“HOPE”
Iris sat beside Turner in his small, tidy cabin. The old drunkard was
ill; he had sent for Rees, but as the driver was away Iris and her
cousin had come instead, bringing with them a large basket of good
things. The patient had just been given a big basin of hot, delicious
chicken broth they had brought in the thermos. The old man was feeling
refreshed and lay back in his clean, though rather crumpled-looking,
bunk.
Mrs. Henderson had brought some flowers from the garden and placed
them in a bowl on the table; now she sat by the little window looking
out on the small gate on the outside of which the drunkard had years
ago painted the pathetic word “Hope.” It was still plainly visible,
though the paint had peeled off in places. The man living behind its
shelter seemed doomed; he had never risen above his craving; it had
always bested him, even in this secluded spot, when men had been to
neighbouring townships and brought the noxious liquor to his door. But,
in spite of a lifetime of failure, he still clung almost tenaciously to
the small word on his wooden gate.
He watched Miss Dearn with wonder and admiration. Never had a girl
of her type been in his little hut before. Her beauty, her air of
refinement and breeding, her simple naturalness, appealed to him.
How easy it was to talk to her in spite of the unconscious grandeur
emanating from her. She had crossed his threshold, introduced her
cousin and herself, talked to him, given him soup, smoothed his pillow,
as if she had known him for years and been in the habit of visiting
such cabins, sitting on such hard wooden chairs, all her life.
While she talked to him now, she was making mental notes of all this
little home needed to make it comfortable for the white-haired owner.
It must have some carpet, two cosy chairs, new warm blankets, and many
other things. She would go to the shop on her way home and order them
and have the things procurable in the township sent up at once.
“When will Mr. Rees be back?” inquired Turner during the conversation.
“I think it will be a fortnight before he returns,” replied Iris. “He
will be so sorry to know you are ill, but I will tell him we are trying
to look after you in his absence.”
“You will write to him, then?”
“Yes,” replied the girl, the pink in her cheeks increasing a little.
“Give the dear lad my love when you do.” A great, soft lustre came into
his pale brown eyes as he continued: “That’s a fine fellow, if ever
there was one! I don’t know what we should do in this district without
him--there is hardly a family he hasn’t helped in some way. He has
saved my life twice: the other week when my horse bolted and a year
ago when I was bad after a spell----” He looked shamefacedly down on
the worn, threadbare quilt as he went on: “I dare say you know I have
these--spells--been the curse of my life, broke my old mother’s heart,
bless her!” He looked up again. “Ah, I did have a mother any boy could
be proud of, but I----” He stopped and wiped his misty eyes with a
crumpled red handkerchief. “It was the sorrow of her life that I should
have these here spells. Many times she went on her knees begging me to
give them up, but”--he shook his white head--“may I be kept from them
awhile, but all unexpectedly the old feeling came back, and then I
simply couldn’t resist.”
A tender light illumined the girl’s beautiful face as she said softly,
“I notice you have ‘Hope’ written on your gate.”
“Yes,” he said in quavering tones, “I painted it on there because--it
was hard to keep up heart when I felt it was no use, that help would
never come my way; then I went out on the road and stood looking at
that little word, and I remembered my mother’s prayers--ah! they were
prayers, prayers with tears in them, prayers that seemed to bleed her
heart; she prayed for her poor drunken boy like that.”
“Those prayers will be answered yet,” whispered Iris, laying her smooth
white hand on the old wrinkled one.
He looked up at her and smiled through tears. “You think so--you don’t
think it is too late?”
“No, it is not too late,” said the girl with profound conviction.
“Prayers like that must be answered; it could not be otherwise. I have
a friend,” she continued in a different voice, “who had a--failing like
yours--it mastered him for years, but suddenly he was cured; some one
began praying for him, prayers with tears and--heart-blood in them, as
you say, and--he was cured. The awful craving left him and he has never
had it again.”
“Was it his mother that prayed for him?” asked the old man with deep
interest.
“No,” said Miss Dearn very gently, looking down on the rough,
carpetless floor; “it was not his mother.”
“Really--I didn’t know any one else could love a man enough to pray for
him like that.”
“Sometimes another woman can love strongly enough for that,” Iris
replied, still not looking up.
The gaunt form of the drunkard moved a little closer to her. “I beg
your pardon if I am too bold--just tell me if I am--but I should so
like to know: was it--_you_ who prayed like that?”
A delicate flush crept over the girl’s fair face. “Yes,” she said very
quietly, “it was.”
“And you say he is quite, quite cured?”
“Yes,” she answered, meeting his faded, eager eyes, “the craving has
left him; he can go near even hotels and--and--not feel the least
tempted to--go in.”
“That is marvellous!” He moved to the very edge of the bed and began
to fidget with the dilapidated fringe on the quilt. “Miss Dearn,” he
said falteringly, “my mother has been dead many years, but no doubt she
is praying in Heaven for her poor, degraded boy; only it seems so far
away and--it would be so nice to have some one praying for me down
here on earth--I have no one to do that for me now--I wonder would it
be too much if I asked you to--pray for me as you prayed for--your
friend?” His withered, freckled hands still moved nervously on the edge
of the counterpane.
Iris suddenly imprisoned one of the hard hands between her dainty, slim
ones. “Of course it is not! I should just love to help you and see you
quite cured too,” she replied with a radiant smile.
The old man looked up at her with a new light in his eyes; it seemed
as if Hope, so long brooding over his gate, had leapt into his soul at
last.
“Then you will?”
“Yes, I will!”
