GARTH'S WIFE.
"Sole partner, and sole part of all these joys,
Dearer thyself than all."--_Milton._
It cost Garth a severe struggle to leave his betrothed and go back to
his business at Hepshaw; but his presence was imperatively needed at
the quarry, and Queenie, with her usual unselfishness and good sense,
was the first to perceive the necessity.
"How can I find it in my heart to leave you just now?" he said the
next morning, when he had walked up from his hotel to spend an hour
or two with her. Perhaps her deep mourning made her seem so thin and
pale; but there was certainly a wasted look about her, as though she
had passed through a long illness.
"But you must leave me," she replied gently. "You are wanted at
Warstdale; and then Langley needs you. I will not have you neglect
your duties for me; you have been here already ten days, have you
not?"
"Yes; but Langley has Cathy, and you are all alone," he remonstrated.
"Dear Queenie, could you not rouse yourself and come back with me?
and we would all nurse you well again."
She shook her head sadly.
"No, no; Cathy has enough on her hands, you do not want another
invalid at Church-Stile House; besides, I am not fit to travel just
now, Dr. Bennet said so only yesterday. He told me I must have quiet
and rest."
"You know he and his wife have offered to take care of you. What
good Samaritans they are!"
"Yes, indeed, they are everything that is kind; but, Garth,"
hesitating shyly over his name, "you will not ask me to do that.
They are very good, dear people, but they are comparative strangers.
I could not bear to leave this place; I am only just fit to lie and
look at the sea all day, and think of you and Emmie."
"I know it will be bad for you; but I don't see what else is to be
done," he returned despondingly. "Warstdale won't do without me; but
I shall not have a moment's peace until I have you safely in my own
keeping. Will you promise to be well in a fortnight, if I come back
and fetch you?"
"A fortnight is too short a time, I shall hardly be strong then,"
with a sigh of mental and bodily weakness that was sad to hear.
Dear as his presence was to her, and sweet the knowledge of their
mutual love, it taxed her over-wrought strength sorely to sit and
talk to him.
"Three weeks, then? I cannot be longer without seeing you."
"I will try to be ready for you then," she answered, with one of her
rare, sweet smiles. Then, as she read the unspoken anxiety in his
eyes, "Indeed, you must not be troubled about me; I will not fret
more than I can help, and I have such sweet, happy thoughts about my
darling; and then I cannot feel really lonely when I have you. Oh,
Garth, if you only knew how different life looks to me now!" and for
a little while she clung to him.
But though she sent him away half comforted she knew that she never
needed him so sorely as during the miserable days of prostration and
nervous depression that followed his departure; and but for very
shame she would have recalled him.
For a little time she was utterly broken, and could only lie and
weep, and pray that strength might be given her to bear her trouble.
For ever through the lonely days and in the darkness of her sleepless
nights Emmie's plaintive voice seemed sounding in her ears--"We have
been so happy together, have we not, Queen?" The last clasp of the
weak arms round her--she could feel their touch still; and the heavy
drop of the head that Garth had lifted so tenderly from her bosom.
Was she dead? She had not known it; even now she never thought of
her as dead. During the brief snatches of slumber that came to her
she was for ever carrying the light figure to and fro; there were the
fair curls, the great, solemn blue eyes, the innocent smile playing
round her mouth. "Am I very heavy? do I tire your arms, Queen? Oh,
it is so nice to be together, just you and I!"
But Queenie bravely battled with her sorrow; and she was not without
her consolation. Letters came to her from Church-Stile House--sweet,
loving ones from Langley and Cathy, and others that she read with a
happy smile, and hid under her pillow.
Garth's letters were very short and kind. They were not specially
lover-like, there was no protestation of affection in them; but the
whole breathed a spirit of quiet, watchful tenderness--the tenderness
that a good man gives to the woman who has entrusted her future to
him.
How Queenie loved these letters; they seemed to give fresh life to
her.
"You have had good news, I can see," Dr. Bennet would say to her when
he came in, and found her a little less languid, and with a faint
color in her cheeks.
