CHAPTER XXXIVTHE GOING OF BETTY"I want, dear Sir Josiah, to feel that the child is happy and well cared for, her life here has not been a very happy one, her grandmother was trying to force her into marriage with a man she hated, a man I myself feel instinctive mistrust of. I send her to you because I know of no one so kind, so good, so generous. I know that you will do all you can for her. I do not wish her, and I do not think she herself wishes ever to come back to Homewood again. She will be happier away from the place and so, dear kind friend, to whom I seem to turn instinctively in any moment of doubt and anxiety, I leave her in your hands, knowing that all you may do for her will be right and for the child's own good."Kathleen had written the letter to Sir Josiah, she herself had helped to pack Betty's little box, she had taken the dependable and uncommunicative Howard into her confidence."Your ladyship desires me to see the young woman and her box safe to Sir Josiah's London house?""That is what I wish, Howard, and I wish her going to be kept secret, I don't want others to know, it may be difficult, but——""It can quite easily be arranged, my lady, no difficulty at all. I'll have the closed cab from the village and if your ladyship will be so good as to inform the young person she is to walk quietly out of the house and to take the Bursdon Road, I will direct the driver to take that way, my lady, and pick her up and take her on to Bursdon station and catch the three thirty-five for London. It will be right if the young person was to start at say half past two. As for her box, my lady, I'll manage it, so that no one sees it—anything else, my lady?""Nothing, Howard, and I thank you very much, you are very, very helpful," Kathleen said.Just before the half hour after two, Betty sobbing as though her heart was breaking, was in Kathleen's room."Oh my lady, it be cruel hard to have to go and leave it all, when I du love it so and——" she paused and sobbed aloud with many a catch of the breath, as a child does.Yet Kathleen felt as she kissed and comforted the girl that tears so easily shed might be just as easily dried, and to prove that she was right, in a little while Betty began to dry her eyes and shew interest in her destination."To think that I be actually going to London, my lady, a terribul long way it be and I always wishful of seeing it, though I never—never——" and then a fresh torrent of tears and sighs and cries, tears which Kathleen wiped away."You will be very happy, Betty, and life will be full of interest for you. London is a wonderful place, you cannot think how marvellous the shops are. Streets and streets of them, Betty—and the people and the cars and carriages——"Betty listened, wide eyed, forgetting her grief again."And there be theayters, my lady.""Many of them and you shall go and see them, Betty."The girl was actually smiling now and then suddenly, remembering her sorrow, she began to cry again. But Kathleen felt no fears. The girl was genuine and sincere enough, transparently honest, but she was not of those who die of broken hearts."Now you will be a good brave girl, you know dear that you must go because it will be kinder to—to him—to me and to yourself. You are going to someone whom I love very much and who will be kind to you, not only because I have asked him to be and for your own sake too, but because he is kindness itself. You know, Betty, that you must go, don't you? You know, child, that it is not possible that you could stay on here, and—and Betty, you are going somewhere where you will never see Abram Lestwick, you will be safe from him."Betty nodded, she even smiled. "Terribul put about and angry will Abram be when he finds I be gone and grandmother, her too."There was mischief and even enjoyment in her smile and Kathleen's heart felt eased and at peace. She wanted to play no hard and cruel part in this little drama, she did not want the girl to go broken hearted and unhappy."And now—now Betty, it is time," she said, "time, dear, for you to go, you—you quite understand?""Oh—oh my lady!" And once more Betty was all tears, the tears rained down her face and suddenly she rushed to Kathleen who held out her arms to her."Good-bye, my dear, good-bye and God bless you and bring you to happiness." Kathleen strained her in her arms, held her tightly for a moment and then let her go and her own eyes were not dry.Presently Betty, in her neat little black gown, opened the arched green gate for the last time, and of habit peered up and down the road, half fearfully, lest someone might be there waiting for her. But there was no sign of Abram Lestwick. In the distance she could see the blue smoke curling from the chimney of her grandmother's cottage and at the sight the tears were gone and the pretty face grew a trifle hard, even a little bitter."And now we shall see if I be going to marry Abram Lestwick, grandmother," she thought, "terribul obstinate I be, yes and contrairy and a perilous bad maid, but Abram will hev to look for someone else—'Lizbeth Colley, who due bake such wonderful fine currant biscuits."She laughed softly a little laugh of triumph, mingled with grief and then—then she stepped out into the white roadway and pulled the gate after her. She looked along the high wall of old red brick, over which she had clambered—bad, perilous bad maid that she was—many a time. The wall was topped now with glittering glass and seeing it the tears all came back with a rush and sobs broke from the labouring, childish breast."Broken hearted I be——" she wailed, "broken hearted and wishful of dying—oh—oh never never to see him again, never!" She looked back along the road and could see her grandmother's cottage. She pictured to herself her grandmother, that stern, unbending woman, sitting in her stiff, high backed chair—waiting—waiting for her, waiting to have her will with her.And the thought of the old woman sitting there waiting and waiting all in vain banished the tears from the bright eyes."She said that I was bad and that I must go and—and so I be going for good—going to London. Powerful 'quisitive I be to see what London looks like, bigger than Stretton it be, wi' streets of shops and theayters and oh!" Her eyes shone, the grief was forgotten, she was hurrying on her way down the road now. The red wall had ceased to be and it seemed as though the enchantment of the old garden that it protected was lifted, for the girl was smiling and her eyes were bright with anticipation as she hastened on her way, and never once did she look behind her now."A child's love!" Kathleen thought, "a child's love, very real, very wonderful, with such power to bring grief or joy and yet after all only a child's love—mine lasted for ten long years and—and then it passed—Little Betty's, how long will hers last? Ten days, ten hours perhaps—not longer—poor, pretty, shallow little Betty, yet so lovable—and he, my darling, my Allan was afraid—afraid of her for a time—yes thank God afraid—and told her so nobly and bravely." She smiled at her thoughts and Scarsdale, looking at her, wondered what made her smile."What are you thinking of Kathleen?" he said."Of my husband," she said gently.Scarsdale turned away, he looked out into the garden. Should he stay, was there still room for hope? Was she acting a part as he believed and hoped, or did it mean that she had ceased to care, that what she had told him there beside the pool was true, that her love for him had died? Yet it might not be dead, only slumbering for a while, when she found, as she would find, that Homewood was untrue to her, that of nights he was meeting a girl, a servant maid in the garden, that he loved that girl, what then? Would she not come back to him, eager for his love and sympathy and protection? He hoped so and believed so."I will wait a while yet," he thought.They missed the guests of the past few days, these three, as they sat down to dinner in the dining room. They missed Sir Josiah, they missed noisy genial Mr. Coombe, even they missed his lordship, for on these three a silence had fallen and each was busy with his own thoughts.To-night