A STRANGE ENCOUNTER
"Is Uncle Ted in?"
Sidney wanted to tell her uncle herself of her engagement. Randolph
and she had come down to The Anchorage together, and Mrs. Urquhart had
received them rather ceremoniously in the drawing-room. Randolph was a
stranger to her; and she had no idea of what had taken place. Sidney,
felt unable to break the news to her, and wanted to get away to her
uncle, and Mrs. Urquhart was only too pleased to entertain any visitor.
"You will find him in his workshop. He doesn't do much but smoke and
sleep there. I'm afraid his working days are over."
Sidney sped away. She did not find her uncle asleep. He was surrounded
by papers, and was writing rather laboriously when she entered, but
made an attempt to hide his handiwork.
When he saw she was alone he stood up, received her greeting, then
turned and locked the door behind her.
"I will have you to myself," he said, rather desperately. "I want to
show you something."
Sidney smiled into his anxious-looking face.
"Ethel is entertaining a visitor—Randolph Neville. Do you remember him?
He has come home, and is staying with Monnie."
"He was rather a nice chap. Oh, well, she won't miss you, if he is with
her. Sit down. I want to tell you something."
Sidney quietly obeyed him. Her own news could keep. She saw that her
uncle was full of his own affairs.
Major Urquhart leant back in his chair. Looking at him Sidney saw that
his hair was rapidly getting white; he had become a careworn old man,
and her heart ached for him, for she knew that the atmosphere of love
was wanting in his home, and there was but little comfort for him.
"I've been making my will," her uncle said solemnly; "one can't tell at
my time of life how soon it might be wanted. I've had it drawn up and
legally witnessed, and it is here."
He patted a businesslike envelope on his table. "I've been writing a
letter to my wife explaining the contents of it. The letter I am going
to lock up in dear Vernon's writing bureau. She'll soon find that
after—after I'm taken. But I want you to know, and only you, where I
am going to put my will. I'm not going to have any risk of it being
lost; and she's rather thick with that lawyer chap. Upon my word, I'm
beginning to suspect everybody nowadays. Look here!"
He went up to the fireplace, and, stooping down, took up a bit of the
flooring in a recess by the side of it. Sidney followed him, and saw a
tin box reposing underneath.
"That's where my will is going to be!" he said impressively.
"All right, uncle. May it remain there for many a long year."
He shook his head.
"We are not a long-lived family. Look at poor Vernon! Well, I've
relieved my mind. And you'll be able to have it produced when
necessary. You see, the best of women are curious, and I shouldn't like
her to get an inkling of its contents, so I have put it where she will
never be able to find it. And I would like you to know, Sid, that the
old house and its contents will just come back to you. She would never
live here. She has no love for the place. I couldn't rest in my grave,
unless I felt that I had made my wrongdoing right as far as possible. I
shall like to feel that in days to come you, and perhaps children who
may come after you, will still be here."
Tears were in Sidney's eyes.
"You are a dear, Uncle Ted! I don't want to thank you now. I don't know
how you have done it; but, of course, you will remember that your wife
has the first claim upon you. If she doesn't care for the house—"
"Oh, yes, yes; we won't discuss the money part of it."
"I want to tell you," Sidney went on quietly, "that Randolph Neville
wants me to go back to India with him. You see, I shall be provided
for. Will this make any difference?"
"None whatever," said the Major stoutly, "except to ease my mind at
present about you. So that is the way the land lies, is it? I'm glad
he's had the sense to come home. Well, well! You can't live in India
for the rest of your days. You'll be glad enough to retire after a
bit, and then you Will find this place useful. But what does he say
to finding you turned out of your home? I never shall hold up my head
again."
It was the usual strain when Sidney visited her uncle. He always began
lamenting over the past. Sidney stopped him rather sharply.
"Now, Uncle Ted, if you begin talking like that, I shall run away.
Don't you see how everything has turned out for the best? If you and
I had been living on here together, how could I have left you? I
shouldn't have had the heart to do it. I should have told Randolph that
he must wait, and he would have had to sail back to India alone. As it
is, I know you are being taken care of in your own Dome, and so I shall
go out happily with him."
The Major cheered up at once.
"Yes, yes, I see. Well, that gives me a gleam of light. Is Neville
here? I should like to see him. He is a lucky dog, that he is!"
They both returned to the drawing-room. Randolph had evidently
enlightened Mrs. Urquhart. She came up to Sidney and kissed her.
"So glad, my dear Sidney, to hear the news. It was a pleasant surprise.
And isn't it strange that by yesterday's post I got a letter from
Gavine, telling me she was engaged to young George Lockhart. I
understand Mr. Neville and he are great cronies. It gave me quite a
shock when I had the letter. These modern daughters settle up their
own affairs quite independently. I shall have to congratulate her and
provide her trousseau. That is all my part of it."
