and he will not find out that he is guided. That is what Alwyn's nature needs. I have found that out by bitter experience." And the old man sighed heavily. In spite of his contentment the memory of the past was still painful, and both he and Alwyn would carry their scars to their dying day.
"I am sure you will love Greta dearly," Olivia observed. "She is a little shy and quiet until she gets used to people, but she is so wonderfully gentle."
"Yes, and she was my little Olive's friend. I shall never forget that, but as I told you just now, I have two daughters," and then he laid his hand on Olivia's with one of his rare gestures of affection. "My dear, Alwyn and I were talking last night. I told him that he must be master here, and that he must put his wife in her proper place at once. I shall want little during the few months or years that remain to me. Just my quiet rooms and my children's affection and the society of the one or two friends that remain to me. But Alwyn needs more. He loves society, and to be a successful artist he must mix with his fellow-workers, and rub against other minds. He must go into the world and see and be seen."
"I think you are right," returned Olivia, slowly; she was secretly very much surprised by this speech. She had no idea how much he had brooded over this question.
"Yes," he returned, a little sadly, "I have learnt my lesson at last. Those young lives must not be overshadowed by a sick man's whims. My son must never be able to say again that his father's house was like a jail, and that he felt cramped in body and mind. Sooner than that," with a trace of the old excitement in his manner, "I would rather my weary bones were laid in the earth."
"Dear Mr. Gaythorne," in a soothing voice, "Alwyn loves you far too well ever to say or think such a thing."
"I hope so—I trust so, but I would rather not put his patience to the proof. My boy must be happy, or I can know no peace. 'If you will bring your wife here and stay with your old father I will never interfere with either of you,' that is what I said to him. 'You may turn the house out of window if you like, so that you leave me my two quiet rooms;' but he only laughed in my face. 'We will see about that,' was all he answered, but I shall prove to him that I meant what I said."
"Greta will not care for gaiety this winter. You must remember that she has been used to a very quiet life."
"That is for her and Alwyn to decide," returned Mr. Gaythorne. "Ah, Mrs. Luttrell, my dear, what it will be to me to hear a woman's step about the house again. It will be like music in my ears;" and then he leant back in his chair as though he were exhausted and asked Olivia to read to him.
Later in the evening, as she walked back with Marcus, she told him of this conversation, and then she added,—
"He will be very good to Greta, I am sure of that; his voice softened so when he spoke of her. She is a link with the past, you see. But, Marcus, as he talked he looked so old and broken that I cannot help fearing that they will not have him with them for long."
"Probably not. I have hinted this more than once to Alwyn, and though he always turns it off, I think he understands me. It was his own proposition that they should only be a fortnight away. Now I have two or three patients to see, so you must not wait up for me;" and tired as he was Marcus walked off briskly, whilst Olivia lingered on the doorstep for a moment to look at the stars shining in the dark wintry sky. Alwyn had begged her, as a special favour to him, to pay a daily visit to Galvaston House, so for the next three or four days she found it impossible to go round to Maybrick Villas.
Mr. Gaythorne took her visits as a matter of course. There was always something he wanted to discuss with her. Some fresh arrangement for his daughter-in-law's comfort. One day he consulted her about a brougham that he intended to buy as a surprise.
"I shall get Dr. Luttrell to choose it," he said; "and there is a man I know at Medhurst who will pick me up a pair of chestnuts. My son's wife is a rich woman, and ought to have a pair for her carriage. There is some good stabling to be got just by, and Dr. Luttrell knows a capital coachman who has been thrown out of place by his master's death. In the spring she might have a victoria, but a brougham will be more serviceable at this season of the year when Alwyn takes her to theatres and concerts." And though Olivia smiled, she could not but own that the brougham would be a boon to Greta.
"Then we will see about it at once," he returned, eagerly. "Would you ask your husband to call to-morrow morning if he can spare the time?" And as Olivia took her leave she promised to give the message.
To her surprise she found Marcus reading by the fire; he looked up at her a little gravely as she entered.
"You are rather late, are you not, Livy?" he said, laying down his paper. "Martha brought me some tea, but I waited to speak to you. I shall have to go out again directly."
"Let me give you Mr. Gaythorne's message first. He wants you to go round and speak to him tomorrow morning about a new brougham for Greta. How delighted she and Alwyn will be. Greta is not strong and does not care for walking much in the winter, and she catches cold so easily."