Betty would tell him, thought Allan, she would tell him that she had decided to be, as he had said, sensible and wise."To-night," Kathleen thought, "to-night she would tell him all."And Scarsdale's thoughts were the same. Would she come to him if she might come in honour, if the dishonour fell on other shoulders? He believed it and hoped it and would hope it till the last.Kathleen watched Allan that evening, watched him and saw the worried anxious look on his face. She knew that he was planning to meet Betty, yet surely never a lover went to meet his love with such a look on his face as Allan's wore this night? No, he did not love her, he was anxious and troubled about her, about the girl herself and her future and presently he should know that all was well, that Betty was gone and would be happy and cared for.So when the darkness had fallen completely, she rose and went up to her own room and changed from the light dinner dress she had been wearing into a plain dark frock."Will he be glad and proud, or will he be sorry?" she asked herself. Glad and proud—please God he would be glad and proud! And if it brought gladness and pride to him, what then? might it not bring love also, the love she hungered for, the love her heart craved?The moon was late rising to-night. There was no light save the dim faint light of the stars. Somewhere among the tall trees an owl was making its plaintive cry. Kathleen shivered a little at the sound, it seemed almost like an ill omen. She knew where he would be waiting and then presently in the deep dark shadows under the high old yew hedge she found him.He heard the light footfall, he heard the rustle of her dress and made no doubt that it was Betty, for who else would come to him here in this place?"Betty!" he said.She did not answer him, she stood still, then hesitatingly came forward towards him. But he offered her no greeting, he did not hold out his hands to her. He seemed even to turn away from her."Listen," he said, and did not even look towards her. "I have given you time to think, to realise that what I hope to arrange for you is all—all for your good. What I said to you that night was true—Betty we do not and we should not know what the past held for us, that we do know, something of it has only brought us unhappiness and heartache. But the past is past, Betty, it belonged to another life, another generation and we who stand here to-night have to deal only with the present and even more with the future."Kathleen stood listening, her hands pressed against her breast. Was she wrong to listen to him, knowing that his words were meant for other ears? If he but turned to her now he might see, dim though the light, that it was not the little country girl that he was talking to.Yet he did not look at her once, but rather at the ground, or away into the blue black distance."You have told me that you loved me, you have asked me for my love, forgetting or not knowing, dear, that I could not give you that love with honour. Could I feel such love for you it would but dishonour you, dishonour myself—and—and her, Betty, her." His voice shook for a moment."Once you came to me in a strange vision, a vision out of the long buried past. I was heartwhole then—and it seemed to me that some tie, some link forged in another life, another existence held us together, that vision was very wonderful and very sweet to me, it lived in my memory for many and many a long day and then—then it faded, Betty, it faded—and the link that was forged in the past was snapped and broken." He was silent for a moment and then went on in a lower voice."It ended because something came into my life to end it, a greater love, something that was not born of visions and fancies and fancied memories. That love, Betty, is the most wonderful, the most beautiful thing that has ever come to me. It meant my salvation, dear, and yours, it meant protection for you and for me. For loving her, loving her——" his voice rose, "loving my own wife with all my soul——.""Allan, my Allan!"He turned to her with a choking cry, he peered into her face through the darkness, and then he took her hands and held them, drawing her closer to him till he had clasped her hands against his breast, and all the time he looked into the face that was uplifted to his."Kathleen!""Who needs you, even as you—you love her, Allan, who has come to tell you, dear, that she knows all and honours you and respects you and loves you with all her heart and soul and is—is proud of you—proud! I sent her away, dear, not in anger, but in love. Poor child, I sent her away all tears that—that I think will soon be dried and to-night I came here to tell you this—to tell you this and—and——" She drew even closer to him and he put his arms about her and held her tightly, "to tell you, my husband——" and her voice was so soft, so low that he could hear, yet only just hear—"to tell you that God is sending into our lives something to make us happier and perhaps better, something that will belong to us both, something for us to share and to love alike, something that will draw us nearer, closer together and hold us together all our lives. Allan, my husband, why don't you speak to me? Allan, are you glad or sorry, dear? Oh Allan!"For suddenly, even while he still held her in his arms, he slipped down on his knees before her and tried to tell her of the pride, the joy and the gladness that he felt and yet could tell her nothing, save that he loved her.Beautiful and wonderful, wonderful above all women, more angel than woman to him, now as always."You are giving so much, so much, my Kathleen, but you cannot give me all your heart, for I know that in the past there was someone——.""Someone who came back," she said, "who came back, Allan, and when I saw him and listened to him again, I knew, oh I knew that, my love was never love at all—I think it was less love than a religion with me. Allan, don't you understand? He is nothing to me—no more than any other stranger, any guest who might sleep beneath our roof, for the love, the great love of my life I give, my husband, to you—now and always!"And then the pent up love and longing, the hunger of the time of waiting found expression. She stooped to him, she put her arms about him, she drew his head to her breast and held him closely, a radiant joy in her heart, knowing him to be what he was, worthy, well worthy of all her love, knowing him to be simple and brave, strong and tender, and even though brave, still afraid, afraid of temptation and his man's weakness.So she held him and blessed him and her heart was filled with a great love and gratitude.Faint though the starlight was, yet the watcher away among the shadows could see them indistinctly and seeing them fell naturally into error. For how should he dream that it was husband and wife he spied on? He watched them presently move slowly away, the man with his arm about the woman, she with her head against his shoulder, and the man waiting in the darkness smiled, wondering how long would this last, how long before Kathleen knew?He watched them till they were gone, swallowed up in the soft darkness, and then he moved, he turned slowly towards the house. The vigil was over, but he frowned in thought. How should Kathleen know, how could she be made aware of this? And then—he heard a sound, the soft pad of a foot behind him and had no time to turn for even as he would have swung round, something leaped upon him and clung to him. A hand gifted with a curious strength sought for and found his throat, and finding it gripped and gripped.He fought, struggling madly, he tried to tear away that terrible hold, yet it was like trying to unbend bars of steel. He fought at those gripping, clinging fingers till his brain grew dazed, till the dark night swam about him. He could feel on his neck the hot quick breathing of his enemy.A hoarse scream, a shriek that ended in a choking, gasping sob broke from the strangling throat, a scream of agony and of terror. For he, brave man though he was, felt a mad, horrible fear of the silent, the unseen thing that was seeking to rob him of his life.Kathleen