* * * * *
“Iris,” said Mrs. Henderson on their way home, “the sweet way you
talked to that old man just broke me up; I couldn’t say a word, but
simply had to sit and listen to you; and, if I had not known for
a certainty that it was you, I should have felt sure it was some
Celestial Being from another world coming straight from the Presence of
God. Your prayer will be answered--I know it will! Iris,” she continued
huskily, “I can understand how Justin was cured, now.”
PART III
CHAPTER I
THE EARL’S VISIT
The Earl of Strathfell’s luxurious limousine had just stopped before
Lady Dearn’s big mansion in Park Lane. The owner got out of the car and
made his way with graceful dignity up the easy flight of granite steps.
He was a tall, erect man with an imposing figure, a proud handsome
face, thickly waving white hair and large grey eyes. His clothes were
immaculate, from his silk hat to his perfectly shaped boots.
He pressed the bell deliberately. The door opened, and, when he asked
to see Lady Dearn, a footman in purple uniform told him that her
ladyship was “not at home.”
But Lord Strathfell was not easily turned away. He took out his
card, wrote a few words on it and handed it with a sovereign to the
expressionless servant as he said, “Kindly take my card to Lady Dearn
at once.”
The man ushered him into a small reception room and disappeared. He
returned some minutes afterwards and said that her ladyship would see
him; then he led the visitor upstairs to one of the large drawing-rooms.
The earl took an armchair, though not a low one--he hated low
chairs--then looked about him absently. It was a white and gold room,
sumptuously furnished, containing priceless statues and pictures. But
his experienced eye did not enjoy the great works of Art surrounding
him; he was impatient for the door to open and the interview he desired
to begin. At last there was the soft rustle of silk, and Lady Dearn
entered.
Lord Strathfell rose and a look of surprise came for a moment into his
fine grey eyes as he saw his hostess. She approached him with head
slightly bent; her eyes were swollen with weeping and she was still
clutching a small lace handkerchief convulsively.
“I would not have seen any one else to-day but you,” she began in
trembling tones, “and not even you unless you had urged it. I have
had an awful blow this morning--I am in terrible trouble--it is
about--Iris.” She sank into an easy chair, rested her elbow on its arm
and shaded her eyes with her white, well-formed hand.
“Is she ill?” asked her guest with deep concern.
“Oh no!” Lady Dearn replied, waving the inquiry impatiently aside.
“Iris is never ill, I don’t think she could be if she tried.”
The earl looked distinctly relieved, the girl was a great favourite of
his. “Ah, I am glad of that!”
“But the other thing is far, far worse--it is absolutely appalling!
To think a child of mine could have sunk so--low,” and she dabbed the
fragment of linen and lace against her eyes.
“I cannot imagine Miss Iris doing anything--very dreadful,” said Lord
Strathfell, filling up an awkward pause.
“Yes, it is so unexpected, and it has all come through her going to
that awful country; she ought never to have been allowed to go in the
first place.”
“I thought Australia was rather a fine place.”
“Oh, I daresay the place is all right; but it is the atmosphere, people
are so lax out there--it is most deteriorating to pride and morals.”
“Morals?” queried her handsome guest. “You don’t mean to insinuate that
Miss Iris’s fault lies in that direction?”
The distracted mother began to weep again. “Ah, my poor wayward child,”
she almost moaned, “if only I could be there beside you and save you
from that awful fate! Isn’t it ghastly?” she continued turning to her
companion. “It takes six weeks to get there--of course I shall have to
catch the next boat, but even then I may be too late--ah, too late!”
“I don’t quite understand,” said Lord Strathfell, his smooth brows
puckering slightly. “Has your lovely daughter done anything really----?”
“Yes, a most shocking thing--I hardly like to tell you about it; but I
suppose you will be sure to hear of it later on, so you might as well
be told now--I must try to get used to the idea of it,” she wailed
piteously.
“If I could be of any help--the least assistance----”
“No, no; thank you all the same, but you cannot do anything; no one
can.”
“Is it really as bad as that? Dear me!”
“Yes, Iris has fallen in love with a--a--groom,” she said in the same
horror-struck tones she would have used if she had been announcing that
her daughter had committed a murder.
“Oh, surely----” began Lord Strathfell.
“I assure you it is true. The man is a common groom, employed by the
proprietress of the boarding-house where Iris and her cousin have been
staying, and the foolish child has fallen most violently in love with
him--and she is actually going to--_marry_ the awful creature! Think
of it, _my_ daughter, who has had the most brilliant offers, to sink
so low as to marry a common--groom! I shall never have a peaceful
moment again, never hold up my head any more; it is too terrible, too
dreadful--a disgrace! I am glad her poor father did not live to see
this day; it would have killed him if he had, for in spite of his
gentle, kind ways he was a very proud man; he could never have endured
such a disaster to his favourite daughter! And my poor child--think
what a life she will have with such a man! Of course he is only
marrying her for her position and money.”
“I should have thought Miss Iris was quite attractive enough to make
any man want to marry her for herself,” observed the earl sententiously.
Lady Dearn shrugged her shoulders impatiently. “That sort of man would
not have taste enough to appreciate Iris’s beauty. Any pink-and-white
dairymaid would have done as well. I tell you he is a designing
villain, an unscrupulous impostor, who has taken advantage of my
child’s inexperience and waywardness. I had a long letter from Captain
Barton this morning telling me all about it; he went out there for
part of his furlough, you know.”
“I suppose he went out to marry Iris himself,” commented the earl dryly.
“Yes--he did wish to marry her--if only she had accepted him--instead
of this common man.”
“But the--man might not be so bad after all; he might even turn out to
be a--gentleman.”