"It is just what Alwyn wished for her. Yes, I will try to run across to-morrow morning, but I have a long day's work before me. Olive, darling, I have rather bad news for you," and here he put his arm round her. "Aunt Madge is ill."
Olivia turned very pale. "Marcus, how did you know? Has Deb sent a message? I hope—oh, I do hope, it is not influenza."
"I fear it is," returned Marcus, reluctantly. "I met Randolph, and he stopped and told me. He was just going there for the second time. He wants to send a nurse in, but Deb was so against it that he did not venture to insist; but I am afraid she is very ill, Livy."
"I must go round at once. Marcus, do you think you can spare me? Martha is very careful; she will look after Dot. But you know"—and here there were hot, smarting tears in Olivia's eyes—"you know what Aunt Madge is to me. I cannot leave her to Deb."
Marcus sighed; he could not bear his wife to run the risk, and yet how could he be selfish enough to deprive Mrs. Broderick of the comfort of having her with her? He knew their deep affection for each other. Aunt Madge was her second mother; few aunts were so fondly beloved.
"I hate you to go, dearest," he said, "and yet I cannot deny that Randolph is very anxious about her. It is the prostration he fears; the fever has been so high these two days."
"She has been ill two whole days, and Deb has never sent for me," and Olivia sobbed in a heart-broken manner.
"My dear girl, you must not lose heart in this way," and Marcus stroked her hair tenderly. "Let me tell you exactly how it was. I went round with Randolph and waited while he paid his visit. Deb came out to speak to me; she is an obstinate, incorrigible, cross-grained old woman, and I told her so. Oh, I spoke my mind to her. She cannot deny that she has been up for three nights, and yet the mention of a nurse throws her into tantrums. 'I have always nursed my mistress, and as long as I can drag about she shall have no strangers to harass her dear soul,' she said, defiantly. Now what are you to do with a woman like that? I asked her why she had not let us know," he went on, "and she confessed that Aunt Madge had made her promise not to send. So you see Deb was not to blame for that."
"No, I see;" and then Olivia looked up in her husband's face pleadingly. "Marcus, dear, you will not forbid my sitting up with Aunt Madge tonight. Deb will not mind me; she knows how Aunt Madge will love to have me. I will be very careful, and do just as you tell me; but I must! I must be with her!" and then very reluctantly Marcus gave his permission.
Martha was interviewed and Dot kissed in her cot, and then Olivia told Marcus she was ready; and they walked to Maybrick Villas almost in silence.
Olivia's heart was too full for speech. If Aunt Madge died, she told herself, the world would never be the same to her again; some of the warmth and the light and the joy of life would have faded out of it. "She is one of my few treasures," she thought. "Marcus and dear baby come first, of course, but Aunt Madge has taken mother's place. All these years she has helped me so with her wise, loving counsel and sympathy."
"While there is life there is hope, Livy," observed Marcus, gently; and his hand touched hers in the darkness.
"Dr. Randolph does not own himself beaten by any means. Do what you can to help Deb, for she is just worn out, the foolish, faithful creature;" and his voice changing, "do not forget me or Dot, and for our sakes take care of yourself," and with these words he opened the little gate and left her to go in alone.
"The dear Lord's best interpretersAre humble human souls;The gospel of a lifeIs more than books or scrolls."—Whittier.
"Deb, I have come to stay," were Olivia's first words, as the woman met her on the top of the stairs; but Deborah's only answer was to lift her hands in dumb protest and lead the way into the kitchen.
Deb's strong, hard-featured face was haggard and drawn with fatigue and anxiety, and she looked more gaunt and angular than ever: her reddened, swollen eyelids told their own tale.
"I am come to stay," repeated Olivia, firmly; but Deborah only shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the fireplace.
"You won't need to stay long, Miss Olive," she said, in a choked voice—at moments of excitement it was still "Miss Olive" with Deb—"she is failing fast, dear soul; the fever's gone and left her as weak as a new-born babe. I always said my mistress was only fit to be among the angels!" and Deb gave an expressive sniff as she filled her kettle. Olivia felt a dull pain at her heart at this speech, but she would not let herself give way. Deborah, as she knew, always took a gloomy view of her mistress's illnesses.