threw up her head. "Allan, Allan darling, did you hear? Hush, listen, what was that?""Only a screech owl beloved, and oh my Kathleen, to hear you call me——" he paused and was silent, for there came a repetition of the sound, but this time fainter, the strangling cry of a man in agony, hoarse despairing, spent and gasping, ending in sudden silence, followed by the sound of a fall."Kathleen go, run to the house, there is something wrong—send help!" And then he turned and dashed into the darkness, in the direction whence came the sound. Scarsdale was down, he lay face downward on the stone paving and with his last strength, his last effort was seeking to unlock those fingers from his throat, but his movements were weakening, the man was done, as near to death as a man can be and yet still live, and on his back there crouched a figure, the figure of a small mean man, whose wondrous strength was all contained in those hooked fingers that were choking the life out of the jerking, labouring body."Pleasant spoken 'ee be—aye wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee du be!" The creature was chuckling, was laughing, his eyes seemed to burn with strange fires."Wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be—but never again, never again will 'ee cheat a man of his maid, never again! Stole her from me, lied her away from me!—Oh wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be——"It was death that was come on him now, and he knew it, the death he had defied—for so long—in savage places. Strange that it should come to him here at last in this peaceful old garden. Death—the world was swimming about him—he seemed to see Kathleen's face, the fighting hands were grown powerless and never for a moment did that grip on his throat relax."Oh wonderful, powerful pleasant spoken 'ee be——" chuckled the voice.And then the man was torn from his victim, dragged from him and flung violently to the stone pavement. Kathleen had run screaming to the house, the servants were alarmed, Howard, prompt and efficient, came hurrying with lighted lamp; others followed, Kathleen with them."It's Scarsdale—been attacked—he's fainted—lift him, some of you, carry him in—stop that man, stop him!"For Abram Lestwick had risen, he stood there for a moment, then turned to fly, but suddenly stood still, as the lamp-light stone for a moment on Allan's face. Lestwick peered at him. His hands rose to his own throat, fumbled with it, tore at his collar till they tore it loose."Bless I if it bain't Abram Lestwick!" said a voice, the voice belonged to old Markabee, "Abram Lestwick it du be!""Aye, it be me!" Lestwick said, he spoke dully, still fumbling at his throat, his eyes wandered from the figure of the man they were lifting, to Allan's face clear in the lamp-light, eyes from which all the fire and passion had died out.He had made a mistake, his slow brain was grasping the fact—a mistake—why should he have made a mistake? Surely it had been the right man, had he not climbed the wall and waited and seen a man with a woman and that woman Betty—who else could it have been? And then—then—"A terribul strong intentioned man I be!" Abram muttered. "Terribul passionate and quick——" His eyes roved round restlessly, he still worked at his frayed and torn collar. "I must be going, time be getting on, very late it be growing, I've stayed too long!" He would have turned, but old Markabee faced him resolutely."Stir from here, 'ee don't, Abram Lestwick, after what 'ee hev done!"One sweep of his arm would have felled Markabee and left the way clear for him to depart, yet Abram Lestwick never thought of that—he stood still, silent, submissive.His dull brain refused to answer the question that he would have put to it. A mistake—how had he come to make a mistake—another man—what other man could it be? Had he not seen his enemy standing erect, unhurt, the lamplight on his face?"It be past, all past my understanding——" Abram Lestwick muttered. "All misty and dizzy it du seem to I—all misty and dizzy!"They had carried the victim into the house, now they came back for Lestwick, they took him and bound his hands behind his back, those terrible, those death dealing hands, and he submitted without a word, without a struggle.Sullenly and with bent head, he shambled along between his captors. They took him into the house, into the light, he stood with bent head, then slowly lifted it, his restless eyes roamed the room, they fell on Kathleen's white face for a moment, then strayed away again.The man was muttering to himself, they bent near to listen, yet could make but little of it."Wonderful pleasant spoken he be——" he said, and said it again and yet again, a score of times.Old Markabee, tremulous, but staunch, gripping a Dutch hoe, stood on guard. "I du remember," he said, "aye I du remember his mother, my Lady, and it be the same wi' Abram as it were wi' she—strange she were always, terribul strange and they du say aye I have heard it said as her did die in the madhouse!"Kathleen drew back, but the horror died out of her face and in its place there came pity, a great pity for this stricken wretch, the dull eyes rested for a moment on her face, then sank to the ground, his fingers were picking at the rope that bound his wrists together, but not with any intention of picking himself free, just for the sake of picking and fraying and tearing the cords, that was all.CHAPTER XXXV"I SHALL RETURN""Kathleen—Kathleen——""Yes, Harold, here beside you." She touched his cheek with her fingers. "You are easier now, better?""With you beside me, yes." He lifted his hand slowly to the bandaged throat."It was—Homewood—Allan Homewood who—saved—who dragged that man off me?""Yes, it was Allan, we heard your cry for help, he and I, we were together in the garden and——""You—you and he—you and he in the garden?""We had been talking in the yew walk, we were returning to the house and then we heard——"He said nothing, his face twisted a little, as with pain, then it passed."The man, Abram Lestwick was mad, quite mad, Harold. He made no effort to get away, he was docile and quiet, dazed and stupid. They took him before the magistrates the next day, but the doctors certified at once, he will not have his liberty again, poor creature, they say he is a homicidal maniac. Yet why—why should he have come creeping into the garden that night, why should he have attacked you, Harold, you a stranger to him?"But it seemed that he was not listening, as though what she said had no interest for him. He lay looking at her, thinking—It was she—she in the garden with Homewood that night, she walking with Homewood, his arm about her.He saw it all again, in memory, as he had seen it that night in reality, the man and the woman walking as lovers walk, the man's arm about the woman, her head against his shoulder—and it was Homewood and Kathleen, the husband and the wife—and he had thought—"The doctor tells me that I shall mend soon, that I shall soon be my own man again, Kathleen, and then," he smiled, "then I shall go back.""Need you?"He did not answer the question. "You know why I came, what hopes I had. It was folly and the hopes are over and ended and dead—so I shall go back alone as I came. There is nothing to remain for—nothing." His hand sought hers and she put hers into it. He held it for a time and then let it go."So I shall go back," he said again, and said it quietly and with a fixity of purpose that she knew would never be changed.Her eyes, filled with pity, looked down on him. Yet she knew, better that he went back, better that in the years to come they should never meet again.Her heart ached for him, but not for herself. And then the door opened and Allan came softly to the bedside and looked down at the invalid and standing beside Kathleen his arm went round her and he never knew what suffering it meant to the man lying there."Kathleen has told you about Lestwick, Scarsdale? The poor wretch is hopelessly insane. There was no reason for his act, there could be none. It has all been horrible, you can imagine what our feelings have been that you, our guest, our friend——" very kind