He was very watchful over the girl, and almost fatherly in his manner
to her; he drove her himself to the cemetery when she craved for
another sight of the little green mound. There was to be a marble
cross at the head, and the little garden ground was to be planted
with all the flowers that Emmie loved--her favorite roses, and in the
spring time snowdrops and violets and lilies of the valley.
Kind-hearted Mrs. Bennet promised to look after it when Queenie
should be away in her northern home.
Garth's secret source of uneasiness when he had reached Hepshaw, and
had received his sisters' delighted congratulations, was how he
should break the news to Dora, and how she would receive it? He had
made a clean breast of the whole thing to Queenie, as in duty bound,
and then had bade her dismiss the matter from her mind. Dora and he
were unsuited for each other; they were just old playmates and
friends, that was all. He had no idea that Dora in her jealous
desperation had appealed to Queenie, nor was Queenie ever likely to
inform him.
Should he send Cathy over to Crossgill Vicarage to break the news, or
should he write a little note to the Vicar? Somehow he shrank from
writing to the girl herself, but before he could make up his mind the
difficulty was solved for him.
One of those endless little notes, inviting him to a business
consultation with Mr. Cunningham, reached him about three days after
his arrival, but this time Flo had written it. Dora had hurt her
hand, but she sent her kind regards to Mr. Clayton, and would he do
them the pleasure, as papa wanted him so badly, and so on? Of course
Dora had dictated the clever little letter.
Garth winced and reddened over it, and something like "Confound these
clever women" sounded through his moustache; but, all the same, he
told himself that he must go. "I have been a fool for my pains, and
I suppose I must pay the penalty for being a fool," he thought, with
a shrug of his shoulders; but the idea of that drawing-room at
Crossgill Vicarage was odious to him.
No one need have envied him when he got into his dog-cart and drove
along the familiar road. He had resolved to brave it out, and had
written a very friendly and facetious answer to Flo. Nevertheless,
he was very nervous and confused when he followed old nurse across
the little hall.
By some accident he was unusually late, and they were all in the
drawing-room, even Mr. Cunningham, who gently scolded him for his
want of punctuality.
"He is not so very late, papa; and cook can easily put back the
dinner a quarter of an hour," observed Dora, placidly. She had met
Garth in a perfectly friendly manner. "Mr. Clayton, will you go
up-stairs at once, please, it does not matter in the least, only papa
is so methodical in his ways. Our dinner hour ought to have been
enrolled among the laws of the Medes and Persians."
"As I ought to have known by this time," returned Garth, with a
nervous laugh, and then he took himself off, and found old nurse
unpacking his portmanteau.
Dinner passed over pretty comfortably. He could talk with the girls,
and, as he was a favorite with them, they found plenty to say to him.
Dora was rather quiet, but she was perfectly good-humored, though
perhaps a trifle dignified; but in her white dress she looked almost
as young and girlish as her sisters.
Still it was a relief when he and Mr. Cunningham were left to their
business _tête-à-tête_, and he could relax a little from his company
manners. When they had disposed of their business the Vicar seemed
inclined to settle himself to his usual nap, but Garth began to
fidget.
"I won't keep you a moment, and I must go into the drawing-room. But
you are such an old friend, Mr. Cunningham, that I thought--" and
then he managed to blurt it out.
The Vicar was wide awake enough now.
"Dear, dear," he observed, in a perplexed and slightly annoyed voice,
"who would have thought of this? Does Dora--do the girls know?"
"Not at present; but I am going in to tell them."
"Do so, do so by all means," with a glance towards the door. "They
will be surprised, of course; I am. Who would have dreamed you were
such a deep fellow, Garth, and taking us all in like this? And the
young woman has money, eh?"
"I am sorry to say Miss Marriott has a large fortune," returned
Garth, stiffly. "Neither of us wanted it."
"Of course not; but, all the same, you have managed to do a good
thing for yourself. Young and rich and good-looking. Well, my dear
fellow, I congratulate you, though I own I never was more surprised
in my life." And Mr. Cunningham sighed as he stretched out his white
hands to the fireless grate. Evidently the news had not pleased him.
"I am in for it now," thought Garth, as he opened the drawing-room
door. Of course Dora was alone, he expected that; but he could see
the slim figures of the girls passing to and fro between the
flower-beds. To his surprise Dora bade him call them in.