"Dr. Randolph is coming again to-night," she observed; "my husband told me so;" but Olivia's hand shook as she took off her hat and jacket.
"Yes, Miss Olive, the doctor is coming again, and that speaks for itself, to my mind. I knew what it was four days ago, for she was taken ill the very night after you drove round to see her, but I dare not let you know. 'We won't tell Mrs. Luttrell, or she will be anxious, and will insist on coming to nurse me. Promise me that you will not send to Galvaston Terrace, Deb;' and what was a poor servant to do? I suppose if Dr. Luttrell has sent you you will have to stop, but I won't give up nursing my mistress even to you, Miss Olive," and Deb sniffed defiantly. "There, you may go in while I warm her milk, but she will not take any notice of you. She is too weak to speak."
The folding-doors were open, and the little sitting-room, with its cheery fire, had a cosy aspect, the sick-room was dimly lighted. As Olivia bent over the invalid her heart contracted with anguish. Could only four days have wrought such deadly havoc?
Aunt Madge's face looked pinched and sunken, and so changed that Olivia could hardly recognise it, but, as she hung over her in speechless grief, the heavy eyelids unclosed, and something like a smile passed over the features. "My little Livy" was all she whispered, but it was the old caressing tone.
When Dr. Randolph paid his last visit Olivia begged him to use his influence with Deborah. "She has been up three nights and is utterly worn out," she went on. "I want her to let me watch while she has a good sleep on that couch. I would promise to wake her if I saw the least change. Indeed, I know something of nursing, Dr. Randolph. I was with my dear mother when she died, and I will carry out all your instructions."
"Well, you heard what I said to Mrs. Higgins," returned Dr. Randolph, "that everything depends on frequent nourishment. The fever is down, but there is a state of collapse that makes me uneasy. Mrs. Broderick has a good constitution or she would not have got through her last illness, so I still hope we may pull her through;" but Dr. Randolph's voice was not sanguine as he said this. "Now I will go and have a talk with Mrs. Higgins. I shall tell her that unless she does as she is told to-night I shall bring round a nurse with me to-morrow. I think that will fetch her," and Dr. Randolph was right. Possibly Deb felt herself on the verge of breaking down, for she consented at last to lie down on her mistress's couch for an hour or two, but it was midnight before Olivia found herself in sole charge.
There was very little to be done except to give medicine and nourishment at stated intervals and to make up the two fires as noiselessly as possible, but Olivia felt her responsibilities too acutely to be overcome by drowsiness, though Deborah lay hour after hour in the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion.
Olivia's thoughts went back to her childhood as she sat there. A hundred instances of Aunt Madge's affection and devotion recurred to her. She remembered how the sprightly young aunt used to run up to the nursery with some new toy or gaily-dressed doll that she had purchased out of her scanty savings, for Aunt Madge had been a daily governess, too. She could recall the Sunday afternoons when she sat in her lap and the beautiful voice sang to her or told her stories,—Joseph and his brethren and Daniel in the lions' den,—or on other days dear old fairy stories such as children love. She had been her bridesmaid, too, and had grown very fond of the honest, sturdy Scotchman whom his wife so tenderly idealised.
"Uncle Fergus was a good, kind man," she thought, "but he was not all that Aunt Madge imagined him. Most people would not have called him interesting, but he was devoted to her. What a bright creature she was until little Malcolm died. That was the first of her troubles. What a happy home theirs had been, but it was Aunt Madge who had been the heart of the house, who had organised and planned. Uncle Fergus had never originated anything.
"And she loved him as dearly as I love Marcus," she went on. "And yet when she lost him there was not a murmuring word.
"'I thought it was too good to last,' she once said to me, 'but my widow's cruse will never be empty. I have the sweetest memories, and by-and-by I shall have my treasures again. Do you know I often pray, Livy, that I may not long so much to die? God's will, not mine, even in this.'
"Oh, Aunt Madge, dear Aunt Madge, I cannot spare you yet," murmured Olivia more than once that night, for it is hard for human affection to rid itself of selfishness.
When Olivia brought Deb a cup of tea at seven o'clock, the good creature seemed quite shocked. "To think I have slept all these hours," she said, in a dazed voice.
"Miss Olive, why did you not wake me long ago? You are fit to drop, and what will Dr. Luttrell say?" but Olivia shook her head with a faint smile.
