A few days before the bazaar Lady Helen Douglas arrived at Silverbel.
She had returned from Scotland on purpose. A letter from Lord
Grayleigh induced her to do so. He wrote to Lady Helen immediately
after seeing Sibyl.
"I don't like the child's look," he wrote; "I have not the least idea
what the doctors have said of her, but when I spoke on the subject to
her mother, she shirked it. There is not the least doubt that Mrs.
Ogilvie can never see a quarter of an inch beyond her own selfish
fancies. It strikes me very forcibly that the child is in a precarious
state. I can never forgive myself, for she met with the accident on
the pony I gave her. She likes you; go to her if you can."
It so happened that by the very same post there had come an urgent
appeal from Mrs. Ogilvie.
"If you cannot come to the bazaar," she wrote to Lady Helen, "it will
be a failure. Come you must. Your presence is essential, because you
are pretty and well born, and you will also act as a lure to another
person who can help me in various ways. I, of course, allude to our
mutual friend, Jim Rochester."
Now Lady Helen, even with the attraction of seeing Mr. Rochester so
soon again, would not have put off a series of visits which she was
about to make, had not Lord Grayleigh's letter decided her. She
therefore arrived at Silverbel on the 22d of September, and was
quickly conducted to Sibyl's room. She had not seen Sibyl for a couple
of months. When last they had met, the child had been radiant with
health and spirits. She was radiant still, but that quick impulsive
life had been toned down to utter quiet. The lower part of the little
body was paralyzed, the paralysis was creeping gradually up and up. It
was but a question of time for the loving little heart to be still for
ever.
Sibyl cried with delight when she saw Lady Helen.
"Such a lot of big-wigs are coming to-morrow," she said, "but Lord
Grayleigh does not come until the day of the bazaar, so you are quite
the first. You'll come and see me very, very often, won't you?"
"Of course I will, Sibyl. The fact is I have come on purpose to see
you. I should not have come to the bazaar but for you. Lord Grayleigh
wrote to me and said you were not well, and he thought you loved me,
little Sib, and that it would cheer you up to see me."
"Oh, you are sweet," answered the child, "and I do, indeed I do love
you. But you ought to have come for the bazaar as well as for me. It
is darling mother's splendid work of charity. She wants to help a lot
of little sick children and sick grown up people: isn't it dear of
her?"
"Well, I am interested in the bazaar," said Lady Helen, ignoring the
subject of Mrs. Ogilvie's noble action.
"It is so inciting all about it," continued the little girl, "and I
can see the marquee quite splendidly from here, and mother flitting
about. Isn't mother pretty, isn't she quite sweet? She is going to
have the most lovely dress for the bazaar, a sort of silvery white;
she will look like an angel--but then she is an angel, isn't she, Lady
Helen?"
Lady Helen bent and kissed Sibyl on her soft forehead. "You must not
talk too much and tire yourself," she said; "let me talk to you. I
have plenty of nice things to say."
"Stories?" said Sibyl.
"Yes, I will tell you stories."
"Thank you; I do love 'em. Did you ever tell them to Mr. Rochester?"
"I have not seen him lately."
"You'll be married to him soon, I know you will."
"We need not talk about that now, need we? I want to do something to
amuse you."
"It's odd how weak my voice has grown," said Sibyl, with a laugh.
"Mother says I am getting better, and perhaps I am, only somehow I do
feel weak. Do you know, mother wanted me to dress dolls for her, but I
couldn't. Nursie did 'em. There's one big beautiful doll with wings;
Nurse made the wings, but she can't put them on right; will you put
them on proper, Lady Helen?"
"I should like to," replied Lady Helen; "I have a natural aptitude for
dressing dolls."
"The big doll with the wings is in that box over there. Take it out
and sit down by the sofa so that I can see you, and put the wings on
properly. There's plenty of white gauze and wire. I want you to make
the doll as like an angel as you can."
Lady Helen commenced her pretty work. Sibyl watched her, not caring to
talk much now, for Lady Helen seemed too busy to answer.
"It rests me to have you in the room," said the child, "you are like
this room. Do you know Miss Winstead has given it such a funny name."