“A gentleman!” sniffed Lady Dearn. “He is a dreadful creature of the
most vulgar type! Captain Barton writes of an awful scene in a common
bar, where the man was disgustingly intoxicated--kissing the barmaid!
I believe Ralph had to drag him out and put him to bed.” Lady Dearn
shuddered. “Think of Iris falling in love with such a low creature--I
can’t make it out--a child of mine to have such depraved tastes--it is
the influence of that country with its careless laxity.” The distraught
mother wept afresh.
Lord Strathfell sat looking down on the rich pattern of the luxurious
carpet. Kissing a barmaid! What an awful crime! Really! But perhaps in
Australia things were different. He rubbed his smooth cheek once or
twice. “I am sorry about that--very sorry. Still the young people have
not done anything along the lines--you indicated. As far as I can see
they have only fallen a--little hotly in love with each other.”
“As far as you can see! Why, you don’t know anything about it--I
haven’t told you half! But I suppose I might as well let you know
all--such scandal soon leaks out; I tell you Iris has behaved most
disgracefully, most shockingly! They have spent afternoons together
in dark caves, terribly wet places where you prowl about under hills
and what not; think of my daughter in that awful blackness for hours
together with such a man! However she comes to like these things is
past my comprehension! And they have had secret meetings in lanes at
night, and----” Lady Dearn’s voice lowered to a horrified whisper,
“and Captain Barton writes of some trip to the mountains where he saw
the man, with his arms round Iris, actually--kissing her! He is a
double-dyed villain, and Iris must be mad. Whatever is a mother to do
with such a daughter?” She closed her eyes and made a despairing little
gesture.
“I tell you what you can do, Lady Dearn; let her--marry him!”
His hostess sat up quickly. “Let her marry the impostor, the villain,
the groom--never! Lord Strathfell, how can you suggest such a thing? I
am going out by the next boat, and, even if they are married, if there
is any law or any kind of force which can separate them, they shall be
dragged apart!” She said it with a cold glitter in her china-blue eyes.
When Lady Dearn first began to confide the cause of her trouble to her
friend, a curious expression had come into Lord Strathfell’s handsome
features, but it had only remained a few moments and afterwards
his face had become as inscrutable as ever. Now, however, the odd
expression returned while he said, in very even distinct tones: “Lady
Dearn, I have come to--plead the cause of--of--that young man----”
His companion looked up quickly.
“The groom?” she inquired incredulously.
“Yes--for he is my--son.”
Lady Dearn’s red-rimmed eyes opened wide in amazement. “The groom, the
villain, the impostor--_your son_?”
“The groom if you like, though I believe his real position is that
of guide and driver; but villain and impostor--never!” The earl drew
himself up as he spoke. “Justin has been wild and done most foolish
things, but I know he has never done a mean or dishonourable one----”
“But I don’t understand,” interrupted Lady Dearn, who was not
interested in the ethical side of his nature. “Do you mean to say Mr.
Rees, as Ralph calls him, is really your son? How----”
“My dear Lady Dearn, don’t you remember my second son, Justin, went to
Australia a few years ago, and the painful circumstances which led to
the--exile?” Lord Strathfell lowered his eyes to the rich Axminster
carpet for a few seconds before continuing. “I had requested him never
to use his own name, so he called himself Rees. I wanted to make him an
allowance when he went away, but he refused to take it as I wouldn’t
allow him to use his own name, so he had to work when he reached
Tasmania. Miss Smith, the boarding-house proprietress, needed a driver
and guide, and he took the post.”
So the man was no common groom after all, but a son of one of England’s
most distinguished peers! And now Lady Dearn remembered that the
eldest son had died six months ago, so Justin would be the heir, come
in for the titles and all the estates, and, if father and son were
reconciled, as they seemed on the point of being just now, he would
inherit the earl’s enormous private fortune as well. Suddenly things
had taken an entirely different aspect. The groom Ralph had written
about so slightingly, so contemptuously, was turning out to be a
fairy prince in disguise; one of the best matches in the land! He had
been a little wild, and, if Captain Barton could be believed, he was
evidently a little wild still; but then, what was that? What young
man had not his little deviations from the straight path? It was only
natural; poor, dear fellow, shut away in exile--no wonder he might be a
little--indiscreet!
But how appalling of Ralph to give her the impression that Justin was
a common groom! And she had been speaking about him to the proud earl
in the most depreciating terms; he might easily become offended, and
all through Ralph’s annoying bungling! She would drop the soldier in
future; he should never be invited to her home again. She thought of
all this as Lord Strathfell explained the situation to her more fully.
He had heard from Justin a fortnight ago, telling him how Iris and he
had met, that they had fallen in love with each other, but that of
course it was impossible for him to ask her to marry him under the
circumstances. However, he wanted to tell her his real identity and
asked his father to allow him to do so. Justin told him how he had
spent his time during the last three years, and how he had kept his
failing in abeyance by living by the lonely mountains, far away from
temptation. The earl had received another letter from him that morning
telling him of his fall during his visit to a neighbouring township.
Ralph had arrived. Justin had thought that Captain Barton, being more
fortunately situated, might make Iris happy, so had withdrawn to give
him a fair chance of winning her. But he could not endure seeing them
constantly together, and, while he was away, the fall had taken place.
He had gone back and told Iris about the lapse; she had forgiven him
in the most angelic way, and--well, they had discovered they could not
live without each other.
“Now if you will give your consent to their marriage,” went on the
earl, “I am going to cable to Justin that he can disclose his identity,
come back and live at Strathfell Court and I will allow him £10,000 a
year and all shall be right between us. As Strathfell Court is in the
country, he can live there as quietly as where he is at present--if
that should be necessary; but I have no fear at all about his future
if Iris becomes his wife. I want to cable to-day, but came to see you
first to ask for your consent to their marriage; if you will give it,
perhaps you yourself will send a cable to Iris and tell her so?”
