MR. CHURCHILL'S NEWS.
Early on the next morning after Ralph Webster had left May at St.
Phillip's Hospital, he called there to inquire after her, and saw his
friend the house surgeon, Doctor Brentwood.
"You have come to ask after the poor little woman you brought here last
night," said the doctor, as he shook Webster's hand. "Well, I'm sorry
to say I can't give a very good account of her. She has had a bad,
restless night, and is very feverish this morning."
"I am very sorry," answered Webster, gravely, and a slight quiver
passed over his lips.
"She seems extremely low, almost in a hopeless state," went on the
doctor. "She's had some tremendous heart-break or other, poor soul; I
suppose it's not possible to give her any mental relief?"
"I fear not," said Webster, in a low, pained tone. "She has lost at one
blow all that made the happiness of her life."
Doctor Brentwood looked somewhat curiously at his friend.
"She is decidedly pretty, at least she must be even remarkably so when
she is well. I don't want to seem curious, Webster, but suppose the
poor young woman gets worse--and it is possible--what other friends has
she besides yourself?"
"I promised her faithfully not to mention anything of her past."
"Then I presume her name--Mrs. Church--is an assumed one?"
"I can not even answer that question. But let her have everything
she can possibly require; I shall be answerable for all the expenses
connected with her case."
"And yet--you can do nothing to relieve her mind?"
"Nothing; I only wish I could."
"Well, I must try to pull her through; poor young thing, it seems a sad
case."
"It is a terribly sad case."
After this Ralph Webster went away, but each morning before he began
his work he went to inquire at the hospital about "Mrs. Church." And
May was very ill. The shock had affected her physically as well as
mentally and she lay prostrate, hopeless, wishing the life was ended
that Webster had done his best to save. There were times when her mind
wandered, and the fever ran high. But as a rule her great weakness was
what the doctor feared most. It was as though the spring of youth were
broken--the flower blighted in its bloom.
Meanwhile as days and weeks went on naturally the friends of the absent
girl began to grow again uneasy concerning her fate. Mr. Churchill had
returned to Woodside after his visit to London and the Misses Webster,
an elated, almost overjoyed man. He had examined the register which
recorded the marriage of John Temple and May Churchill, and he had seen
the clergyman who had performed the ceremony. Therefore, his mind was
set at rest regarding May. He did not write his news to his wife. He
wished personally to carry it to her, and felt a sort of secret triumph
when he remembered the remarks Mrs. Churchill had made regarding May's
disappearance.
He accordingly telegraphed to her the hour that he hoped to arrive at
home, and desired the dog-cart might be waiting for him at the station
to meet the train which he intended to travel by. It was waiting for
him, and he was driven home, and standing at the open hall door when he
reached Woodside was his wife ready to receive him.
She went quickly forward to meet him, and looked eagerly in his face.
"Well, William?" she said.
William kissed her, but there was triumph in his heart as he pressed
his mustache against her firm lips. He was thinking of his girl, and
thinking of her with pride.
"Have you heard anything?" half-whispered Mrs. Churchill, as she tried
to lead him into the hall. But Mr. Churchill seemed in no hurry to
impart his news. He gave directions to the groom who had driven him
from the station regarding the horse in the dog-cart, and inquired
about another animal that was ill. Then, at last, he turned and entered
the house, and Mrs. Churchill having closed the door behind him,
followed him into the dining-room.
"Have you heard anything of May?" she again inquired quickly.
"Yes," answered Mr. Churchill, nodding his head, while a pleased smile
spread over his face; "it is all right; May is now Mrs. John Temple,
and I saw the register of the marriage and the clergyman who married
them myself."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Churchill, genuinely astonished.
And for a moment or two--so strange is the human heart--she felt a
pang of disappointment at the good news. She had always prophesied
evil things of May, and to hear that she was suddenly raised in social
position so far above herself, gave her an unpleasant sensation.
