Betty was so absorbed in the music that she forgot all about the major.
'When I grow up, do you think I shall be able to play and sing like you do?' she asked, with a little sigh of happiness.
'I dare say you may, dear.'
'But shall I have an organ to play? In London you can't go into any church and play, can you?'
'No; it is only because I know the clergyman here that he gives me permission.'
'And why do you never come to church here on Sunday?'
'Because we have a little church nearer us; but it has not an organ, and so I come over here.'
'Do you know what I do when you're singing? I shut my eyes and pretend I'm in heaven. It's lovely! If you shut yours you could pretend too, and I wish you could go on singing for ever and ever!'
Nesta laughed, and kissed the little eager, up-turned face. 'I should get very tired and hungry, I'm afraid. I am not an angel, Betty; but you're right, darling. I, too, get very near to heaven when I'm singing;' and she added musingly,—
In heart and mind ascending,My spirit follows Thee.'
When, a little later, Nesta came out of the church with Betty, the tall figure of Major St. Clair came forward to meet them.
'Good-afternoon, Miss Fairfax.'
His tone was cold and grave; but Nesta started, and turned white to her very lips; then with an effort she recovered her composure, and held out her hand.
'It is a long time since we have met,' she said.
There was a pause, but Betty came to the rescue with the delightful unconsciousness of childhood.
'Do you know my Miss Fairfax?' she asked the major. 'You never told me you did. Didn't she sing beautifully? Did you like "Tribulation"? We like it the best of all her songs, don't we, Prince?'
She stooped to caress her little dog; then, as he broke away from her, she darted after him.
Major St. Clair stood still, and his eyes never moved from Nesta's face.
'Do we meet as strangers?' he asked.
'No,' she said, a little unsteadily, and her lips quivered in spite of herself, as she strove in vain to meet his gaze calmly; 'as old friends, I hope.'
'Never!' he said, a passionate light coming to his eyes; 'it must be everything or nothing to me, as I told you long ago.'
She was silent; a little sigh escaped her, so hopeless and yet so patient, that Major St. Clair continued hotly,—
'I would not have come here, had I known you were in this neighbourhood; but having met I cannot go without a word with you. Nesta, you are not happy; I see it in your face! Time has not soothed and comforted you; why will you not let me share your trouble and stand by you when perhaps you need a friend more than ever you did in days of old? Do you realize the blank you are making in my life, as well as in your own? Yes, I know I am taking much for granted; but yours is not a nature to change. I believe in you now as I always did, and it is only your mistaken ideas of duty that have brought this trouble into our lives.'
He paused, and then Nesta spoke, looking away from the low churchyard wall by which they were standing to the hills in the distance.
'I am sorry we have met,' she said simply, 'very sorry, for it is pain to us both; but the circumstances in my life have not changed; I cannot act differently; my mother and sister require me, and my mother——' Her voice faltered.
'Your mother is still of the same opinion,' he said. 'I look back with regret to my heated words when last I saw her. Time and another Teacher has shown me since where I was wrong; but, Nesta, let me plead my—may I say our cause with her again? She has no right to spoil our lives, and it is no true kindness to her to allow her to do it. Give me your permission to come and see her.'
'I cannot; it will only stir up her grief and pain afresh. She will not, cannot, look at things in a different light.'
'And are you going to part with me like this?'
His tone was low and husky with feeling. He added, a little drearily, 'I wonder, after all, if your affection has cooled; you speak so calmly about it all, that it makes one think——'
Nesta heard him so far, and then put out her hand as if to stop him.
'Oh, Godfrey!'
That was all; but as the old familiar name slipped from her lips she burst into tears, and turning aside, leant her arms on the old wall and buried her head in them.
Major St. Clair stepped up quickly. 'Nesta, Nesta, you must not! I cannot stand it! My darling, we cannot part like this!'
What he might have done was never known; perhaps, with his strong arm round her, Nesta would have yielded then and there; but a most inopportune childish voice broke in close by.
'You've made her cry! You've made my Miss Fairfax cry!' And with a little rush Betty flew to comfort her friend.
In an instant Nesta was standing erect again.
'It is nothing, darling; we have been talking over old times. Good-bye, Major St. Clair.'
She turned down a path at the side of the church, whilst Major St. Clair gazed after her in bewilderment and vexation.
'Oh!' he said, shaking his head at Betty as they retraced their way homewards, 'you're like a little boy I once knew, who would bring me a delicious plate of cherries. "Would you like to have some, major? Look at them; aren't they lovely?" And then, as I stretched out my hand, he would snatch them back with malicious glee, and gobble them up in my sight.'
'He was a very rude little boy,' said Betty, a little offended, 'and I don't think I'm a bit like him, for I haven't brought you anything this afternoon.'