Lady Dearn had quite recovered from her weeping. “Yes, certainly--if--he
is your son, of course, I most gladly give the young people my
blessing,” she beamed in her most gracious way.
“And you will not be angry with Iris any more--quite forgive her, in
fact?”
“I suppose I shall have to,” Lady Dearn smiled again; “though the
dear child really has behaved very badly. I am afraid she is most
unbecomingly, most shockingly in love with your son.”
“If only more women loved their husbands like that, men would be a
happier race,” commented the earl. “But,” he continued, rising, “I must
not detain you any longer. I am going to send my cable at once--may I
take yours for Iris at the same time? It would be nice if they received
them simultaneously, don’t you think?”
Lady Dearn heartily agreed.
She went over to a small inlaid writing table, wrote out her message,
then handed it to her companion to read. “Will that do?” she asked with
her most winning smile.
“Yes, splendidly! Now our young people will be happy.”
* * * * *
Half-an-hour afterwards both telegrams had been despatched to Australia.
On his way home the Earl of Strathfell leant comfortably back in his
magnificent car, and there was a glad light in his handsome grey eyes
as he looked out unseeingly on the noisy traffic-laden streets.
CHAPTER II
THE CABLES
Autumn had made its colorous advance in Tasmania, scattering vermilion
and coppery tints into gardens, orchards, and along mirroring streams
shadowed by graceful, weeping willows and glistening poplars. It had
dropped fleecy clouds into brooding valleys and trailed long ribbons of
mist on the electric-blue hills.
Iris was sitting in the little creeper-covered summer-house at the
lower end of the garden, waiting for Justin. He had returned the night
before, but she had only seen him then for a little while; now he was
coming for a long talk.
She sat gazing at the mountains and saw their bold rocky forms framed
by the doorway, where yellow vines hung motionless in the still morning
air.
Justin was home again! He was coming to her shortly, and then--a
stupendous joy would be hers; it was on the point of pouring itself
into her life! She sat quite still, waiting--waiting till the huge
tidal wave of bliss should roll in upon her and carry her far, far out
to sea, to the unmeasured deeps of a fathomless rapture.
She glanced through the doorway again. The great ecstasy was coming
to her in this ideal place--it had given her--Justin! Tasmania had
brought them to each other and was now on the point of linking their
lives together with the sweetest chain in the world. How appropriate
that they should have met in this romantic island, with its great wild
beauty of dense tangled bush, cornflower-blue hills, lofty mountains
lifting bold undaunted crags into azure skies; with its wondrous caves,
its immense solitudes, its untamed loneliness, its deep melancholy;
its riotous, exuberant sunshine: Tasmania with its flaming sunsets and
pearly dawns, its violet-hued twilights, its tall majestic trees and
green-matted undergrowth; its weird animals and lovely birds: this
island with its many moods, sometimes silent, brooding, reflecting,
profound; at others smiling, dazzling, laughing; some days tender,
exquisitely yielding; on others, convulsed with passion, impetuous,
ungoverned; but always beautiful, always alluring in its bewildering
waywardness!
There were light, quick steps on the path leading to the summer-house.
A rich colour suffused the fair face of the girl waiting there. Justin
was coming! She rose, a strange, glad confusion numbing her senses. She
knew what he had come to say. He was at the doorway; for a second she
saw him under the trailing yellow vines; she noticed the detail of his
new navy-blue suit. Then she took a step towards him, would have taken
another and been clasped by his arms, but a curious look of suppressed
excitement in his face arrested her movement.
He held out an envelope to her. “This wire has just come; you had
better open it at once,” he said with forced calmness.
The bright flush on Iris’s cheek subsided a little. A wire--who could
it be from--surely only from her mother. Ralph could be in London by
this time; he would have gone to her mother and told his own story. He
would not spare her; she could expect no mercy from him; and, if he had
not gone to England, he would have written, which would be just as bad.
Perhaps her mother was so upset that she was coming out immediately and
had cabled to say so.
She sank down on a low chair, tore open the envelope and read hastily.
Rees watched her with an odd expression in his grey eyes. He saw her
smooth brow pucker as she evidently read the message again and again.
At last she allowed the paper to drop to her knees. “Really,” she
said at last, “I think my good mother must have taken leave of her
intelligence! Look at that!” And she passed him the telegram.
He read:--
“Heartiest congratulations on your engagement to Lord Lennox have
wedding in London fondest love.
“YOUR MOTHER.”
Her lover kept his eyes on the cable for a long time; if he had lifted
them from the paper, Iris would have seen a very bright twinkle under
the long lashes.
“Well,” she said a little impatiently at length, “I suppose you can’t
make any sense of it either; whatever can it mean?”
“Oh, the meaning is clear enough; there is no mistaking that. Your
mother wants to let you know that she quite approves of your engagement
to Lord Lennox.”
“But, Justin, how utterly foolish----” she stopped and began to think
again. Was this her mother’s method of dealing with her after hearing
Ralph’s story? Instead of coming herself was she sending this new man
and indicating that she commanded her to marry him? That after the
episode with the driver (Ralph was sure to have made a sensational
story of it) she was to pay the penalty of marrying this man to avoid
open scandal and disgrace--was this her mother’s scheme? How unwise she
had been not to have written by the same mail and explained that she
really loved Justin and would not marry any one else! She had written
since, of course, but her mother would not receive that letter till a
week later. It was the only mail she had missed; in her excitement and
perplexity that week she had not written. It was a great pity and the
result might be that she would have another man landed on her hands. It
was really most appalling! A cloud of vexation swept over her face. “I
suppose mother has seen Ralph by this time,” she said, thinking aloud,
“and this is her way of dealing with me. I expect this man will be
arriving presently. But,” she continued in a different tone, “I will
have nothing to do with him--I shall not even see him!”