"What is that, Sibyl?"
"She calls it the Chamber of Peace--isn't it sweet of her?"
"The name is a beautiful one, and so is the room," answered Lady
Helen.
"I do wish Mr. Rochester was here," was Sibyl's next remark.
"He will come to the bazaar, dear."
"And then, perhaps, I'll see him. I want to see him soon, I have
something I'd like to say."
"What, darling?"
"Something to you and to him. I want you both to be happy. I'm
tremendous anxious that you should both be happy, and I think--I
wouldn't like to say it to mother, for perhaps it will hurt her, but I
do fancy that, perhaps, I'm going to have wings, too, not like
dolly's, but real ones, and if I have them I might----"
"What, darling?"
"Fly away to my beautiful Lord Jesus. You don't know how I want to be
close to Him. I used to think that if I got into father's heart I
should be quite satisfied, but even that, even that is not like being
in the heart of Jesus. If my wings come I must go, Lady Helen. It will
be lovely to fly up, won't it, for perhaps some day I might get tired
of lying always flat on my back. Mother doesn't know, darling mother
doesn't guess, and I wouldn't tell her for all the wide world, for she
thinks I'm going to get quite well again, but one night, when she
thought I was asleep, I heard Nursie say to Miss Winstead, 'Poor
lamb, she'll soon want to run about again, but she never can, never.'
I shouldn't like to be always lying down flat, should you, Lady
Helen?"
"No, darling, I don't think I should."
"Well, there it is, you see, you wouldn't like it either. Of course I
want to see father again, but whatever happens he'll understand. Only
if my wings come I must fly off, and I want everyone to be happy
before I go."
Lady Helen had great difficulty in keeping back her tears, for Sibyl
spoke in a perfectly calm, contented, almost matter-of-fact voice
which brought intense conviction with it.
"So you must marry Mr. Rochester," she continued, "for you both love
each other so very much."
"That is quite true," replied Lady Helen.
Sibyl looked at her with dilated, smiling eyes. "The Lombard Deeps
Mine is full to the brim with gold," she said, in an excited voice. "I
know--Lord Grayleigh told me. He has it all wrote down in his
pocket-book, and you and Mr. Rochester are to have your share. When
you are both very, very happy you'll think of me, won't you?"
"I can never forget you, my dear little girl. Kiss me, now--see! the
angel doll is finished."
"Oh, isn't it lovely?" said the child, her attention immediately
distracted by this new interest. "Do take it down to mother. She's
dressing the stall where the dolls are to be sold; ask her to put the
angel doll at the head of all the other dolls. Take it to mother now.
I can watch from my window--do go at once."
Lady Helen was glad of an excuse to leave the room. When she got into
the corridor outside she stopped for a moment, put her handkerchief to
her eyes, made a struggle to subdue her emotion, and then ran
downstairs.
The great marquee was already erected on the lawn, and many of the
stall-holders were arranging their stalls and giving directions to
different workmen. Mrs. Ogilvie was flitting eagerly about. She was in
the highest spirits, and looked young and charming.
"Sibyl sent you this," said Lady Helen.
Mrs. Ogilvie glanced for a moment at the angel doll.
"Oh, lay it down anywhere, please," she said in a negative tone. But
Lady Helen thought of the sweet blue eyes looking down on this scene
from the Chamber of Peace. She was not going to put the angel doll
down anywhere.
"Please, Mrs. Ogilvie," she said, "you must take an interest in it."
There was something in her tone which arrested even Mrs. Ogilvie's
attention.
"You must take a great interest in this doll," she continued. "Little
Sibyl thinks so much of it. Forgive me, Mrs. Ogilvie, I----"
"Oh, what is it now," said Mrs. Ogilvie, "what can be the matter?
Really everyone who goes near Sibyl acts in the most extraordinary
way." She looked petulantly, as she spoke, into Lady Helen's agitated
face.
"I cannot help thinking much of Sibyl," continued Lady Helen, "and I
am very--more than anxious about her. I am terribly grieved, for--I
think----"
"You think what? Oh, please don't begin to be gloomy now. You have
only seen Sibyl for the first time since her accident. She is very
much better than she was at first. You cannot expect her to look quite
well all of a sudden."
