In five weeks after that tragedy at the seashore Laurel announced her
intention of returning to Belle Vue. She had convalesced very rapidly,
and the bloom and beauty of health were fast returning to her lovely
face. Nothing was left to remind one of her almost fatal illness
save the short, soft rings of sunny hair that clustered all over the
beautiful, graceful head. Beatrix grieved sorely over the loss of that
wealth of golden tresses from her friend's head, but after all it
scarcely detracted from Laurel's beauty. The pretty, babyish ringlets
lent a _spirituelle_ charm to the fair face and made a halo about the
brow that made her "half of earth and half divine."
"Let us go home to Belle Vue," she said, pleadingly, to her uncle and
he eager to gratify her slightest wish, consented. They wished to have
Beatrix and her mother go with them, but they excused themselves and
promised to come later on.
"When Laurel has left you and you feel lonely," said Mrs. Gordon, with
a smile.
The beautiful authoress blushed vividly and then grew very pale.
She made no answer to the half question. No one quite knew what she
intended to do. No one could understand her, she was so shy, so
reticent, she blushed so at the slightest mention of Mr. Le Roy's name.
But Beatrix, as she held her in her arms at parting, whispered,
pleadingly, against her cheek:
"You will not be hard and unforgiving any longer, dear. You will go
home to him?"
"You shall hear from me in a few days," Laurel answered; and Beatrix
was obliged to be content with that ambiguous reply.
They went back to Belle Vue. The autumn days had set in now, and the
trees were clothed in all the glory of their autumn coloring. From hill
to hill, from shore to shore glowed with scarlet and brown and gold.
The sun shone still with all the brightness of summer, the flowers
were in their glory yet. There was no cloud in all the summer sky that
morning when Laurel went shyly up to her uncle's side.
"Uncle Carlyle, I want you to take me over to Eden this morning," she
said, with the beautiful blushes mantling on her cheeks.
He drew the back of his hand hastily across his eyes. The hour for
which he had longed and dreaded had come. He was going to lose Laurel
and his darling little Laurie.
"My dear, are you strong enough?" he asked her, wistfully. "Remember,
we only came to Belle Vue yesterday."
"I am so restless--it seems as if I cannot wait," she said, and he saw
that the dark eyes were full of unrest and pain.
"We will go at once, dear," he said; and though he did not say another
word, Laurel understood why he took her so tenderly in his arms and
kissed her. She did not speak. Her heart was too full for words.
They took little Laurence and drove over to Eden. Mr. Ford sent in
his card alone to Mrs. Le Roy, and they waited silently in the grand
drawing-room for her. But when he heard her coming he withdrew into the
shadow of the curtained bay-window. He did not wish to embarrass her
meeting with Laurel by his presence.
The door opened and she entered slowly with a step that had grown
unconsciously feeble and halting. The fine old face looked pale and
sad, there was a sorrowful droop about the delicate lips. The years
that had brought Laurel to the perfection of her womanly beauty had
sadly aged St. Leon's mother.
She came in sadly enough, but when she saw who her visitors were the
light of a sudden, tremulous hope flashed over her proud, sad face. Her
dim eyes brightened.
"Mrs. Lynn!" she exclaimed, wonderingly.
The beautiful woman in the white dress with the crimson roses fastened
against her round white throat rose and went hastily forward. There was
a look of pain and shame on the fair face.
"Do not call me by that name. It never was mine. It has only been the
mask beneath which I hoped to hide my identity," cried Laurel. "I am
ashamed and penitent now. Call me, Laurel, mother, and say that you
forgive me."
"Laurel, I am so glad!" cried Mrs. Le Roy, throwing her arms about her
neck, and then with the charming inconsistency of woman she wept.
She had forgotten the child in her joy at the restoration of Laurel,
but suddenly a little hand stole into hers, and a half-expostulating
voice said:
"Grandmamma!"
She turned and caught the beautiful boy to her heart, half-smothering
him in her fond caresses.
"My precious little grandchild," she cried; and Laurence asked her
_naïvely_:
"If you are glad that we have come home, mamma and me, why do you cry?"
"You must not ask questions, my little lad," said Mr. Ford, coming
forward and greeting his hostess, and thinking to himself that she had
suddenly grown beautiful in the radiance of the joy-light that beamed
upon her face.
He asked the question that Laurel was too timid to syllable upon her
lips.
"How is Mr. Le Roy?"
"He has had a relapse--he is quite unwell to-day," Mrs. Le Roy said,
tremulously. "He has been very ill since we brought him from the
seashore. He makes no effort to recover. He does not seem to care to
live."
She looked at Laurel as she spoke.
"It is all your fault, dear!" she said, gently. "Life has never been
the same since you were lost to him. Only this morning the physician
told me that without some object in life, something more to live for
than he has now, my son would never get well."
Laurel's face was very pale. She drew her arm tightly around her son
as he stood by her side. "May I--see him?" she asked, in a faint,
trembling voice, without lifting her eyes.
"He is in his own room, dear. Go to him as soon as you please," Mrs. Le
Roy answered, gladly.
Laurel did not wait for another word. They saw that she was very pale,
that she trembled very much, and their hearts went out to her in silent
sympathy for her suffering. She rose, took her little son by the hand,
and silently left the room.