Ogilvie went up to Sibyl. Suffering and love had taught him many
lessons, amongst others those of absolute self-control. His face was
smiling and calm as he crossed the room, bent over the child and
kissed her. Those blue eyes of hers, always so full of penetration and
of knowledge, which was not all this earth, could detect no sorrow in
her father's.
"I must go to town, I shall be away for as short a time as possible.
As soon as I come back I will come to you," he said. "Look after her,
please, Miss Winstead. If you cannot remain in the room, send nurse.
Now, don't tire yourself, my little love. Remember that father will be
back very soon."
"Don't hurry, father darling," replied Sibyl "'cos I am quite happy
thinking about you, even if you are not here."
He went away, ran downstairs, put on his hat and went out. His wife
was standing in the porch.
"One moment, Phil," she called, "where are you going?"
"To town."
"To do what?"
"To do what I said," he answered, and he gave her a strange look,
which frightened her, and caused her to fall back against the wall.
He disappeared down the avenue, she sank into a chair and began
to weep. She was thoroughly miserable and frightened. Philip had
returned, but all pleasant golden dreams were shattered, for although
he had sent a cablegram to Lord Grayleigh, saying that all was well,
better than well, his conscience was speaking to him, that troublesome
terrible conscience of his, and he was about to destroy his own work.
"What fearful creatures men with consciences are," moaned Mrs.
Ogilvie.
Meanwhile Ogilvie walked quickly up the avenue. Just at the gates he
met an old couple who were coming in. They were a queer-looking old
pair, dressed in old-fashioned style. Ogilvie did not know them, but
the woman paused when she saw him, came forward, dropped a curtsey and
said:
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"What can I do for you?" said Ogilvie. He tried to speak courteously,
but this delay, and the presence of the old couple whose names he did
not even know, irritated him.
"If you please, sir, you are Mr. Ogilvie?"
"That is my name."
"We know you," continued the old woman, "by the likeness to your
little daughter."
The mention of Sibyl caused Ogilvie now to regard them more
attentively.
"May I inquire your names?" he asked.
"Holman, sir," said the woman. "This is my husband, sir. We heard only
yesterday of dear little Missie's illness, and we couldn't rest until
we came to enquire after her. We greatly 'opes, sir, that the dear
little lamb is better. We thought you wouldn't mind if we asked."
"By no means," answered Ogilvie. "Any friends of Sibyl's, any real
friends, are of interest to me."
He paused and looked into the old woman's face.
"She's better, ain't she, dear lamb?" asked Mrs. Holman.
Ogilvie shook his head; it was a quick movement, his face was very
white, his lips opened but no words came. The next instant he had
hurried down the road, leaving the old pair looking after him.
Mrs. Holman caught her husband's hand.
"What do it mean, John?" she asked, "what do it mean?"
"We had best go to the house and find out," was Holman's response.
"Yes, we had best," replied Mrs. Holman; "but, John, I take it that
it means the worst. The little lamb was too good for this earth. I
always said it, John, always."
"Come to the house and let's find out," said Holman again.
He took his old wife's hand, and the strange-looking pair walked down
the avenue. Presently they found themselves standing outside the
pretty old-fashioned porch of lovely Silverbel. They did not know as
they walked that they were in full view of the windows of the Chamber
of Peace, and that eager blue eyes were watching them, eager eyes
which filled with love and longing when they gazed at them.
"Miss Winstead!" cried little Sibyl.
"What is it, dear?" asked the governess.
Sibyl had been silent for nearly a quarter of an hour, and Miss
Winstead, tired with the bazaar and many other things, had been
falling into a doze. The sudden excitement in Sibyl's voice now
arrested her attention.
"Oh, Miss Winstead, they have come."
"Who have come, dear?"
"The Holmans, the darlings! I saw them walking down the avenue. Oh, I
should so like to see them. Will you go down and bring them up? Please
do."
"But the doctor said you were to be quiet, and not excite yourself."
"What does it matter whether I incite myself or not? Please, please
let me see the Holmans."
"Yes, dear," replied Miss Winstead. She left the room and went
downstairs. As she entered the central hall she suddenly found herself
listening to an animated conversation.
"Now, my good people," said Mrs. Ogilvie's voice, raised high and
clear, "you will be kind enough to return to town immediately. The
child is ill, but we hope soon to have her better. See her, did you
say, my good woman? Certainly not. I shall be pleased to offer you
refreshment if you will go round to the housekeeper's entrance, but
you must take the next train to town, you cannot see the child."
"If you please, Mrs. Ogilvie," here interrupted Miss Winstead, coming
forward. "Sibyl noticed Mr. and Mrs. Holman as they walked down the
avenue, and is very much pleased and delighted at their coming to see
her, and wants to know if they may come up at once and have a talk
with her?"
"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Ogilvie; "I really must give the child another
bedroom, this sort of thing is so bad for her. It is small wonder the
darling does not get back her health--the dreadful way in which she
is over-excited and injudiciously treated. Really, my good folks, I
wish you would go back to town and not make mischief."
