PERFECT HARMONY.
It was over twelve months since Warren Courtly came to an untimely end,
and the Squire and his son were in the morning-room, where he had kept
vigil on the anniversary of Ulick's departure. There was no snow on this
occasion, as they looked out of the window at the familiar scene; but
the ground was held in the grip of a hard frost, and the white crystals
had not yet vanished from the trees.
"Irene is coming for dinner to-night," said the Squire, as he looked at
him.
"And who else is coming?"
"Only Dr. Harding and the Vicar and his wife," replied his father.
Ulick did not immediately reply, but stood at the window while the
Squire sat down.
Bersak, who was lying on the hearthrug, went to him and licked his hand.
He patted the dog's head, but, as he made no movement to go away, Bersak
went and laid down at the Squire's feet.
During the months that had elapsed since Warren's death he had seen very
little of Irene, had, in fact, avoided her as much as possible, and
absented himself a good deal from Hazelwell, his excuse being that he
liked to see his horses run, especially the Saint.
The "curiosity" had won some good handicaps, and, at the Squire's
request, he had been sent down to Hazelwell at the end of his
four-year-old career, much to Fred May's chagrin, as he wished to keep
him in work, and said it was throwing money away to send him to the stud
at that age. Ulick, however, wished to please his father, so the Saint
was now an important member of the Hazelwell stud, and Eli Todd was as
proud of him as the trainer had been.
The Squire knew it was not altogether racing that caused his son to
vanish from home for weeks at a time. He appreciated the delicacy of
feeling which actuated him and took him away from Irene's presence in
the early months of her widowhood. He saw in his conduct a sure sign
that he was in love with her, and he gleaned from Irene's look of
disappointment, when she saw Ulick was absent, that she returned his
affection.
It had always been a thorn in the Squire's side that he had induced
Irene to marry Warren Courtly, who was unsuited to her, and had thus
placed an insurmountable barrier in Ulick's way.
By an accident that obstacle had been removed, and he did not intend his
cherished idea should again come to nothing.
The Squire did not mourn for Warren Courtly. He was no hypocrite, and,
although sorry for his early death, he argued that it was all for the
best, more especially when he came to examine into his affairs, and
afterwards when he had made Janet tell him who had run away with her.
This she did on giving his word he would keep her secret.
Warren, who had left the Squire joint executor with Irene, had involved
the Anselm estate heavily, and it would take some years to wipe off the
debt that had accumulated. Irene had a considerable income, but not more
than half she had a right to have expected. There was a mortgage on the
Manor itself, but the Squire quickly took that up on his own account.
As Ulick looked out of the window, his thoughts were busy with memories
of the past, and in them Irene was a conspicuous figure. He had waited
more than twelve months, and held his peace, although he was impatient
to pour out his love to her now she was free. He was thinking whether he
would have an opportunity of doing so to-night, and, if it occurred,
whether he would take it. What would her answer be? He did not wish to
be over-confident, but he looked forward to a favourable reply, and his
heart beat fast in expectation.
He was not aware Irene knew who ran away with Janet, and he was pleased
to think she had no knowledge of Warren's conduct.
His father watched him with a smile on his face, and thought--
"He means to ask her to-night. He is making up his mind, and I will see
he has the chance."
"Is there anything particularly striking to look at out there?" asked
the Squire. "If so, I will join you."
Ulick laughed as he replied, "I was taking very little notice of the
view. I was thinking over old times."
"Pleasant thoughts?"
"Yes, most of them."
"We were a couple of fools to remain separated for such a long time,"
said the Squire.
"We appreciate being together again the more now," replied Ulick.
"Eli is precious glad to have that girl of his back again," said the
Squire. "I hope the lesson she has had will teach her to behave better
in the future."
"There is no fear about that," replied Ulick. "It has been severe."
"Not nearly so severe as she deserved," was the reply.
It was a merry dinner party, and they were all in high spirits. Later on
in the evening the Squire and the Vicar's wife challenged the Vicar and
the Doctor to a quiet rubber, which was eagerly accepted.
"You two young people can look after yourselves," said the Squire to
Irene and his son, and she flushed slightly at his words.
Whist was an interesting game to the players, but Ulick and Irene
evidently found it slow as spectators, and quietly left the room.
A bright fire was blazing in the drawing-room, and Irene sat down at the
piano and idly ran her hands over the keys. The lamps shed a soft,
yellow light over the room, and the effect was soothing and tranquil.
Presently Irene sang a simple song, and, when it was ended, went on with
another. She was fond of music; so was Ulick, and he listened to her
sweet, low notes, and watched her face as she sang, half unconscious of
his presence.
When she stopped and looked up she found him standing near her. Their
eyes met, and, taking her hand, he said--
"Irene, I have something to say to you."
She knew what he meant, and knew what her answer must be.
He pleaded his cause well, and she listened, smiling encouragement when
he faltered.
He asked her to be his wife, and she consented without any false
hesitation.
They were very happy, and Ulick felt that somehow the world was a very
good place to live in, and that the ways of life were not quite so
crooked as some people were desirous of making out.
