Eric saw what had happened in a minute. His sister had settled herself comfortably in the easy chair to read by the light of a candle which she had placed on a small round table at her elbow. She had fallen asleep, and unconsciously had knocked the candle off the table, and thus had set fire to the room. Fortunately the candle had fallen away from her towards the bed, or she would have, in all probability, paid for her folly and carelessness by her life.
Eric grasped the sleeping girl by the shoulder and shook her violently. She stirred and moaned slightly, but did not open her eyes, for the smoke had quite overpowered her. Then, in his alarm, Eric shouted loudly for assistance, which proved in a moment, to be close at hand.
"All right, sir, I don't think the fire's touched her! I'll see to her!" said a voice, and with a sensation of relief, the boy saw Gay, the coachman, who always slept in the house, pick the girl up in his arms and bear her away. Eric followed, almost choked and blinded with smoke, but with sufficient sense left in him to close the doors behind him.
The whole household had arisen by this time, including Sir Jasper, who had already sent to the village for assistance. The servants were fetching pails of water; but in a very short while no one could enter Celia's room on account of the flames, which now had spread in every direction, and everyone realized that the east wing was doomed to destruction, if not the whole building as well.
Under the housekeeper's instructions, Celia was laid on a sofa in the drawing-room, where she soon regained consciousness, and was able to ask what had happened. Mrs. Mallock told her briefly that the house was on fire; and it was not until Eric came to see how his sister was doing that she learnt that she had caused the conflagration.
"It's all your fault!" Eric cried, blurting out the exact truth in his indignation. "You sat up reading a silly novel, knocked over the candle, and set the house on fire. You might have been burnt alive. And we don't know that the whole place won't be burnt down yet. It all depends upon how long it will be before the fire engine arrives."
Willing helpers had come from the village, and water was being carried upstairs in every utensil that could be used for the purpose; but still the fire spread, though it was kept somewhat within check. A messenger had been sent to T— for the fire engine, and at last it arrived, and in a very few minutes the hose was at work upon the burning wing of the house. Fortunately there was a good supply of water, and by daybreak the fire had been extinguished; but the rooms which Mrs. Wallis and her children had occupied were completely gutted, and open to the sky.
The alarm of fire had spread far and wide so that morning found half the inhabitants of Crumleigh, and a good few from T— on the terrace outside the Moat House. Slowly, when the excitement was all over, the crowd dispersed, until only Miss Pring and the Vicar were left. Lawrence Puttenham had been amongst the number present; but he had thoughtfully returned to the Vicarage to assure the household there that no one's life was in danger; and it was not until Mr. Cole arrived home to his breakfast at eight o'clock that Mrs. Wallis learnt how the fire had commenced.
"Celia set the house on fire!" she exclaimed when she knew the facts of the case. "And but for Eric she would have been burnt alive! Oh, Celia, Celia!"
"She's a very foolish little girl, I fear, Mrs. Wallis. She sat up reading a novel, and locked her door—"
"Locked her door!" Mrs. Wallis interposed. "I never permit her to do that. Are you quite sure? Oh, what could have induced her to do it?"
"The knowledge that she was reading a book of which those about her would disapprove, I imagine." The Vicar forthwith told Mrs. Wallis how he had seen Celia with Lulu Tillotson in the stationer's shop at T— and how they had been employed. "Miss Pring has taken her back to Home Vale for the present, for, as you can easily imagine, Sir Jasper is greatly incensed against her," he said, in conclusion.
Mrs. Wallis was looking very pale, and immeasurably shocked. She was not surprised to hear of her uncle's anger. How sadly he had been repaid for his kindness to her and her family.
"Does Joy know about the fire?" the Vicar inquired.
"Yes, she heard the fire engine pass in the night, but she knows no details, and I shall keep her in ignorance of them until I have seen Uncle Jasper. If our rooms at the Moat House are destroyed, we must alter our plans. Mr. Cole, I think I shall take the children back to A—."
He appeared surprised, but, after a moment's thought, he responded: "You must talk the matter over with Sir Jasper. Although you have arranged to leave here on Monday, that is no reason why you should go. You and your little girl are very welcome guests."
"You are most kind," Mrs. Wallis replied, gratefully, "but we have trespassed on your hospitality so long already. I shall never be able to thank you for all your goodness to us. I must go to the Moat House after breakfast, and consult Uncle Jasper."
Poor Mrs. Wallis was unutterably grieved at all she had heard. She felt ashamed and humiliated on Celia's account, and shuddered as she reflected how nearly the little girl had lost her life. Ah, how great cause had she for gratitude to God for His merciful care of her erring child! She decided to stop at Home Vale on her way to the Moat House, and hear what Celia had to say concerning the events of the night. Meanwhile, she left her breakfast untasted, for she was thoroughly unnerved, and intensely unhappy. She wondered if Celia had acquired the habit of reading in her bedroom whilst she had been staying with Lulu Tillotson; and then suddenly she remembered the paper-covered novel which Wag had destroyed in the rock garden, and the suspicion crossed her mind for the first time that it might have belonged to her elder daughter. If so, Celia must have allowed her sister to be blamed in her stead.
Mrs. Wallis felt she must have a full explanation of everything from Celia now, and if possible, learn the actual state of affairs. It had appeared to her lately that she had found a safe haven of refuge from many a trouble and care; but as she reflected on events of the night, she much doubted there would be a home for her and her family at the Moat House any longer.
"IF you please, Sir Jasper, Miss Tillotson's here, and is asking to see you," said Mrs. Mallock, in a nervous, apologetic tone.
