A glorious day, warm, balmy, with the gentlest breezes blowing and the
bluest, tenderest sky overhead. The forest trees were still wearing
their brightest and most emerald green, the hawthorn was in full
blossom, the horse-chestnuts were in a perfect glory of pink-and-white
flower; the day, in short, and the day's adornments were perfect. It was
still too early in the year for a garden-party, but amusements were
provided for the younger guests in the grounds, and the whole appearance
of Avonsyde was festive without and within. The old ladies, in their
richest velvet and choicest lace, moved gracefully about, giving
finishing touches to everything. All the nervousness and unrest which
had characterized Miss Katharine the night before had disappeared.
To-day she looked her gentlest and sweetest--perhaps also her brightest.
Miss Griselda was really very happy, and she looked it. Happiness is a
marvelous beautifier, and Miss Griselda too looked almost handsome. Her
dark eyes glowed with some of the fire which she fancied must have
animated those of her favorite ancestors. Her soft pearl-gray dress
suited her well. Rachel and Kitty were in white and looked radiant. The
marked characteristics of their early childhood were as apparent as
ever: Rachel was all glowing tropical color and beauty; Kitty was one of
Old England's daintiest and fairest little daughters.
The guests began to arrive, and presently Mrs. Lovel, accompanied by
Phil, came down and took her place in the great hall. It was here that
Miss Griselda meant to make her little speech. Standing at the upper end
of the hall, she meant to present Phil as her chosen heir to all her
assembled guests. How strange, how very strange that Mr. Baring had not
yet arrived! When Mrs. Lovel entered the hall Miss Griselda crossed it
at once to speak to her.
"I have given Canning directions to let you know the very moment Mr.
Baring comes," she said. "You and he can transact your business in the
library in a few moments. Mr. Baring is sure to come down by the next
train; and if all your proofs are ready, it will not take him very long
to look through your papers."
"Everything is ready," replied Mrs. Lovel in a low, hushed voice.
"That is right. Pardon me, how very inappropriate of you to put on a
black velvet dress to-day."
Mrs. Lovel turned very white.
"It--it--is my favorite dress," she half-stammered. "I look best in black
velvet."
"What folly! Who thinks about their looks at such a moment? Black here
and to-day looks nearly as inappropriate as at a wedding. I am not
superstitious, but the servants will notice. Can you not change it?"
"I--I have nothing else ready."
"Most inconsiderate. Kitty dear, run and fetch Mrs. Lovel a bunch of
those crimson roses from the conservatory. Have at least that much
color, Mrs. Lovel, for your boy's sake."
Miss Griselda turned indignantly away, and Mrs. Lovel crossed over to
that part of the hall where Phil was standing.
"Mammy darling, how white you look!"
"Miss Griselda wants me to wear crimson roses in my dress, Phil."
"Oh, do, mother; they will look so nice. Here comes Kitty with a great
bunch."
"Give me one," said Mrs. Lovel; "here, this one." Her fingers shook; she
could scarcely take the flower. "Phil, will you put it into my dress? I
won't wear more than one; you shall place it there. Child, child, the
thorn has pricked me--every rose has a thorn."
"Mother," whispered Phil, "you are quite sure of the surprise coming?"
"Yes, darling. Hush, dear. Stay close to me."
The time wore on. The guests were merry; the old place rang with
unwonted life and mirth and laughter. It was many years since Avonsyde
had been so gay. The weather was so lovely that even the older portion
of the visitors decided to spend the time out of doors. They stood about
in groups and talked and laughed and chatted. Tennis went on vigorously.
Rachel and Kitty, like bright fairies, were flitting here, there, and
everywhere. Phil was strangely quiet and silent, standing always close
to his mother. The chaise which had been sent to the railway station to
meet Mr. Baring returned empty. This fact was communicated by Canning to
his mistress, and as the time wore on Miss Griselda's face certainly
looked less happy.
The guests streamed in to lunch, which was served in the great
dining-hall in the old part of the house. Then several boys and girls
would investigate the tower and would roam through the armory and the
old picture-gallery.
"That man--that Rupert Lovel is Phil's ancestor," the boys and girls
remarked. "He is not a bit like Phil."
"No; the present heir is an awfully weakly looking chap," the boys said.
"Why, he doesn't look as if he had strength enough even to go in for a
game of cricket."
"Oh, but he's so interesting," the girls said, "and hasn't he lovely
eyes!"
Then the guests wandered out again to the grounds and commented and
wondered as to when the crucial moment would arrive, and when Miss
Griselda, taking Phil's hand, would present him to them all as the
long-sought-for heir.
"It is really a most romantic story," one lady said. "That little boy
represents the elder branch of the family; the property goes back to the
elder branch with him."
"How sad his mother seems!" remarked another; "and the boy himself looks
dreadfully ill."
"Miss Griselda says he is one of the most wiry and athletic little
fellows she ever came across," said a third lady.
And then a fourth remarked in a somewhat fretful tone:
"I wish that good Miss Lovel would present him to us and get it over.
One gets perfectly tired of waiting for one doesn't know what."
Just then there was a disturbance and a little hush. Some fresh visitors
had arrived--some visitors who came on foot and approached through the
forest. Miss Griselda, feeling she could wait no longer for Mr. Baring's
arrival, had just taken Phil's hand and was leading him forward to greet
her many guests, when the words she was about to say were arrested by
the sudden appearance of these strangers on the scene.
Mr. Baring was one of them; but nobody noticed, and in their intense
excitement nobody recognized, the sleek little lawyer. A lady, dressed
quietly, with a gentle, calm, and gracious bearing, came first. At sight
of her Rachel uttered a cry; she was the lady of the forest. Rachel flew
to her and, unrestrained by even the semblance of conventionality, took
her hand and pressed it rapturously to her lips.