was Allan's smile as he looked down on the man who would have been his enemy, "should have to bear this. But thank God it is no worse than it is. You will be a well man again soon, Scarsdale, and then you will stay on and rest here, Kathleen will be your nurse——""You are good, but I shall leave you as soon as I may, for I am going back to the place I came from, Homewood, going back soon.""Going back? I remember that you told me once you hoped——"Scarsdale smiled faintly. "I hoped—but that is over, I had hope, but not now. There is nothing to hold me to England. I am a stranger in a strange land, I shall be better out there among the people who know me.""Are you sure—sure that there is no hope for you, Scarsdale?"Again Scarsdale smiled. "There never was," he said. "Yet I did not realise it, would not understand it—but there was never any hope for me, so—so I shall go, thanking my good friends for their care of me, thanking them and blessing them——" As he spoke he looked up at Kathleen and Allan watching saw the yearning, the hunger, the love that the lips could not utter, and then suddenly he understood that this was the man!Yet, even understanding, he stooped and touched the other's hand."Remember, if you will stay, my wife and I will be glad—we would have you stay as long as you can—Scarsdale."They turned away, went out of the room together, and then when the door had closed on them, he turned to her."Kathleen, I remember that night you told me that you had met the man again—it was he.""He came back," she said, "he came back and I knew it meant nothing to me. It was a dream, as yours was dear, and it passed, as yours did, my Allan and so—so——" she held up her arms and put them about his neck and lifted her face to his."I meant to tell you—at first and then—then I forgot, yes forgot, Allan—because of something of which I wanted to tell you far, far more.""I know," he said, he put his arms about her and held her closely. "Something that has made me the happiest and proudest man in all the world, beloved."* * * * *A winter and a spring had passed and the garden at Homewood was blooming with a loveliness that it had not been able to attain last summer. Old Markabee, bearing the weight of yet one more year on his round shoulders, was snipping at the ivy covered wall."A pernicious thing be ivy, sir," he said, "a terribul pernicious thing, eating away the very wall as du support it, tearing it away bit by bit, ruining it, sir, it du—with them terribul little clinging fingers it hev got, workin' and workin' till the old wall be crumbled quite and ready to fall, a most terribul pernicious thing ivy be.""Yes, yes to be sure, but hush my good man, not—not so loudly if you please——"Markabee turned contritely, "I bain't gone and woke he wi' my chatter?" he asked."No, no, he is still sound asleep."Sir Josiah rose from the stone bench, he peered under the holland awning over the perambulator.His reign was but short and presently nurse would come and demand of him, her charge. It was a great favour that she did him, leaving him here in charge of the slumbering infant, there was no one else nurse would trust, but she knew that she might Sir Josiah."You may look at him, Markabee, if you like, did you ever see a healthier looking child?"Markabee poked his brown face under the awning, holding his breath the while. Not till he was safely away did he trust himself with speech."A wunnerful child he be," he said. "And so powerful strong he du look.""Would you say, Markabee?" Sir Josiah enquired anxiously, "is the child like his mother or his father?""A bit like both," said Markabee. "And wi' a look, aye now I du see it quite plain, a look of his grandfather tu, he hev got.""You don't say so!" said Sir Josiah. "You don't say so—well bless my heart!" His round red face beamed and Markabee, cunning old sinner, chuckled behind his hand."That ought to be good enough for half a suvereign for I," he thought.And now came nurse to take possession of her charge."He hasn't awakened, Sir Josiah, has he?" she said."Bless you my dear, no, not moved, he hasn't," Sir Josiah said.She smiled. "I always feel I can trust you with him at any rate, Sir Josiah.""A good woman that, a sensible woman, couldn't have found a better," Sir Josiah said as nurse wheeled the baby carriage away. "And you were saying just now, Markabee?""I were saying a terribul pernicious thing is this ivy working with its little fingers on they old walls as du support it, tearing and tearing, wonderful like the fingers of Abram Lestwick's, I du remember.""Ah poor fellow!" said Sir Josiah."Mad!" said Markabee, "like his mother were afore him—mad—and mad in love moreover.""Indeed!""Wi' the prettiest maid in these parts, old Mother Hanson's grand-darter, sir.""Little Betty Hanson?" said Sir Josiah—"whom my daughter-in-law Lady Kathleen sent to me months and months ago, and to think that poor mad fellow loved her. But she's married now, Markabee, and married well—married to a young fellow who works for me, a lad named Cope! I'm paying him six pounds a week, Markabee, and he's worth it, a hard working honest lad. I had tea with them in their little house and a prettier little hostess you never saw. But if you'll believe me, Markabee, an arrant little flirt, with those pretty eyes of hers——""Her mother were the same," said Markabee. "All wimmen more or less be the same—specially when they du have fine eyes as Betty had.""Why I don't know that you aren't right Markabee, and yet not all, not all women Markabee, there is one——"Sir Josiah looked up and saw the one of whom he spoke. She was coming slowly towards them along the flagged pathway, her husband's arm about her, her head against his shoulder and as they came slowly in the sunshine, they halted now and again, for not yet, had all her strength come back to her, though thank God, it was coming. She was still a little pale, still a little languid in her movements. But in her eyes there was a great and wonderful happiness and a deep tenderness and unutterable love. Love for this man beside her, this man to whom she clung, this man, who was friend, lover, husband all in one. Was ever woman so blessed as she?Sir Josiah stood watching them, knowing that these two had found a happiness that was almost beyond his understanding.And then he would have turned and gone quietly away, but Kathleen called to him."Won't you come here and sit with us in the sunshine dear? Don't go, don't go!"He came back with a happy pleased look on his old face."I didn't think you and Allan would want the old man," he said, "I thought you two—together——""We want you always, when you are here our little world is all complete," she said softly. "I have those whom I love and those who love me," she lifted her hand and held it against his cheek.And so on the sunwarmed old stone bench they sat, and there was no sound save the steady 'clip clip' of old Markabee's shears and the rustle of the falling glossy green leaves from the ivied wall.About them, was the sunshine and the glory of the flowers in bloom, the little pool lay shimmering like molten gold, and from its midst rose the slim white figure of the stone maiden, for ever holding the broken pitcher on her sun kissed shoulder.THE ENDT. H. BEST PRINTING CO. LIMITED, TORONTO*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE GARDEN OF MEMORIES***
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE GOING OF BETTY
"I want, dear Sir Josiah, to feel that the child is happy and well cared for, her life here has not been a very happy one, her grandmother was trying to force her into marriage with a man she hated, a man I myself feel instinctive mistrust of. I send her to you because I know of no one so kind, so good, so generous. I know that you will do all you can for her. I do not wish her, and I do not think she herself wishes ever to come back to Homewood again. She will be happier away from the place and so, dear kind friend, to whom I seem to turn instinctively in any moment of doubt and anxiety, I leave her in your hands, knowing that all you may do for her will be right and for the child's own good."