Very restless and uneasy was Major St. Clair all that evening; Captain Stuart more than once took him to task for his moodiness and absence of mind, but was quite unsuccessful in eliciting a satisfactory explanation.
The next day they went off fishing together, but about four o'clock Major St. Clair left his friend and sauntered back to the house. Finding Betty and Prince playing together outside, he called her to him, and, lying full length on the grass, led her on to talk about Nesta. Betty innocently fell in with his wish; she gave him a graphic description of her day at Holly Grange, and then went back to the day when she first met Mrs. Fairfax in the wood.
'She's like a queen,' said the eager child; 'her face is so stern and proud, but she's very sad! Every grown-up person seems sad about here! I like Mrs. Fairfax very much; she gave me Prince.'
Major St. Clair listened, and asked questions, and then suddenly started to his feet.
'Come for a walk with me,' he said; 'wait till I have written a letter, and then we will start.'
'To church again?' inquired Betty.
'No, not to church; to Holly Grange.'
'It's miles and miles,' said Betty dubiously; 'I went in a pony carriage, but if you go by the wood it is shorter.'
'Oh, we shall manage it very well, and if you are tired I will carry you.'
Major St. Clair's tone was quite cheerful, and Betty set off with him, delighted at being chosen as his companion.
'Are you going to see Miss Fairfax?' she asked presently.
'No, I don't think I shall go into the house at all; but I want you to take a note to Mrs. Fairfax and bring me back an answer.'
Betty coloured up with pleasure. 'I shall like to do that,' she said; 'it's such a nice house inside, and you should see the flowers! I think I could be quite happy if I were Mrs. Fairfax, couldn't you?'
She chattered on, and when at last the gates were reached, Major St. Clair entrusted her with the important letter.
'Give it to Mrs. Fairfax yourself, Betty, and tell her I would like to see her very much.'
Betty nodded, and clasped the letter tightly in one little hand, Prince followed her closely up the drive. The hall-door stood open, and for a moment the child hesitated; then the old butler crossed the hall, and she called out eagerly,—
'Please, can I come in and see Mrs. Fairfax?'
The man looked surprised. 'I don't think she will see you,' he said, smiling; 'Mrs. Fairfax sees no visitors.'
'But I'm not a visitor,' said the little girl; 'I'm only Betty, and I've got a letter to give her.'
'I will go and see.'
He disappeared, but returned a minute after.
'Come in, missy—this way.'
He led the child into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Fairfax was presiding at the afternoon tea-table. Nesta was not there, and Grace was just leaving the room.
A smile lightened Mrs. Fairfax's grave face at the sight of Betty.
'All alone?' she asked, bending down to kiss her.
'I've come to bring you a letter,' said Betty, dimpling over with pleasure and importance.
Mrs. Fairfax made her sit down in a little cushioned chair, and took the note in her hand. As she read it, she knitted her brows, and her lips took their sternest curve; then rising she went to the farther end of the room, and stood looking out of the low French window, her back turned to Betty, and her hands clenched convulsively by her side.
Nesta was right in surmising what a torrent of painful memories would be aroused by Major St. Clair's advent in their neighbourhood.
If the letter had come a few weeks before, there would have been only one answer; but Mrs. Fairfax had been learning lately from the great Master Himself, and her heart was softened and subdued. Still it was a hard struggle, and pride fought for predominance. At length she turned round, and went to her writing-desk; and then Betty crept up softly to her.
'Major St. Clair asked me to ask you to see him,' she said, laying her little hand on Mrs. Fairfax's knee.
'I will write my answer, Betty; I cannot do that,' was the cold reply, as Mrs. Fairfax turned her head away from the child.
But Betty was not to be put off.
'I think he would like to see you very much; and you'd like him, for he is Uncle Harry's friend; and he has such sad eyes, and he has been through tribulation like you; at least, he has had a big trouble, he told me; and that's just the same, isn't it?'
There was no answer. Betty continued: 'Shall I just go out and bring him in? I've been telling him about you this afternoon, and how you gave me the lilies, and Prince, and he liked to hear it; he asked me a lot of questions, and I think he wants to see you, and if you're like a queen, like I told him!'
Then Mrs. Fairfax lifted the child on her knee. 'Oh Betty, Betty!' was all she said, but some glistening drops fell on the child's curly head, as the grey head was bent over it, and Betty wondered why Mrs. Fairfax's voice sounded so strange. 'I think you will have to bring him in here,' Mrs. Fairfax said at last; and Betty trotted out of the room in great delight. She found the major pacing up and down the road with a white, resolute face. He threw away the cigar he was smoking when he saw the child, and asked, with anxiety in his dark eyes,—
'Well, little woman, how have you fared?'