"Yes," continued Mr. Churchill, somewhat boastfully, "my girl has done
well for herself, hasn't she, Sarah? I went first to the ladies where
she lived after she left here, until she married Mr. John Temple. They
were two real ladies, clergyman's daughters, and elderly, and had known
Mr. John Temple for years, and he asked them to take charge of her
until he could make her his wife. And you should have heard how they
spoke of her, in the highest terms, and they went to the church when
she was married, and so it's all on the square."
"Then why was there all this secrecy?" asked Mrs. Churchill, for she
had not yet got over her chagrin.
"It seems he thought the old squire and madam wouldn't like it,"
answered Mr. Churchill. "But that's all right now, for the squire
himself told me he would welcome May as his nephew's wife. And as for
madam, well, madam will just have to take it as best as she can. My
girl will step into her shoes when the old gentleman dies, for the
Hall goes to the heir I'm told, and I'll have my son-in-law for my
landlord--but I was always proud and fond of May."
Mrs. Churchill composed her lips and tried to swallow her
mortification. But after all she was a sensible, though a hard woman,
and she saw it was no use trying to throw cold water on her husband's
elation at the good fortune of his daughter. She therefore went up to
him and kissed him.
"Well, my dear," she said, "I am glad it has ended well, and that you
are pleased. But you have forgotten to let me know one thing; did you
see her?"
"No; as ill-luck would have it, Mr. John Temple had taken her away
to the seaside for a few days, and she was out of London when I was
there. But I expect we shall be hearing from her shortly; and to-morrow
morning I'll go over to the Hall and see the squire, and tell him the
news. Ay, and in spite of madam, I expect we'll be having her staying
at the Hall in no time, and what will you think of that, Sarah?" And
Mr. Churchill laughed aloud, and patted his wife's comely chin.
This was, however, a little more than Mrs. Churchill's temper could
bear.
"Well, I hope it will end well," she said, tartly; "unequal marriages
rarely do."
"I don't see that it's so unequal," retorted Mr. Churchill. "What
was madam herself, who holds her head so high? Only a poor parson's
daughter, with a skin-flint mother, who begs for milk and eggs of
everyone who is fool enough to give her them. My girl is as good as
madam any day, and as for looks there's no doubt May has the best of
them."
"You are too uplifted, William," answered Mrs. Churchill,
reproachfully; "remember pride may have a fall." And having
administered this rebuke, Mrs. Churchill left the room, leaving her
husband seriously offended.
He was indeed so offended that he would not speak again on the subject
during the whole evening. But early the next morning he ordered his
best horse to be saddled, as he thought it behooved him to make a good
appearance on such an important occasion as carrying the news of his
nephew's marriage to the squire.
"I am going to ride over to the Hall, Sarah," he said, as he rose from
the breakfast table, and he felt as he spoke that he was master of the
situation. And Sarah felt this too. It was disagreeable that this
little "chit" should be raised above her, but Mrs. Churchill knew very
well it was true. Her property consisted of one good farm, besides some
savings of her first husband. But what was this to the large estates of
the squire's of Woodlea? And Mr. John Temple was heir to these estates,
and May was his wife. So Mrs. Churchill had made up her mind to make
the best of it. She had also offended her good-looking husband, and
Mrs. Churchill did not like being on bad terms with him.
"Very well, my dear," she therefore answered meekly, to her spouse's
announcement that he was going to the Hall, "and I am glad you have
such good news to tell the squire."
"It is good news," replied Mr. Churchill, still stiffly; but he felt
mollified, and deigned to kiss his hand to his wife, as she stood at
the hall door and watched him mount his good horse and ride away.
And it was no doubt with an uplifted heart that Mr. Churchill rode on
his errand to the Hall. He knew, indeed, that Mr. Temple's approval,
or disapproval, would ultimately make no difference to John Temple's
position. The estates were strictly entailed on the next heir, in the
event of the squire dying without children. The one child of the house
was dead, and John Temple was the next heir, therefore the Woodlea
property must some day be his, and his children's after him. Mr.