Kathleen had written the letter to Sir Josiah, she herself had helped to pack Betty's little box, she had taken the dependable and uncommunicative Howard into her confidence.
"Your ladyship desires me to see the young woman and her box safe to Sir Josiah's London house?"
"That is what I wish, Howard, and I wish her going to be kept secret, I don't want others to know, it may be difficult, but——"
"It can quite easily be arranged, my lady, no difficulty at all. I'll have the closed cab from the village and if your ladyship will be so good as to inform the young person she is to walk quietly out of the house and to take the Bursdon Road, I will direct the driver to take that way, my lady, and pick her up and take her on to Bursdon station and catch the three thirty-five for London. It will be right if the young person was to start at say half past two. As for her box, my lady, I'll manage it, so that no one sees it—anything else, my lady?"
"Nothing, Howard, and I thank you very much, you are very, very helpful," Kathleen said.
Just before the half hour after two, Betty sobbing as though her heart was breaking, was in Kathleen's room.
"Oh my lady, it be cruel hard to have to go and leave it all, when I du love it so and——" she paused and sobbed aloud with many a catch of the breath, as a child does.
Yet Kathleen felt as she kissed and comforted the girl that tears so easily shed might be just as easily dried, and to prove that she was right, in a little while Betty began to dry her eyes and shew interest in her destination.
"To think that I be actually going to London, my lady, a terribul long way it be and I always wishful of seeing it, though I never—never——" and then a fresh torrent of tears and sighs and cries, tears which Kathleen wiped away.
"You will be very happy, Betty, and life will be full of interest for you. London is a wonderful place, you cannot think how marvellous the shops are. Streets and streets of them, Betty—and the people and the cars and carriages——"
Betty listened, wide eyed, forgetting her grief again.
"And there be theayters, my lady."
"Many of them and you shall go and see them, Betty."
The girl was actually smiling now and then suddenly, remembering her sorrow, she began to cry again. But Kathleen felt no fears. The girl was genuine and sincere enough, transparently honest, but she was not of those who die of broken hearts.
"Now you will be a good brave girl, you know dear that you must go because it will be kinder to—to him—to me and to yourself. You are going to someone whom I love very much and who will be kind to you, not only because I have asked him to be and for your own sake too, but because he is kindness itself. You know, Betty, that you must go, don't you? You know, child, that it is not possible that you could stay on here, and—and Betty, you are going somewhere where you will never see Abram Lestwick, you will be safe from him."
Betty nodded, she even smiled. "Terribul put about and angry will Abram be when he finds I be gone and grandmother, her too."
There was mischief and even enjoyment in her smile and Kathleen's heart felt eased and at peace. She wanted to play no hard and cruel part in this little drama, she did not want the girl to go broken hearted and unhappy.
"And now—now Betty, it is time," she said, "time, dear, for you to go, you—you quite understand?"
"Oh—oh my lady!" And once more Betty was all tears, the tears rained down her face and suddenly she rushed to Kathleen who held out her arms to her.
"Good-bye, my dear, good-bye and God bless you and bring you to happiness." Kathleen strained her in her arms, held her tightly for a moment and then let her go and her own eyes were not dry.
Presently Betty, in her neat little black gown, opened the arched green gate for the last time, and of habit peered up and down the road, half fearfully, lest someone might be there waiting for her. But there was no sign of Abram Lestwick. In the distance she could see the blue smoke curling from the chimney of her grandmother's cottage and at the sight the tears were gone and the pretty face grew a trifle hard, even a little bitter.
"And now we shall see if I be going to marry Abram Lestwick, grandmother," she thought, "terribul obstinate I be, yes and contrairy and a perilous bad maid, but Abram will hev to look for someone else—'Lizbeth Colley, who due bake such wonderful fine currant biscuits."
She laughed softly a little laugh of triumph, mingled with grief and then—then she stepped out into the white roadway and pulled the gate after her. She looked along the high wall of old red brick, over which she had clambered—bad, perilous bad maid that she was—many a time. The wall was topped now with glittering glass and seeing it the tears all came back with a rush and sobs broke from the labouring, childish breast.
"Broken hearted I be——" she wailed, "broken hearted and wishful of dying—oh—oh never never to see him again, never!" She looked back along the road and could see her grandmother's cottage. She pictured to herself her grandmother, that stern, unbending woman, sitting in her stiff, high backed chair—waiting—waiting for her, waiting to have her will with her.
And the thought of the old woman sitting there waiting and waiting all in vain banished the tears from the bright eyes.
"She said that I was bad and that I must go and—and so I be going for good—going to London. Powerful 'quisitive I be to see what London looks like, bigger than Stretton it be, wi' streets of shops and theayters and oh!" Her eyes shone, the grief was forgotten, she was hurrying on her way down the road now. The red wall had ceased to be and it seemed as though the enchantment of the old garden that it protected was lifted, for the girl was smiling and her eyes were bright with anticipation as she hastened on her way, and never once did she look behind her now.
"A child's love!" Kathleen thought, "a child's love, very real, very wonderful, with such power to bring grief or joy and yet after all only a child's love—mine lasted for ten long years and—and then it passed—Little Betty's, how long will hers last? Ten days, ten hours perhaps—not longer—poor, pretty, shallow little Betty, yet so lovable—and he, my darling, my Allan was afraid—afraid of her for a time—yes thank God afraid—and told her so nobly and bravely." She smiled at her thoughts and Scarsdale, looking at her, wondered what made her smile.
"What are you thinking of Kathleen?" he said.
"Of my husband," she said gently.
Scarsdale turned away, he looked out into the garden. Should he stay, was there still room for hope? Was she acting a part as he believed and hoped, or did it mean that she had ceased to care, that what she had told him there beside the pool was true, that her love for him had died? Yet it might not be dead, only slumbering for a while, when she found, as she would find, that Homewood was untrue to her, that of nights he was meeting a girl, a servant maid in the garden, that he loved that girl, what then? Would she not come back to him, eager for his love and sympathy and protection? He hoped so and believed so.
"I will wait a while yet," he thought.
They missed the guests of the past few days, these three, as they sat down to dinner in the dining room. They missed Sir Josiah, they missed noisy genial Mr. Coombe, even they missed his lordship, for on these three a silence had fallen and each was busy with his own thoughts.