'You're to come in and see her.'
'Thank God!' and not another word did the major say till he was in the drawing-room.
It was a constrained and formal greeting between the two; and then Mrs. Fairfax turned to Betty,—
'Will you run into the garden, dear, till we call you? I think Grace is out there.'
Betty obeyed. Grace was walking slowly up and down the path, enveloped in shawls, and did not look well-pleased when the childish voice sounded in her ear,—
'May I come and walk with you?'
'Were you sent out here? Nesta, I suppose, as usual is out, so she will not be able to look after you, and I certainly am not in a fit state of health to amuse you and keep you out of mischief.'
'I'm not going to get into mischief, really,' protested Betty in an aggrieved tone; 'I'll walk quietly along with you, and won't even pick a flower. Are you better today?'
'No, I am not better—I don't expect I ever shall be, though I can get no sympathy from any one in this house.'
'What's the matter with you?' asked Betty.
'Now, if you are going to worry me with questions, you can just run away; if you were to be kept awake night after night, and never know what it was to be without headaches, having every nerve in your body quivering from exhaustion, you wouldn't wonder what the matter was.'
'I expect you're like Violet, only she could never leave her bed. Mr. Russell said she would sometimes have no sleep all night, and she was so patient, she used to say, "Read me about there shall be no pain." Mr. Russell said he wouldn't have been half so patient as she was. And now she is singing right in the middle of "these are they which came out of great tribulation." Wouldn't you like to be her?'
Grace was silent. Betty's active little tongue turned to other subjects; she told about her visit to the Hall, of her 'dead figure' which was being made out of 'soft putty'; of Prince's misdemeanours when he tried to chase chickens, and then came back to his little mistress with his tail between his legs; of Douglas and Molly's wonderful games, and the twins' talents for getting into trouble; she told her of her walk on the roof, and the story of the young soldiers related by Uncle Harry; and Grace listened, and eventually was amused and interested in spite of herself.
It was a long time before Betty was summoned to the house; and then she met the major in the hall.
'Run in, little one, and wish Mrs. Fairfax good-bye.'
Mrs. Fairfax stooped to kiss Betty; all the hard lines in her face had disappeared, and her voice was unusually gentle.
'You must come and see me another day, when I have no business to occupy me.'
And Betty put her arms round her neck, and gave her a delighted hug.
'You will meet Nesta coming back from the church if you keep to the lane,' Mrs. Fairfax said, speaking to Major St. Clair; 'and we shall expect you to dinner tomorrow.'
He raised his hat, and strode round the shrubbery with such energy that it was all Betty could do to keep up with him.
'Don't you think Mrs. Fairfax like a queen?' asked Betty presently. 'Was she like what I told you?'
'I have seen Mrs. Fairfax before,' was the major's short reply; and Betty gave a little disappointed 'Oh!'
Not long afterwards they came in sight of Nesta. She was walking along rather slowly, her eyes and her thoughts far away; but when she saw who it was, a quick colour spread over her face.
Major St. Clair stepped forward quickly.
'Your mother has sent me to you,' he said; and there was a glad ring in his tone. Nesta looked up at him bewildered.
'My mother! Have you seen her?'
'Yes; thanks to this little person here with me.'
Betty was kissed, but for once Nesta seemed oblivious of her presence. The child could not understand it, neither could she understand the explanation that followed in low, earnest tones. She saw Nesta's eyes light up with a sudden joy, and then fill with tears; she saw Major St. Clair bend his head very close to hers, and though she stood silently by she might just as well have been miles away, for all the notice that she received. At last with a little sigh she said,—
'I'm rather tired; I think I'll go home with Prince.'
Nesta turned to her at once.
'You poor little mite! Godfrey, will you carry her? I must leave you. No, don't come with me. I shall see you to-morrow, and I would rather see my mother alone. She has been so different lately, but I never dared to hope for this! Good-bye, Betty; you have been our little benefactor.'
Betty was hoisted on the broad shoulders of the major, and carried home in silence; he was busy with his own thoughts, and she was tired and sleepy.
They found Captain Stuart impatiently waiting for dinner.
'Where have you been?' he asked; 'has Betty bewitched you?'
'She has done me a good turn to-day,' responded the major.
Betty dipped her little hand into her uncle's.
'We've been to Holly Grange, Uncle Harry. I think Major St. Clair and my Miss Fairfax must have quarrelled yesterday, for he made her cry; but they kissed each other and made it up to-day, and now we're all friends.'