It was twelve o'clock on the morning subsequent to the fire, and Sir Jasper, seated in his favourite easy chair in the library, had composed himself sufficiently to glance at the news in the morning's paper. He had been naturally much upset by the excitement of the night; and want of rest had made him irritable. For several hours he had not known whether his home would be entirely burnt down or not, and he had spent a time of much anxiety, for every stone in the walls of the Moat House was dear to him.
In his anger he had spoken very harshly to Celia, and had desired Miss Pring to take her away out of his sight. He lifted his eyes from the newspaper now with a frown as Mrs. Mallock addressed him from the doorway, and exclaimed, testily: "Miss Tillotson? What does she want?"
"I don't know, Sir Jasper. I told her you were resting, and did not wish to be disturbed; but she declared she must see you, and—good gracious, here she is!"
The housekeeper withdrew precipitately as Lulu entered the room, evidently in a high state of excitement.
"I must speak to you, indeed I must!" the girl cried, both look and tone full of distress. "What I want to say is important!"
Sir Jasper rose, laid aside his paper, shook hands with his unexpected visitor, and gravely offered her a chair. He saw her boots were covered with dust, and that her appearance altogether was decidedly dishevelled.
"I walked," Lulu explained, as she noticed his scrutiny; "it was so hot and dusty, but I felt I must come when I heard what had happened. Father is very angry with me, but he doesn't know where I am. I came of my own accord. Now, please tell me, is it really true that Celia set the house on fire?"
Sir Jasper reseated himself in his easy chair, as he answered:
"Well, yes, she did—not purposely, of course."
"Did she sit up reading a novel?" Lulu inquired.
"Yes," was the brief reply.
"Then, what father said was right. I am as much to blame as she is. It is all owing to me that Celia ever got into the habit of reading those light novels at all. I induced her to read them in the first place. It was I who lent her 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' you know, and—"
"I thought you told me you lent 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' to Joy!" Sir Jasper interrupted, sternly.
"No—to Celia."
"You certainly gave me to understand it was Joy to whom you had lent the book," Sir Jasper persisted.
Lulu stared at him in puzzled silence for a few minutes; then she shook her head.
"No, you have made a mistake, Sir Jasper," she said, decidedly. "Now I come to think of it, I don't know that I mentioned Celia by name. You said that I had lent the book to 'that silly little niece of yours,' and of course I thought you meant Celia."
"Nevertheless it was Joy who was in my mind," the old man almost groaned.
"Joy would not have read 'Lady Isabella's Treachery.' She thought it very wrong of me to lend it to Celia; she did not like her reading it a bit—she was quite unhappy about it—and I know now she was right. I've been very unhappy about it, too, since; and this morning when I heard how the fire had broken out I told father how Celia and I used to sit up reading when she was staying with me, and he was so angry, and said I was greatly to blame. And that's why I've come here to tell you that I was 'at the root of the mischief,' as father said, and that I'm a very wicked, deceitful girl." Here Lulu drew a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped away two scalding tears which were running down her dusty cheeks. "If I had never lent Celia 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' she would never have liked novels of that sort, and she wouldn't have sat up reading, and the east wing wouldn't have been burnt down," she concluded, dolefully.
Sir Jasper made no response. He had covered his eyes with a shaking hand; but after a brief silence he looked at Lulu again, and saw that her tear-stained, freckled face wore the stamp of truth. So Celia had kept deliberate silence, and allowed him to misjudge her sister and treat her most unfairly, he reflected wrathfully. She had wilfully deceived him.
"What is the real object of your visit, child?" he asked, presently.
"I came to ask you not to be too hard on poor Celia, and—"
"Poor Celia, indeed!" he interposed, bitterly. "What consideration has she shown for her sister? She allowed me to treat Joy as—as I am ashamed to remember I treated her, now! She knew the mistake I had made! Tell me," he cried, a sudden suspicion crossing his mind— "you appear to be in her confidence—tell me, was it Celia and not Joy who meddled with the butterfly brooch—"
"The butterfly brooch!" Lulu echoed, growing crimson, and beginning to stutter. "I— I thought, that is, I—she told me she had put it back!"
"Put it back!" he almost screamed in his excitement. "Yes, she did! But—"
He paused as the door opened, and Mrs. Wallis, followed by Celia herself, entered the room. Lulu, frightened at the admission she had made, burst into a flood of tears and covered her face with her hands, utterly overcome with alarm at the situation in which she had placed herself. Sir Jasper struggled for composure, and with his stern glance upon Celia, pointed to the weeping girl.
"She came to plead for you," he said, sarcastically, "but I should like to hear what you have to say for yourself."
"Nothing," Celia answered, her scared face drawn with an emotion which almost amounted to terror, "nothing, except to confess how wicked I've been. Uncle Jasper, I've been a worse girl than you can possibly imagine. I let you think it was Joy who had been reading 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' when it was I who had borrowed the book from Lulu; and she—Joy—was so generous, she would not betray me to you. I've been selfish, and deceptive; and—oh, much worse than that! I've told mother all, and I want to tell you. I—I stole the butterfly brooch—that is, I did not mean to steal it, only to borrow it for the time—but it was stealing it really. Lulu knows how I wore it at the flower show, and at the concert, and how I lost it, and the misery and despair I was in. Then, when I had it again, I never rested it I had put it back."
"But how did you manage to put it back?" Sir Jasper inquired, in bewilderment.
Celia looked around almost wildly, first at her mother, who had seated herself quietly in the background with a world of pain depicted on her sad countenance, then at Lulu, who had uncovered her face and was looking at her friend with wide-open eyes, finally at Sir Jasper, whose look of contempt pierced her to the soul.
