"WOOED, AND MARRIED, AND A'."
MIR. "Here's my hand."
FER. "And mine with my heart in it."
_The Tempest._
"There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough hew them how we will."
_Hamlet._
It was arranged that Waveney was to remain at the Red House while
painting and papering were being carried on at Number Ten, Cleveland
Terrace.
Ann, the heavy-footed, was dismissed with a month's wages, and Mrs.
Muggins accompanied her. A competent caretaker was put in charge. And
Althea had already engaged two capable maids, to come in when the work
of renovation was complete.
It was the first time Doreen and Althea had ever spent August in town;
but Mrs. Mainwaring's sudden illness had detained them, and, as soon as
she was fit to travel, they had promised to stay with her at Whitby.
While Waveney remained with her friends, Everard Ward and his son went
down to a farm-house in Yorkshire, that Lord Ralston had recommended,
where they would have excellent accommodation, at a very moderate price,
and very good fishing. It was the first real holiday that Everard had
enjoyed for years, and Noel wrote ridiculously illustrated epistles,
retailing sundry ludicrous adventures. "His revered parent," as he
informed Waveney, "was becoming fatter, and more plebeian, every day."
And here there was a spirited pen-and-ink sketch of Everard in a huge
straw hat, fishing on a boulder, with a briar-wood pipe in his mouth,
and several small fishes winking at him as they frisked harmlessly by.
"Caught nothing since Friday week," was written underneath the picture.
In spite of her happiness, Waveney could not reconcile herself to
Mollie's absence. The parting had tried them both. No one forgot the
bride's tear-stained face, as Lord Ralston lifted her into the
carriage. "Oh, do take care of my Wave," were her last words to Althea,
as they drove away.
Waveney shed many a tear in her Pansy Room. But she cheered up when
Mollie's first letter came. And after that she wrote almost daily. She
was very happy, she said, and Moritz was so good to her. But of course
it was strange, being without her Wave. It was such a lovely place, and
the cottage was so cosy. They were out all day, fishing, or wandering
over the purple moors. Sometimes Moritz had a day's shooting with the
keeper, and then she and Donald, the gamekeeper's son, drove down with
the luncheon. They had dinner at eight--quite a grand dinner, and Donald
waited on them. "I have given up pinching myself hard, to be sure that I
am not dreaming," she wrote once, "but for all that I am leading a
story-book existence. Oh, I am so happy, darling! I can hardly say my
prayers without crying for sheer thankfulness. My dear Moritz spoils me
so dreadfully. He says he hates me to be out of his sight for a moment,
and if I were to believe half he says I should be as conceited as
possible. It is just his blarney, I tell him. And then he pretends to be
affronted."
"Don't you believe her, my dear," wrote a masculine hand. "She is a
perfect darling, and the sweetest little wife in the world. When it
comes to pinching oneself I can hardly believe I am that lucky and
much-to-be-envied fellow, your affectionate brother-in-law,
"MONSIEUR BLACKIE."
When Althea showed Waveney the improvements she and Doreen had effected
in Number Ten, Cleveland Terrace, the girl could hardly believe her
eyes. New papers, and carpets, and curtains, had quite transformed the
dingy old house. The stairs were covered with crimson felt, and the
studio, and the bare, ugly room, where the sisters had slept, looked
perfectly charming.
"A little money and a good deal of taste do wonders," observed Althea in
a matter-of-fact tone. But Waveney wasn't so sure about the money.
Moritz had evidently given his cousins _carte blanche_, and though there
was very little new furniture in the studio, the fresh cretonne and
flowering-plants gave it an air of finish and refinement.
It was a pleasant life they led there. Never since his wife's death had
Everard been so content and happy. Mollie's brilliant marriage gave him
great satisfaction, and he had no fear of losing his little Waveney for
many a year to come. He was set free from the drudgery he hated, and he
and Waveney were always together. Thorold spent his Sundays with them,
and he came one evening in the week beside. They had made this rule at
the beginning, and he never infringed on it.
Every fortnight or so they dined at the Red House, and Althea often had
tea with them when she drove into town. She and Everard had resumed
their old friendliness; neither of them had forgotten that scene in the
verandah of the Porch House, but, by mutual consent, the subject of
Noel's education had been dropped for a time.