To-night Betty would tell him, thought Allan, she would tell him that she had decided to be, as he had said, sensible and wise.
"To-night," Kathleen thought, "to-night she would tell him all."
And Scarsdale's thoughts were the same. Would she come to him if she might come in honour, if the dishonour fell on other shoulders? He believed it and hoped it and would hope it till the last.
Kathleen watched Allan that evening, watched him and saw the worried anxious look on his face. She knew that he was planning to meet Betty, yet surely never a lover went to meet his love with such a look on his face as Allan's wore this night? No, he did not love her, he was anxious and troubled about her, about the girl herself and her future and presently he should know that all was well, that Betty was gone and would be happy and cared for.
So when the darkness had fallen completely, she rose and went up to her own room and changed from the light dinner dress she had been wearing into a plain dark frock.
"Will he be glad and proud, or will he be sorry?" she asked herself. Glad and proud—please God he would be glad and proud! And if it brought gladness and pride to him, what then? might it not bring love also, the love she hungered for, the love her heart craved?
The moon was late rising to-night. There was no light save the dim faint light of the stars. Somewhere among the tall trees an owl was making its plaintive cry. Kathleen shivered a little at the sound, it seemed almost like an ill omen. She knew where he would be waiting and then presently in the deep dark shadows under the high old yew hedge she found him.
He heard the light footfall, he heard the rustle of her dress and made no doubt that it was Betty, for who else would come to him here in this place?
"Betty!" he said.
She did not answer him, she stood still, then hesitatingly came forward towards him. But he offered her no greeting, he did not hold out his hands to her. He seemed even to turn away from her.
"Listen," he said, and did not even look towards her. "I have given you time to think, to realise that what I hope to arrange for you is all—all for your good. What I said to you that night was true—Betty we do not and we should not know what the past held for us, that we do know, something of it has only brought us unhappiness and heartache. But the past is past, Betty, it belonged to another life, another generation and we who stand here to-night have to deal only with the present and even more with the future."
Kathleen stood listening, her hands pressed against her breast. Was she wrong to listen to him, knowing that his words were meant for other ears? If he but turned to her now he might see, dim though the light, that it was not the little country girl that he was talking to.
Yet he did not look at her once, but rather at the ground, or away into the blue black distance.
"You have told me that you loved me, you have asked me for my love, forgetting or not knowing, dear, that I could not give you that love with honour. Could I feel such love for you it would but dishonour you, dishonour myself—and—and her, Betty, her." His voice shook for a moment.
"Once you came to me in a strange vision, a vision out of the long buried past. I was heartwhole then—and it seemed to me that some tie, some link forged in another life, another existence held us together, that vision was very wonderful and very sweet to me, it lived in my memory for many and many a long day and then—then it faded, Betty, it faded—and the link that was forged in the past was snapped and broken." He was silent for a moment and then went on in a lower voice.
"It ended because something came into my life to end it, a greater love, something that was not born of visions and fancies and fancied memories. That love, Betty, is the most wonderful, the most beautiful thing that has ever come to me. It meant my salvation, dear, and yours, it meant protection for you and for me. For loving her, loving her——" his voice rose, "loving my own wife with all my soul——."
"Allan, my Allan!"
He turned to her with a choking cry, he peered into her face through the darkness, and then he took her hands and held them, drawing her closer to him till he had clasped her hands against his breast, and all the time he looked into the face that was uplifted to his.
"Kathleen!"
"Who needs you, even as you—you love her, Allan, who has come to tell you, dear, that she knows all and honours you and respects you and loves you with all her heart and soul and is—is proud of you—proud! I sent her away, dear, not in anger, but in love. Poor child, I sent her away all tears that—that I think will soon be dried and to-night I came here to tell you this—to tell you this and—and——" She drew even closer to him and he put his arms about her and held her tightly, "to tell you, my husband——" and her voice was so soft, so low that he could hear, yet only just hear—"to tell you that God is sending into our lives something to make us happier and perhaps better, something that will belong to us both, something for us to share and to love alike, something that will draw us nearer, closer together and hold us together all our lives. Allan, my husband, why don't you speak to me? Allan, are you glad or sorry, dear? Oh Allan!"
For suddenly, even while he still held her in his arms, he slipped down on his knees before her and tried to tell her of the pride, the joy and the gladness that he felt and yet could tell her nothing, save that he loved her.
Beautiful and wonderful, wonderful above all women, more angel than woman to him, now as always.
"You are giving so much, so much, my Kathleen, but you cannot give me all your heart, for I know that in the past there was someone——."
"Someone who came back," she said, "who came back, Allan, and when I saw him and listened to him again, I knew, oh I knew that, my love was never love at all—I think it was less love than a religion with me. Allan, don't you understand? He is nothing to me—no more than any other stranger, any guest who might sleep beneath our roof, for the love, the great love of my life I give, my husband, to you—now and always!"
And then the pent up love and longing, the hunger of the time of waiting found expression. She stooped to him, she put her arms about him, she drew his head to her breast and held him closely, a radiant joy in her heart, knowing him to be what he was, worthy, well worthy of all her love, knowing him to be simple and brave, strong and tender, and even though brave, still afraid, afraid of temptation and his man's weakness.
So she held him and blessed him and her heart was filled with a great love and gratitude.
Faint though the starlight was, yet the watcher away among the shadows could see them indistinctly and seeing them fell naturally into error. For how should he dream that it was husband and wife he spied on? He watched them presently move slowly away, the man with his arm about the woman, she with her head against his shoulder, and the man waiting in the darkness smiled, wondering how long would this last, how long before Kathleen knew?
He watched them till they were gone, swallowed up in the soft darkness, and then he moved, he turned slowly towards the house. The vigil was over, but he frowned in thought. How should Kathleen know, how could she be made aware of this? And then—he heard a sound, the soft pad of a foot behind him and had no time to turn for even as he would have swung round, something leaped upon him and clung to him. A hand gifted with a curious strength sought for and found his throat, and finding it gripped and gripped.
He fought, struggling madly, he tried to tear away that terrible hold, yet it was like trying to unbend bars of steel. He fought at those gripping, clinging fingers till his brain grew dazed, till the dark night swam about him. He could feel on his neck the hot quick breathing of his enemy.
A hoarse scream, a shriek that ended in a choking, gasping sob broke from the strangling throat, a scream of agony and of terror. For he, brave man though he was, felt a mad, horrible fear of the silent, the unseen thing that was seeking to rob him of his life.
Kathleen threw up her head. "Allan, Allan darling, did you hear? Hush, listen, what was that?"
