PEACE AT LAST
MATTHEW had returned to The Towers, having fulfilled his mission well.
His leave-taking on the Monday following Reg's confession was somewhat
unexpected. It was owing to the fact that he had received a letter from
his father, who, feeling himself to be growing old and feeble, and
likewise weary of his own society, desired his son's immediate return.
Thus was Reg left with the hardest battles to fight, namely, to
confess his grievous faults to his Aunt Elizabeth, and to suffer
his humiliation at school. It was almost more than he knew how to
contemplate, but having started on the upward path, he determined to
proceed, however difficult the way.
It was all over at last. Hugh's name was cleared, and Reg, feeling as
though life had no longer any hope or gladness, hid himself away in his
bedroom and refused to be comforted. He had written his confession to
his aunt, and the note was blistered with tears of genuine penitence.
For a while Mrs. Rose felt her heart to be hardened against the lad who
had wrought so much sorrow. And not until the evening of the day, when
on her knees she breathed the petition,—
"'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against
us,—"
was she softened towards the culprit.
Hugh and Frank were indignant. The former could far more easily forgive
the wrong done to himself than the cruel act which had occasioned his
little sister so much suffering. They were ready to wage any amount of
warfare in harsh words and bitter upbraidings, but they soon realized
the "Yorkists" had no longer any spirit to fight.
"It takes two to make a quarrel," said Frank, "so I suppose, as the
Yorkists have given up the fight, the victory is ours."
"They are not even worth having for enemies," answered Hugh, with
supreme contempt.
Ronnie sought out his little friend Gwennie next morning, and told her
of his brother's decision to end the battle.
"Hugh says that you are none of you even worth having for enemies," he
said.
Gwennie looked hurt, and Ronnie to comfort her slipped his hand into
hers.
A sad little smile came over her face as she said wistfully,
unconscious of the exquisite sweetness of her words—
"No, Ronnie, p'raps not, but don't you think we might be worth having
as 'friends?'"
This was a good idea, thought Ronnie, and very clever of Gwennie.
"I'll tell Hugh what you say, Gwennie," he said. Then he added, drawing
out of his pocket a round, rosy apple, "I've been saving this for
you—it's such a beauty."
"Thank you ever so much, Ronnie; don't forget to tell Hugh what I say.
Now I must go, for nurse is calling me," and with these words away ran
Gwennie in obedience to the summons.
Mrs. Rose, on the morning following the receipt of Reg's penitent
letter, wrote in answer these few words, which were long treasured by
the lad.
"DEAR REG,
"I forgive you from my heart as I would myself be forgiven by our
loving Heavenly Father.
"Will you come and have tea with Elsie and me this afternoon? Miss
Beaumont is superintending the dining-room tea, so we shall be quite by
ourselves. Please come.
"Your affectionate
"AUNT LISA."
Mrs. Wilfrid herself shed secret tears over the short note, and came
to the conclusion that after all, notwithstanding her poverty and lack
of "long descent," there was a great deal in Elizabeth Rose, and from
henceforth she decided to cultivate more of her society.
Elsie, who was daily growing stronger, was delighted at the idea
of receiving a visitor, and Reg, who brought with him a lovely
picture-book as a gift from his mother, was a welcome and honoured
guest.
The injuries which Elsie had received were happily not of a permanent
nature, as was feared, although many weeks, perhaps months, must elapse
ere she would be able to run about as usual.
Owing to their mother's influence, the three boys gradually received
Reg into favour, and acting upon little peace-loving Gwennie's
suggestion, they found to their surprise that the young cousins at York
House were after all worth having as friends, and thus ended "The Wars
of the Roses."
* * * * *
The morning of Miss Beaumont's departure drew nigh, and with tears
and mutual regrets she bade good-bye to The Gables, and set her face
towards the New World.
There appeared to be no prospect of any one taking her place, and the
question of ways and means at times sorely troubled the widow's heart,
but still her faith did not fail her.
One morning, when the future was weighing somewhat heavily upon her
mind, the post brought her a letter from Sir Matthew Rose. Opening it
with trembling fingers, for it was the first communication she had ever
received from him, she read as follows—
"MY DEAR ELIZABETH,
"My son and I are lonely at The Towers, and I feel myself to be growing
old and feeble, and in need of a daughter's care.
"I am asking you, therefore, as a favour to come (you and your
family) and take up your abode with us. Please do not let pride
stand in the way. I am only too well aware that this is a tardy
recognition, but remember to err is human, and to forgive—which is
your prerogative—divine. We are 'needing' you, and realize that your
presence will do much to brighten our lives. Your little daughter shall
have the best medical attention, and I will gladly undertake the future
of your sons, for Gilbert's sake and your own.
"Anxiously awaiting your reply,
"Believe me,
"Yours affectionately,
"MATTHEW ROSE."
"'We are needing you.'" This phrase in the letter completely won the
widow's heart, and thankfully she accepted the baronet's generous offer.
When the news reached York House, for a while Mrs. Wilfrid was both
resentful and rebellious.
"Who is Elizabeth Rose," thought she, "to be thus favoured?"
But her better nature at length prevailed, and as the time of departure
drew nigh, she manifested much kindliness of spirit.
Gwennie was inconsolable; but a letter received one morning, about a
week later, from Sir Matthew Rose, greatly comforted her.
It was an invitation to the entire family to spend the Christmas
holidays at The Towers.
Elsie's removal had necessitated great care, and special invalid
appliances were brought into requisition at the baronet's expense.
Hugh alone of all the party felt a certain shamefacedness at the idea
of meeting his grandfather, and at his first opportunity, he made ample
apology for his impertinent letter.
With a graciousness to which in past days he was a stranger, Sir
Matthew freely forgave the impulsive lad, and from thenceforth Hugh was
his devoted adherent.
The weeks rolled on, and the blessed season of Christmas drew nigh.
And what a Christmas-tide it was too! Such a time of merry-making,
rejoicing and thanksgiving surely was never known in the grey old
Towers, and the baronet's heart grew young again as he gazed at the
bonny faces of his grandchildren. Little Elsie, in her convalescence,
was as gay as any.
"Peace on earth, good-will to men," rang out the Christmas message,
finding an echo in the glad hearts of those who assembled around the
Yule-tide fire in the wainscoted dining-room at The Towers. Matthew, in
his joy at the family reunion, in which he had taken so noble a part;
was intensely happy, whilst his father's face actually beamed with
gladness.
"Glory to God in the highest!"
Ah! This was the theme of Elizabeth Rose's rejoicing as she gave praise
to Him who throughout her chequered pathway had never once failed her.
All too rapidly the holidays flew away, and Mrs. Wilfrid and her family
once more returned to York House.
It was the twilight hour, and the children in their spacious play-room
were amusing themselves contentedly.
The baronet, with Matthew and his daughter-in-law Elizabeth, sat
talking beside the dining-room fire.
"The house seems a different place, Elizabeth," said Sir Matthew
gently, "since you have come to us."
She smiled brightly as she replied, calling him by the name which he
loved best to hear—
"Dear father, you are very, very good to us. I only trust that we shall
never disappoint you."
"There is little fear of that, my child," he answered. "God has
bestowed upon you 'good' children, and they have rich blessing in their
mother.
"I came across some lines the other day," he added, after a little
pause, "which made me think of you."
"What were they?" she said, smiling through a mist of happy tears.
"They were these," he answered, regarding her with true fatherly
affection—
"'A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath,
Than my son's wife, Elizabeth.'"
THE END
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Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.