"I found your bunch of keys in one of the drawers of your writing-table," she admitted, shamefacedly. "I—I will tell the truth—I searched for the keys, and I easily unlocked the safe. I don't know how I could have done it! Oh, when I think of all I have done, and how badly I have treated Joy—"
"And how you have let me treat her!" Sir Jasper put in, severely.
"Yes," said Celia, sadly, "and when I remember the mischief I have done, I know you can never, never forgive me!"
"I was very fond of you, child," he told her, in a moved voice, "and my affection for you must have made me blind to your true character. Joy must be told the whole truth, for I—I accused her of having stolen the butterfly brooch."
"Oh, surely not!" Mrs. Wallis cried, distressfully, whilst both Lulu and Celia looked aghast. "Oh, my poor Joy! That is why she does not wish to see you, Uncle Jasper. I could not understand her attitude at all. It is plain to me now."
There was a dead silence for a few minutes; then Sir Jasper rose from his chair and laid his hand on Mrs. Wallis's shoulder.
"My dear," he said, with great tenderness in his tone, "I am more grieved than I can express, but do not look so sadly distressed. God forgive me for my treatment of Joy! I would not wilfully have wounded her for the world. You must tell her how I have been deceived, and—but I must speak to you alone. Celia, take your friend into the drawing-room, and wait for your mother there."
Celia obeyed. Both girls felt a sense of relief as soon as they were out of Sir Jasper's presence, and Lulu explained what had brought her to the Moat House.
"It was not fair to let you bear all the blame, poor Celia," she said, pityingly, "and Sir Jasper quite understands now that it was my fault you ever began to read novels of that kind. I told him all about it. Oh, who would have thought that my disobedience in setting father's wishes at defiance would have brought about such a terrible result as the fire. Oh, father does blame me so much, and no wonder! Oh, dear, I am sorry I ever lent you 'Lady Isabella's Treachery'! That was the beginning of it all. And, then, to think that you should have allowed Joy to have been blamed! That was mean of you, Celia."
"Yes," Celia replied, in a low, shamed voice. "I—I was a coward and—and I wanted Uncle Jasper to think well of me."
"He'll never make you his heiress now! And I used to fancy—"
"Oh, Lulu, don't talk like that!" Celia cried, with a sudden burst of grief. "I wish we had never come to the Moat House. I wish Uncle Jasper had let us stay in our little home at A—. I was happier there. Yes, I was!—although we were so poor. And I was a better girl—oh, a much better girl! And Joy and I were good friends! Oh, Joy, Joy!"
Lulu started in amazement, unable to account for this sudden change in Celia's sentiments; she remarked with an attempt at consolation:
"You'll be good friends with Joy again; I am sure she will not bear malice."
"Oh, no! Have you heard—have they told you that she may never be able to walk as long as she lives?" Celia inquired, tearfully.
"No!" gasped Lulu. "Oh, it can't be true! Oh, it's too terrible!"
"It is true!" Celia sobbed. "Mother told me this morning; and, oh, it nearly breaks my heart to think it! It's her hip; it's more injured than the doctors considered at first; and it may be that she will have to spend the rest of her life lying on her back like Mrs. Long, the gamekeeper's wife. Oh, isn't it hard lines for her? She loves running about outdoors, and—oh, poor Joy!"
"Does she know?" Lulu asked, in shocked accents.
"Yes, mother told her yesterday, and she took it very well. At first she cried dreadfully but afterwards she said she would try to be brave, and not to mind, because she was sure God knew what was best for her. You see, the accident wasn't the result of any wrong-doing on her part, so she has nothing to reproach herself with. But, oh, Lulu, isn't it simply awful to think she may never walk again?"
Celia was so concerned on her sister's account that her own affairs were quite a secondary consideration to her now. Lulu was quick to notice this, and her really kind heart swelled with sympathy and affection as, throwing her arms impulsively around Celia's neck, she kissed her tear-stained face.
"Perhaps it won't be so bad as you fear," she whispered consolingly. "Doctors are very clever nowadays, and make wonderful cures—I've heard father say so—and—and God can do what no one else can, can't He? We'll pray for Joy. We can do that, Celia.
"I can't pray properly," Celia sighed. "I used to, but since I've been at the Moat House my mind has been so full of—of things that I couldn't speak to God about."
"Oh, I know what you mean!" Lulu cried, with ready understanding. "You mean things that don't matter, such things as money, and fine clothes."
"Yes," Celia acknowledged.
There was a short silence, then Lulu spoke, somewhat shyly:
"Don't you think we should be happier if tried to think more of the things that do matter?" she asked. "Father said this morning that he had spoilt me by mistaken kindness, but I mean to show him he hasn't—quite! I'm going to turn over a new leaf, and try to please him for the future. I won't ever deceive him again—at least, I'll try not to, and I mean to ask God to help me to be a better girl—more unselfish, and not so set on my own way. I've never been very happy yet, have you?"
"No," Celia admitted, after a few moments' reflection.
"Because you've been selfish, like me, and have wanted the best of everything for yourself. Joy is happier than either of us, even now."
Celia knew that Lulu with her shrewdness of observation had discovered the truth. She realized that Joy's happiness had foundation in a faith as simple as it was perfect. She trusted Jesus, and was content. No one understood better than Celia how great a blow it was to her sister to know that there was a strong possibility that she might be crippled for life. Vanished were the little girl's plans for the future. Her ambition to become a great pianist must be set aside. Yet, even now, when life was holding a cup of sorrow and disappointment to her lips, her name did not appear in the light of a mockery to her. She was "Joy" still.