At the beginning of October the newly married pair returned to town, and
spent a week at Eaton Square, and Mollie and Waveney were together every
day.
"Why, Mollie, I declare you have grown an inch taller," were Everard's
first words to her; and privately he thought that young Lady Ralston was
even handsomer than Mollie Ward had been. Both he and Waveney agreed
that happiness and prosperity had not spoilt their darling; she was the
same simple, light-hearted creature, thinking as little of herself, and
rejoicing over her pretty things as a child might have done.
Perhaps there was a little veil of shyness and reserve when she spoke of
her husband. Moritz was evidently perfect in her eyes; but only to
Waveney did she dwell on his good qualities.
"People do not know him," she said once--"they think him eccentric; but
it is just his way of talking. He is so true, Wave; Gwen says that she
is sure that he has never told a lie in his life, and he is so
unselfish, he is always wanting to make people happy. When he was so
poor he would deprive himself of a meal if a beggar looked hungry; and
now he is always planning some generous gift or other. He lends his
shooting lodge to poor artists or curates. Oh! I cannot tell you half of
the things he does. He calls me his little blessing; but I feel I can
never, never, repay his goodness." And here such an exquisite blush
tinged Mollie's cheeks, that it was a pity Lord Ralston did not see it.
Mollie was naturally anxious to see her beautiful home, and the lovely
rooms that Moritz had refurnished for her. But her regret was so great
at leaving Waveney that Lord Ralston, who could refuse nothing to his
sweet Moll, suggested that she should pay them a visit in November. He
had already arranged that the whole Ward family were to keep their
Christmas at Brentwood Hall; but there was no reason why Waveney should
not spend a week or two with them in November.
It was impossible to refuse so tempting an invitation; and when Waveney
reached Brentwood Mollie and the cream-coloured ponies were at the
station. Mollie was in a perfect glow of pride and satisfaction as she
drove Waveney through the village.
Waveney's first act after unpacking was to find the portrait of Lady
Betty in the picture-gallery. Mollie pointed it out to her. Lady Betty
simpered down on them from the faded canvas. She had a round face and
powdered hair drawn up under a lace cap, and one slim hand held a bunch
of roses. Her yellow brocade looked as stiff as buckram, and her white
arms were veiled with rich lace. "Lady Betty Ingram, in her twenty-fifth
year" was written in the catalogue.
Never had Mollie or Waveney spent such a Christmas as they spent that
year at Brentwood Hall. Thorold Chaytor was with them. Lord Ralston kept
Christmas in the old style. There were mummers and carol-singers on
Christmas Eve, and "cakes and ale" _ad libitum_ in the housekeeper's
room.
The John Comptons came over from Kingsdene, and the day after Christmas
Day there was a ball for the servants; and on New Year's Eve there was a
festive gathering, to which people came ten miles round, and there was
dancing in the picture-gallery. Madam Compton was there, looking queenly
in black velvet and point lace, and she and Jack were delighted when
after supper Gwen danced a minuet with her brother. Gwen was looking her
best that evening. She wore a cream-coloured satin gown, cut somewhat
quaintly, and her beautiful neck and arms were bare of ornament. As Gwen
moved down the picture-gallery, Mollie vowed that not even the renowned
Lady Betty could have curtsied with such grace. "Oh, how beautifully she
dances!" whispered Mollie; and Jack heard her, and beamed with delight.
When the clock struck twelve they all joined hands, and Lord Ralston
made them a little speech. Then the band struck up and they all sang
"For Auld Lang Syne."
Mollie sat enthroned like a little queen all the time the dancing went
on. The diamonds she wore were hardly brighter than her eyes. Once, when
her husband said, a little sadly, "How he wished his sweet Moll could
dance, too!" Mollie's lip quivered for a moment; then she said
bravely,--
"It does not matter, dear. It is so nice to have you helping me and
looking after me."
Nevertheless, her eyes looked a little wistfully after him and Waveney
when they waltzed together.
The spring days found Waveney at Cleveland Terrace again. Moritz meant
to bring his wife to Eaton Square for a part of the season, and then she
and Mollie would go to exhibitions and concerts and to the opera
together.
