"The slow, sad hours that bring us all things ill," waned slowly, while
Golden and Ruby waited impatiently for news of the travelers.
Ruby was very restless and capricious, besides her daily headaches grew
worse as the heat of the summer season advanced. She fretted very much
over her postponed trip to the seaside.
At length a telegram came from the travelers to say that they had
reached Glenalvan Hall, and Mr. Chesleigh was no better. After this
these bulletins came almost daily, but with no encouraging words. Very
ill, and no prospect of improvement yet, was their daily burden.
In about two weeks Mr. Desmond returned unexpectedly.
Ruby was overjoyed. She laughed and wept together, as she hung around
his neck.
"Uncle Bertie must be better, or you would not have returned," she
cried.
But her father shook his head gravely.
"No, dear, I am sorry to say he is not improving at all. Indeed the
case is so critical that it may be weeks before your mother can return.
That is why I have come."
"Shall you go back, then?" inquired Ruby.
"Yes, in about a week. Have you fretted for us very much, Ruby?"
"A great deal," she replied. "Oh, papa," clapping her little hands,
"now I know why you have come back. You are going to take me to mamma
and Uncle Bert."
"Nothing is further from my intentions," replied Mr. Desmond. "I have
come to take you to the seashore."
"The seashore--while my uncle is so ill?" cried the child, a little
surprised.
"Yes, Ruby. You must remember your own health is very frail. Your
mother is very anxious about you. You will go to the seashore in the
care of Mrs. Markham. Will that arrangement please you?"
"Very much," smiled Ruby. "I love Mrs. Markham. Of course I shall take
my nurse?"
"Yes, of course," he replied, then inquired, carelessly: "Are you still
satisfied with Mary Smith?"
"Oh, yes, Mary is a splendid girl--I do not intend ever to part from
her," replied the child, enthusiastically, "I am quite getting over my
sulky spells since she came. Mary does not tease and cross me as the
others did."
Golden, who had sat sewing quietly by the window, without ever lifting
her eyes from her work since Mr. Desmond entered, crimsoned painfully
at thus having his attention drawn upon her.
But he took no notice of her except to say patronizingly:
"I am glad you have found such a treasure, Ruby. I hope she will remain
with you. Are you willing to accompany Ruby to the seaside, Mary?"
"Yes, sir," she answered, quietly.
"Very well, I will go and see Mrs. Markham now. If she can go by the
last of the week I will accompany the party and see you all safely
settled before I return south."
Golden made him no answer, thinking that none was necessary, and he
went out to call on Mrs. Markham.
It was all carried out as Mr. Desmond wished. In the latter part of the
week he accompanied the party to the seashore, saw them installed in
comfortable quarters, and after staying two days took leave again.
During his short stay, he enjoyed himself according to his flirting
tastes with the lively seaside belles.
In her capacity of Ruby's nurse Golden was compelled to see him a great
deal, but he treated her at all times with such subdued respect and
delicate attention that the girl grew less afraid of him, and began
to think that Celine was right when she said he would abandon his
pursuit of her now that he had found out she was an honest girl. She
did not know that Mr. Desmond's quiet respect and delicate courtesy
was more dangerous than his former open advances had been. Still she
was relieved when he was gone, and she was left alone with little Ruby
and Mrs. Markham, who was very kind to the lonely girl though in a
decidedly patronizing fashion.
When Golden and Ruby had been at the seaside a month with Mrs. Markham,
the glad tidings that Mr. Chesleigh was beginning to improve, were
conveyed to little Ruby in a short but affectionate letter from her
mother.
"Your dear uncle has had a great fight for his life, but the doctor
now says that he is likely to get well," Mrs. Desmond wrote. "If he
continues to improve, we shall be able to start home with him in
about two weeks, journeying slowly. We will join you then at the
seaside, as the physician thinks that a month by the sea will quite
restore Bertram's health."
It was Golden's task to read this letter to the little six-year-old,
whose education, owing to her extreme frailty of constitution, had not
yet commenced.
The child cried out noisily for joy at the welcome news, but Golden
said not a word. Yet her thoughts were very busy.
"I shall see him again very soon," she said to herself. "Will he
recognize, in his sister's servant, the girl that loved him so dearly?"
Then the thought came to her that he would not wish to see her again;
she had no part nor lot in his life henceforth, by his own desire.
Musing sadly by the great, moaning sea, while little Ruby gathered
the rosy-tinted shells along the sands, she murmured to herself those
sweet, pathetic lines of Owen Meredith:
"Oh, being of beauty and bliss! Seen and known
In the depths of my heart, and possessed there alone,
My days know thee not, and my lips name thee never,
Thy place in my poor life is vacant forever;
We have met, we have parted,
No name is recorded
In my annals on earth."