"Where is your brother?" Lulu asked presently.
"Gone to see Lawrence Puttenham off at the T— railway station, I expect; but I have not seen him since daybreak. I have been at Home Vale with Miss Pring, she has been very kind to me. I wish I might go back to her again instead of remaining here." Celia's wish was to be granted her, for when Mrs. Wallis came into the drawing-room a short while later, it was to inform the two girls that Sir Jasper had ordered the pony carriage to drive Lulu home to T—, and she added that Celia was to accompany her as far as Home Vale, where she was to stay for the present.
"Miss Pring very kindly said she would be pleased to have you as her visitor," Mrs. Wallis told her elder daughter. "I find all our belongings have been destroyed, and, under the circumstances, it will not be convenient for Uncle Jasper to have us here any longer. On Monday, if all's well, and if Dr. Forbes considers Joy is sufficiently strong to bear the journey, we shall all return to A—."
"Oh, mother," cried Celia, "this is my doing!"
"Yes, Celia, it is," Mrs. Wallis admitted, gravely. Her face was very pale, and she had been weeping, but she was perfectly posed.
"Oh, how sorry I am!" cried Lulu. "I fear I shall never, never see any of you again! How sad it is! Mrs. Wallis, mayn't I come and see Joy before you go?"
"Assuredly you may, my dear. Has Celia told you—"
"Yes, yes! Oh, I am so grieved! perhaps something may be done to cure her poor hip. Oh, I hear the wheels of the pony carriage! Do you think I ought to say good-bye to Sir Jasper before I leave?"
Mrs. Wallis shook her head and explained that her uncle was far from well, having been terribly agitated by all that had taken place during the last twenty-four hours. She accompanied the two girls to the front door, and saw them driven off, then returned to the drawing-room, where she stood looking out of the window until someone came behind her and slipped his arm around her waist.
"Eric," she cried gladly, and laid her head on her son's shoulder.
He explained where he had been, and then she told him of all Celia's misdeeds, and Lulu Tillotson's visit. He listened in silence, too angry and indignant to trust himself to speak, but when she broke to him the sad news about Joy, he cried out in grief and dismay.
"Mother, it is too cruel! God will not permit it!"
"Hush, my boy! It will be as He sees fit. If Joy can say, 'Thy will be done,' surely we ought to be able to say it too! We must try to make things easier for her to bear, not harder. I shall go back to her presently, but you must stay with Uncle Jasper till Monday. Then we will all return to A— together."
"This is Celia's doing, I suppose. Is Uncle Jasper in a great rage, mother?"
"No, he is not in a rage at all, now. He is as grieved as I am that matters have taken the turn they have; but he agrees with me that, under the circumstances, it is better we should go home."
IT was Sunday evening; and all the members of the Vicarage household were at church with the exception of Mrs. Wallis and her little invalid daughter. Joy lay on a sofa in the drawing-room; her face, pale and worn with sickness though it was, wore its habitually happy expression, and she was talking animatedly to Sir Jasper Amery, who was seated by her side. This was her second interview with him since Celia had made full confession. The first had been a painful meeting for both, but it had ended in a perfect understanding between them; and now Joy was quite enjoying her chat.
Sir Jasper had been explaining the exact amount of mischief the fire had wrought, and that the work of rebuilding was to begin at once.
"You will see—" he was commencing, when he stopped abruptly, and left the sentence unfinished. "I hope the journey will not be too much for you to-morrow," he proceeded, presently. "Dr. Forbes thinks you will be none the worse for it. I have made all arrangements for your comfort; you will have a first-class carriage to yourselves, and—"
"Oh, how thoughtful you are!" the little girl interposed, earnestly. "And so good to us all! Eric was saying to me last night that he was never was so ashamed about anything in his life as about Celia's behaviour. I'm sure I feel the same. I—"
"Celia's conduct is no reflection on her family," the old man put in, quickly, "and I do not think that even she is as ungrateful as she appears. I had hoped to have kept you all with me, and it is certainly Celia's fault that the plan is impracticable. However, she is very repentant."
"Oh, very! Everyone says that since the night of the fire she has quite changed. She and I have had several long talks together, Uncle Jasper, and she has told me all about the butterfly brooch, and how she came to take it. If you only knew how fond she is of pretty things you would understand how she gave way to temptation."
"There is no excuse for her, Joy. I fear Lulu Tillotson, with her love of finery, has not been a good companion for her."
"I think Lulu rather flattered Celia," Joy said, thoughtfully; "she used to tell her how pretty she was, and that she ought to wear some handsomer clothes; but she was very shocked about the brooch. She was here to see me yesterday, and was so kind, and—and sorry for me. I'm going to write to her, and—oh what do you think? I've heard from Jane—our old servant, you know—she's out of a situation, and mother has asked if she will come and wait on me. It's very bad for me to be so helpless," she concluded, with a sigh.
"I suppose you have had a lot of visitors these last few days to say good-bye?"
"Oh, yes! Last night Miss Pring and Miss Mary were here."
"Ah, Miss Mary Pring is sorry to lose her pupils; but I hear she is not going to look-out for another situation."
"No," Joy replied, with a beaming smile; "but who told you that, Uncle Jasper?"
"Miss Pring, whom I encountered on my road here to-night. She was full of the news of her niece's engagement to the Vicar."
"Isn't it splendid news?" Joy questioned, eagerly. "Don't you think Miss Mary will make a capital clergyman's wife? Mother says she will. And it is not very far from here to Home Vale, so Miss Pring won't feel lonely, will she? One good thing has come from my illness, you see!"