"I will lie down now and get a nap. Deb, I am sure she is no worse; she has taken all Dr. Randolph ordered, and though she has not spoken, she seemed to me a shade less exhausted;" but, though Deb would not endorse this, Olivia felt certain that she was right.
She was sitting at her late breakfast, when Marcus called to see how they had spent the night. And her account evidently relieved him. He waited to hear Dr. Randolph's opinion. Olivia came back to him as soon as possible.
"Oh, Marcus," she said, the tears rushing to her eyes, "Dr. Randolph says that the exhaustion is not quite so great, and he owned frankly that he was afraid last night how he should find her this morning. We are to go on just the same. Everything depends on frequent nourishment; he thinks the heart is a little stronger, but she must not be moved at all. 'We must see what nature and rest will do,' he said to me; 'do not relax your efforts, we are not out of the woods yet.' He is coming again about four."
"Yes, I should not be surprised if she weathered it after all," returned Marcus; "she must have a tough constitution to have gone through all she has. Yesterday I certainly felt anxious, and so did Randolph. We both feared sudden collapse. I worried myself for a long time because I had not offered to sit up with you, Livy, but I have been up two nights already this week, and one has one's work to do;" but Olivia looked quite shocked at this.
"My dear boy, how could you think of such a thing? It would have made me more miserable than I was already; besides, there would have been no room for you, this is such a tiny place. Oh, how I wish Aunt Madge could move into better lodgings; her bedroom is far too small, and that wardrobe quite fills it up. By-the-bye, Marcus, I wish you would tell me what I had better do. May I come home for an hour or two and see baby?"
"I don't know that there would be any risk," he replied, slowly; "you cannot give influenza unless you have it yourself; but, all the same, I would keep away from Dot. She is perfectly well, and sat up in her high-chair pouring out imaginary tea in her wooden set while I had my breakfast, and Martha begged me to tell you 'that the butcher had called, and she had ordered a steak for master, and would make a rice-pudding for Miss Baby.'"
"Very well, then, I will stay; but, Marcus, I shall see you again this evening, shall I not?" and Marcus returned in an emphatic voice that he certainly intended to keep an eye on her.
"I won't have you getting into mischief and knocking yourself up," he remarked, severely. "So be a wise woman, or you will have to reckon with me!"
There was plenty to do that morning, putting things tidy in the sick-room and straightening the sitting-room. In the course of the day some choice flowers came from Galvaston House with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments, and at tea-time Marcus dropped in unexpectedly, and they had a cosy half-hour together in Deb's spotless little kitchen; to her surprise he told Olivia that Dot was at Galvaston House.
"Mrs. Crampton begged to have her, and Mr. Gaythorne thought it would be a good plan, so she fetched her this afternoon. I hope I have done right, Livy;" and Marcus spoke in an apologetic tone, as though he felt that he had trenched on the mother's prerogative; "but, you see, I am so much out, and Martha is so busy, that I thought that we should both be less anxious to know that Mrs. Crampton was looking after her," and Olivia agreed to this.
Olivia had already arranged to take the earlier part of the night in the sick-room, and when Dr. Randolph had paid his evening visit, Deb took possession of the couch again. Olivia had promised faithfully to wake her at three o'clock.
A long afternoon nap had refreshed Olivia, and a few hopeful words from the doctor had cheered her immensely. A little after midnight she was sitting down by the bedside with some knitting to keep her awake, when a movement from the bed made her look up. Aunt Madge's eyes were fixed on her; there was a strange solemnity and deep sadness in their expression, and as Olivia rose hastily and bent over her with a tender inquiry, the feeble voice whispered:
"Don't fret any more, Livy, the Master does not need me yet—not yet," and then scarcely audibly, "I shall not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord," and then it seemed to Olivia that the weary eyelids closed in sleep again.
When her turn for rest came, Olivia felt almost too agitated to sleep; the sad yearning in the sunken eyes haunted her; too well she knew that the fresh gift of life would only be an additional cross laid on the weary shoulders. What was life to Aunt Madge now but suffering and deprivation, a daily stumbling among shadows, as she had once called it.
There was no reserve and hesitation in Dr. Randolph's manner when he came out of the sick-room the next day.