“Would you really object to becoming Lady Lennox instead of
simply--Mrs. Rees?”
She looked up into his smiling eyes with a hurt look in her own.
“Justin--how can you say such a thing even in fun--I hate jokes of
that kind!” she said straightening a little; then she looked away and
added, the perplexity coming back to her voice: “But I really can’t
understand this, for, now when I come to think of it, I don’t know the
man--that is, I believe I met him years ago when I was still in the
schoolroom; but I remember he was delicate, and I think he has been in
the south of France ever since.”
“That was the elder brother, but he died six months ago, and the second
son has taken his place.”
“Is he really dead? I didn’t know, I haven’t read half the papers
mother sends out. So it is the second son; that is worse--he was the
wild one, wasn’t he? So that is the kind of man mother wants me to
marry!”
Justin winced a little; then he said, the odd expression on his face
deepening: “Yes, he was rather wild; but he has been trying to mend his
ways----”
Iris stopped him with a look. “You plead his cause well,” she said
coldly, her face as white as marble.
“Naturally, seeing that you have already done him the honour of
promising to become his wife.”
Iris had suddenly risen. She took an uncertain step towards him.
“Justin,” she began, amazement, indignation and scorn in her tones,
“you don’t mean to say----” But his face told her something. The
indignation gave place to incredulity; and then, slowly, the lovely
colour mantled to her cheeks and swept away the scorn. “Justin!” she
pleaded now, “Do you mean to say--that--you are----”
“Yes, Sweetheart. That is just what I was trying to tell you.”
“You are--Lord Lennox--the Earl of Strathfell’s son?”
“Yes, darling.”
She turned pale again, her eyes shining like stars; then the colour
came vividly back to her face. “And you have been Lord Lennox all this
time and I did not know--oh! Justin--I can’t realise it--and fancy the
way all those people have treated you--it is awful!”
“I could not expect anything else in that position, but your sweet
gentleness has made up for it all.”
At his words she sank into the chair where she had been sitting, and
covered her face with her hands.
Her lover sat down beside her. “Whatever is the matter, dearest?” he
asked, trying to move her hands from her flushed face.
“Oh, Justin, to think of all the things I have said to you!”
“Iris, you have never said anything but the dearest, loveliest things
in the world.”
“But, Justin, I actually asked you to----”
He slipped his arms about her and drew her to him. “Sweetheart, it was
exquisite, beautiful of you to be so amazingly kind to poor obscure
Justin Rees. I can’t tell you how I loved the way you treated him! I
shall never forget, and it was worth being an insignificant driver all
this time, just to have your unselfish goodness poured upon me!” He
spoke in moved tones.
“But it seems so awful--now.”
“Iris, it is just as beautiful now as it was, and I do hope you are not
going to change your way of treating me.”
“Why?” she asked, looking up at him again.
“Because if you are I shall stay plain Justin Rees for the rest of my
life.”
“Would you really?” she inquired, a happy smile parting her red lips.
“Most certainly, now that I have known your delightful ways of dealing
with the poor driver I shall certainly not be satisfied with anything
different.”
“There mustn’t be any difference then.”
“But, sweetest, I haven’t told you, though I daresay you guessed that
I had a cable from my father this morning; it came just before yours.
He told me my brother had died and that he wanted me to come back; that
all was right between us and that I could disclose my identity. He sent
heartiest congratulations on my having won your love, said we could
live at Strathfell Court and that he would allow me £10,000 a year.
He also cabled me quite a fortune, so now,” he added with a humorous
twinkle, “I shall be able to keep you, and I promise not to insist on
your frocks lasting too many seasons!”
“Justin, what a fatal memory you have!” She blushed again.
“Father is evidently very anxious to have us back--he adores you so. I
wrote to him after our night in the garden, explained how we had met
and that we loved each other, and I felt sure when he heard about my
altered life--I wrote before I went away that time, but I have written
since and told him all about that too and he would have had that
letter also before he cabled--that he would allow me to use my own name
in future when he heard you were the girl I loved. He has always had
the deepest affection for you. Even years ago, when you were quite a
child, whenever he came back from London he was full of your praises,
and once I even heard him remark to mother that he wished you would
marry one of his boys some day.”
The girl’s face glowed with pleasure. “Your father was always so good
to me; I just loved him to come and see us--I was always sent for then
and allowed to stay in the drawing-room and talk to him. But, Justin,
wasn’t it strange you and I did not meet in London?”
“Yes, it does seem rather odd. Only you see when I was in London you
were still in the schoolroom, and when I had broken with my father I
did not go back to our own set again.”
There was a short pause. Then Iris said: “Dear, what waste it was your
going away! I knew it would be all right; you should have had more
faith and you could have been here all this precious month instead of
wasting it in town.”
“Yes, I felt it was going to be all right before I went. But I had
another reason for going. You see, if I had stayed here and we had been
together, we could not have kept our engagement a secret: it would have
been impossible!”
“But would it have mattered so--very much if--people had found out?”
“It would.”
“But why--were you ashamed of me?”