"How do you make out that?"
"Well, Miss Mary came to help mother nurse me, and, of course, Mr. Cole couldn't help seeing how sweet, and gentle, and—"
"Oh, so you think you have been the means of making the match!" interposed Jasper, with a chuckle of great amusement.
Joy laughed; then stopped suddenly, a look of pain crossing her face.
"It's my hip," she explained; "it does worry me so. Mother says when we get home she will have further advice for me, I'm afraid that will be no good. Oh, Uncle Jasper, I can so well understand now poor Mrs. Long feels! I wish I could have seen her before we go, but, of course, that's out of the question."
"If you like to send her a message I'll give it to Long."
"Oh, will you? That is kind. Please him I sent his wife my love, and say I hope God will comfort her as He has comforted me."
"Oh, my dear child, it is hard for you!" he exclaimed.
"It isn't half so hard as it was, Uncle Jasper. At first I felt dreadful about it—it was wicked of me, I know. But not to be able to join Eric in any of his amusements! Never to be able to run about and enjoy any of the things I so love! And, worst of all, to have to give up my music! I don't suppose I shall ever play 'The Last Rose of Summer' to you again. Oh, it seemed so hard to be shut off from everything I cared about! But I didn't feel that long. I began to think of all the helpless people in the world worse off than I am—people who are blind, and deaf, and even dumb, and I remembered that if I couldn't help mother in the future as I had hoped, that God might have a plan for me that I didn't know anything about, so I determined to trust Him; to have patience, and wait."
"We haven't all of us your faith, my dear," Sir Jasper said, sadly. "When my son was taken from me—"
He paused, and Joy exclaimed:
"Oh, Uncle Jasper, I've so often thought what you must have felt then! It must have been dreadfully, dreadfully hard for you to bear."
"It was, my dear. He was all I had, and God took him from me. It almost destroyed my faith in the Almighty—but that was my selfishness. There is another world than this."
"Yes, and some day you will meet your son again," Joy said, softly, "and then you will understand why God took him."
The old man talked with Joy some time longer, and when at last he took a lingering farewell of her, Mrs. Wallis, who had been seated at the far end of the room listening to the conversation, accompanied him to the pony carriage. Joy shed a few regretful tears after he had gone and her heart was sore as she remembered that she might never see him more. She had forgiven him his unkindness to her in the past—indeed, she never resented it, though it had grieved sorely—and now remembered only his generosity, and that he had tried to make them all happy.
The next day the Wallis family left Devonshire, and returned to A—. The journey was accomplished easily, and Joy experienced no ill effects from the move. At the end of another week Eric went back to school, whilst his mother and sisters settled down quietly in their old home. There was a new maid-of-all-work in the kitchen, and Jane was in attendance upon Joy.
It had been decided that Celia was to remain at home till Christmas, after which she was to be sent to a good boarding-school, by Sir Jasper's desire. The three months at home did much for Celia, for during that time she learnt many lessons she had failed grasp before—lessons of self-denial, and patience, and humility.
Joy was always more or less ill and suffering, and Celia gave up many a pleasure to devote herself to her sister, whom she had neglected and ill-used during their visit to the Moat House. The old sisterly love between the two grew and strengthened in those days till there was full confidence between them once more.
"I believe that having every comfort and luxury at the Moat House actually turned my head," Celia remarked to her mother on one occasion; "it certainly brought out all my worst qualities. I never was really happy all the time I was there. Oh, mother, I do feel so ashamed when I remember I was as good as sent away in disgrace from the house, and through me there was no longer a home there for you and Joy and Eric! I was never so well off in my life as I was there—and yet that did not make me happy."
"Because you were trying to live without God," Mrs. Wallis told her, gravely; "you were searching for happiness where it was not to be found."
"I always wanted to be rich," Celia confessed, "but lately I've seen that even riches wouldn't make me happy. I've been all wrong, somehow."
Swiftly the months slipped by, bringing news from Crumleigh of Miss Mary Pring's marriage to Mr. Cole, and of the rebuilding of the east wing of the Moat House; and nearly every week a letter came from Lulu Tillotson to one or the other of the girls. These letters were characteristic of their writer; it almost seemed on reading them that Lulu herself could be heard speaking.
"Father and I went to Miss Mary Pring's wedding," ran one of these letters to Celia; "we were the only invited guests, except Sir Jasper Amery. Yes, your uncle was actually there, looking quite smiling, and he hadn't to church till then since his son's death! Miss Pring gave her niece away, and wore a new gown for the occasion—I think Miss Mary must have chosen it, for it was like nothing I had ever seen Miss Pring wear before, and actually suited her." Here followed a lengthy description of the gown; then Lulu proceeded: "Lawrence Puttenham's father married them, and the Vicar looked almost handsome, and Miss Mary positively lovely—I never even thought her pretty, did you?"
In another letter Lulu wrote:
"I'm to go to boarding-school after Christmas and father has decided to send me with you, Celia. Oh, I am glad! By the way, I've quite given up reading light literature, and, what do you think? Miss Pring says I've greatly improved of late! There, you can take her word, can't you? Seriously, though, I do believe I'm a different sort of girl from what I used to be; I hope it doesn't sound conceited to say that, but I do try to be less selfish, and think what father will like, and I'm ever so much happier than I was when you knew me first. Please give my love to Mrs. Wallis. I don't think she ever approved of me quite, though she was always so kind; but perhaps she may like me better when we meet next."
"When we meet next!" sighed Joy, after her sister had finished reading Lulu's letter aloud. "I don't suppose I, for one, shall ever see Lulu again!" —and for a few moments she looked very doleful indeed.