Captain Stuart's week was prolonged to a fortnight, much to the children's delight. They were all astonished when they heard that Major St. Clair was going to marry Betty's Miss Fairfax. Betty herself was very puzzled about it, for she was still unconscious of how large a part she had played in the little drama; and only wondered sometimes that Nesta seemed to care so little for the organ now, and was so often occupied in walking or driving with the major. This, perhaps, made her enjoy her visits to Mr. Russell's studio the more; and when one day he put the finishing touch to the bit of sculpture, she looked rather wistfully at him.
'And mustn't I come here any more now?'
'Come as often as you like,' was the hearty reply; 'I like you chatting away to me whilst I work.'
'I've a good many friends here,' announced Betty upon the last evening of Captain Stuart's stay; 'I think I've more friends than Molly and Douglas have. They don't care about grown-up people: I rather like them!'
'We like Uncle Harry,' protested Molly.
'And who do you like the best of all your friends, Betty?' asked Major St. Clair.
'I think I like Mr. Russell. You see, he's an odd one, like I used to be before I had Prince. Miss Fairfax used to be an odd one too, but she's one of a couple now. Mr. Russell has got no one; he's quite alone.'
There was great laughter at Betty's speech.
'I think I'm an odd one, Betty,' Captain Stuart said. 'What do you advise? My making myself into a couple?'
'Two and two are so much more comfortable,' went on Betty gravely; 'I don't really know what I should do if I hadn't Prince to go with! Really at the bottom of my heart I love him better than anybody! Couldn't you get a dog, if you can't get any one else, Uncle Harry? You'd find yourself in a very nice couple then.'
How Captain Stuart laughed! And Betty was the only one who could see no joke in the matter.
After the gentlemen had left, the children had a quiet time. Betty would still steal away to the church to hear Nesta sing and play; and one day all the children spent a day at Holly Grange. Nurse was getting a little tired of the quiet country life, and began to talk about the return to London, which filled her little charges' hearts with dismay.
'It will be dreadful to sit up and do lessons again,' moaned Molly.
'I think,' said Douglas slowly, 'that I shall get lost the day we are going back; and then I shall live in the wood in that little hut; I shall be a kind of wild man; and I shall eat berries and nuts, and when I want some meat I shall kill a rabbit, and cook him! I really cannot stand being cooped up in that nursery at home again.'
'I've never, never been so happy in my life before,' Betty chimed in; 'but then of course I shall take Prince with me. Fancy! If we had never come to this farm, we should never have gone to that wood, and I should never have seen Mrs. Fairfax, and she would have never sent me Prince!'
'It's always "Prince" with you,' Douglas said a little impatiently; 'you can talk of no one else.'
The day following the one on which this conversation was held, Farmer Giles came into the kitchen in great perturbation about twelve o'clock.
'Where are the children?' he demanded quickly.
Nurse came into the room, leading Bobby, who had been undergoing a change of garments through a tumble into the duck-pond.
'They're out in the meadows,' she said; 'what's the matter?'
'I'm afraid there's a dog of Mr. Dart's loose; I've just heard say it's gone mad, and can't be found! It's these dreadful hot days. I've just chained up Rough. Little Miss Betty must look after that dog of hers. Tom Dart and a neighbour is out huntin' for theirs now.'
'A mad dog!' exclaimed nurse in horror; 'call them in, Jack, do! What should I do if they met it?'
And leaving Bobby in the kitchen, she as well as her brother ran out to warn the children. They found them in a clover field under the trees: Douglas was busy trying to work his way inside an old hollow trunk; Molly was digging down a rabbit hole; and Billy was waiting upon them both.
'Where is Miss Betty?'
'She's gone along the lane,' said Douglas, looking up with a very heated face; 'I sent her to the brook to get some water: we're going to lay in provisions for a siege; and this tree will be our hiding-place.'
'And I'm digging for treasure money,' said Molly.
'Is Prince with her?' asked nurse anxiously.
'Yes, he won't ever stay with us.'
'They're safe enough in this field,' said Farmer Giles, looking round; 'but they'd best not wander in the lanes. We must have Miss Betty back.'
Betty meanwhile was trotting contentedly along, hugging an old earthenware jar.
'We'll get them some water, Prince, and then you shall be the sentry; Douglas said you could be; directly you hear a step you must bark!'
Prince looked up, wagged his tail in response, and began to burrow in the grass for imaginary frogs.
And then Betty, feeling her jar very heavy, sat down against the hedge bank to rest. She remained there some time, chattering away to her dog, and was just starting on her way again, when shouts up the lane startled her.
A moment after, and straight down the lane towards her tore a large retriever; his mouth was open and covered with foam, and he kept making snaps at the air as he rushed along. After him came two men and some boys.
'Out of the way!' they shouted; 'he's mad!'