Justin laughed heartily. “Try again, darling; that guess of yours
was not even warm! But,” he went on more seriously, “though you were
willing to be openly engaged to poor Rees, I had no intention that the
Hon. Iris Dearn should suffer the indignity of being publicly engaged
to such a social nonentity. So I wanted to delay the announcement
until I heard from my father, for I was certain, after he had read my
letters, even if he did not make everything right between us, that he
would at least permit me to use my own name; and, as I was proving I
could live among temptations, I could go to Sydney or Melbourne and get
something much better to do. But, Iris, aren’t you glad about father’s
changed attitude?”
“Yes, of course, for your sake--very.”
“Not for your own?”
“I should have been quite as happy if you had remained Justin Rees,
and--all my plans could have been carried out.”
“Yes, I know; you have been so sublimely sweet to me, so divinely
generous! But now I shall be able to carry out _my_ nice plans for
_you_. Strathfell Court is such a fine old place in such beautiful
surroundings--just the sort of place you and I could be most ideally
happy in, darling.”
Iris sighed a little. “I shall be happy anywhere you are, dearest.”
“You sighed?” and he lifted her face and looked long and tenderly into
her eyes.
“That was only at the thought of leaving this. We have been so
wonderfully happy here!”
“Yes, but we can be just as wonderfully happy there. And Iris,” his
tones lowered, “can’t you understand the joy it is to me to be able to
offer you a proper home?”
“You dear boy, of course I can; and I shall love to be there with you!
But what about all our plans?”
“They can be carried out just as well in that part of the world; there
are any amount of poor people in the villages and in London; and think
how many there are in our own class who have the same--failing as--I.
We can help them.”
“Yes, we will.”
Justin gazed at her with deep fondness. “Iris, what a lot you have been
doing in my absence. Miss Smith told me before breakfast this morning
how good you have been to poor old Turner--he simply worships you! She
said I would not know his little cabin; it is so nice and cosy, and the
poor old fellow has everything to make him comfortable now! Those are
just the things I have always wanted to do for him, but have not been
able; a driver’s salary is small, and all I could spare went to a poor
widow living right in the bush with twelve children to bring up, so I
have not been able to do much for other people in the district. But you
have sent Turner all I wanted him to have and Miss Green’s father is
surrounded with comforts too--what a treasure you are!” And he kissed
her hand lingeringly.
A rich colour leapt into her cheeks. “I have done so little, and
that little only because of--your influence. But about Turner--as I
told you in my letter, he is so happy; and wasn’t it touching about
the bottle those men brought him, keeping it all the time--a whole
night--_untouched!_ and then giving it to me the next day! He said
it was the first time he had ever been able to pass on a bottle he
had not emptied to the dregs! I don’t think I have ever valued a gift
more--except one.”
“What was that?”
She moved her head close to his. “The flask you gave me the night on
the mountains--untouched: I am treasuring that!”
“Do you mean to say you are keeping it?”
“Of course I am, it is packed away among my treasures.”
He drew a deep breath and folded her closer. “Darling, if a man did not
keep straight with you as his wife--he would deserve the worst torments
in the universe.”
She pressed her cheek against his. “But, Justin, what shall we do about
old Turner? He is so lonely, we can’t possibly leave him behind--he
likes the cold and he was only saying the other day how much he would
like to see the Old Country again.”
“You want to take him Home with us?” he smiled down at her tenderly.
“Yes--couldn’t you find a nice little cottage for him near us where we
could look after him?”
“I will find a dozen if you like. Anybody else you would like to
take--the Greens and the little cripple girl you have been visiting
lately?” He spoke seriously.
“Yes,” she replied equally seriously; “I should like to take them all,
but Mr. Green would never stand the climate, nor would little Janet;
yet we can see they have everything they want before we go, can’t we?
And we must send Miss Smith and her mother for a trip; they have been
so awfully good to us.”
“Yes, we must see to them all before we go. But what about your cousin?
She will be so lonely without you; we must make her come and stay with
us as often and for as long as she likes; she has been so delightfully
kind to me; our home must always be open for her too. And now, Iris,”
he added in a different voice, “I am going to remind you of the promise
you made me before I left--you will fulfil it at once, won’t you?”
The girl picked up the cable and looked down on it. “Mother asked me to
have the--wedding in London,” she said, the drooping lashes hiding the
smile in her eyes.
Justin rose and walked to the doorway, and looked out into the autumn
glory in the garden for a moment; then he turned round and looked
at her sadly as he said, “Iris, how can you ask me to wait all that
time? If we are not married before we go, you will need a chaperon
and I shan’t be able to have you to myself; it will be just awful!
Besides--you promised!”
She went over to him quickly. “You dear, foolish boy, I didn’t ask you
to wait; I was only reminding you of what mother said. Of course I
shall marry you--any time you--wish,” she said with heightened colour.
He clasped her to him. “Any time?” he whispered. “To-morrow?”
“Yes, dearest,” she breathed.
He raised her face and pressed his lips long and closely to hers.
Shimmering golden minutes glided by in the glinting autumn silence.
Love counted them as seconds.
Then Justin lifted his head a little and began to lilt very softly in
his smooth faultless tenor to the girl in his arms--
“I’ve sometimes thought it was your eyes,
Sometimes your voice bade my enchanted heart arise
And make its choice.
I’ve counted over all your ways, my sweet, my mate,
And wondered which the sep’rate grace that holds my fate,
Vain task, I love you, dearest one for all you are,
The charm of Heav’n hangs not upon a single star.”
She trembled in his embrace. “Oh, Justin,” she half sobbed, her arms
stealing about his neck in rapturous abandonment, “your voice simply
tears my heart out--it is all just too beautiful--too heavenly! Do
you really love me like that?” She clung to him while he pressed her
yearningly to him.