"You cannot tell that, my dear," Mrs. Wallis returned, with a cheerfulness which was really assumed.
"I get no better, mother," the little girl remarked, sadly.
"No, my dear, you do not; but do not grow faint-hearted."
"Sometimes I think my hip gets worse," Joy continued; "I have seen several doctors now, and they all say the same, that I must have patience; but not one of them will say there is the faintest hope that I shall ever walk again."
"They cannot tell, Joy—clever men though they all are. Uncle Jasper has written to me about a London surgeon whom he has heard much talk of lately, he wants me to send for him to see you."
"Shall you, mother?" Joy asked. "I don't suppose he could do me any good, and his fee would be a large one, I expect."
"Yes, but Uncle Jasper says he will gladly pay it."
"How good he is to me!" Joy cried, her face aglow with gratitude as she spoke.
The great London surgeon came and examined the patient. Though she had schooled herself to the contemplation of a life of inactivity and suffering with resignation, Joy could not help a faint ray of hope lingering in her heart that some day her injured hip might get better. After his examination, the London surgeon consulted with the two A— doctors who had lately attended the little girl; then, much to Joy's surprise, the stranger returned to her room with Mrs. Wallis, and taking a chair by her side, entered into conversation with her. He was a big, powerful-looking man, with a plain, rugged countenance which was singularly attractive, and a pair of keen, grey eyes, that had looked on much suffering and sorrow, and yet retained a smile in their kindly depths. He told her he had young daughters of his own, and asked her how she would like to go to London.
"I don't know. I'm not likely to go there," Joy answered, soberly; then she asked: "Please, doctor, what do you think of me?"
"I think you're a plucky little girl, and so I'm going to speak out and tell you what I have already told your mother. I believe that if you undergo a certain operation, you will eventually be able to walk; but you will always be slightly lame. Now, what I want to explain to you is this—the operation cannot be performed here, it must be done in a hospital where you can have treatment suitable for your case. You have a brave spirit, I am sure," he added hastily, as he noticed the look of dismay and shrinking on her face, "or I should not have spoken so plainly. Will you come to London, and go into a hospital, as I suggest?"
"Mother, what do you say?" Joy asked, looking at Mrs. Wallis, who stood at the foot of the bed observing her anxiously.
"You must decide, my dear," was the faltering reply.
"There is a chance that the operation may not be successful," the doctor said, gravely, "but I am very hopeful about it, myself."
"Who would do it—the operation, I mean?" Joy inquired, timidly.
"I should," he rejoined.
The little girl looked at him with manifest doubt, but as she met the glance of his kindly eyes, she recalled how gentle had been the touch of his big, strong hands, and a feeling of confidence in him took root in her heart.
"I should be quite alone in the hospital?" she questioned. "Mother would not be there?"
"No, but she could be near you; she could get lodgings close to the hospital. You would see her often. What do you say?" —and he smiled encouragingly.
"I say that if you think you can make me well enough to walk again, I will let you do anything to me. I don't mind any pain, or how long it takes, or—"
"Oh, you won't feel anything, my dear child! You have suffered these last few months with this poor hip of yours, as I trust you will never suffer again. Your mother will bring you to London, and place you in my care. I shall do my best for you, you may depend, and the result will be in God's hands."
The eyes of the little invalid and the great surgeon met again, this time in a long look of perfect understanding; and the smile which illuminated Joy's face was very confident and bright as she exclaimed hopefully:
"I shall not mind being lame if only I shall be able to walk again!"
IT was a hot day towards the end of July; and a fast train from London was speeding westwards, bearing among its passengers three young people going home for the holidays—namely, Celia and Eric Wallis, and Lulu Tillotson. The two girls had met Eric by arrangement at Paddington railway station, where they had had no time for conversation; but now, settled for the journey in a comfortable compartment which was not over-crowded, they found they could exchange confidences.
"Isn't it like a dream, Eric?" Celia said, as she sat by her brother's side, and glanced from him to Lulu opposite.
The boy smiled as he looked at her. She was prettier than ever, he thought, with her cheeks flushed to a deeper hue than usual, and her face aglow with excitement.
"Isn't what like a dream?" he asked, understanding perfectly all the while what she meant.
"Why, you know! That we're going to the Moat House again! That we shall see mother and Joy, and Uncle Jasper in the course of a few hours, now! To me it seems like a wonderful, wonderful dream, too good to be true."
"Oh, I can realize it all," Eric replied, laughing from pure light-heartedness. "It seems very real to me. How did you like spending the Easter holidays at school, Celia, by the way?"
"Not at all," she answered; "it was the most miserable time I ever spent in my life, and I was thinking of Joy all the while, longing to see her, to know from hour to hour how she was. Oh, I shall never forget it, never!"
"You may depend upon it I was not very happy, either," Eric said, earnestly. "I used to moon about by myself all day long, wondering what news I should hear."
"And then, when you did get news, it was the best possible," Lulu interposed, eagerly; "oh, it's quite marvellous to think Joy can walk again!"
Yes, Joy could walk again. After the operation to her hip, she had spent two months in the London hospital where it had been performed, during which period her mother had occupied lodgings near; and when at last she had been pronounced well enough to be moved, she had been taken direct to the Moat House, where the east wing had been rebuilt, and refurnished with Mrs. Wallis's own furniture from A—.