Churchill looked proudly around, as he went on, at the wide grass-lands
and wooded slopes of the familiar landscape. He seemed to see them in
a new light. His grandson might become their possessor, and he, the
grandsire, would no doubt reap the benefit. He was a man who loved
money and success in life, but to give him his due he was also not
thinking only of worldly advantages. He was thinking that no one could
now throw a stone at his "little girl, and that she would be able to
hold up her head with the best of them."
And his heart was still full of pride when he drew rein at the Hall. He
could scarcely ask if he could see the squire in the same tone as was
his wont. But he tried to do this, and not to show any undue elation,
when the squire received him in the library.
"Well, Mr. Churchill, have you any news?" asked Mr. Temple, gravely, as
he held out his hand to his tenant.
"Yes, squire, I have," answered Mr. Churchill, cordially grasping his
landlord's hand in his own.
"And what is it?" asked Mr. Temple, somewhat nervously.
"Well, sir, I went up to London, as you know, the day before yesterday,
and yesterday morning I went to the house in Pembridge Terrace,
Bayswater, where the ladies live whose address Mrs. Temple kindly gave
me, and where my daughter May has been staying since she left her
home. And, squire, I found two real ladies, elderly, and clergyman's
daughters, and they seemed very fond of my girl, and had known your
nephew, Mr. John Temple, for many years. And to make a long story
short, squire, Mr. John Temple and May were married from their house;
the ladies going to the church to witness the ceremony, and then the
young people went abroad."
Mr. Temple's delicate, rather pallid complexion slightly flushed at
this announcement, and for a moment he was silent. The pride of birth
and station were not absent from his nature, but, on the other hand, he
was a good and just man, and he knew that John Temple had only acted
rightly.
"Well, Mr. Churchill," he said, rather slowly, "I am glad to hear this
is so. If my nephew induced your daughter to leave her home, he has
only done what a gentleman ought to do in making her his wife."
"She left her home to become his wife, sir," answered Mr. Churchill,
rather quickly. "That was the arrangement between them, and in the
meanwhile my girl went to these ladies, who are friends of his, and
remained with them until her marriage. And that there might be no
doubt about it, squire, I went to the church where they were married,
and I saw the clergyman who married them, and examined the register;
and this--" and he drew a sheet of paper from his pocket-book as he
spoke--"this is the copy of the register of their marriage, and if
you'll kindly look at it you will see it's all on the square."
The squire settled his gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, and took
the paper in his hand. In it were duly set forth the date and other
particulars of the marriage of John Temple and May Churchill, or rather
of Margaret Alice Churchill, for May had given her full baptismal name
on the occasion of her marriage.
Mr. Temple read the copy through and then returned it to Mr. Churchill.
"Well, then, there is no mistake, Mr. Churchill," he said, "and we
must earnestly hope that the young people may be happy together. Your
daughter, from what I have seen of her, is, I am sure, a charming and
very pretty girl--and I will write to my nephew to congratulate him.
But where are they now?"
"Well, sir, I am sorry to say I missed them. Mr. John Temple had taken
May away to the seaside for a few days when I arrived in town. But no
doubt we will be hearing from them soon."
The squire looked rather puzzled.
"It was strange," he said, "that my nephew would say nothing before he
left here. However, there is no doubt about their marriage, and when
you hear from your daughter, Mr. Churchill, will you let me know, and
then I will write to my nephew?"
"That I will, sir," answered Mr. Churchill; "and thank you kindly for
the way in which you have spoken of my girl. You might have looked
higher, naturally, for your nephew, but this I will say for my daughter
May--that a sweeter or bonnier lass does not live! There's no vice
about her, sir, and she's been a blessing and a comfort to me always,
and I'm sure she will be one to her husband. Her mother was a lady--a
clergyman's daughter--and May has taken after her in all her ways."