"But have you had the very best advice for her?"
"I should rather think so. We had Sir Henry Powell down twice.
Everything has been done that could be done. It is merely a question
of time and rest. Time and rest will effect a perfect cure; at least,
that is my opinion."
"But what is Sir Henry Powell's opinion?"
"Don't ask me. I don't believe in doctors. The child is getting
better, I see it with my own eyes. It is merely a question of time."
"Sibyl is getting well, but not in the way you think," replied Lady
Helen. She said the words with significance, and Mrs. Ogilvie felt her
heart throb for a moment with a sudden wild pain, but the next instant
she laughed.
"I never knew anyone so gloomy," she said, "and you come to me with
your queer remarks just when I am distracted about the great bazaar. I
am almost sorry I asked you here, Lady Helen."
"Well, at least take the doll--the child is looking at you," said Lady
Helen. "Kiss your hand to her; look pleased even if you are not
interested, and give me a promise, that I may take to her, that the
angel doll shall stand at the head of the doll stall. The child wishes
it; do not deny her wishes now."
"Oh, take her any message you like, only leave me, please, for the
present. Ah, there she is, little darling." Mrs. Ogilvie took the
angel doll in her hand, and blew a couple of kisses to Sibyl. Sibyl
smiled down at her from the Chamber of Peace. Very soon afterward Lady
Helen returned to her little friend.
It was on the first day of the bazaar when all the big-wigs had
arrived, when the fun was at its height, when the bands were playing
merrily, and the little pleasure skiffs were floating up and down the
shining waters of the Thames, when flocks of visitors from all the
neighborhood round were crowding in and out of the marquee, and people
were talking and laughing merrily, and Mrs. Ogilvie in her silvery
white dress was looking more beautiful than she had ever looked before
in her life, that a tired, old-looking man appeared on the scene.
Mrs. Ogilvie half expected that her husband would come back on the day
of the bazaar, for if the _Sahara_ kept to her dates she would make
her appearance in the Tilbury Docks in the early morning of that day.
Mrs. Ogilvie hoped that her husband would get off, and take a quick
train to Richmond, and arrive in time for her to have a nice straight
talk with him, and explain to him about Sibyl's accident, and tell him
what was expected of him. She was anxious to see him before anyone
else did, for those who went in and out of the child's room were so
blind, so persistent in their fears with regard to the little girl's
ultimate recovery; if Mrs. Ogilvie could only get Philip to herself,
she would assure him that the instincts of motherhood never really
failed, that her own instincts assured her that the great doctors were
wrong, and she herself was right. The child was slowly but gradually
returning to the paths of health and strength.
If only Ogilvie came back in good time his wife would explain these
matters to him, and tell him not to make a fool of himself about the
child, and beg of him to help her in this great, this auspicious
occasion of her life.
"He will look very nice when he is dressed in his, best," she said to
herself. "It will complete my success in the county if I have him
standing by my side at the door of the marquee to receive our
distinguished guests."
As this thought came her eyes sparkled, and she got her maid to dress
her in the most becoming way, and she further reflected that when they
had a moment to be alone the husband and wife could talk of the
wonderful golden treasures which Ogilvie was bringing back with him
from the other side of the world. Perhaps he had thought much of her,
his dear Mildred, while he had been away.
"Men of that sort often think much more of their wives when they are
parted from them," she remembered. "I have read stories to that
effect. I dare say Philip is as much in love with me as he ever was.
He used to be devoted to me when first we were married. There was
nothing good enough for me then. Perhaps he has brought me back some
jewels of greater value than I possess; I will gladly wear them for
his sake."
But notwithstanding all her dreams and thoughts of her husband,
Ogilvie did not come back to his loving wife in the early hours of the
first day of the bazaar. Neither was there any message or telegram
from him. In spite of herself, Mrs. Ogilvie now grew a little fretful.
"As he has not come in time to receive our guests, if I knew where to
telegraph, I would wire to him not to come now until the evening," she
thought. But she did not know where to telegraph, and the numerous
duties of the bazaar occupied each moment of her time.
