"Graeme, you must take hope for Harry. And there is nothing else, is
there?--nothing that you are afraid to look at--nothing that you cannot
bring to the one place for light and help?"
She did not answer for a minute.
"No, Will, I hope not. I think not. I daresay--I am quite sure that
all will be for the best, and I shall see at some time."
Not another word was said till Graeme rose and drawing aside the
curtains, let in on them the dim dawn of a bleak March morning.
In a few more days Will was down-stairs again. Not in his accustomed
corner among his books, but in the arm-chair in the warmest place by the
fire, made much of by Rose and them all. It seemed a long time since he
had been among them. A good many things had happened during the month
that Graeme and he had passed together up-stairs. March, that had come
in "like a lion" was hastening out "like a lamb;" the sky was clear and
the air was mild; spring was not far-away. The snow lay still in
sullied ridges in the narrow streets where the sun had little power, and
the mud lay deep in the streets where the snow had nearly disappeared.
But the pavements were dry and clean, and in spite of dirty crossings
and mud bespattering carriages, they were thronged with gay promenaders,
eager to welcome the spring. Those who were weatherwise shook their
heads, declaring that having April in March would ensure March weather
when April came, or it might be even in May. So it might prove, but
there was all the more need, because of this, that the most should be
made of the sunshine and the mild air, and even their quiet sweet was
quite gay with the merry goers to and fro, and it seemed to Will and
Graeme that more than a month had passed since his illness began.
Harry had quite decided to go West now, and was as eager and impatient
to be gone as if he had all his life been dreaming of no other future
than that which awaited him there. That he should be so glad to go,
pained his sister as much as the thought of his going. That was at
first, for it did not take Graeme long to discover that Harry was not so
gay as he strove to appear. But her misgivings as to his departure were
none the less sad on that account, and it was with a heavy heart that
she listened to his plans.
Perhaps it was in contrast to Harry's rather ostentations mirth that his
friend Charlie Millar seemed so very grave on the first night that Will
ventured to prolong his stay among them after the gas had been lighted.
Rose was grave, too, and not at ease, though she strove to hide it by
joining in Harry's mirth. Charlie did not strive to hide his gravity,
but sat silent and thoughtful after his first greetings were over. Even
Harry's mirth failed at last, and he leaned back on the sofa, shading
his face with his hands.
"I am afraid your brother would think us very ungrateful if he could see
how badly we are thanking him for his great kindness to Harry."
Graeme forced herself to say it. Allan's name had not been mentioned
among them for days, and the silence, at first grateful, had come to
seem strange and unnatural, and it made Graeme's cheeks tingle to think
what might be the cause. So, looking into Charlie's face with a smile,
she spoke to him about his brother. But Charlie did not answer, or
Graeme did not hear, and in a little while she said again,--
"Is Mr Ruthven still in town?"
"Oh! yes. It is not likely he will leave again soon."
"And your uncle is really recovering from his last attack? What on
anxious time Miss Elphinstone must have had!"
"Yes, he seems better, and, contrary to all expectation, seems likely to
live for some time yet. But his mind is much affected. At least it
seems so to me."
"Poor Lilias!" said Graeme, "Is she still alone?"
"Oh, no. There is a houseful of them. Her aunt Mrs Roxbury is there,
and I don't know how many besides. I declare, I think those women enjoy
it."
Graeme looked shocked.
"Charlie means the preparations for the wedding," said Rose. "It is to
take place soon, is it not?"
"Within the month, I believe," said Charlie, gravely.
"So soon!" said Graeme; and in a little she added, "Is it not sudden?"
"No--yes, I suppose so. They have been engaged, or something like it
for some time; but the haste is because of Mr Elphinstone. He thinks
he cannot die happy till he sees his daughter safe under the care of her
husband. Just as if Allan would not be her friend all the same. It
seems to me like madness."
"And Lilias," said Rose, almost in a whisper, "is she content?"
"On the whole, I suppose so. But this haste and her father being so
ill, and all these horrid preparations are too much for her. She looks
ill, and anything but cheerful."
"We have not seen your brother for a long time," said Will.
"I have scarcely seen him, either. He did not find matters much to his
mind in C, I fear. Harry will have to keep his eyes open among those
people."
"How soon will Harry have to go?" asked Rose.
"The sooner the better, I suppose," said Charlie, rising and walking
about. "Oh! dear me. This is a miserable overturning that has come
upon us--and everything seemed to be going on so smoothly."
"Harry will not have to go before Arthur comes back, I hope," said Rose.
"I don't know, indeed. When does he come?"
"Charlie, man," said Harry, rising suddenly, "did I not hear you
promising Crofts to meet him to-night? It is eight o'clock."
"No. I don't care if I never see Crofts, or any of his set again. You
had much better stay where you are Harry."
"Charlie, don't be misanthropical. I promised if you didn't. Come
along. No? Well, good-night to you all. Will, it is time you were in
bed, your eyes are like saucers. Don't sit up for me, Graeme."