"She is no doubt a very sweet-looking girl," said the squire, "and I
shall be glad to welcome her here. But now I am afraid I must say
good-morning, Mr. Churchill, as I have an engagement I must keep." And
the squire looked at his watch.
Upon this hint Mr. Churchill took his departure, and scarcely was he
gone when Mr. Temple proceeded at once to the breakfast-room, where he
had left his handsome wife.
Mrs. Temple was listlessly reading the newspaper, and she looked up
somewhat surprised when he entered the room, as she did not know of Mr.
Churchill's visit.
"I have got some news for you, Rachel," said Mr. Temple.
"News?" asked Mrs. Temple, quickly.
"Yes; John Temple is married to Miss Churchill; must have married her
two days after he left here in the autumn, when he said he went to
Paris--that must have been his wedding trip."
Mrs. Temple started to her feet, and her face flushed and then grew
pale.
"Is this possible?" she said. "Are you sure?"
"Mr. Churchill has just been here, and he brought with him a copy of
the register of their marriage. There can be no mistake, and yet I do
not understand John's conduct, or why he was so reticent about it, when
I distinctly told him that if he had induced her to leave her home that
it was his duty to make her his wife."
"There is something to hide, something he is keeping back!" cried Mrs.
Temple, excitedly. "But you say they are actually married?"
"They are certainly married, and Rachel, now that the thing is done, we
must try to make the best of it. Naturally it is not what I wished for
John--still--"
"I should think not!" interrupted Mrs. Temple, scornfully. "A tenant
farmer's daughter--truly her pretty face has made her fortune!"
"Well, it is done, and when I hear from John I mean to write to him;
after all the girl is good and pretty, and he might have done worse."
"Not well, I think," answered Mrs. Temple, bitterly, and then she left
the room, full of excitement and anger.
The news of John Temple's marriage was indeed very bitter to her.
Unconsciously she had learnt to like him too well for one thing, and
for another she disliked, nay hated, the whole Churchill family. The
boys had played in the fatal game when her little son was killed, and
she had always felt a strange jealousy of May's beauty. And now she
was Mrs. John Temple, the wife of the heir of Woodlea! reflected Mrs.
Temple, with curling lips.
But she was too much excited to keep the news to herself. She therefore
hastily put on her hat and cloak, and started for the vicarage to tell
her mother. She felt a sort of grim pleasure in thinking what a rage
Mrs. Layton would be in when she heard it. And she certainly was not
disappointed in this. Her arrival was most unexpected and inconvenient,
for she rarely went to her father's house, and on this unfortunate
morning Mrs. Layton was engaged in what she called "dressing her
feathers," that is, all the feathers that she could collect from the
fowls eaten at the Hall or at the vicarage were eagerly saved and
stored away by Mrs. Layton until she had acquired a sufficient quantity
to have a grand assortment of them. She was therefore sitting covered
with feathers in her store-room, when she was told that her daughter,
Mrs. Temple, was waiting below to see her.
She tried to shake herself free of the feathers, but with many still
clinging to her hair and dress she finally descended, by no means in a
good humor. Mrs. Temple was standing looking out of the window as she
entered the room, and she gave rather a hard laugh when she saw her
mother's extraordinary appearance.
"Whatever have you been doing?" she said.
"I've been dressing my feathers, my dear," replied Mrs. Layton, "my
half-yearly dressing, you know, and I don't believe, Rachel, that your
cook or your scullery-maid have sent me half what they should."
Mrs. Temple slightly shrugged her handsome shoulders.
"We've had a wedding in the family," she said, scornfully, "and I've
come to tell you the news."
"A wedding!" repeated Mrs. Layton, blankly.
"Yes, my nephew John Temple has entered the distinguished family of
Churchill," continued Mrs. Temple, yet more scornfully. "Nice for us
all, isn't it?"
"It can't be true?" gasped Mrs. Layton.