"Unless you would like to go out and join them," she said, just
lifting her eyes from her work, but not inviting him by word or
gesture to sit down.
"I hope you don't mean to dismiss me like this," he returned lightly.
"We will go out to the girls by-and-bye, but just now I have
something I want to tell you."
"I thought you never wanted to tell me things now," she answered,
plaintively, and her bosom heaved a little, and her blue eyes began
to soften and gleam dangerously.
"Oh yes, I do; you must not say such unkind things to me, Dora. I
hope I may tell my old playmate of a piece of good fortune that has
befallen me. I wonder whether it will be news to you, or whether my
visit south will have enlightened you. Do you know I am going to be
married?"
"To whom?" she asked. But she did not flinch, neither did her voice
change in the least.
"To Miss Marriott."
"Of course I knew it," she returned, taking up her work and sewing
hurriedly. "You know you told me on your last visit that Miss
Marriott had come into a large fortune. I congratulate you, Mr.
Clayton, you have done exceedingly well for yourself."
If she had wished to mortify and exasperate him she had entirely
succeeded.
"Why do you and your father speak as though Miss Marriott's fortune
was any inducement?" he returned, hotly. "Surely you know me better
than that! It is the money that has been the stumbling-block all
these months. I would marry her gladly and proudly if she had not a
penny, and were still the school-mistress of Hepshaw."
"Ah, you always were Quixotic," was the repressive answer.
Garth was silent. He was inwardly provoked that she chose to
misunderstand him; and he had a sore feeling that, after all their
friendship, she should not have a kind word for him. But, looking at
her, he saw that she had grown strangely pale, and that her hand was
trembling; and then his heart grew very soft.
"Don't let us quarrel," he implored. "We have always been such good
friends, have we not, Dora? You know there is no one except Miss
Marriott and my sisters whom I can compare with you, I have always so
trusted and respected you. You will wish me God-speed in my new
life, will you not?"
"Yes, Mr. Clayton, I will wish you that," she returned, very calmly,
as she took up her work again. "Now you must go and call in the
girls, as Flo is delicate and the dews are falling."
But Garth did a strange thing before he went, for, as he stood
looking at his old playmate a little sadly and tenderly, he suddenly
stooped over her and touched the little hands with his lips. He had
had a sort of tenderness for her, and now the tie was broken between
them. But whatever she thought of the liberty Dora never spoke or
raised her head, and for the rest of the evening she was very quiet.
Garth breathed more freely after this; but time hung heavily on his
hands until the stipulated three weeks were over, and he could start
for St. Leonards. He and his sisters held long consultations
together about the future. Queenie was to pay them a long, long
visit, and was to recover her strength; and early in the spring he
would persuade her, in spite of her deep mourning, to marry him
quietly.
"She is all alone, and there is plenty of room for us," as both he
and Langley agreed.
But he grumbled sadly over her looks when he saw her again: the
beautiful eyes had not regained their old brightness, though they
looked so lovingly at him.
"I have wanted you! how I have wanted you!" she whispered, as she
came, oh, so gladly, into his out-stretched arms.
"Not more than I have wanted you, my darling."
"Oh, yes; more, a great deal more; but now you are here all will be
well with me. I am very weak still, but I know you will take care of
me, and be patient until I get bright again."
"My dearest, can you doubt it?" he returned very gravely. And indeed
he was good to her, too good she sometimes thought.
But it needed all his support and tenderness to make the long journey
even bearable to her; and she was sadly exhausted when they drove
over the little bridge and under the dark plane-trees, and he lifted
her down and placed her in Langley's arms.
She and Cathy almost wept over the girl's altered looks.
"Oh, my dear, my dear, how shall we comfort you!" cried poor Cathy,
kneeling down beside her, and trying not to burst into tears.
"We must leave that to time and Garth, and only be as good to her as
we can," returned her sister gently, and then she took the tired face
between her hands and kissed it tenderly and laid it on her breast.