"She has turned the corner now, but it was a narrow squeak," he said, rubbing his hands. "Now, all we have to do is to build up her strength. Your aunt is a wonderful woman, Mrs. Luttrell. I should not wonder if she is good for twenty years yet, but we must be careful still. I suppose you will be here for another day or two? Oh, that's all right," as Olivia gave a decided assent to this. "It would be a pity to knock Mrs. Higgins up. There are not many women like her; she is simply invaluable."
As the days went on the tension of anxiety was visibly relaxed. The invalid's progress was slow but sure. In another day or two Olivia was able to go home for an hour or two to have dinner with Marcus and give Martha directions; but while the night-work continued it was impossible for her to leave. And it was arranged that Dot was to remain at Galvaston House for the present.
Greta had written to beg for an extension of her visit. "She is such a darling, and I shall be so delighted to have her," she wrote. "She will not be at all in the way," and indeed Dot ruled royally over the household.
She and Mr. Gaythorne became great friends. "Great dada," as she called him, took a good deal of notice of the pretty, golden-haired child who played at his feet for hours, and Eros was devoted to her.
Alwyn's first work when he returned was to paint a large picture of Dot in her cream-coloured smock, hanging a withered garland round the neck of the blind hound.
"Friends" he called it.
Olivia was able to spend an hour or two at Galvaston House the day after the young couple returned.
She found them in the studio with Dot and Eros. Alwyn was looking well and handsome, and Greta's sweet face wore an expression of gentle content. She carried Olivia off at once to the morning-room to have a chat, as she said, looking archly at her husband. And though Alwyn professed to grumble at the desertion, he was too busy stretching his canvas for the new picture to resent it.
"Let me know when tea is ready," he called after them, and then they heard him whistling in his usual light-hearted fashion.
"I need not ask you if you are happy, Greta," were Olivia's first words, and then a charming blush crossed the young bride's face.
"No, indeed! Oh, Olive, he is so good to me; if you only knew how he studies all my wishes. It was like a dream yesterday coming to this beautiful home. And then Mr. Gaythorne's delight at getting his son back. Oh, it was so touching to see them together. Alwyn wants me to call him 'Father,'" she continued, shyly. "He says it will please him so, so I must try to do it. You know I always called my own father dad. Now tell me about dear Mrs. Broderick. Poor Olive, what a time you have had; and you are looking so pale and tired." And then Olive poured out her anxieties and past troubles into Greta's sympathising ears.
"She is very weak still," she finished. "Dr. Randolph thinks it will be some time before she will be able to leave her bed. I have found such a nice woman who will come in and help Deb, for of course I cannot leave Marcus any longer. I am to go home the day after to-morrow. Deb will sleep on the couch in the sitting-room. She will have to give nourishment every two hours, but Deb manages to sleep with one eye open, as I tell her. I am to go for a couple of hours every afternoon, that will allow her to have a little rest. Marcus thinks this will work excellently. Oh, how glad I shall be to be at home again and look after him!"
"You want looking after yourself, dear," returned Greta, affectionately. And then Alwyn came into the room with Dot on his shoulder, but she clamoured to go to her mammy.
"How do you think Mrs. Alwyn Gaythorne looks?" asked Alwyn, mischievously. "She does me credit, does she not? By-the-bye, Greta, do you think father will like us to have coffee with him in the library this afternoon?"
"I told Phoebe that we would have it up here; shall I go and ask him, Alwyn?"
"Do, love; the attention will please him, and I am sure Mrs. Luttrell will not mind." Then as Greta left the room, he turned to Olivia and said in a tone of deep feeling,—
"She looks well and happy, don't you think so? Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, every day I feel more what a treasure I have. She is an embodied sunbeam. I never knew anyone so gentle and yet so bright. How my father will love her when he knows her better." And then, as his wife's step sounded in the corridor, he sprang from his seat to open the door.
"But here I bring within my trembling hand,This will of mine, a thing that seemeth small,And Thou alone, O Lord, can understand,How when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all."—Anon.
It was some time before Aunt Madge could be lifted on to the couch in the sitting-room, and even then Deb declared that she was not the weight of a child of eight or nine.
"There is nothing of her, Miss Olive," she grumbled. "She is worn to such a shadow. Tire my arms, indeed—I could lift a heavier weight than that," and Deb gave one of her ominous sniffs, and went off to her kitchen to shed a few tears in private.