“Yes, darling, I love you like that and--infinitely more,” he said;
“but to-morrow and--ever afterwards, I shall be able to show you the
never-ending depths of it.”
She closed her eyes as if blinded, and suddenly leant more heavily
against him.
“To-morrow,” he whispered, “to-morrow----”
* * * * *
From one of the trailing vines over the doorway a yellow leaf fluttered
silently to the ground, and, from a large, copper-tinted oak near the
summer-house, came the soft note of a bird, calling to its mate.
CHAPTER III
THEIR GOAL
The Duchess of Groseville was holding a large reception at her
magnificent house in Queen’s Gate, and all London was there. The
stately, flower-laden rooms were crowded with guests.
Languorous strains of music floated through the air, at times drowned
by laughter and the hum of voices, and at others rising timidly,
tremblingly above them with alluring, haunting sweetness.
By the pillars of an archway stood a middle-aged man with rather
corpulent curves, talking to a retired General. He had commented on
a statue a little distance away, and his companion grunted a rather
unintelligible reply; he was not a lover of Art and knew very little
about it. His taste had developed on quite different lines.
“Fine crowd here to-night,” observed the first speaker, dropping the
subject of sculpture.
The soldier straightened a little. “Yes, very fine indeed; these
London crowds know how to dress--not any real beauties about though.”
He looked round with the fastidious eye of a connoisseur. “I am going
round to the Club presently--I suppose you will be coming along too?”
he added, turning questioningly to his companion.
But the latter was paying little heed to the General; his face had
suddenly lightened and his eyes were fixed on some new arrivals talking
to the hostess in the doorway.
“There are Lord and Lady Lennox--thought they would put in an
appearance to-night,” he said, still watching the group at the door.
The General put on his pince-nez with less deliberation than usual,
and looked in the same direction. “Ah!” he said at last, adjusting the
glasses more perfectly; then he gave another long-drawn “Ah!”
“Can’t say London has no beauties now, eh?”
“By Jove, no! She is ripping--got the right air about her too.” After
a pause he added: “But how in the name of thunder did Lennox come to
marry her? Wasn’t she Dearn’s daughter, the girl all the men went mad
about a year or two ago, but were all turned down? How in the world did
Lennox get her?”
“My dear fellow, surely you read the story--why, the papers were full
of it a couple of months ago.”
“Of course I heard something about it--I never bother about Society
columns though. Now when I come to think of it, didn’t they meet
in a cave in Australia, or was it a coal-mine where there was
no light?--some dark place, I believe; and it was love at first
sight--wasn’t it?”
The other man laughed. “How could they fall in love with each other in
the dark? But they are coming in this direction; I think I shall go and
speak to them.”
Iris and Justin were making their way through the thronged rooms. It
was slow progress, as they were constantly being arrested by people
speaking to them. They stood now by a tall marble pedestal laden with
exquisite roses, a circle of friends around them. Wherever they moved,
they immediately became the centre of interest and conversation.
Iris was looking irresistibly lovely in an exquisite ivory-tinted
gown. The famous Strathfell diamonds flashed from her snowy throat and
glittered among the bright waves of her hair. The superb dignity of her
regal bearing had increased, and there was a new, subtle charm in her
presence--a charm born of a joy which was unearthly in its greatness.
Her large blue eyes shone with bewildering radiance, and the smile
curving her lips was dazzling.
“Lady Lennox is even more lovely now than she was as Iris Dearn!”
exclaimed an Ambassador’s wife in black, with some priceless emeralds
round her rather thin neck; “and isn’t he handsome? I don’t wonder she
fell so desperately in love with him! It was quite a romance--fancy
meeting out there in the wilds, and he was only a driver; but she fell
in love with him all the same, and would have married him long before
she knew he was Lord Lennox. It was real love, there is no doubt about
that! But then he is so delightful; I don’t think any girl could resist
him if he made love to her--he always had that charm about him!”
“But wasn’t there some--reason for his going out there and hiding as
a driver?” inquired her companion, an American woman who had lately
arrived in London Society.
The Ambassador’s wife lifted her thin shoulders with an indulgent
movement. “Nothing serious at all--just a little unmanageable, a little
headstrong, wanted to have his own way--quarrelled with his father
because he wanted to be a singer. But that wonderful wife of his has
tamed him. Did you notice the way he looked at her just then? They are
most delightfully in love still! But he is charming to every one; he is
quite the most popular man in London, though they don’t go into Society
much. Look at the way he is smiling at her now--did you ever see such
teeth and such eyes?”
The American watched Iris and Justin with an ill-suppressed hunger in
her not very large eyes. “Ah,” she thought to herself, “they are the
real thing; only England can produce such types! Lucky woman to have a
handsome man like that--with his charm and delightful, easy grace, his
air of distinction and stamp of breeding--making love to her!” The girl
from New York stifled a sigh. “Don’t they really go into Society much?”
she inquired after a pause.
“No, they spend most of their time in their beautiful home in
Yorkshire. They do a great deal for the poor; people say they know
every man, woman and child personally on their estate; the villagers
simply worship the ground they walk on! They are specially interested
in--well, men with failings; I believe they have had quite a number
staying with them, and have had some wonderful cures. Do you see
that tall, fair man standing next to Lady Lennox, smiling at her now?
That is Lord Westwood; it is only lately he has appeared again; he
used to be quite too impossible--disgraced himself at every function,
till he was--dropped! Now he is quite cured; never drinks at all
since he stayed at Strathfell Court--it is miraculous! Lord Lennox
had a weakness that way once, though you would never think so to look
at him now, would you? But they never allow intoxicants in their
home. That is the Earl of Strathfell standing over there--the tall,
distinguished-looking man with the white hair, talking to the Princess.