But it was not in human nature to resist all the sweet, wholesome
sympathy that surrounded her; and Queenie was young and beloved,
besides loving with all her heart. As the days and weeks passed away
courage and strength returned to her. It was not that Emmie was
forgotten,--deep in her inmost soul lay the image of that
dearly-loved sister,--but that her glorious young vitality asserted
itself.
"How can I remain so dreadfully unhappy when I have you?" she would
whisper to Garth when they paced up and down their favorite
plane-tree walk in the sunset; and indeed any girl might have been
proud of such a lover.
They had no reserves, these two. Queenie would tell him all her
innocent thoughts--how lonely she had felt when she had seen him and
Dora together, and how she had watched, night after night, for the
red flicker of his cigar as he walked underneath the plane-trees; and
Garth listened to her, and though he said very little in reply
Queenie was perfectly content.
For day by day the sweet conviction came to her that she was growing
deeper into her lover's heart, that the sympathy between them was
ever greater; their delight in each other's presence was quiet but
intense; speech seemed unnecessary to them, they understood each
other without a word.
When two months had passed, and Queenie announced her intention of
going to Carlisle and taking up her abode for the present with Caleb
Runciman, he let her go almost without a word, though the sunshine
seemed to die out of the old house with her presence; and when
Langley would have remonstrated he silenced her at once.
"She thinks it will be best, and perhaps she is right. Of course we
shall have a dull winter, but it will be worse for her, shut up with
that old man; but in the spring she has promised things shall be as I
wish." And a flush crossed Garth's handsome face as he spoke, for
the thought of bringing home his wife was very sweet and sacred to
the young man.
So Queenie spent the long winter months in the narrow little house in
the High Street, with only Caleb and Molly. But it was not such a
dull life after all. Friends came over from Hepshaw to see
her--Faith Stewart, and Miss Cosie, and now and then Langley and
Cathy, and every week brought Garth. Queenie and he would take long
walks together. How she loved to show him her old
haunts--Granite-Lodge, and the Close, and her favorite nook in the
Cathedral! Now and then they would walk over to the castle where
poor Mary Queen of Scots had been incarcerated, and gaze up at the
little window out of which Fergus Vich Ian Vohr used to look. The
sentries would look after them as they strolled across the place--the
tall, good-looking fellow, with the slight girl wrapped in furs
beside him.
"What a color you have, my Queen! and how bright your eyes are!" he
would say, for, half in jest and half in loving reality, he often
called her "my Queen," and she would look up and smile, well pleased
that she had found favor in his eyes.
And so one day in the early spring, when the violets and crocuses
were growing on Emmie's grave, there was a quiet wedding at Carlisle,
and Queenie became Garth Clayton's wife.
It was a very quiet wedding, only Langley and Cathy and Ted were
there, and Mr. Logan came over to marry them. She had worn
bridal-white, but after the ceremony she had resumed her mourning.
"Garth did not mind," she said, "and she was unwilling to put it off
unless he wished it."
Garth was too perfectly happy to find fault with anything. A holiday
was a rare thing with him, and he and Queenie had planned it to the
best advantage, in a tour through Normandy. Queenie had never been
abroad, and Garth had only once left England. The change of scene
would be good for both of them.
When May was over they came back to Hepshaw, and settled down
quietly, "as sober married people," Garth would say, with a proud
look at his young wife.
It was a happy household at Church-Stile House. Queenie's good sense
and sweetness of temper averted even the ordinary jars that are
liable to occur in the most united family. In her husband's eyes she
was simply faultless.
"Where is my wife?" was always his first question if she were not in
the porch to meet him. "My wife"--he seemed never weary of saying it.
"How can you spoil any man so, Mrs. Clayton," Dora said to her once,
on one of her rare visits to Church-Stile House.
Garth had taken his wife more than once to Crossgill Vicarage, but
Dora's ponies seldom drove now through the Hepshaw lanes. "Beatrix
was going to be married, and she was so busy." There was always some
excuse; but she was quite pleasant and friendly to Queenie when they
met, though there was no special sympathy between them. But Queenie
could never rid herself of a secret feeling of embarrassment in
Dora's presence. That conversation lay as a barrier between them;
she even felt a little self-reproach when Garth once hinted that Dora
looked older and more worn than she used to look. Was it possible
that she had really cared for him so much after all?