"Only a screech owl beloved, and oh my Kathleen, to hear you call me——" he paused and was silent, for there came a repetition of the sound, but this time fainter, the strangling cry of a man in agony, hoarse despairing, spent and gasping, ending in sudden silence, followed by the sound of a fall.
"Kathleen go, run to the house, there is something wrong—send help!" And then he turned and dashed into the darkness, in the direction whence came the sound. Scarsdale was down, he lay face downward on the stone paving and with his last strength, his last effort was seeking to unlock those fingers from his throat, but his movements were weakening, the man was done, as near to death as a man can be and yet still live, and on his back there crouched a figure, the figure of a small mean man, whose wondrous strength was all contained in those hooked fingers that were choking the life out of the jerking, labouring body.
"Pleasant spoken 'ee be—aye wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee du be!" The creature was chuckling, was laughing, his eyes seemed to burn with strange fires.
"Wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be—but never again, never again will 'ee cheat a man of his maid, never again! Stole her from me, lied her away from me!—Oh wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be——"
It was death that was come on him now, and he knew it, the death he had defied—for so long—in savage places. Strange that it should come to him here at last in this peaceful old garden. Death—the world was swimming about him—he seemed to see Kathleen's face, the fighting hands were grown powerless and never for a moment did that grip on his throat relax.
"Oh wonderful, powerful pleasant spoken 'ee be——" chuckled the voice.
And then the man was torn from his victim, dragged from him and flung violently to the stone pavement. Kathleen had run screaming to the house, the servants were alarmed, Howard, prompt and efficient, came hurrying with lighted lamp; others followed, Kathleen with them.
"It's Scarsdale—been attacked—he's fainted—lift him, some of you, carry him in—stop that man, stop him!"
For Abram Lestwick had risen, he stood there for a moment, then turned to fly, but suddenly stood still, as the lamp-light stone for a moment on Allan's face. Lestwick peered at him. His hands rose to his own throat, fumbled with it, tore at his collar till they tore it loose.
"Bless I if it bain't Abram Lestwick!" said a voice, the voice belonged to old Markabee, "Abram Lestwick it du be!"
"Aye, it be me!" Lestwick said, he spoke dully, still fumbling at his throat, his eyes wandered from the figure of the man they were lifting, to Allan's face clear in the lamp-light, eyes from which all the fire and passion had died out.
He had made a mistake, his slow brain was grasping the fact—a mistake—why should he have made a mistake? Surely it had been the right man, had he not climbed the wall and waited and seen a man with a woman and that woman Betty—who else could it have been? And then—then—
"A terribul strong intentioned man I be!" Abram muttered. "Terribul passionate and quick——" His eyes roved round restlessly, he still worked at his frayed and torn collar. "I must be going, time be getting on, very late it be growing, I've stayed too long!" He would have turned, but old Markabee faced him resolutely.
"Stir from here, 'ee don't, Abram Lestwick, after what 'ee hev done!"
One sweep of his arm would have felled Markabee and left the way clear for him to depart, yet Abram Lestwick never thought of that—he stood still, silent, submissive.
His dull brain refused to answer the question that he would have put to it. A mistake—how had he come to make a mistake—another man—what other man could it be? Had he not seen his enemy standing erect, unhurt, the lamplight on his face?
"It be past, all past my understanding——" Abram Lestwick muttered. "All misty and dizzy it du seem to I—all misty and dizzy!"
They had carried the victim into the house, now they came back for Lestwick, they took him and bound his hands behind his back, those terrible, those death dealing hands, and he submitted without a word, without a struggle.
Sullenly and with bent head, he shambled along between his captors. They took him into the house, into the light, he stood with bent head, then slowly lifted it, his restless eyes roamed the room, they fell on Kathleen's white face for a moment, then strayed away again.
The man was muttering to himself, they bent near to listen, yet could make but little of it.
"Wonderful pleasant spoken he be——" he said, and said it again and yet again, a score of times.
Old Markabee, tremulous, but staunch, gripping a Dutch hoe, stood on guard. "I du remember," he said, "aye I du remember his mother, my Lady, and it be the same wi' Abram as it were wi' she—strange she were always, terribul strange and they du say aye I have heard it said as her did die in the madhouse!"
Kathleen drew back, but the horror died out of her face and in its place there came pity, a great pity for this stricken wretch, the dull eyes rested for a moment on her face, then sank to the ground, his fingers were picking at the rope that bound his wrists together, but not with any intention of picking himself free, just for the sake of picking and fraying and tearing the cords, that was all.
CHAPTER XXXV
"I SHALL RETURN"
"Kathleen—Kathleen——"
"Yes, Harold, here beside you." She touched his cheek with her fingers. "You are easier now, better?"
"With you beside me, yes." He lifted his hand slowly to the bandaged throat.
"It was—Homewood—Allan Homewood who—saved—who dragged that man off me?"
"Yes, it was Allan, we heard your cry for help, he and I, we were together in the garden and——"
"You—you and he—you and he in the garden?"
"We had been talking in the yew walk, we were returning to the house and then we heard——"
He said nothing, his face twisted a little, as with pain, then it passed.
"The man, Abram Lestwick was mad, quite mad, Harold. He made no effort to get away, he was docile and quiet, dazed and stupid. They took him before the magistrates the next day, but the doctors certified at once, he will not have his liberty again, poor creature, they say he is a homicidal maniac. Yet why—why should he have come creeping into the garden that night, why should he have attacked you, Harold, you a stranger to him?"
But it seemed that he was not listening, as though what she said had no interest for him. He lay looking at her, thinking—It was she—she in the garden with Homewood that night, she walking with Homewood, his arm about her.
He saw it all again, in memory, as he had seen it that night in reality, the man and the woman walking as lovers walk, the man's arm about the woman, her head against his shoulder—and it was Homewood and Kathleen, the husband and the wife—and he had thought—
"The doctor tells me that I shall mend soon, that I shall soon be my own man again, Kathleen, and then," he smiled, "then I shall go back."
"Need you?"
He did not answer the question. "You know why I came, what hopes I had. It was folly and the hopes are over and ended and dead—so I shall go back alone as I came. There is nothing to remain for—nothing." His hand sought hers and she put hers into it. He held it for a time and then let it go.
"So I shall go back," he said again, and said it quietly and with a fixity of purpose that she knew would never be changed.
Her eyes, filled with pity, looked down on him. Yet she knew, better that he went back, better that in the years to come they should never meet again.
Her heart ached for him, but not for herself. And then the door opened and Allan came softly to the bedside and looked down at the invalid and standing beside Kathleen his arm went round her and he never knew what suffering it meant to the man lying there.