Early in May Waveney was sitting in the studio one afternoon, finishing
a long letter to Mollie, when Thorold suddenly entered the room. Waveney
gave a little cry of delight when she saw him.
"Oh, Thorold, how delightful!" she exclaimed, as he took her in his
arms. "Have you come to spend the evening?"
"Yes, if you will have me, Waveney. I have some news to tell you."
"Good news, I can see by your face." And then she asked wickedly, "Is
Joanna going to be married?"
"No, my dear; no one is going to be married but you and I by-and-bye,
but it is capital news for all that. Tristram has been offered a good
berth at Liverpool, and, as Joanna cannot bring herself to part with
Betty, she is going to keep house for them."
"Oh, Thorold, how splendid!" And Waveney's eyes sparkled with pleasure.
She was overjoyed at the idea that he was free at last. No one knew
better than she how uncongenial his home had been to him. Solitude would
be infinitely preferable to the small carking cares and frets of his
daily life. Joanna's peculiar temperament created an unrestful
atmosphere round her. Tristram, who was of a blunter and more obtuse
nature, was less alive to the discomfort.
Joa was always a poor puling thing, he would say, but she was very good
to his Betty. And he was rather relieved than otherwise when Joanna
entreated tearfully to accompany them.
"Thorold does not want me and Betty does," she pleaded.
"Joa has a little money of her own," went on Thorold, "so I think they
will be fairly comfortable. The change of scene will be good for her.
They are to leave Dereham at the end of July."
"That will be nearly three months hence," returned Waveney, musingly.
She was fingering Thorold's coat-sleeve rather absently as she spoke.
It was one of her pretty caressing ways with him. He watched the little
hand for a moment as it smoothed the rough cloth so gently. Then he took
possession of it.
"Dearest," he said, very quietly, "once, long ago, I was ready to ride
away without telling my love like Sir Bever, but my good angel stopped
me. But I find that I have not Lady Betty's patience, and long waiting
would be irksome to me." And then he looked at her very wistfully.
"Waveney, I want to ask you a question. When my sister leaves me, do you
see any reason why we should not be married?"
It was evident that Waveney was extremely startled, and that Thorold's
proposition took her quite by surprise. She grew a little pale.
"I thought you could not afford to marry for years," she returned,
shyly.
"So I thought," he replied, with a smile. "You see, darling, when we
were first engaged my sister was dependent on me, and at that time
Tristram earned very little. Virtually, I had to keep him and Betty. But
all that will be changed now. We should have to be careful and live
quietly for some years to come, but I am not afraid of the future. My
work is increasing, as you know. I have had to take better chambers, and
our last case was so successful that I am likely to have another good
brief. Tell me the truth, my little Undine. Shall you be afraid to trust
yourself to my keeping?"
Afraid! Need he have asked such a question? The dark eyes looked at him
with reproachful sweetness.
"Do you think I should fear anything with you?" she answered. "But,
Thorold, are you sure you really wish it?"
But Thorold's reply was so conclusive and satisfying that Waveney
yielded.
Everard Ward had been reading his paper in old Ranelagh Gardens that
afternoon. The pleasant May sunshine had warmed and cheered him, and he
whistled like a boy as he let himself into the house with his latch-key.
But his cheerfulness soon vanished when he learned the purport of
Thorold's visit. He was deceived, betrayed by the very man whom he
declared would be a son-in-law after his own heart. He was to be robbed
of his little girl.
What a fool he had been to trust the word of a lover! His knowledge of
the world might have told him that they were all wolves in sheeps'
clothing. Five years' engagement! This is what he had promised, the
arch-traitor! and now he was coolly proposing that they should be
married in August.
Everard nearly talked himself hoarse, in his effort to point out the
extreme imprudence of the whole proceeding. In his opinion, he said, it
was utterly rash, foolhardy, and a gross tempting of Providence. All his
life he had been an example of the sad result of an impecunious
marriage; his son had been indebted to charity for education, and his
daughters had been without advantages. Everard waxed quite eloquent over
his theme, but Thorold refused to be intimidated. He demolished all
Everard's arguments with the ease and facility of a skilful lawyer; and
Waveney was on his side. Everard had no chance; from the beginning they
were both against him, and at last he had to throw down his arms. Even
Althea took their part, and so did Mollie; but he yielded with a very
bad grace, and though he tried to hide it from Waveney, he was sore at
heart for many a day.