If she had she kept her secret well and fulfilled all her duties
admirably. She married both her sisters, becoming the most
inveterate match-maker for their sakes; and she soothed her father's
declining years with the utmost dutifulness.
When he was dead, and she was no longer young, she took a step that
surprised her friends considerably, for she married a wealthy widower
with three middle-aged daughters, who had come to live lately at a
grand old place called Dingle Hall.
"They are only _nouveaux richesses_, my dear," as an ill-natured
widow remarked, "and he has made all his money in trade; but Dora
Cunningham cannot live without managing somebody."
If she managed him she did it admirably, for he and her
step-daughters almost worshipped her. She was a young-looking woman
still, and knew how to make the best of herself; and Dingle Hall was
soon famed for its hospitality and the good taste of its mistress.
But long before that time there had been many and great changes at
Church-Stile House. First the new house had been built on the little
piece of sloping meadow-land looking over Hepshaw--Warstdale Manor,
as it was called, and the master of Warstdale had taken up his abode
there, but not until Langley had left them to become Harry Chester's
wife.
And by-and-bye there was another wedding.
"What do you think Cathy has told me?" exclaimed Garth one day, when
he found his wife sitting alone in their favorite room--a handsome
library, with a side window commanding a view of Church-Stile House
and the church. "I really think the girl must be clean daft to dream
of such a thing, but she declares that with or without my consent she
means to marry Logan."
"Well?" and Queenie laid down her work and smiled placidly in his
face.
"Well, how can you sit there in that provokingly unconcerned way, you
very tiresome woman, and looking exactly as though it were no news to
you at all? our Cathy, too!"
"Because I have expected it all along," returned his wife calmly. "I
knew, however much she might resist it, that in the end she would be
true to herself and him."
"Why, if this is not enough to try a man's patience," exclaimed
Garth, quite irritably for him. "You talk as though you approve of
this monstrous match."
"So I do. Mr. Logan is a good man; and then he loves Cathy so
dearly."
"But he is double her age; he is forty-five if he is a day, and Cathy
not more than three-and-twenty. Why, they will look like a father
and daughter! The very idea is absurd!"
"The discrepancy between their ages is a pity of course," returned
Queenie, with an admiring look at her own "gude-man." Garth was
handsomer than ever, every one said so. "But I know one thing, that
Cathy will never fancy any one else." And, as usual, Garth soon
discovered that his wife's surmises were correct.
"So you are going to stand on tiptoe all your life, trying to get a
peep at your husband's excellences?" Queenie said to her, with a
lively recollection of a conversation between them. "Oh, you foolish
Cathy!"
"No; I am the wise Catherine now," returned her friend. "You see we
poor women can't escape our fate after all. I am tired of running
away from myself and him, and pretending not to care for his liking
me; so I just told him that he must put up with me, faults and all,
for I won't promise to mend; but if I am not the better for being
with him--" and then she stopped suddenly, and her eyes were full of
tears. "Oh, Queenie, don't laugh at me, and don't let Garth say a
word against it; for, though he were as old as my father, I love and
honor and venerate him, and I mean to take care of him, and make him
happy all his life long."
And Cathy kept her word. Garth grumbled a good deal, and would not
be reconciled, and turned sulky when he met them strolling up the
lane together; but even he was driven at last to confess that it had
made a woman of Cathy, and that it had not turned out amiss after all.
Mr. Logan was no longer poor when they married, and it was by her
brother's advice that they left Miss Cosie to take care of the
vicarage, and came to live at Church-Stile House, where Ted was
holding solitary state.
But before that migration was accomplished, there was a new arrival
at Warstdale Manor. Queenie's boy was now two years old, and this
time it was a small, fair girl that they placed in Garth's arms.
"Our little daughter," he whispered tenderly. "What shall we call
her, my wife?"
But though no word crossed Queenie's lip the look in the brown eyes
were all-sufficient, and he hastened to answer--
"It shall be as you wish, Queenie dearest. Of course I knew what you
would say; we will call our little darling Emmie."
FINIS.