"But if the little lady wishes?" began Mrs. Holman, in a timid voice,
tears trembling on her eyelids.
"Sibyl certainly does wish to see you," said Miss Winstead in a grave
voice. "I think, Mrs. Ogilvie," she added, "it would be a pity to
refuse her. I happen to know Mr. and Mrs. Holman pretty well, and I do
not think they will injure dear little Sibyl. If you will both promise
to come upstairs quietly," continued Miss Winstead, "and not express
sorrow when you see her, for she is much changed, and will endeavor to
speak cheerfully, you will do her good, not harm."
"Oh, yes, we'll speak cheerfully," said Holman; "we know the ways of
dear little Miss. If so be that she would see us, it would be a great
gratification, Madam, and we will give you our word that we will not
injure your little daughter."
"Very well," said Mrs. Ogilvie, waving her hand, "My opinion is
never taken in this house, nor my wishes consulted. I pass the
responsibility on to you, Miss Winstead. When the child's father
returns and finds that you have acted as you have done you will
have to answer to him. I wash my hands of the matter."
Mrs. Ogilvie went out on to the lawn.
"The day is improving," she thought. She glanced up at the sky. "It
certainly is miserable at home, and every one talks nonsense about
Sibyl. I shall really take a drive and go and see the Le Stranges. I
cannot stand the gloom of the house. The dear child is getting better
fast, there is not the least doubt of it, and why Phil should talk as
he does, and in particular why he should speak as if we were paupers,
is past bearing. Lose Silverbel! I certainly will not submit to that."
So the much aggrieved wife went round in the direction of the stables,
gave orders that the pony trap was to be got ready for her, and soon
afterward was on her way to the Le Stranges. By the time she reached
that gay and somewhat festive household, she herself was as merry and
hopeful as usual.
Meantime Miss Winstead took the Holmans upstairs.
"You must be prepared for a very great change," said Miss Winstead,
"but you will not show her that you notice it. She is very sweet and
very happy, and I do not think anyone need be over-sorry about her."
Miss Winstead's own voice trembled. The next moment she opened the
door of the Chamber of Peace, and the old-fashioned pair from whom
Sibyl had bought so many dusty toys stood before her.
"Eh, my little love, and how are you, dearie?" said Mrs. Holman. She
went forward, dropped on her knees by the bed, and took one of Sibyl's
soft white hands. "Eh, dearie, and what can Mrs. Holman do for you?"
"How do you do, Mrs. Holman?" said Sibyl, in her weak, but perfectly
clear voice; "and how do you do, Mr. Holman? How very kind of you both
to come to see me. Do you know I love you very much. I think of you so
often. Won't you come to the other side of the bed, Mr. Holman, and
won't you take a chair? My voice is apt to get tired if I talk too
loud. I am very glad to see you both."
"Eh! but you look sweet," said Mrs. Holman.
Mr. Holman now took his big handkerchief and blew his nose violently.
After that precautionary act he felt better, as he expressed it, and
no longer in danger of giving way. But Mrs. Holman never for a single
instant thought of giving way. She had once, long ago, had a child of
her own--a child who died when young--and she had sat by that dying
child's bed and never once given expression to her feelings. So why
should she now grieve little Sibyl by showing undue sorrow?
"It is nice to look at you, dearie," she repeated, "and what a pretty
room you have, my love."
"Everything is beautiful," said little Sibyl, "everything in all the
world, and I love you so much."
"To be sure, darling, and so do Holman and I love you."
"Whisper," said Sibyl, "bend a little nearer, my voice gets so very
tired. Have you kept your hundred pounds quite safe?"
"Yes, darling, but we won't talk of money now."
"Only," said Sibyl, "when the gold comes from the mine _you'll_ be all
right. Lord Grayleigh has wrote your name and Mr. Holman's in his
note-book, and he has promised that you are to get some of the gold.
You'll be able to have the shop in Buckingham Palace Road, and the
children will come to you and buy your beautiful toys." She paused
here and her little face turned white.
"You must not talk any more, dearie," said Mrs. Holman. "It's all
right about the gold and everything else. All we want is for you to
get well."
"I am getting well," answered Sibyl, but as she said the words a
curious expression came into her eyes.
"You know," she said, as Mrs. Holman rose and took her hand before she
went away, "that when we have wings we fly. I think my wings are
coming; but oh, I love you, and you won't forget me when you have your
big shop in Buckingham Palace Road?"
"We will never forget you, dearie," said Mrs. Holman, and then she
stooped and kissed the child.
"Come, Holman," she said.
"If I might," said old Holman, straightening himself and looking very
solemn, "if I might have the great privilege of kissing little
Missie's hand afore I go."
"Oh, indeed, you may," said Sibyl.
A moment later the old pair were seen going slowly down the avenue.
"Blessed darling, her wings are very near, I'm thinking," said Mrs.
Holman. She was sobbing now, although she had not sobbed in the sick
room.
"Queer woman, the mother," said Holman. "We'll get back to town, wife;
I'm wonderful upset."
"We'll never sell no more of the dusty toys to no other little
children," said Mrs. Holman, and she wept behind her handkerchief.