Graeme had no heart to remonstrate. She felt it would do no good, and
he went away leaving a very silent party behind him. Charlie lingered.
When Graeme came down-stairs after seeing Will in his room she found him
still sitting opposite Rose, silent and grave. He roused himself as she
entered. Graeme would gladly have excused him, but she took a seat and
her work, and prepared to be entertained. It was not an easy matter,
though Charlie had the best will in the world to be entertaining, and
Graeme tried to respond. She did not think of it at the time, but
afterwards, when Charlie was gone, she remembered the sad wistful look
with which the lad had regarded her. Rose too, hung about her, saying
nothing, but with eyes full of something to which Graeme would not
respond. One angry throb, stirred her heart, but her next thoughts were
not in anger.
"These foolish young people have been dreaming dreams about Allan and
me,--and I must undeceive them--or deceive them--"
"Graeme," said Rose, softly, "if either of us wait for Harry it must be
me, for you are very tired."
"Yes, I am very tired."
"Charlie said, perhaps he would take Harry home with him. Should we
wait?" said Rose.
"No. He may not come. We will not wait. I shall sleep near Will. He
cannot spare me yet. Now go, love."
She kissed the troubled face upturned to her, but would suffer no
lingering over the good-night. She was in no haste to go herself,
however. She did not mean to wait for Harry, but when two hours had
passed, she was still sitting where Rose had left her, and then Harry
came.
But oh! the misery of that home-coming. Graeme must have fallen asleep,
she thought, for she heard nothing till the door opened, and then she
heard Harry's voice, thick and interrupted, thanking someone, and then
stupidly insisting on refusing all further help.
"Never mind, gentlemen--I can manage--thank you."
There were two persons with him, Charlie Millar was one of them.
"Hush, Harry. Be quiet, man. Are you mad? You will waken your
sister."
The light which someone held behind them, flushed for a moment on
Graeme's pale face.
"Oh! Miss Elliott," said Charles, "I tried to keep him with me. He is
mad, I think. Be quiet, Harry."
Harry quite incapable of walking straight, struggled to free himself and
staggered toward his sister.
"I knew you would sit up, Graeme--though I told you not--and so I came
home."
"Of course, you did right to come home. But hush, Harry! you will waken
Will."
"Oh! yes! Poor Will!" he mumbled. "But Graeme, what ails you, that you
look at me with a face like that?"
"Miss Elliott," entreated Charlie, "leave him to us, you can do nothing
with him to-night."
She went up-stairs before them carrying the light, and held firmly the
handle of Will's door till they passed. She stood there in the darkness
till they came out again and went down-stairs. Poor Harry lay muttering
and mumbling, entreating Graeme to come and see him before she went to
bed. When she heard the door close she went down again, not into the
parlour where a light still burned, but into the darkness of the room
beyond.
"Oh Harry! Harry! Harry!" she cried, as she sank on her knees and
covered her face.
It was a dark hour. Her hope, her faith, her trust in God--all that had
been her strength and song, from day to day was forgotten. The bitter
waters of fear and grief passed over her, and she was well nigh
overwhelmed.
"Oh papa! mamma! Oh Harry! Oh! my little brothers."
"Miss Elliott," said a voice that made her heart stand still, "Graeme,
you must let me help you now."
She rose and turned toward him.
"Mr Ruthven! I was not aware--" said she, moving toward the door
through which light came from the parlour.
"Miss Elliott, forgive me. I did not mean to intrude. I met your
brother and mine by chance, and I came with them. You must not think
that I--"
"Thank you, you are very kind."
Graeme was trembling greatly and sat down, but rose again immediately.
"You are very kind," repeated she, scarcely knowing what she said.
"Graeme," said Mr Ruthven, "you must let me help you in this matter.
Tell me what you wish. Must Harry stay or go?"
Graeme sank down with a cry, wringing her hands.
"Oh! Harry! Harry!"
Mr Ruthven made one step toward her.
"Miss Elliott, I dare not say to you that you think too severely of
Harry's fault. But he is young, and I do not really fear for him. And
you have more cause to be hopeful than I. Think of your father, and
your father's God. Graeme, be sure Harry will come back to you again."
Graeme sat still with her head bowed down.
"Graeme--Miss Elliott. Tell me what you would have me do?"
Graeme rose.
"You are very kind," she repeated. "I cannot think to-night. We must
wait--till Arthur comes home."
He went up and down the room several times, and then came and stood by
her side again.
"Graeme," said he, in a low voice, "let me hear you once say, that you
believe me to be your true and faithful friend."
"Why should I not say it, Allan. You are my true and faithful friend,
as I am yours."
Her voice did not tremble, and for a moment she calmly met his eye. He
turned and walked away, and when he came back again he held out his hand
and said,--
"Good-night."
"Good-night," said Graeme.
"And you will see about Harry--what you wish for him?"
"Yes. Good-bye."