"At last!" half-sobbed Rachel--"at last I see you, and you don't turn
away! Oh, how I have loved you! how I have loved you!"
"And I you, my darling--my beloved."
"Kitty, come here," called out Rachel. "Kitty, Kitty, this is the lady
of the forest!"
"And your mother, my own children. Come to my heart."
But nobody, not even Miss Katharine, noticed this reunion of mother and
children; for Miss Griselda's carefully prepared speech had met with a
startling interruption. The mother had stopped with her children, but
two other unbidden guests had come forward. One of them was a boy--a boy
with so noble a step, so gallant, so gay, so courtly a mien that all the
visitors turned to gaze in unspoken admiration. Whose likeness did he
bear? Why did Miss Griselda turn so deadly pale? Why did she drop Phil's
hand and take a step forward? The dark eyes, the eagle glance, the very
features, the very form of that old hero of her life, the
long-dead-and-gone Rupert Lovel, now stood before her in very deed.
"Aunt Grizel," whispered little Phil, "isn't he splendid? Isn't he
indeed the rightful heir? Just what he should be, so strong and so good!
Aunt Grizel, isn't it a great surprise? Mother, mother, speak, tell her
everything!"
Then little Phil ran up to Rupert and took his hand and led him up to
Miss Grizel.
"He always, always was the true heir," he said, "and I wasn't. Oh,
mother, speak!"
Then there was a buzz of voices, a knot of people gathered quickly round
Miss Griselda, and Phil, holding Rupert's hand fast, looked again at his
mother. The visitors whispered eagerly to one another, and all eyes were
turned, not on the splendid young heir, but on the boy who held his arm
and looked in his face; for a radiance seemed to shine on that slight
boy's pale brow which we see once or twice on the faces of those who are
soon to become angels. The look arrested and startled many, and they
gazed longer and with a deeper admiration at the false heir than at the
true. For a couple of moments Mrs. Lovel had felt herself turning into
stone; but with Phil's last appealing gaze she shook off her lethargy,
and moving forward took her place by Miss Griselda's side, and facing
the anxiously expecting guests said:
"I do it for Phil, in the hope--oh, my God!--in the vain hope of saving
Phil. I arranged with Mr. Baring that I would tell the story. I wish to
humiliate myself as much as possible and to show God that I am sorry. I
do it for Phil, hoping to save him."
Then she began her tale, wailing it out as if her heart were broken; and
the interested guests pressed closer and closer, and then, unperceived
by any one, little Phil slipped away.
"I will go into the forest," he said to himself. "I can't bear this. Oh,
mother! Oh, poor, poor mother! I will go into the forest. Everything
will be all right now, and I feel always happy and at rest in the
forest."
"Phil," said a voice, and looking round he saw that his Cousin Rupert
had followed him. "Phil, you look ghastly. Do you think I care for any
property when you look like that?"
"Oh, I'll be better soon, Rupert. I'm so glad you've come in time!"
"Where are you going now, little chap?"
"Into the forest. I must. Don't prevent me."
"No. I will go with you."
"But you are wanted; you are the real heir."
"Time enough for that. I can only think of you now. Phil, you do look
ill!"
"I'll be better soon. Let us sit down at the foot of this tree, Rupert.
Rupert, you promise to be good to mother?"
"Of course. Your mother did wrong, but she is very brave now. You don't
know how she spoke to my father and me yesterday. My father never liked
her half as much as he does now. He says he is going to take Aunt Bella
back with him--you and Aunt Bella, both of you--and you are always to live
at Belmont, and Gabrielle and Peggy will make a lot of you."
"I'm so glad; but I'm not going, Rupert. Rupert, do ask Gabrielle to be
very good to mother."
"Of course. How breathless you are! Don't talk--rest against me."
"Rupert, I must. Tell me about yesterday. Are all the links complete? Is
it quite, quite certain that you are the heir?"
"Yes, quite--even the tankard has been found. Mrs. Lovel--the lady of the
forest, you remember--her servant picked it up and gave it to us last
night."
"Did she?" answered Phil. "I thought I had lost it in the bog. It
fretted mother. I am glad it is found."
"And do you know that the lady is Rachel's and Kitty's mother?"
"Oh, how nice! How glad Rachel will be, and Kitty too! Isn't God very
good, Rupert?"
"Yes," answered Rupert in a strong, manly young voice.
"Rupert, you'll be sure to love Aunt Grizel, won't you?"
"Yes, yes. I wish you wouldn't talk so much, little chap; you look
awfully ill. Do let me carry you home."
"No; let me rest here on your shoulder. Rupert, there is another lady of
the forest. Rachel's and Kitty's mother is not the only one. I saw her
in a dream. She is coming to me to-day; she said so, Rupert."
"Yes."
"I have suffered--awfully; but God has been very good--and I shan't suffer
any more--I'm so happy."
"Dear little chap!"
For about ten minutes the boys were silent--Rupert afraid to move, his
little cousin rapt in ecstatic contemplation. Suddenly Phil roused
himself and spoke with strength and energy.
"The lady is coming," he said--"there, through the trees! I see her!
Don't you? don't you? She is coming; she will rest me. Oh, how beautiful
she is! Look, Rupert, look!"
But Rupert could see nothing, nothing at all, although Phil stretched
out his arms and a radiant smile covered his worn little face.
Suddenly the arms fell; the eager words ceased; only the smile remained.
Rupert spoke, but obtained no answer.
A little face, beautiful beyond all description now--a little face with a
glory over it--lay against his breast, but Phil himself had gone away.
That is the story. Sad? Perhaps so--not sad for Phil.
THE END.