According to his promise Lord Grayleigh was present, and there were
other titled people walking about the grounds, and Lady Helen as a
stall-holder was invaluable.
Sibyl had asked to have her white couch drawn nearer than ever to the
window, and from time to time she peeped out and saw the guests
flitting about the lawns and thought of her mother's great happiness
and wonderful goodness. The band played ravishing music, mostly dance
music, and the day, although it was late in the season, was such a
perfect one that the feet of the buyers and sellers alike almost kept
time to the festive strains.
It was on this scene that Ogilvie appeared. During his voyage home he
had gone through almost every imaginable torture, and, as he reached
Silverbel, he felt that the limit of his patience was almost reached.
He knew, because she had sent him a cable to that effect, that his
wife was staying in a country place, a place on the banks of the
Thames. She had told him further that the nearest station to Silverbel
was Richmond. Accordingly he had gone to Richmond, jumped into the
first cab he could find, and desired the man to drive to Silverbel.
"You know the place, I presume?" he said.
"Silverbel, sir, certainly sir; it is there they are having the big
bazaar."
As the man spoke he looked askance for a moment at the occupant of his
cab, for Ogilvie was travel-stained and dusty. He looked like one in a
terrible hurry. There was an expression in his gray eyes which the
driver did not care to meet.
"Go as fast as you can," he said briefly, and then the man whipped up
his horse and proceeded over the dusty roads.
"A rum visitor," he thought; "wonder what he's coming for. Don't look
the sort that that fine young lady would put up with on a day like
this."
Ogilvie within the cab, however, saw nothing. He was only conscious of
the fact that he was drawing nearer and nearer to the house where his
little daughter--but did his little daughter still live? Was Sibyl
alive? That was the thought of all thoughts, the desire of all
desires, which must soon be answered yea or nay.
When the tired-out and stricken man heard the strains of the band, he
did rouse himself, however, and began dimly to wonder if, after all,
he had come to the wrong house. Were there two houses called
Silverbel, and had the man taken him to the wrong one? He pulled up
the cab to inquire.
"No, sir," replied the driver, "it's all right. There ain't but one
place named Silverbel here, and this is the place, sir. The lady is
giving a big bazaar and her name is Mrs. Ogilvie."
"Then Sibyl must have got well again," thought Ogilvie to himself. And
just for an instant the heavy weight at his breast seemed to lift. He
paid his fare, told the man to take his luggage round to the back
entrance, and jumped out of the cab.
The man obeyed him, and Ogilvie, just as he was, stepped across the
lawn. He had the air of one who was neither a visitor nor yet a
stranger. He walked with quick, short strides straight before him and
presently he came full upon his wife in her silvery dress. A large
white hat trimmed with pink roses reposed on her head. There were
nature's own pink roses on her cheeks and smiles in her eyes.
"Oh, Phil!" she cried, with a little start. She was quite clever
enough to hide her secret dismay at his arriving thus, and at such a
moment. She dropped some things she was carrying and ran toward him
with her pretty hands outstretched.
"Why, Phil!" she said again. "Oh, you naughty man, so you have come
back. But why didn't you send me a telegram?"
"I had not time, Mildred; I thought my own presence was best. How is
the child?"
"Oh, much the same--I mean she is going on quite, _quite_ nicely."
"And what is this?"
Ogilvie motioned with his hand as he spoke in the direction of the
crowd of people, the marquee, and the band. The music of the band
seemed to get on his brain and hurt him.
"What is all this?" he repeated.
"My dear Phil, my dear unpractical husband, this is a bazaar! Have you
never heard of a bazaar before? A bazaar for the Cottage Hospital at
Watleigh, the Home for Incurables; such a useful charity, Phil, and so
much needed. The poor things are wanting funds dreadfully; they have
got into debt, and something must be done to relieve them Think of all
the dear little children in those wards, Phil; the Sisters have been
obliged to refuse several cases lately. It is most pathetic, isn't it?
Oh, by the way, Lord Grayleigh is here; you will be glad to see him?"