All those weeks Olivia had been unremitting in her attentions, and all other visits were interdicted; but the friends at Galvaston House showed their sympathy in every possible way. Mr. Gaythorne sent choice old wine and game, and Greta and Alwyn kept the invalid supplied with fruit and flowers. Mrs. Crampton made jellies and soups, the little larder at Mayfield Villas was filled to overflowing. Mrs. Broderick took it all gratefully, and gave her nurses no trouble. "I am under orders," she would say, with a pitiful attempt at her old drollery; but only Olivia, who loved and understood her, ever guessed at the sadness of those days of convalescence.
One evening, as they were together in the twilight, Olivia ventured to hint at this depression; she was waiting for Marcus to come and fetch her, for they were to dine at Galvaston House.
"Is it because you are too weak to feel cheerful, dear Aunt Madge?" she asked, tenderly; but Mrs. Broderick shook her head.
"It is because I am a coward," she returned, with a spirit of her old energy. "Ah, Livy, I am ashamed to tell you what a coward I have been; but I simply felt as though I could not face it. Let me explain myself; I feel strong enough to talk, and it may do me good. Dear child, dearest Livy," stroking her hand, "you have been such a comfort to me! Do you remember that night when I told you I was not going to die? Well, I had had a wonderful dream, a vision rather, for I shall always think it one. I thought that I was wandering in some strange place, some vast emptiness where there was nothing human but myself, and that I came suddenly to a wide arched portal that seemed to reach to the stars, and I said to myself, 'this is the Gate of Paradise.' As I stood on the threshold I could see a green space like a valley bathed in sunlight, and I even noticed the white starry flowers growing everywhere, and then I saw my dear Fergus, looking just as he did in life, only somehow with a grander and more peaceful look on his dear face, and he was leading our little Malcolm by the hand. I thought I kissed them both, and clung to them in a perfect ecstasy of joy, but Fergus looked at me in such a tender solemn way. 'Not yet, Madge,' he said, 'your work is not quite done yet; the Master has sent me to tell you so; be patient, true heart. When the time comes, Malcolm and I will be here.' And then I felt myself falling, and when I opened my eyes I saw you sitting there by the bedside."
"What a sweet dream, dearest!"
"Yes, I am beginning to feel the comfort of it now; but that night I felt as though my heart were broken to be so near and then to have to go back; but, Livy, I am trying to say it—'Thy will, not mine, be done.' God's will—not ours; surely our Father knows what is best for His poor child."
"And you are not unhappy?"
"Only a little sad and tired, but that will pass, it is passing now," and the old lovely smile came to her lips. "Don't you recollect what Keble says,—
"''Tis sweet as year by year we loseFriends out of sight, in faith to museHow grows in Paradise our store.'
"What are a few more years of loneliness when Fergus and I have eternity to spend together. There, I hear Marcus's knock; he will scold me for making you look sad."
But Aunt Madge was wrong, for once in his life Marcus was too preoccupied to notice the signs of agitation on his wife's face.
"What do you think, dear people," he said, brightly, when he had greeted the invalid. "Dr. Bevan and I have settled matters; he will have the deed of partnership drawn up at once. Nothing can be fairer or more liberal than his terms. I told him I had only half-a-dozen paying patients at present, but he said that I should soon have more. We have turned the corner, Livy, and my wife shall walk in silk attire yet," and Marcus flung back his head with a gesture of pride and importance.
"My dear laddie, I congratulate you with all my heart," returned Aunt Madge, affectionately, as she grasped his hands. "Livy looks quite dazed, and no wonder," and then a warm flush came to Olivia's cheek.
"Dear Marcus, I am so glad, so thankful," she whispered.
"Yes, but it will be uphill work at first," he returned, "and I shall have plenty to do. Bevan is not the man he was, Randolph does not seem satisfied about him; but he will pick up when the warm weather comes. Oh, by-the-bye, Livy, I have not told you half yet. Bevan insists on our moving at once; he wants me to take a good house, either in Brunswick Place or Montague Square, or one of those roads leading out of it; it is well that we have that nest egg, the five hundred pounds untouched, it will pay for the necessary furniture, and the first year's rent will be assured."
"Yes, indeed," returned Olivia, in a low voice; she was awed and overwhelmed by this unexpected good fortune; but Marcus would not allow any more talking; his professional eyes had already noted the signs of weariness and exhaustion in the invalid.