Poor little Betty stood in the middle of the lane, quite petrified. It was a very narrow lane; the banks and hedges were high on either side, and there literally seemed no escape for the child. On he came, with open jaws and bloodshot eyes; and in another moment a shrill childish scream rose in the air, which sent an awful chill through nurse's blood; for she was now close upon the scene. She arrived just as Tom Dart had got near enough to the dog to fire, and the report of a gun went off as she clambered over a gate into the lane.
She saw the body of the poor beast in the road, with Tom standing over it, but with trembling limbs made her way along to the little crowd now assembled higher up the lane. They were bending down over something in the middle of the road. Was it Betty?
'Is she safe? Who is hurt?' she gasped, as she pushed her way through. There, in agony of grief and terror, Betty was sitting upon the ground, shielding with her little arms her precious dog. 'You shan't take him from me, you shan't; he's my very own, and he's nearly killed!' she was crying frantically.
Nurse seized hold of her and the dog together. 'Are you hurt, child? Speak! Thank God, it's only the dog!'
Farmer Giles was already there, questioning the excited crowd. 'He was making straight for her, but the little dog dashed in front just in time. See how he's bitten! Take him away from the little missy; he'll have to be shot! 'Twas lucky for her she had him with her!' This and more was told, with gaps and pauses; but Betty saw and heard nothing of what was going on around her. She seemed almost beside herself with terror and grief.
'Take us away, nurse! Get a doctor! he's bleeding! He mustn't, oh, he mustn't die! Don't touch him! Oh, I won't, I won't let him go!'
'Come, come,' said Farmer Giles soothingly; 'I won't hurt him. We must see where he is bitten; perhaps I can put him to rights. You let me carry him home. There, see, he's been bitten in his neck, but you're hurting him, holding him so tightly! You let me carry him for you, and you can walk by my side.'
'Will you bathe him, and put a bandage round, and make him well again?'
There was hope dawning in the blue eye raised so trustfully to his; and for a moment the farmer hesitated; then he said, 'We'll do the best for him we can.'
And Betty opened her arms, and Prince was tenderly lifted up, and a piece of sacking the farmer happened to have with him was wrapped round him. He lifted his head, and tried to lick Betty's little hands as he was being taken from her; and she with a fresh burst of sobbing got up from the ground, and clutching hold of the farmer's coat, walked back to the house with him, nurse trying in vain to comfort her.
Arrived at the farm, nurse took decided measures, 'You come indoors with me, there's a good child; and let Jack attend to Prince. He will come and tell you when he's better. No, I won't let you take him in your arms again—now I mean it.'
'I must just see him once more; I must, nurse!'
'Ay,' said the farmer, giving nurse a peculiar look, 'she shall have one more look at him, before I take him!'
The sacking was uncovered, and Prince's ears pricked up and his bright brown eyes sought his little mistress's face. Betty bent over him, and was allowed to kiss the back of his brown silky head. 'My little darling,' she whispered, though tears began to fall again; 'I wish I had been bitten instead of you!' Then turning to Farmer Giles, she said, clasping her little hands in agony of entreaty,—
'You'll be as quick as ever you can, won't you? You won't be more than five minutes bathing his neck and binding it up, will you? and then I'll sit by and nurse him till he gets better. Will you put him in this basket and bring him to me as soon as ever you can?'
'Yes, yes,' said the farmer a little gruffly, and then he went out to the stables; and Betty stood by the kitchen window, too well trained in obedience to attempt to follow him, but with her little heart overflowing with longing to have Prince in her arms again.
'Now,' said nurse very kindly but determinedly, 'come up into the nursery, and let me wash your face and hands and put you on a clean pinafore.'
'He will get better, won't he, nurse? He didn't look very hurt. Can I give him some bread and milk when Farmer Giles brings him in?'
Nurse evaded this question; she seemed ill at ease; and when a few minutes afterwards the report of a gun went off, she started violently, then gave a sigh of relief. Betty was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice this; and, directly her toilet was finished, she ran downstairs to the kitchen again.
'Has Prince come in, Mrs. Giles? Is he better?'
'Bless your little heart,' said Mrs. Giles, bustling about, 'Jack will be in directly, and he'll tell you.'
And, a few minutes afterwards, Farmer Giles appeared. Betty ran to him with outstretched hands. 'Where is he? Are you going to take me to him?'
The farmer looked helplessly at his wife.
'Where is nurse?' he said.
'Keeping out of the way,' muttered Mrs. Giles.
The farmer fetched a deep breath. 'Come along, then,' he said; 'I've done my best, and mustn't shirk the consequence.'
He took hold of Betty's hand, and led her to the stables; twice he cleared his throat, as if about to speak, and then at the door, keeping one hand on the latch, he put his other one under Betty's little chin and raised her face.
