SIR RONALD’S DECISION.
On this bright September morning Sir Ronald sat in his library alone,
the open letter in his hand, considering within himself whether he
should decline without saying one word to his wife, or whether he
should consult her as to the advisability of going or not. The thought
of leaving her was most unpleasant; nay, it was distasteful to him.
She had so completely changed the gloom of his life into brightest
sunshine that it seemed to him in leaving her for ever so small a
time he must leave all the light behind. And yet the prospect was a
pleasant one. He had always liked traveling. His new pursuits were
most fascinating to him. The idea of going to Africa and seeing the
wonders of which he had been only able to read, write and dream, was
full of novelty, pleasure and excitement. Still, there was Hermione
and the children--those little children, the love of whom had grown in
his heart until his whole nature was changed. Were all the scientific
pursuits in the world worth even one moment of absence from them? He
could not decide. There were two voices in his heart and each called
him different ways. The door opened gently and Lady Hermione entered.
He was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he never heard her.
She went up to him. They had no secrets from each other, this husband
and wife who loved so deeply and so well. She laid one white arm
caressingly round his neck and bent her beautiful head over him.
“Whom is your letter from, Ronald?”
“Dr. L----,” he replied, mentioning a world-wide known name, to which
the whole universe pays homage. Her face brightened with pride and
pleasure.
“Oh, Ronald, let me read it! What does he say? It is to praise you, I
am sure.”
As she read he watched the changes in her beautiful face, the pride and
pleasure, the surprise, and then the pain. Her sweet lips quivered.
“That is enough, Hermione,” he said. “I shall not go.”
But she laid the letter down and clasped both arms around his neck. “My
darling,” she whispered, “I am so proud of you. How can I thank Heaven
for raising you from the depths of that cruel slough of despond and
making you useful and famous? I am so happy, love.” She kissed him with
tears falling like rain.
“I shall not go, Hermione,” he said. “I would not leave you, my wife,
to have my name put at the very head of the roll of science.”
“We will not decide hastily. You would be away two years, and it seems
to me, Ronald, that the change of air and scene, the novelty of travel,
the incessant occupation and the constant companionship of such men as
Dr. L---- and Sir George Aiken would complete the cure. We will not
decide; let us take time to consider.”
So she knelt, clinging to him, loving him, admiring him, thinking
only of what was for his good--sweet, simple, loving soul, so utterly
unconscious of the doom her innocent prayers were bringing down on her
own head. They took time to think of it. They consulted friends, who
had their interest best at heart, and the universal opinion was that
Sir Ronald should go. It was with her own heart that Lady Hermione
consulted most. “If it were for five, or even four years,” she said to
herself, “I should not be willing for him to leave us, but only for
two, and they will be so happily spent. How often I have wished that
he would travel, that he would seek change of scene! And now the very
opportunity offers for travel, with men whose very names refresh him
when he hears them. If I can make up my mind to the sacrifice he will
return strong, well, hearty, happy, with the last vestige of gloom
vanished, and we shall be happy as long as we live. He has never left
this spot since the tragedy happened, and he has brooded over it too
long.”
Sir Ronald asked his friend and comrade, Kenelm Eyrle to spend a week
at Aldenmere, and help them to come to some decision. Kenelm spoke
boldly. “If I live in the shade, Ronald,” he said, “you may go into the
sun. Nothing does my heart so much good as to see you happy, and to
know that men do homage to your talent. My advice is to--go.”
“And you say that from your heart?” asked Sir Ronald.
“Yes; and Ronald, I promise to watch over your wife and children while
you are away.”
“Then,” said Sir Ronald, “I think I shall go. Let me see what does Baby
Clare say? Baby, what shall papa do--shall he go?”
Baby Clare, quite unconscious of all that hung upon her answer, said,
in her quaint, baby fashion: “Yis, papa, go.”
So the wife who idolized him, the little children who loved him best in
the world, and the friend who was to him as a brother, all joined in
persuading him to go, knowing so little--God help them!--of what would
come from it.
“When does the expedition start?” asked Kenelm, after the decision had
been reached.
“In the middle of October,” replied Sir Ronald, and from that time
Lady Alden knew she had done right, in trying to persuade him to go.
There was, of course, the natural sorrow of a man who is about to leave
wife, home and children, but he was so eager, so interested, so active.
Day by day, hour by hour, the clouds seemed to go farther from him.
There was little trace left now of the once gloomy Sir Ronald. Letters
of compliment and congratulation poured in upon him, in the midst of
the hurry of his preparations. The number of visitors and the many
engrossing affairs to be settled before his departure left him little
or no time for sad thoughts, and if she who loved him so generously
troubled over his going, no words of hers ever said so. If her pillow
at night was wet with tears, her smile was bright enough during the
day. “It was best for him,” she knew, and love went no farther than
that.