Waveney's feelings were very mixed: her sorrow at leaving her father
somewhat damped her happiness; but Mollie comforted her.
"Of course it is hard for father," she said one day, when Waveney was
lunching at Eaton Square. "He hates parting with his children. Don't you
remember how low he was on my wedding day? But he soon cheered up. It
will be all right, Wave, so don't worry. When you are once married he
will make the best of it. Moritz says he must leave Cleveland Terrace
and take a nice flat somewhere near you; and when Noel is at Oxford he
can divide his time between us." And this view of the case was very
consoling to Waveney.
Mollie was in the seventh heaven of delight just then; she was to
provide the _trousseau_ out of her own pin-money, and this thought gave
her so much pleasure that Lord Ralston declared she even laughed in her
sleep.
But Lord Ralston's wedding present almost overwhelmed the young couple.
He bought a house for them at Kensington and furnished it from basement
to garret. When he placed the title deeds in Waveney's hands, she was
speechless with surprise and joy. But Moritz refused to be thanked.
"Mollie's sister was his," he said, in his airy fashion, "and it was his
business to see that she was properly housed.
"Chaytor is a good fellow," he went on, "and I respect him highly, and
am proud to be connected with him. I shall stand your friend and his,
as long as you both deserve it. And look here"--and here Lord Ralston
glanced at Mollie's delighted face--"if you and Chaytor would like to do
your honeymooning at the Hut, you are welcome to it." And when Waveney
repeated this to Thorold, he said that it was far too good an offer to
be refused.
"Ralston is the prince of good fellows," he went on. "His generosity is
as large as his purse. You will love those Scotch moors, Waveney. I have
not been in the Highlands for years; it will be grand to see the heather
and the grouse again."
* * * * *
After all, Everard Ward never had his flat, neither did he stay long at
Number Ten, Cleveland Terrace; another, and far different, fate was in
store for him.
About three months after Waveney's marriage he went one afternoon to the
Red House. He had only just returned from Brentwood Hall, where he had
made the acquaintance of his first grandson; and, as usual, he wished to
talk over the visit with his old friend Althea.
For they were very dear friends now, and, next to his own daughters, he
valued her womanly advice and sympathy.
In summer, the door of the Red House always stood open, and he went in
as usual unannounced. No one responded to his tap at the library door,
and as he entered he thought, for a moment, the room was empty.
The blinds were down, and the darkness rather bewildered him, coming out
of the sunshine. But the next moment he caught sight of a grey figure in
the shadow of the curtain.
Althea was leaning back in her easy-chair. There was a green shade over
her eyes, and her face was pale. Everard, who had never seen her before
in one of her attacks, was much shocked.
"You are ill," he said, taking her hand. In spite of the warmth of the
day, it felt cold and limp. Then he looked round the room. "Where is
Doreen? Surely she has not left you alone?"
"Doreen is at the Home," returned Althea, in a weak voice. "There is a
committee meeting. Please sit down and talk to me. I want to forget
myself. No, I am not ill. The attack has passed off, only I am stupid
and dull."
Dull! Everard felt strangely oppressed. The darkness; Althea's pale
face, full of traces of suffering; the disguising shade, that hid the
sweet eyes; the pathos, and helplessness, and utter weariness, so
evident in the whole figure;--filled him with pity. Was this what she
had to bear?--she, who helped others, whose whole life was devoted to
good works! who had been a guardian angel to him and his!
Everard felt a sudden impulse that seemed to impel him, in spite of
himself. He got up from his seat and stood beside her. Then, as she
moved restlessly, as though disturbed by his action, he dropped on one
knee.
"Althea, my dear," he said, huskily, "we are neither of us young, and we
have both known trouble. But, if you would have it so, I should like to
devote the rest of my life to you, to wait on you, and to comfort you."
Was she dreaming? Althea pushed up her shade a little wildly. But the
gravity of his face left no doubt of his meaning.