When the girl had seen the familiar articles around her, she had not needed the assurance that henceforward this was to be her home, for she had realized at once that Celia's misdemeanours had been forgiven, and that Sir Jasper still adhered to his original intention of providing for the futures of his niece and her children. As Joy had been in the hospital during Easter, her sister and brother had spent their holidays at their respective schools, so the young people had not met for many months, and Celia and Eric were naturally much excited at being together again.
"We shall have great fun this long vacation, you'll see," Lulu proceeded; "father wrote and told me that Sir Jasper means to invite me to the Moat House to stay, and Lawrence Puttenham will be at the Vicarage, won't he, Eric?"
"Yes, for a month, I believe. I wonder if the Crumleigh Cricket Club still flourishes?"
"You may depend it does. The Vicar takes such an interest in it, and so does Sir Jasper."
"Did you see Uncle Jasper at Easter?" Eric inquired.
"Yes," Lulu nodded. "I spent a week-end at the Moat House with father, and Sir Jasper was very nice to me. I think he's greatly altered. On the Sunday he went to church with us, and—"
"Went to church with you!" Eric cried, vastly astonished. "Well, I never!"
"He always used to be a regular attendant at church before his son's death, but after that he wouldn't go anywhere till—"
"Till the carriage accident," Celia interposed, with a flash of remembrance. "I recollect how surprised we were when he went to the Vicarage to inquire for Joy."
"I expect you'll find Joy has put your nose out of joint altogether," Lulu told Celia, with her customary candour.
"I shall not mind that," Celia returned, really meaning what she said.
Her brother looked at her again. She was quite like the old Celia, he thought; her manner was not so assured, and she seemed far less wrapped up in herself. Lulu, to outward appearances, had not much altered, except that there was nothing noticeable in her dress now; she talked almost incessantly during the journey, and at the few stations at which they stopped, found great amusement in watching the busy crowds on the platforms. They had lunch in the train, and were exceedingly merry over their meal, so that the other travellers in the compartment watched them with indulgent smiles, quite realizing the situation that they were going home for the holidays.
"Mother wrote and told me what good reports she had had of your work at school," Celia remarked to Eric; "she was pleased, and I am so very glad!"
"Celia's been working hard, too," said Lulu; "she's a much more promising pupil than I am."
"How's that?" Eric inquired, amused at Lulu's frankness.
"Oh, everyone says she's better able to concentrate her thoughts than I am. I'm feather-brained, you know. My mind's 'positively erratic,' so our arithmetic teacher declares. I'm dunce at arithmetic, and that's a fact."
"But I daresay if you're a dunce at arithmetic you're sharp at other things," Eric suggested, politely.
"Lulu doesn't do herself justice," Celia declared with a smile at her friend; "she knows more about English history than any other girl in the school."
As they neared the end of their journey, Celia grew more and more nervous. Mingled with the intense joy with which she was looking forward to be with her mother and sister once more, was the dread with which she thought of meeting Sir Jasper. Seeing his confidence in her had been so entirely destroyed, how could she hope that he could ever look on her with anything but suspicion again? Celia knew that her aspirations and views of life had so completely changed during the past ten months that it would be impossible for her to act this year as she had done last; but would Sir Jasper understand this, would he realize that she was no longer the deceitful girl who had not scrupled even to appropriate what had not belonged to her, in order to gratify her vanity and love of show?
Perhaps Lulu guessed some of the thoughts that were crowding her friend's mind, for she glanced at her sympathetically every now and again; and found an opportunity of whispering to Eric, who was wondering why his sister was growing more and more silent as they neared their destination; "Celia is dreading the meeting with Sir Jasper. That's what's making her so silent. I wouldn't notice it, if I were you."
At last the long, hot journey was at an end, and the train slowed into T— railway station. The minute it stopped, Lulu was out of the compartment, and in her father's arms; and Celia and Eric following, found their mother close by, waiting to welcome them. Her face was full of happiness as she kissed them in turn; then Mr. Tillotson saw to their luggage, accompanied them to the waiting carriage, and with Lulu hanging to his arm, watched them drive off.
Mrs. Wallis and Eric did most of the talking on the way to the Moat House, for Celia, in spite of her reunion with her mother, was nervous and ill at ease. There was a mist before her eyes as the carriage drew up before the front door, and it was through blinding tears that she saw Sir Jasper with Joy at his side.
"Joy!" she cried, with a world of longing affection in her voice; and the next minute she and her sister were in each other's arms. Joy was no less moved than Celia, but she was far more composed outwardly.
"I say, Celia, let me have a word with Joy before she is drowned altogether," Eric said, pretending to speak aggrievedly; and then Celia withdrew herself from her sister's arms, and ventured a glance at Sir Jasper.
The old man regarded her searchingly, and held out his hand, which she took with evident timidity. He drew her towards him, and kissed her gravely, tenderly. "Welcome home, my dear," he said, in the kindest tones possible.
"Oh, Uncle Jasper, have you indeed forgiven me?" she cried, involuntarily.
"Yes, Celia," he replied, with ready understanding of all that was in her mind. "I forgave you at the time. I saw how sincere was your repentance. I never meant to shut the doors of my house against you altogether. I always intended you to come back. Do not let us speak of the past again. Now, go into the house with the others; Mrs. Mallock is waiting to speak to you, and Jane—"
"Jane!" echoed Celia, in surprise. "I did not know she was here?"
"Yes, she is," Joy answered; "she came to wait upon me, like she did at A—, but I don't need her services any longer, I'm glad to say, so she's stopping on as a housemaid. Oh, Celia, it's good to see you again!"