"Perfectly true, I assure you! The respected head of the family has
just been to the Hall to tell Phillip, and he brought a copy of the
register of the marriage, and everything is all correct. My beloved
nephew, it seems, was secretly married when he went away in the autumn,
he said, to Paris. No doubt he did go to Paris, but it was with his
highly-born bride!"
"Well, whatever is the world coming to!" cried Mrs. Layton with
uplifted hands. "It will be destroyed--no doubt the end is coming--such
monstrous things occur! To think that this girl, a girl I've bought
eggs of, a girl whose character I consider to be far from what it ought
to be, should make such a match! But I warned you, Rachel, against John
Temple; a snake in the grass, I considered him; but I never thought he
would be such a fool as this."
"I think he must be more a fool than a snake," answered Mrs. Temple,
contemptuously. "Fancy marrying a girl like this! And Phillip says we
must make the best of it, which I suppose means inviting the bride
and bridegroom to stay at the Hall! However, we shall see. But,
good-morning now, mother; I'll leave you to digest my news." And with
a little nod Mrs. Temple turned away and left the house, while Mrs.
Layton stood absolutely speechless with disgust.
But both Mr. Churchill's elation and Mrs. Temple's indignation cooled
down during the next few weeks. For, to the great surprise and
disappointment of Mr. Churchill, nothing was heard at Woodside either
from John Temple or his supposed bride. Each morning Mr. Churchill said
he could not understand it when the letters came in and there was
none from May; and Mrs. Churchill--though with caution--began again to
insinuate that she feared it was not all right. And the squire himself,
just a week after Mr. Churchill's visit to the Hall to announce the
marriage, walked one morning over to Woodside, to ask Mr. Churchill the
whereabouts of the bride and bridegroom.
"Well, squire, it's the strangest thing, but we have not had a word
from them," answered Mr. Churchill, somewhat disconcerted.
"It is certainly very strange," said the squire, slowly.
"Can't understand it, because I told the ladies--the Miss Websters
that she had been staying with, and who saw her married to Mr. John
Temple--that you had been kind enough to say you would receive her as
his wife."
"Which I certainly shall do. Well, Mr. Churchill, why not write to
these ladies and ask if they know their address? They probably do."
"I never thought of that, sir; but I'll write to them this very day.
Thank you very much for thinking of it, squire."
And Mr. Churchill accordingly did write to Miss Webster, and after
apologizing for troubling her, told her that he was getting anxious
at not hearing from his daughter, and asked her to be good enough to
give him Mrs. John Temple's address, if she knew it. And he added, "Mr.
Temple, the squire of Woodlea, was here this morning, and will be glad
also to hear from his nephew."
An answer to this letter was most anxiously expected at Woodside, and
after two days one came, which was as follows:
"DEAR SIR: I am sorry I can not give you the information you require
regarding the address of Mr. and Mrs. John Temple, as we have heard
nothing from them since the day Mr. John Temple arrived here and took
your daughter away for a proposed short visit to the seaside. But the
same day that you called and told us Mr. Temple of Woodlea Hall would
be glad to receive the young people, I felt it was my pleasing duty to
write a few lines to Mr. John Temple to tell him of your visit, and
also of his uncle's sanction to his marriage. I sent this letter to the
Grosvenor Hotel, where he sometimes stays while in town, but I have
received no reply. And therefore we--my sister and myself--can only
conclude that Mr. and Mrs. John Temple must have gone abroad, and have
not received my letter.
"Trusting, however, that you will soon hear from them, I remain,
"Yours sincerely,
"MARGARET WEBSTER."
"Yes, that's it; no doubt they are abroad," said Mr. Churchill, after
he had read Miss Webster's letter, handing it to his wife.
"Of course, they may be," replied his wife.
But Mr. Churchill was quite sure that they were, and took over Miss
Webster's letter to show it to the squire. But the squire still thought
it very strange, and so did Mrs. Temple when her husband told her of it.
"There is something to hide. John Temple is keeping something back,"
she said. And she thought again and again, "What can it be?"