"We must go now," he said, abruptly. "We will talk over details another time; it is no use giving Aunt Madge a bad night," and then Olivia rose reluctantly and put on her wraps.
"I shall come to-morrow afternoon and tell you everything," she said, and Mrs. Broderick nodded and smiled.
But as they slipped out into the wintry darkness and Olivia took her husband's arm, she said, with a little laugh,—
"I am so glad I have put on my wedding-dress to-night. I ought to be smart for such an occasion. This is our first dinner-party since we have been married."
"Then it won't be our last," returned Marcus, in a tone of conviction. "I wonder, Livy, whether we shall ever regret those cosy evenings in the dear little room at No. 1, Galvaston Terrace," but Olivia only sighed happily. She was too good a wife to regret anything that led to her husband's advancement. Very likely her cares and responsibilities would be doubled. She would have less of Marcus's society, and the world would have claims upon them. The long three years' honeymoon was over, but, thank God, something else was over too,—the dread of approaching poverty, the sadness of unproductive labour, of work done only for love's sake and without grudging.
The following afternoon Mrs. Broderick lay tranquilly in the pleasant fire-lit twilight, awaiting Olivia's promised visit.
A pine log was spluttering and diffusing tiny coloured sparks. Zoe lay curled up in a silken ball on the black bearskin rug, and Olivia's favourite low chair had been wheeled to the foot of the couch, the tea-things were on the table, and the brass trivet on the fender was suggestive of hot buttered scones.
"Oh, Aunt Madge, how cosy you look," were Olivia's first words. "May I take off my hat and jacket? I am going to stay a long time, and Marcus hopes to come round presently."
"Then we will wait tea for him," returned Aunt Madge, with something like her old briskness.
"Will you tell Deb not to bring in the kettle and scones until we ring? Come, this is like old times. It is months since Marcus had tea with me. Now draw up your chair, Livy, and begin your story, for you are just bursting with news," and, though Olivia laughed at this, she did not deny it.
"We had such a lovely time last night," she began. "Greta looked so pretty in her black evening dress at the top of the table. She wore the pearl necklace and Olive's diamond cross. She has such a beautiful white throat the pearls hardly showed against it Mr. Gaythorne came in to dinner and sat beside her, but he was very tired and left us directly after, and we all went up to Greta's morning-room and sat round the fire talking, just we four. It was so nice and cosy."
"I suppose Mr. Gaythorne was told the grand news?"
"Oh dear, yes. He and Alwyn were so keen about it. They drank the health of Dr. Bevan's new partner. Mr. Gaythorne proposed the toast himself. Just as we left the dining-room I noticed that Greta detained Alwyn, and they did not follow upstairs for quite a quarter of an hour, but of course Marcus and I took no notice. They both looked a little bit excited when they came in. Greta gave my arm a funny little squeeze, and Alwyn cleared his throat and looked at Marcus, and then said in such a serious voice that he had an important proposal to make to us. It was Greta's idea, but he heartily approved of it. The house at Brunswick Place was waiting for a tenant. Why should not Marcus take it? It was to be let furnished. They had decided on that already, so there would be no delay or fuss necessary. 'You might go in next week,' he finished. 'The rooms only need airing and warming.'"
"My dear Livy, what a splendid idea. Three cheers for Greta, I say."
"Yes, it was all Greta's thought; but oh, Aunt Madge, what a talk we had. First, the terms that Alwyn proposed were so absurdly low that Marcus got quite red and said in almost an annoyed tone—you know how proud he is—that he must decline living at other people's expense. He would pay a fair rent for the house or he would not have it at all. And then Alwyn patted him on the back and told him to keep calm, for no one wanted to insult him, and then they went on wrangling like two schoolboys. Marcus called Alwyn a stuck-up millionaire, and Alwyn retorted by telling him that he was as proud as a Highlander, and then Greta and I called them to order, but we were laughing so that we could hardly speak."
"How I should have loved to hear them. Marcus is so delicious when he gets on his high horse."
"Well, it was arranged at last to everybody's satisfaction, though Alwyn went on grumbling for a long time, and we are to move in next month. Marcus is to pay the full rent, and there is to be a fixed sum paid quarterly for the furniture, and at the end of two years it will be ours. They both thought this the best plan. You see, expenses will be heavy the first year, and we must not look for great profits. But there is every reasonable hope, as Marcus says, if he keeps his health, that in a year or two he may have a good practice. There is room for another doctor; even Dr. Randolph says so."