Celia smiled. She thought it was good to see Joy, too, though it was a shock to her when she noticed that, though her sister had discarded the crutch she had been obliged to use when she had first begun to move about after the operation, she was still somewhat lame. But Joy did not seem to mind that in the least; indeed, as she told Celia, it was a wonder that she could walk at all, and she was full of praises of the famous surgeon, who, under God's guidance, had done so much for her.
How the young people talked at the tea-table that evening! Indeed the conversation was mostly between them, for Mrs. Wallis and Sir Jasper were content to sit quietly listening. Joy had so much to tell concerning her experiences in the hospital, of her subsequent removal to the Moat House, and of the great kindness everyone had shown to her.
"Miss Pring used to come and sit with me before I could get about much," she said, "and Miss Mary—Mrs. Cole, I mean—has been here nearly every day. Oh, Eric, the village boys are so looking forward to see you and Putty again! Do you know they are practising for a match against an eleven from T—? It's to be played on the Crumleigh ground, so we must all go and look on, mustn't we, Uncle Jasper."
"Certainly," Sir Jasper agreed, with astonishing readiness. "How does Lulu like it at boarding-school?" he inquired of Celia.
"Oh, very well, now," was the response. "She did not care for it at all at first, nor did I; we found the discipline so irksome, but we soon grew accustomed to that. Lulu is a great favourite with everyone, for she's really very kind-hearted." Celia paused a moment in hesitation, then proceeded with a glance at her mother's interested face. "The girls used to laugh at her for being so fond of dress, they nicknamed her 'The Duchess,' and, oh, she was so angry! It very rude of them, of course, but girls at school are like that, you know, they don't consider each other's feelings much. Well, that was last term. After Easter, Lulu came back dressed as plainly as anyone in the school."
"Bravo!" cried Sir Jasper, laughingly, whilst Eric remarked, with approval in his tone:
"I noticed she was without her usual fal-lals to-day."
After tea they all adjourned to the terrace, where they were joined by Wag, now grown a handsome dog.
"Poor fellow, he was so disappointed when he found he could not induce me to run about and play with him," Joy said, as she fondled the spaniel's soft, silky ears. "I believe he thought all the fun had gone out me. But never was there a greater mistake! You'll have to take him in hand, Eric, and give him some long walks, like you did last year."
"I suppose he has grown out of all his mischievous puppy tricks, hasn't he?" Celia inquired; then she flushed crimson, remembering the trick he had served her in the rock garden, and was covered with confusion and shame.
"He has sobered down considerably," Joy replied.
Memory was busy with her, too, and for a minute a shadow crossed her face; but it was gone again almost directly, and she met Celia's wistful gaze with her brightest smile.
By-and-bye, Sir Jasper, mindful of his rheumatism, and fearful on that account of the evening air, went into the house, and Eric and his mother strolled away to the rock garden, leaving the sisters alone.
"Isn't mother looking well!" Joy questioned, and receiving an answer in the affirmative, she continued, "She had a worrying time whilst I was in the hospital, but I think she is very happy now. Celia, do you know that Uncle Jasper means Eric to be his heir? Yes," as Celia gave a violent start of surprise, "he does indeed! He told mother so some time ago; he says Eric is a manly, honest lad, and he is very proud of him. And he's going to provide for our futures too. Dr. Forbes believes I shall be quite strong enough to take up my music again by-and-bye; but just at present he won't allow me to practice much, though I sometimes play a little to Uncle Jasper—'The Last Rose of Summer,' and the old tunes he loves. Oh, Celia, why are you looking so sad? Are you unhappy?"
"No, no! I am happier than I ever thought I should be again—happier far than I deserve to be. Oh, Joy, I am thinking of last year, and how I was always trying to curry favour with Uncle Jasper, and pretending to better in every way than I actually was, all the time I was so discontented really; and then, when I thought I had lost all I had valued most—money, and comfort, and luxuries, I found out that it was none of those things that would make me happy, and I did not mind their loss. And then—"
"Yes?" said Joy, interrogatively, as her sister paused.
"And then, after the fire," Celia continued, "when mother talked to me, and pointed out to me all the mischief I had caused, I was wild with remorse. And when we feared you would never walk again, I thought my heart would break, and I was as wretched as I possibly could be. Afterwards, when you were in hospital, before I heard the operation was successful, I felt—oh, dreadful!" She shuddered; then added: "Joy, I think I have learnt the secret of happiness now. It is not riches that make one contented, but faith in God."
Thus were the sisters one in heart and mind; and long before Mrs. Wallis and Eric finished their stroll in the rock garden they had come to a perfect understanding with each other.
A happy time followed, which the young people spent mostly out-of-doors, enjoying unclouded sunshine of the August days. Lulu came to the Moat House as had been promised; and Lawrence Puttenham paid his visit to the Vicarage, and, with Eric, spent many a pleasant evening in the cricket field. The members of the Crumleigh Cricket Club had become proficient players by this time, and actually won the match against the eleven from T—, when, true to his word, Sir Jasper Amery was present to witness their success.
No one ever made any reference to Celia's deceptions of the previous year; and she was intensely relieved and grateful on that account. The consideration and kindness of her relations and friends touched her deeply, and as the sunny days of the long vacation slipped away, she grew happier, and more at her ease with Sir Jasper, who now appeared to divide his affection more equally between his niece's children, so that it would have been difficult to have said which was his favourite—the outspoken school boy, with his high spirits and somewhat boisterous ways; the pretty, golden-haired girl who flushed with real pleasure if called upon to do him a service; or the little, pale-faced maiden, who, though lame, accepted her affliction with resignation, and possessed one of the happiest faces in the world.
HEADLEY BROTHERS, PRINTERS, LONDON; AND ASHFORD, KENT.