'You'll be a brave, good little maid, won't you?' he said, 'and you'll bear up, for 'tis better for the little dog than to live in suffering.'
He opened the door, and Betty, not in the slightest understanding his words, pushed her way breathlessly in.
There in his basket, cold and stiff, lay poor little Prince! For one minute Betty thought he was asleep, and then the awful truth dawned upon her. With her blue eyes dilating with horror, she turned and faced the old farmer, and every vestige of colour left her cheeks.
'He's not dead!' she cried. 'Wake him up, Mr. Giles; he shan't be dead!'
'My little maid, I'm dreadful sorry for you; but 'tis better so; and his neck were near bitten through; he couldn't have lived long in any case.'
Betty flung herself on the floor with such a sharp wail of despair that Farmer Giles felt a lump rising in his throat He knew there could be no comfort yet for the broken-hearted child; that she must go through her trouble alone—words at such a time were useless; and after watching her for some minutes, he slipped away to fetch nurse to bring her in.
And Betty lay with her arms round Prince's basket, sobbing her very heart out, and feeling as if light and joy and gladness had gone out of her life for ever! When nurse came in a little later, and put a gentle hand on the little crouching figure, Betty turned round, furious in her grief.
'Go away, I shan't leave Prince; I wish I could die! Oh, nurse, nurse!' and a fresh burst of sobs shook her; 'tell me he isn't dead; tell me he isn't!'
Nurse tried in vain to pacify her; Betty was too over-wrought to listen. One thing she stedfastly refused to do, and that was to leave her dog, and nurse finally had to take her up in her arms by force, and carry her, shrieking and struggling, to the house. Poor little Betty did not prove herself a heroine; but nurse made allowance for her, and was unusually patient and tender.
'It's like a bit of her life gone,' she confided to Mrs. Giles. 'I always think it a pity when children get so wrapped up with their pets, but Miss Betty never does anything by halves.'
All that hot afternoon Betty lay on her bed in the nursery. Nurse could not tempt her to eat any dinner; and when the first paroxysm of grief was over, she lay there, white and silent, with little clenched hands, and now and then a quick-drawn sob escaping her.
Nurse was relieved and thankful when, going in quietly shortly before tea-time, she found her fast asleep, utterly worn out by her trouble.
Betty did not wake before the children's bedtime, and nurse did not disturb her; she trusted that a long night's rest would do her good.
But early the next morning the awakening came, and with it an undefined sense of misery. The little hand was at once put out for Prince's basket.
'Prince, wake up, darling!'
There was no basket! What had happened? Was it all an ugly dream? But where was Prince?
And then Molly woke by feeling a tugging at her bedclothes, and there was Betty, with round frightened eyes, standing over her.
'Molly, Molly, wake up; tell me it is only a dream! Where is Prince?'
Molly sat up, rubbed her eyes, and tried to recover her lost senses; then she looked sorrowfully at her little sister.
'Don't you remember, Betty? You get into bed with me, and I'll tell you again. Nurse told us all about it; and me and Douglas are dreadfully sorry too!'
Betty crept into Molly's bed, with much heart-sinking; the bad dream was truth then, and Prince was dead!
'Douglas and I went to see him in the stable,' Molly continued in a whisper. 'Farmer Giles said he saved your life; so he was quite a hero, Betty. Don't you think he ought to have a tombstone telling about it? Douglas wondered if you would go into mourning for him; but I don't think people wear black for dogs, do they?'
'He saved my life,' murmured Betty; 'oh, why did he? I wish I'd died instead; if Prince is dead, I can't live!' And then, with a fresh burst of tears, she sobbed, 'And I shall be the odd one again! I shall always be left out! and I shan't be in a couple any more! And, oh! I must see Prince again; dear darling Prince, he was the only friend I've ever had.' Then, drying her tears, she sat up. 'I'm going to the stable to look at him once again, Molly. I must give him a real good-bye kiss; I couldn't yesterday.'
'But he's buried,' Molly put in quickly. 'After tea last night we had his funeral. Farmer Giles dug a grave for him under our nice old apple tree in the orchard, he said it was best to get him out of your sight.'
This was a terrible blow to Betty. 'I think I might have been at his funeral; he was my dog, and you and Douglas didn't care for him a bit! Farmer Giles is a horrid man! But, oh dear, oh dear, I don't care for anything now he's dead!'
And the curly head sank back on the pillow; and, like Ahab of old, Betty turned her face to the wall and refused to be comforted.
For the next few days Betty gave nurse much anxiety; she crept about with a white face and flagging footsteps, refused to play with the other children, and spent most of her time sitting by Prince's grave. She had no appetite, and had restless, wakeful nights.