The difference in him since his son returned is wonderful! Before that
he shut himself up in Strathfell Castle and wouldn’t go anywhere; but
Justin always was his favourite son, and he simply adores Iris--he is
lucky to have such a daughter-in-law.”
The girl from Fifth Avenue looked at the earl, then her mind returned
to the other information she had just received. “I wonder how they
manage to cure these people,” she reflected thoughtfully.
“You had better ask Lady Lennox herself; I will introduce you if
you like; I am going to speak to her presently before they go--they
never stay late anywhere--and she will tell you herself; I couldn’t
do justice to the subject. It is rather wonderful. They are very
religious, you know--no, not in the ordinary way, just going to church
a lot and all that kind of thing; they have a kind of new religion, or
rather they seem to have gone back to the old one--the kind you read
about in the Bible. But you must hear Lady Lennox explain it herself;
she will do it far better than I.”
* * * * *
It was still early when Lord Lennox helped his wife into their electric
brougham. He tucked the fur rug carefully about her, for the nights
were chilly; and then, with a sigh of content and relief, switched off
the light and leant back in the car. It did not take long to reach
their house in Eaton Square, and, after a few moments, the car stopped
and the footman in blue livery opened the door.
Iris dropped her cloak in the hall and entered the drawing-room. It
was a large, pale blue room strewn with snowy bearskins. She sank
into a deep armchair piled with sea-blue silk cushions, and her eyes
rested dreamily on the autumn leaves and roses decorating the sumptuous
apartment.
But she was not left alone long: the door opened gently and Justin
entered. He glanced at her happily, then made his way to the grand
piano a little distance away from her. His fingers ran over the keys
lightly, haltingly; and, keeping his eyes upon her, he began to sing in
an undertone--
“I’ll sing thee songs of Araby.”
Every note caressed her, every tone seemed like a clinging kiss from
his lips. As he sang the old familiar words, lingering tenderly on the
haunting phrases, Iris paled and suddenly caught her breath.
As the last muted words had trembled towards her he rose and held out
his arms.
She came to him, and something soft and misty blinded her eyes as he
clasped her to his breast.
For some minutes they stood together in deep, rapturous silence; then
he lifted her face and their lips met in a long kiss.
He felt the thrill that always passed through her yielding form when
his lips touched hers. “Iris,” he whispered, “you care just--just the
same as when we were first married?”
“Oh, Justin, it is worse now--I mean--I am more helplessly----” she
faltered.
“In love?” he inquired, as he gathered her closer.
“And you?”
“Deeper than the sea,” he murmured; “higher than the stars. These
six months with you have been--Paradise! And, dearest, you are so
wonderful, too, in helping all these people.”
“But you help them just as much; and it is lovely to be able to do it,
isn’t it? And what a good thing we brought old Turner with us! He says
he has never been so happy in his life before!”
“Yes, it was a dear thought of yours. By the way, what are you going to
take him when we go back to-morrow?”
“I thought of getting him a warm coat with a big fur collar; the
weather is getting so cold, and it would keep him comfortable in the
winter.”
He stroked her pink cheek tenderly. “My kind-hearted little sweetheart!”
“You taught me,” she said softly. “Do you know, Justin, I often have
a feeling when I leave Turner’s bright little cottage, and he looks
so cheerful and happy, that his mother is looking down on us from
somewhere, and that her eyes shine like stars because her prayers for
her poor boy are answered at last?”
“I don’t think it is only Turner’s mother who is looking down on you
from Angel-land; I believe my own mother watches you with the same
starry eyes because you saved her poor, sad boy as well,” he said a
little huskily.
She glanced up at him with glowing, splendid eyes. “My beloved Captive
Singer is set free--quite free!” she murmured rapturously.
“Yes, thank God! Once he was entombed in the dark caves, far away from
all sunshine and gladness. But you found him and led him back to life
and--freedom.”
There was a long pause while soul gazed into soul; then a strange look
of pain sprang into the grey eyes.
“Oh, Iris,” he whispered, a half-sob in his tones, “it is all too
amazing--think of it, for _me_ to have you for my very own--it is
miraculous!”
“Not more miraculous than for me to have--you.”
“Yes, Iris, a thousand times more so! Remember what I was--my past, and
even--what I did out there----” He shuddered.
“Justin, I will not have you referring to that subject! You know I----”
She suddenly drew his face down to her own and kissed his cheek in
tenderest sympathy. “My darling boy,” she continued, “you must not
think or grieve over it now; after all, it was this sorrow which made
you realise your need of God and made us both turn to Him for help.
Remember the words you so often sing to me--
“Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee;
_E’en though it be a cross_
That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!”
“Sing it now!” she said gently.
Once more he sat down at the piano, his fingers striking the chords of
the tune Iris loved best, written by a young Australian composer; then
his rich, mellow voice rang out a little tremulously--
“There let my way appear
Steps unto Heaven,
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy given.
_Angels to beckon me_
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.”
As he sang the words, “Angels to beckon me,” his eyes looked with a
sudden, wonderful exultation at his wife; and, when the last beautiful
note faded into silence, he lifted one of her hands with deep adoration
to her lips.
“Justin,” she said, a slight quiver at the corners of her scarlet lips,
“Justin!” and her eyes shone with divine splendour.
[Music: Nearer, my God, to Thee.
CECILY EDDY.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
E’en though it be a cross That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee,
nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee.]
“Yes, Sweetheart; so, after all, this was our way to--God.”
It was no longer the Captive Singer that spoke: the Truth that dwells
in Love had made him free!
THE END
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