"I cannot, I dare not accept it," she returned; and she trembled all
over. "It is far too great a sacrifice."
"It is no sacrifice at all," was Everard's answer. "It is I who am
unworthy of your goodness." And the proud humility of his tone struck to
her very heart.
"I have loved you all my life," she said to him, later on. "Everard, it
shall be as you wish. It will make me very happy to be your wife. I know
how good you will be to me."
* * * * *
Doreen was rather troubled when Althea told her the news. Their peaceful
dual life was over, she thought; but when she looked at her sister's
radiant face she chid herself for her selfishness. But she soon became
reconciled to the change. When Everard took up his abode at the Red
House he became her chief adviser and helper. He brought his masculine
intellect and energy to bear on all their philanthropic schemes, and "my
brother-in-law says this" or "suggests that" was for ever on Doreen's
lips.
There was no doubt of Althea's happiness. She and Everard were always
together. Althea's sweet, large nature was never exacting. She knew that
he would never love her as he had loved Dorothy, but this thought gave
her no pain. How could she complain that anything was wanting when his
thoughtful tenderness was so unceasing? when he never cared to be away
from her?
"It rests me to be near you," he would say. And, indeed, there was the
truest friendship between them.
Waveney and Mollie were devoted to their beloved Queen Bess, but "our
boy," as Althea always called Noel, was the pride of his stepmother's
heart.
And so, when her youth had passed, that faithful soul reaped its harvest
of joy. "Thus the whirligig of Time brings in its revenges." But
Althea's noble revenge had been much patience and much love.
THE END.
* * * * *
By John Strange Winter.
(Mrs. Arthur Stannard.)
The Peacemakers.
"'The Peacemakers' is a novel that has the characteristic merits of the
best work of this author; it is a well-told story, good in plot and in
character drawing, and with an impressive touch of the tragic, that
comes as a surprise. The world of 'John Strange Winter' is usually so
bright and happy, its troubles are so bearable and vanish so quickly,
that it is a novelty to find the shadow of death falling over it, as in
her last story. And yet the tragedy is admirably told."--_Boston
Gazette._
Into an Unknown World.
"A bright, breezy novel, interesting in plot, with the woman characters
admirably drawn, and with a heroine who is charming in her naturalness.
The story is told in the simple, unaffected style that marks all Mrs.
Stannard's work, and it is a healthy story."--_Boston Saturday Evening
Gazette._
A Magnificent Young Man.
"It is a story with an original plot, involving a secret marriage, the
mysterious disappearance of a bridegroom, and the experiences of a young
girl, who refuses to clear her reputation, even to the mother of her
unacknowledged husband, until such a time as he shall give
permission."--_Boston Beacon._
Every Inch a Soldier.
"Of the incidents of the work before us, the plot is highly
entertaining, and incidentally we meet the Bishop of Blankhampton, whose
matrimonial affairs were ably discussed in a book previously written. It
is a very pleasant and readable book, and we are glad to see
it."--_Norristown Herald._
Aunt Johnnie.
The Other Man's Wife.
Only Human.
The Truth Tellers.
* * * * *
By Mrs. Alexander.
Barbara: Lady's Maid and Peeress.
"'Barbara: Lady's Maid and Peeress,' the latest of Mrs. Alexander's
stories, turns on the fortunes of the natural child of an old lord, who
serves as lady's maid until the reading of a will shows that she is the
real heir to a fortune and a title. The heroine is a sensible girl, and
the story is very well told."--_San Francisco Chronicle._
Mrs. Crichton's Creditor.
"Mrs. Alexander's novels are decidedly of the higher order. They reflect
the lives and sayings of wholesome people, carry a healthy moral, and
convey valuable lessons to enlightened readers."--_St. Louis
Globe-Democrat._
A Fight with Fate.
"This is Mrs. Alexander's best story, and readers of her two previous
novels, 'For His Sake' and 'Found Wanting,' will at once recognize this
as high praise. It is an English story. The plot is good, is skilfully
developed; the dialogue is bright, the situations, many of them,
dramatic. On the whole, it is a bright, entertaining novel, and one of
the best of the season."--_Boston Advertiser._
A Golden Autumn.
The Cost of Her Pride.
Found Wanting.
For His Sake.