'Fretting herself ill over it,' was Mrs. Giles's comment; 'she'll be better when she gets back to London.'
Nesta Fairfax came down to see her little favourite, and Betty shed many tears on her knee.
'It's no good; I shall never, never be happy again! No one cares for me like Prince; and now he's dead I've no friend left!'
'You have a good many friends, Betty. Listen, darling; when I'm married I'm going to live in London, and you shall come and stay with me sometimes, if your mother will allow it.'
'When are you going to be married?'
'Soon; but we shall have a very quiet wedding, or I would have you as a little bridesmaid.'
Betty shook her curly head mournfully. 'It's no good, my heart is broken; and I don't want to stay with anybody or do anything.'
She had the same answer to any one who tried to comfort her. And then one afternoon Mr. Russell appeared on the scene. When he heard from nurse how matters lay, he proposed that Betty should come and stay with him for a week. 'It is change of scene and atmosphere that she wants. Let me take her back with me at once; my housekeeper will take good care of her.' And this was managed, and Betty walked away with him quietly and contentedly.
She was certainly happier roaming through his big house than she had been at the farm; but there seemed to be some extra weight on her mind that she would not reveal, and it was not until the first Sunday after her arrival there that he discovered the cause.
They had been to church together, had waited until the congregation had dispersed, and stood by Violet's monument. Betty had placed some fresh roses on it, and as they were leaving the church she said, looking back wistfully,—
'I wish Prince had been buried in church; no one cares about his grave! I put flowers on it, but the chickens run through the orchard and scratch them off; and one day the horrid black pig was grunting with his nose, and making a great hole in it! I wish he could have a tombstone; no one cares a bit, and they almost laugh if I say anything about it.'
'Is that what is troubling you?' asked Mr. Russell kindly.
'That's one of the things, but not the big thing.'
'And what is the big thing?'
Betty was silent; then she said, 'I'll tell it to you—p'raps this afternoon.'
They went back to luncheon, and then Mr. Russell took his seat in the shady verandah that ran round the house. It was a still, warm afternoon. Betty got a stool, and sitting down on it rested her head against the knee of her friend. Outside the bees were humming round the roses and amongst the bright flower-beds on the lawn; the birds were twittering in the old beeches close by; but over the whole scene hung a Sabbath peace and repose.
The child looked away to the soft distant hills and the deep blue sky.
'Shall I tell you what I promised?' she asked at last, bringing her sad little eyes to Mr. Russell's face.
Mr. Russell nodded, and clutching rather nervously at his hand, Betty said a little hurriedly, 'Prince has always been so good, and I've talked so much to him of heaven, and he seemed to like it, and I—well, I tried to teach him his prayers, and I've prayed to God for him every night, that I thought he would be sure to go to heaven, don't you think so? But I was reading Revelation, and I was thinking how perhaps he might be able to sing in heaven, perhaps God would give him a proper voice—for Mrs. Giles told me she had a little deaf and dumb brother once who died, and she said he would be given a voice when he got there; and then I read in the last chapter—oh, I can't tell you!'
Down dropped the little head, and a burst of tears came.
Mr. Russell did not speak; he got up and went inside the house to get a Bible. Coming back, he spread it open on his knee and scanned the chapter through.
'Well,' he said at length, 'I don't see your trouble, Betty.'
'It says,' sobbed the child, 'that dogs will be outside heaven with all the wicked persons and all the liars! Prince was never wicked, and never, never told a lie. I can't make it out, it's so dreadful!'
Mr. Russell almost smiled, but his tone was as grave as usual when he put his arm round Betty, saying, 'But, my dear child, that is not the meaning of the verse. How can I explain it to you? Let me try: the term dog was used by the Jews to express anything unclean, despicable; the Palestine dogs were wild, savage animals, despised and scouted by every one; and so people who led wicked lives, without any right feeling or principle, are compared to dogs.'
'Then it doesn't mean Prince? He may be in heaven after all? Oh, I wish I had asked some one about it, but I was afraid! Miss Fairfax said once he had no soul; but then I've asked God to give him one, and God can do anything, can't He? Do you think he is in heaven? Oh, Mr. Russell, he must be somewhere!'
The piteous tone went right to Mr. Russell's heart. He leant forward and lifted Betty on his knee.
'Betty, do you love God?'
'Yes.'
'Very much?'
'I think I do, and I feel He loves me.'
'I think you do too, for you have often talked to me about Him, and you have taught me to love Him too, Betty. Now you must trust God about Prince. I can't give you a text in the Bible to tell you Prince is in heaven, but God knows all about your little sorrowful heart. You tell him all about it, and be at rest. There are times when we go through life that we must do this, yes, grown-up men and women, Betty, when they cannot see, and struggle to understand and penetrate the unseen, are brought down under God's hand. And He says to us, "I have done this: now is the time to trust Me." "Be still, and know that I am God." I have had to learn this lesson, and at times my heart has been hard and bitter. But there, why am I talking like this to you? You will not understand.'