He could not realise that Irene had ever been Warren Courtly's wife. He
seemed to have possessed her ever since she came to Hazelwell on the
death of her father. She was his Irene, always had been, and always
would be for ever more.
And Irene was very happy. She knew her brief life with Warren had been
all a mistake. She regretted his death, and the manner of it, but it had
not blighted her life. She had known of people who had mourned
distractedly the loss of a dear one, and in a few months had changed the
garments of widowhood for those of marriage.
In a few years Warren would be merely a memory, nothing more, and it had
been his own fault. Having neglected her during life, it was not
reasonable to expect he would be reverenced when dead.
She knew she had always loved Ulick, although she had been unaware of
it, and now the realisation of her happiness was at hand.
She was to remain at Hazelwell for the night, and when the other guests
departed the Squire was told what had happened.
"I knew it was coming," he said, joyfully. "I saw it in your faces. Come
and kiss me, Irene; you are not jealous, are you, Ulick?"
"Not at all," he replied, laughing; "but I envy you."
"What!" he exclaimed. "Not had one yet?"
"Dozens," whispered Irene, in his ear, and the Squire laughed heartily.
"You recollect this room when I sat up all night waiting for Ulick to
return?" said the Squire.
"Yes," replied Irene; and then she added, "it is the very day."
"So it is, my child," he replied, "and I take it as a happy omen for
your married life."
* * * * *
In the summer, when the trees were full of leaf, and the birds carolled
their sweetest and best, Ulick and Irene were married. It was a quiet
wedding, and they went abroad for some considerable time. On their
return they resided at Anselm Manor, and the Squire divided his time
between Hazelwell and their home.
Ulick had learned from his wife that she knew all about Janet and
Warren, and it was not long before they found out that the Squire was in
possession of the facts. As for Janet, she accepted the position of
lady's maid to Irene when Mary Marley and Bob Heather were married. This
bold move on Irene's part effectually silenced the gossips, who clung to
the belief that Ulick was the cause of Janet's trouble, and that they
had run away together. It was acknowledged that Mrs. Maynard would never
have had Janet in her service had such been the case.
Happiness reigned supreme at Anselm Manor, and when the Squire heard of
the arrival of a son, and that he was a grandfather, he gave a whoop of
joy that startled the decorous quietude of Hazelwell.
"And if it isn't on the very day, the same day that Ulick left me, and
the day on which Irene consented to be his wife."
The new arrival made the Squire feel young again, and no signs were
wanting that the little one would be a prime favourite with him.
Years soon roll by and time never stands still. The child grew into a
fine boy, and there were others to keep him company. There was every
sign that Anselm Manor would be the home of many happy children. The
laughter of youth rang through the old rooms, and echoed down the
passages and along the walls, where monks and friars had revelled and
prayed and told their beads hundreds of years before. Anselm Manor had
taken on a new lease of life; a new spirit was infused into it--the
buoyant spirit of youth.
Ulick and his wife were often seen in the hunting field, and
occasionally at some of the principal race meetings; and there was much
rejoicing at Hazelwell when Fred May pulled off the Jockey Club Stakes
with the colt out of Honeysuckle, that had only just escaped being born
nearly "a year old."
The Saint was making a name at the stud, and his early foals were
promising, but none of them were the colour of their sire.
Ulick, however, wanted a grey by him, and in due time got his wish, and
a promising youngster he looked.
Janet did not forget Mrs. Hoffman. The woman had been kind to her in her
way, and she often received a present from the Manor. As for Felix
Hoffman, he got into trouble with the police, and had to leave the
country in a hurry, only just escaping the meshes of the law, in which
he thoroughly deserved to be entangled.
Squire Maynard, so everyone said, had grown young since his son's
marriage with Irene, and a fine, noble country gentleman he looked as he
walked or rode, with his grandson on a cob at his side.
Young Ulick was very like the Squire, who saw his own youth reflected in
him, and indulged him accordingly.
Irene, as a mother, was far more attractive than she had ever been
before, and her husband and children adored her. They were proud of her
good looks and of the admiration she invariably excited.
Ulick sometimes thought of that fatal leap Warren Courtly took when he
passed Glen church, and saw again the red-coated figure on the cold slab
near the wall, but the melancholy remembrance quickly vanished. There is
too much sunshine in his life to be hidden by passing clouds, and
happiness leaves no room for discord. Everything is in harmony; there
are no jarring notes; and long may it be so with them all.
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
Nat Gould
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Transcriber's note:
Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of
the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected
unless otherwise noted.
On page 60, a single quotation mark after "two years ago" was replaced
with a double quotation mark.
On page 64, a single quotation mark after "at Helton striking," was
replaced with a double quotation mark.
On page 72, "made mistake" was replaced with "made a mistake".
On page 77, a single quotation mark before "That was quite" was replaced
with a double quotation mark.
On page 172, a period after "you intend doing" was replaced with a
comma.
On page 192, a quotation mark was added after "him the information."
On page 239, "where killed" was replaced with "were killed".