"Kathleen has told you about Lestwick, Scarsdale? The poor wretch is hopelessly insane. There was no reason for his act, there could be none. It has all been horrible, you can imagine what our feelings have been that you, our guest, our friend——" very kind was Allan's smile as he looked down on the man who would have been his enemy, "should have to bear this. But thank God it is no worse than it is. You will be a well man again soon, Scarsdale, and then you will stay on and rest here, Kathleen will be your nurse——"
"You are good, but I shall leave you as soon as I may, for I am going back to the place I came from, Homewood, going back soon."
"Going back? I remember that you told me once you hoped——"
Scarsdale smiled faintly. "I hoped—but that is over, I had hope, but not now. There is nothing to hold me to England. I am a stranger in a strange land, I shall be better out there among the people who know me."
"Are you sure—sure that there is no hope for you, Scarsdale?"
Again Scarsdale smiled. "There never was," he said. "Yet I did not realise it, would not understand it—but there was never any hope for me, so—so I shall go, thanking my good friends for their care of me, thanking them and blessing them——" As he spoke he looked up at Kathleen and Allan watching saw the yearning, the hunger, the love that the lips could not utter, and then suddenly he understood that this was the man!
Yet, even understanding, he stooped and touched the other's hand.
"Remember, if you will stay, my wife and I will be glad—we would have you stay as long as you can—Scarsdale."
They turned away, went out of the room together, and then when the door had closed on them, he turned to her.
"Kathleen, I remember that night you told me that you had met the man again—it was he."
"He came back," she said, "he came back and I knew it meant nothing to me. It was a dream, as yours was dear, and it passed, as yours did, my Allan and so—so——" she held up her arms and put them about his neck and lifted her face to his.
"I meant to tell you—at first and then—then I forgot, yes forgot, Allan—because of something of which I wanted to tell you far, far more."
"I know," he said, he put his arms about her and held her closely. "Something that has made me the happiest and proudest man in all the world, beloved."
* * * * *
A winter and a spring had passed and the garden at Homewood was blooming with a loveliness that it had not been able to attain last summer. Old Markabee, bearing the weight of yet one more year on his round shoulders, was snipping at the ivy covered wall.
"A pernicious thing be ivy, sir," he said, "a terribul pernicious thing, eating away the very wall as du support it, tearing it away bit by bit, ruining it, sir, it du—with them terribul little clinging fingers it hev got, workin' and workin' till the old wall be crumbled quite and ready to fall, a most terribul pernicious thing ivy be."
"Yes, yes to be sure, but hush my good man, not—not so loudly if you please——"
Markabee turned contritely, "I bain't gone and woke he wi' my chatter?" he asked.
"No, no, he is still sound asleep."
Sir Josiah rose from the stone bench, he peered under the holland awning over the perambulator.
His reign was but short and presently nurse would come and demand of him, her charge. It was a great favour that she did him, leaving him here in charge of the slumbering infant, there was no one else nurse would trust, but she knew that she might Sir Josiah.
"You may look at him, Markabee, if you like, did you ever see a healthier looking child?"
Markabee poked his brown face under the awning, holding his breath the while. Not till he was safely away did he trust himself with speech.
"A wunnerful child he be," he said. "And so powerful strong he du look."
"Would you say, Markabee?" Sir Josiah enquired anxiously, "is the child like his mother or his father?"
"A bit like both," said Markabee. "And wi' a look, aye now I du see it quite plain, a look of his grandfather tu, he hev got."
"You don't say so!" said Sir Josiah. "You don't say so—well bless my heart!" His round red face beamed and Markabee, cunning old sinner, chuckled behind his hand.
"That ought to be good enough for half a suvereign for I," he thought.
And now came nurse to take possession of her charge.
"He hasn't awakened, Sir Josiah, has he?" she said.
"Bless you my dear, no, not moved, he hasn't," Sir Josiah said.
She smiled. "I always feel I can trust you with him at any rate, Sir Josiah."
"A good woman that, a sensible woman, couldn't have found a better," Sir Josiah said as nurse wheeled the baby carriage away. "And you were saying just now, Markabee?"
"I were saying a terribul pernicious thing is this ivy working with its little fingers on they old walls as du support it, tearing and tearing, wonderful like the fingers of Abram Lestwick's, I du remember."
"Ah poor fellow!" said Sir Josiah.
"Mad!" said Markabee, "like his mother were afore him—mad—and mad in love moreover."
"Indeed!"
"Wi' the prettiest maid in these parts, old Mother Hanson's grand-darter, sir."
"Little Betty Hanson?" said Sir Josiah—"whom my daughter-in-law Lady Kathleen sent to me months and months ago, and to think that poor mad fellow loved her. But she's married now, Markabee, and married well—married to a young fellow who works for me, a lad named Cope! I'm paying him six pounds a week, Markabee, and he's worth it, a hard working honest lad. I had tea with them in their little house and a prettier little hostess you never saw. But if you'll believe me, Markabee, an arrant little flirt, with those pretty eyes of hers——"
"Her mother were the same," said Markabee. "All wimmen more or less be the same—specially when they du have fine eyes as Betty had."
"Why I don't know that you aren't right Markabee, and yet not all, not all women Markabee, there is one——"
Sir Josiah looked up and saw the one of whom he spoke. She was coming slowly towards them along the flagged pathway, her husband's arm about her, her head against his shoulder and as they came slowly in the sunshine, they halted now and again, for not yet, had all her strength come back to her, though thank God, it was coming. She was still a little pale, still a little languid in her movements. But in her eyes there was a great and wonderful happiness and a deep tenderness and unutterable love. Love for this man beside her, this man to whom she clung, this man, who was friend, lover, husband all in one. Was ever woman so blessed as she?
Sir Josiah stood watching them, knowing that these two had found a happiness that was almost beyond his understanding.
And then he would have turned and gone quietly away, but Kathleen called to him.
"Won't you come here and sit with us in the sunshine dear? Don't go, don't go!"
He came back with a happy pleased look on his old face.
"I didn't think you and Allan would want the old man," he said, "I thought you two—together——"
"We want you always, when you are here our little world is all complete," she said softly. "I have those whom I love and those who love me," she lifted her hand and held it against his cheek.
And so on the sunwarmed old stone bench they sat, and there was no sound save the steady 'clip clip' of old Markabee's shears and the rustle of the falling glossy green leaves from the ivied wall.
About them, was the sunshine and the glory of the flowers in bloom, the little pool lay shimmering like molten gold, and from its midst rose the slim white figure of the stone maiden, for ever holding the broken pitcher on her sun kissed shoulder.
THE END
T. H. BEST PRINTING CO. LIMITED, TORONTO
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