"Well, Livy dear, I can only congratulate you."
"Yes, indeed; Greta and I have been in Brunswick Place all the morning planning things. Oh, Aunt Madge, it is such a lovely house. The dining-room and drawing-room are such handsome rooms, and there is such a study for Marcus. It is too large for us, of course." And then Olivia stopped and her eyes grew very wistful.
"Aunt Madge, dear Aunt Madge, we want you and Deb to go with us. I have set my heart on it, darling, and Marcus wants it too. Don't get pale over it," as Mrs. Broderick gave a little gasp. "Listen to me a moment," and Olivia knelt by the couch and put her arms round her.
"There is Greta's morning-room on the first floor, it is such a large, cheerful room, with a bay-window overlooking the nice, old-fashioned garden, where you could lie and look out on the trees and flowers; here you see nothing but the four walls. Greta's bedroom is next to it; you would have that, too; it is a pleasant front room, very large and airy, and so nicely furnished, and my room would be just opposite. Deb could have the room just at the top of a short flight of stairs; it looks on the garden, too, and she could sit there and do her sewing. There are three or four other rooms besides attics, but they have not been used, so you can judge what a good house it is. Aunt Madge, do say you will come. It will make us so happy to know you are safe under our roof. Think what it would be to me to have you at hand in all my little difficulties. And you shall not be troubled; you shall live your old life, and Deb will have nothing to do but take care of you." But Aunt Madge made no answer, only a curiously sweet smite played round her lips.
"I should be no expense to you," she observed presently, in a reflective tone. "I might even be able to help a little. By-the-bye, Livy, how many servants do you propose to keep in this palatial mansion?"
"I am afraid we can only afford two good ones at present. That is my difficulty, Aunt Madge. What am I to do with Martha? She is certainly not eligible for a house-parlourmaid."
"Keep her as Dot's nurse, and I will pay her wages. Yes, I mean it, Livy. In a year or two with careful training that girl will be worth her weight in gold. She will be a second Deb to you in time. Oh, that is Marcus, and we have not finished."
"Well, are you coming to us, Aunt Madge?" were Marcus's first words as he entered the room. There was unmistakable eagerness in his tone. "If you do not want Livy to cry out her eyes with disappointment, and if I am to have a peaceful moment for the next six months, I entreat you to consent."
"Am I likely to refuse, Marcus?" But Aunt Madge's voice was not so clear as usual. "Don't you think that I shall love to have you and Livy caring for me? so it is 'yes,' and God bless you both." And a slow tear rolled down Aunt Madge's pale face.
Marcus and Olivia never repented that step. As the years went on and other children's voices were heard in the house at Brunswick Place, when three sturdy, boys climbed up on Dr. Luttrell's knees, and two small, brown-eyed girls toddled after mother, Aunt Madge's room was the heart and nucleus of the busy household.
There would come Marcus for a greeting word and a jest before he set off on his day's round, and there Olivia would betake herself for a rest and a chat. When her household tasks had been despatched, she seldom found Aunt Madge alone; Nigel or Hugh would have brought her their kites to mend, or to beg that Deb would make them new sails for their boat, and, of course, where Nigel went, fat, sturdy Ronald followed.
Or the twins would be playing with their Japanese babies on the carpet, or rolling over each other and Zoe (not the same Zoe, alas!) like kittens. But the most frequent visitor was Dot, dimpled and winsome as ever.
Olivia had verified Aunt Madge's words. She had grown a little stouter and more matronly, and had become a fine-looking woman, but the eyes were as frank and kindly as ever, and one only needed to look at her to find out that she was thoroughly in harmony with her environment.
And Madge Broderick was happy, although the years of her widowhood and banishment stretched out indefinitely.
"You will make an old woman yet," Dr. Randolph often told her, but she had ceased to wince when he said it as though a cold hand had struck her.
And year by year a deep peacefulness steals over the dear face, and the ring of cheerfulness in the full, mellow voice grows stronger. "I have two lovely homes, Livy," she would say. "One here with you and Marcus and the darling children, and one in the 'many mansions,' where Fergus and baby boy wait for me." And as she said this a radiant smile would light her features like sunshine.