'I like it,' said Betty, lying back in his arms, and looking out into the sunny garden. 'And I may think what I like about Prince now, mayn't I? I'm quite, quite sure God loves him. God loves everybody, even the wickedest sinners, and Prince wasn't a wicked dog at all.'
There was silence, which Betty broke at last.
'I like being here with you, because you talk to me so differently, and I feel so dreadfully alone at the farm. Nurse said you were a single gentleman, and your servants couldn't have much to do. I must be a single child, I feel! And they all say such stupid things to comfort me. Nurse said he would have had to die some time, and perhaps if I had taken him back to London he would have got run over, and Douglas said I must pretend I never had a dog called Prince; and Molly told me that Douglas will soon be going to school, and then she and I will be a couple; and Mrs. Giles said if Prince hadn't died he would have gone raving mad and bitten all of us, and made us raving mad too, and we would have all been shot, and we must be thankful; and Reuben, the old grave man, asked me if I didn't thank God that the mad dog didn't bite me; and old Jenny said perhaps I was making an idol of Prince, and so he was taken away. How could I make an idol of him? I wouldn't say my prayers to him instead of God! You wouldn't be comforted to have those things said to you, would you?'
'No, I don't think I should,' said Mr. Russell, smiling.
'Mrs. Fairfax wanted to give me another dog, a little puppy; but I couldn't, I couldn't have another dog when Prince is dead! You couldn't have another Violet, could you? I think you and I understand, because we've now both had some one dead belonging to us.'
Betty's week lengthened into three. Mr. Russell seemed loth to part with her, and her subdued spirits and pathetic grief touched him greatly. But the visit came to an end at last, and about four o'clock one bright afternoon the dog-cart was driven round to take her home, 'You shall come and see me again, Betty,' said Mr. Russell brightly, 'and I shall come and see you when I am in London. I used to be at Eton with your father, and shall like to renew his acquaintance. And next spring you ask your mother to take you to the Royal Academy, where all the pictures are. I think you will see a white statue of a little girl asleep on a log of wood, and a——' He stopped.
'And Prince,' put in Betty sadly. 'I shan't bear to look at him; and yet I should like to. I don't mind going back to London; I thought I could never be so happy anywhere as in the country, but I've been miserabler than I ever was in London. I shall be miserable now for ever and ever!'
'Betty,' said Mr. Russell suddenly, as they were driving through the sweet-scented lanes towards the farm-house, 'do you remember the text you said to me when I first saw you in the church, and you were putting forget-me-nots on my darling's tomb?'
'I expect it was my tribulation text,' said Betty musingly.
'Yes, it was. You told me you were unhappy because you had not been through tribulation, and a short time ago you told me that you were asking God to send you tribulation, and that you were hoping to get it soon.'
'And you told me the same as everybody else—that I didn't know what I was wishing for. But I did, and I expect God will answer it; for old Jenny said I should come through it, and perhaps I wouldn't have to wait till I grew up.'
'I think,' said Mr. Russell slowly, as he looked down at the wistful little face, 'that God has been answering your prayer already.'
Betty looked up breathlessly. 'How?'
'I think He has sent you a little bit of tribulation to see if you can bear it, and if you will be a good, patient child over it, and not keep saying you will never be happy again.'
Such a flash of light came across Betty's face, and into her big blue eyes.
'Do you really think God has taken away Prince to give me tribulation? Oh! Mr. Russell, is it true, could it be? Is this coming through tribulation?'
Her whole face was quivering with intense feeling.
'I think it is as big a trouble as a little child like you can be called upon to bear,' said Mr. Russell, drawing her close to him; 'and I think God has sent it to you for some good purpose.'
A long-drawn sigh came from the child, and not another word did she say; but when nurse and the other children came out to welcome her back, they were all surprised to see the radiant, happy look upon her face, and nurse inwardly congratulated herself upon the good her visit had done her. Mr. Russell received a fervent kiss and hug on departing, and Betty came back to her own circle again.
But a glad surprise awaited her. Douglas and Molly were full of a suppressed mystery all tea-time; and, when it was over, they impatiently begged her to come to the orchard. She accompanied them willingly, but gave a cry of delight and astonishment when she reached the old apple tree. There was a neat little iron railing surrounding poor Prince's grave; above it was a stone pedestal, and upon this was lying the stone figure of Prince himself, the facsimile of the portrait of him lying at Betty's feet when she was fast asleep in the cornfield. Below in gold letters was written:—