"Presently, not now. How did you say Sibyl was?"
"I told you a moment ago. You can go and see her when you have changed
your things. I wish you would go away at once to your room and get
into some other clothes. There are no end of people you ought to meet.
How strange you look, Phil."
"I want to know more of Sibyl." Here the husband caught the wife's
dainty wrist and drew her a little aside. "No matter about other
things at present," he said sternly. "How is Sibyl? Remember, I have
heard no particulars; I have heard nothing since I got your cable. How
is she? Is there much the matter?"
"Well, I really don't think there is, but perhaps Lady Helen will tell
you. Shall I send her to you? I really am so busy just now. You know I
am selling, myself, at the principal stall. Oh, do go into the house,
you naughty dear; do go to your own room and change your things! I
expected you early this morning, and Watson has put out some of your
wardrobe. Watson will attend on you if you will ring for him. You will
find there is a special dressing room for you on the first floor. Go,
dear, do."
But Ogilvie now hold both her hands. His own were not too clean; they
were soiled by the dust of his rapid journey. He gripped her wrists
tightly.
"_Where_ is the child?" he repeated again.
"Don't look at me like that, you quite frighten me. The child, she is
in her room; she is going on nicely."
"But is she injured? Can she walk?"
"What could you expect? She cannot walk yet, but she is getting better
gradually--at least, I think so."
"What you think is nothing, less than nothing. What do the doctors
say?"
As Ogilvie was speaking he drew his wife gradually but surely away
from the fashionably dressed people and the big-wigs who were too
polite to stare, but who were all the time devoured with curiosity. It
began to be whispered in the crowd that Ogilvie had returned, and that
his wife and he were looking at certain matters from different points
of view. There were several men and women present, who, although they
encouraged Mrs. Ogilvie to have the bazaar, nevertheless thought her a
heartless woman, and these people now were rather rejoicing in
Ogilvie's attitude. He did not look like a person who could be trifled
with. He drew his wife toward the shrubbery.
"I will see the child in a minute," he said; "nothing else matters.
She is ill, unable to walk, lying down. I want to hear full
particulars. If you will not tell them to me, I will send for the
doctor. The question I wish answered is this, _what do the doctors
say_?"
Tears filled Mrs. Ogilvie's pretty, dark eyes.
"Really, Phil, you are too cruel. After these weeks of anxiety, which
only a mother can understand, you speak to me in that tone, just as if
the dear little creature were nothing to me at all."
"You can cry, Mildred, as much as you please, and you can talk all the
sentimental stuff that best appeals to you, but answer my question
now. What do the doctors say, and what doctors has she seen?"
"The local doctor here, our own special doctor in town, and the great
specialist, Sir Henry Powell."
"Good God, that man!" said Ogilvie, starting back. "Then she must have
been badly hurt?"
"She was badly hurt."
"Well, what did the doctors say? Give me their verdict. I insist upon
knowing."
"They--they--of course, they are wrong, Phil. You are hurting me; I
wish you would not hold my hands so tightly."
"Speak!" was his only response.
"They said at the time--of course they were mistaken, doctors often
are. You cannot imagine how many diagnoses of theirs have been proved
to be wrong. Yes, I learned that queer word; I did not understand it
at first. Now I know all about it."
"Speak!" This one expression came from Ogilvie's lips almost with a
hiss.
"Well, they said at the time that--oh, Phil, you kill me when you look
at me like that! They said the case was----"
"Hopeless?" asked the man between his white lips.
"They certainly _said_ it. But, Phil; oh, Phil, dear, they are wrong!"
He let her hands go with a sudden jerk. She almost fell.
"You knew it, and you could have that going on?" he said. "Go back to
your bazaar."
"I certainly will. I think you are terribly unkind."
"You can have those people here, and that band playing, when you know
_that_? Well, if such scenes give you pleasure at such a time, go and
enjoy them."
He strode into the house. She looked after his retreating figure; then
she took out her daintily laced handkerchief, applied it to her eyes,
and went back to her duties.
"I am a martyr in a good cause," she said to herself; "but it is
bitterly hard when one's husband does not understand one."