_New York_, June 14, 18--.
To-morrow I am to take my old name of Thornton again, and be Guy's wife
once more. Nor does it seem strange at all that I should do so, for I
have never thought of myself as not belonging to him, even when I knew
he was married to another. And yet when that dreadful night at Saratoga
I went to Julia's room, there was in my heart no thought of this which
has come to me. I only wished to care for her and be a help to Guy. I
did not think of her dying, and after she was dead, there was not a
thought of the future in my mind until little Daisy put it there by
asking if I would be her mamma. Then I seemed to see it all, and
expected it up to the very day, six weeks ago, when Guy wrote to me,
"Daisy, I want you. Will you come to me again as my wife?"
I was not surprised. I knew he would say it sometime, and I replied at
once, "Yes, Guy, I will."
He has been here since, and we have talked it over, all the past when I
made him so unhappy, and when I, too, was so wretched, though I did not
say much about that, or tell him of the dull, heavy, gnawing pain which,
sleeping or waking, I carried with me so long, and only lost when I
began to live for others. I did speak of the letter, and said I had
loved him ever since I wrote it, and that his marrying Julia made no
difference, and then I told him of poor Tom, and what I said to him, not
from love but from a sense of duty, and when I told him how Tom would
not take me at my word, he held me close to him and said, "I am glad he
did not, my darling, for then you would never have been mine."
I think we both wept over those two graves, one far off in sunny France,
the other in Saratoga, and both felt how sad it was that they must be
made in order to bring us together. Poor Julia! She was a noble woman,
and Guy did love her. He told me so, and I am glad of it. I mean to try
to be like her in those things wherein she excelled me.
We are going straight to Cuylerville to the house where I never was but
once, and that on the night when Guy was sick and Miss Frances made me
go back in the thunder and rain. She is sorry for that, for she told me
so in the long, kind letter she wrote, calling me her little sister and
telling me how glad she is to have me back once more. Accidentally I
heard Elmwood was for sale, and without letting Guy know I bought it,
and sent him the deed, and we are going to make it the most attractive
place in the county.
It will be our summer home, but in the winter my place is here in New
York with my people, who would starve and freeze without me. Guy has
agreed to that and will be a great help to me. He need never work any
more unless he chooses to do so, for my agent says I am a millionaire,
thanks to poor Tom, who gave me his gold mine and his interest in that
railroad. And for Guy's sake I am glad, and for his children, the
precious darlings; how much I love them already, and how kind I mean to
be to them both for Julia's sake and Guy's. Hush! That's his ring, and
there's his voice in the hall asking for Miss McDonald, and so for the
last time I write that name, and sign myself
_Margaret McDonald_.
----
_Extracts from Miss Frances Thornton's Diary._
_Elmwood_, June 15th, --.
I have been looking over an old journal, finished and laid away long
ago, and accidentally I stumbled upon a date eleven years back. It was
Guy's wedding day then; it is his anniversary now, and as on that June
day years ago I worked among my flowers, so have I been with them this
morning, and as then people from the Towers came into our beautiful
grounds, so they came to-day and praised our lovely place and said there
was no spot like it in all the country round. But Julia was not with
them. She will never come to us again. Julia is dead, and her grave is
in Saratoga, for Guy dare not have her moved, but he has erected a
costly monument to her memory, and the mound above her is like some
bright flower bed all the summer long, for he hires a man to tend it,
and goes twice each season to see that it is kept as he wishes to have
it. Julia is dead and Daisy is here again at Elmwood, which she
purchased with her own money, and fitted up with every possible
convenience and luxury.
Guy is ten years younger than he used to be, and we are all so happy
with this little fairy, who has expanded into a noble woman, and whom I
love as I never loved a living being before, Guy excepted, of course. I
never dreamed when I turned her out into the rain that I should love her
as I do, or that she was capable of being what she is. I would not have
her changed in any one particular, and neither, I am sure, would Guy,
while the children fairly worship her, and must sometimes be troublesome
with their love and their caresses.
It is just a year since she came back to us. We were in the small house
then, but Daisy's very presence seemed to brighten and beautify it,
until I was almost sorry to leave it last April for this grand place
with all its splendor.
There was no wedding at all; that is, there were no invited guests, but
never had bride greater honor at her bridal than our Daisy had, for the
church where the ceremony was performed, at a very early hour in the
morning, was literally crowded with the halt, the lame, the maimed and
the blind; the slum of New York; gathered from every back street, and
by-lane, and gutter; Daisy's "people," as she calls them, who came to
see her married, and who, strangest of all, brought with them a present
for the bride; a beautiful family Bible, golden clasped and bound, and
costing fifty dollars. Sandy McGraw presented it, and he had written
upon the fly leaf, "To the dearest friend we ever had, we give this
book, as a slight token of how much we love her." Then followed, upon a
sheet of paper, the names of the donors and how much each gave. Oh, how
Daisy cried when she saw the _ten cents_, and the _five cents_, and the
_three cents_, and the _one cent_, and knew it had all been earned and
saved at some personal sacrifice for her. I do believe she would have
kissed every one of them if Guy had permitted it. She did kiss the
children and shook every hard, soiled hand there, and then Guy took her
away and brought her to our home, where she has been the sweetest,
merriest, happiest, little creature that ever a man called wife, or a
woman sister. She does leave her things round a little, to be sure, and
she is not always ready for breakfast. I guess she never will wholly
overcome those habits, but I can put up with them now better than I
could once. Love makes a vast difference in our estimate of others, and
she could scarcely ruffle me now, even if she kept breakfast waiting
every morning and left her clothes lying three garments deep upon the
floor. As for Guy,--but his happiness is something I cannot describe.
Nothing can disturb his peace, which is as firm as the everlasting
hills. He does not caress her as much as he did once, but his thoughtful
care of her is wonderful, and she is never long from his sight without
his going to seek her.
May God bless them and keep them always as they are now, at peace with
Him and all in all to each other.
THE END.
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