"Dear Gavine!" said Sidney warmly. "She deserves to be happy, for she
is spending her life in trying to make others so."
They did not stay much longer. Randolph was impatient to get Sidney to
himself. They were walking home to the farm, talking as only lovers
can, when suddenly, in a turn of the road, they came face to face
with a little group of people. Jockie and Austin were escorting some
friends down to the riverside. They were in boating attire. It was a
trying moment for all, for Sidney and Randolph instantly recognised the
couple who had wrought tragedy in their lives—Archibald Hughes and his
wife. Introductions followed, of course. Mrs. Hughes had a washed-out
appearance, and rather a spiritless laugh, but light came into her eyes
as she turned to Randolph. She could not forget the past; few women can.
"I was wondering when we should meet you again," she said. "We came
over to Thanning Towers last night to dine and sleep, and now we have
been persuaded to stay to a water picnic. But you know Sir Peter, of
course. Do come over and see us."
"I'm afraid I shall not be able to, thanks," said Randolph briefly.
Archie Hughes was the most awkward one of the party. He was trying to
be unconscious of Sidney's presence; and yet she had never looked more
charming than she did now, and he found his eyes wandering towards her
in spite of himself.
In the first shock of the meeting Sidney had paled even to her very
lips, but her greeting was perfectly assured and gracious.
"When are you going back to India?" she asked him.
"Er—when?—er—I think in about a month's time. We're visiting round in
this neighbourhood for a week or so. A lot of changes. Sorry to hear
about your father. Never knew it till we got here. Is your uncle here
still?"
"Yes. He has married since you were in this part. He would be very glad
to see you."
As she talked to him, calm conviction came to her that the love she had
had for this man once was absolutely dead. She contrasted his loose and
somewhat stout exterior with the wiry-knit frame of Randolph. Archie
did not seem to have improved with time, and his marriage was not one
which would lead him to take serious views of life.
Jockie, of course, was most eager that Sidney and Randolph should join
them in their expedition. She could not understand her husband's want
of enthusiasm in the proposal; but she was the only one of the party
who was ignorant of the past.
When at last the boating party went on their way, Jockie exclaimed:
"And that is the frontier hero whom Gavine has talked so much about.
Well, they will make a splendid couple. Now I know where Sidney's
heart has been all this time. I always felt she would never remain an
unappropriated blessing for long."
"She's rather good-looking," said Mrs. Hughes.
"Oh, she's perfectly beautiful," said warm-hearted Jockie; "but it is
herself we love her for, isn't it, Austin?"
"I hope he'll be good enough for her," said Austin. "I thought it would
have come off when he was here before."
Archie was silent. What could he say?
It had been a remarkable meeting, and Sidney and Randolph were the only
ones involved who could view the past without regret.
"I am glad our meeting is over," said Sidney, slipping her arm in that
of Randolph's. "I was foolishly dreading it, but I only feel thankful
now."
Randolph bent down over her.
"We have both suffered," he said; "but now let us bury the past. The
future is ours, and my own aim in life now will be to make you and keep
you happy."
"It won't be difficult to do that."
Sidney had for so long lived in the shade that this sudden spell of
sunshine almost overwhelmed her. Tears came into her eyes. Then she met
Randolph's gaze and smiled.
"Don't make too much of me, will you? Oh, Randolph, I do believe that
God meant us for each other, and so in love He prevented us from making
the mistake of our lives."
Later on Monica was told about it. Randolph was lured away by Chuckles
to inspect his rabbits, and Sidney sat and talked with her friend.
"What I like about Ran," said Monica in her matter-of-fact way, "is
that his love is unselfish. It will wear well, Sidney. His first
thought is of what he can be to you. Most men think of what you can be
to them. I am glad you two have come together. I remember the time when
I thought you and Archie Hughes would make a match of it. But he was
never good enough for you. You would have had to be always pulling him
uphill after you."
"The only regret I shall have is leaving you," said Sidney slowly and
thoughtfully.
"You have pulled me through my worst time," said Monica. "I have always
been accustomed to stand on my own. I'm not one of the world's leaners."
"But I wish I could leave you happier."
"You want me to think as you do, don't you? I may come at it some day,
but not yet. You have made me realise what faith can do. Whether I
shall ever arrive at it, is a different matter."
"If you could only see how lost one is without a centre," cried Sidney,
"and how much we owe to the One Who made us."
Monica looked thoughtfully at her, but made no reply.
"Oh," Sidney went on earnestly, "it is just being illustrated over
again with you and Chuckles. How you have toiled and slaved for that
child! How anxiously you have worked and saved to bequeath to him a
good inheritance. How you even were ready to sacrifice your life for
his, and have, in saving him, condemned yourself to a crippled life.
He realises it all so little; he does not understand. He takes it all
as a matter of course, and seems to have no sense of gratitude or wish
to please the one who has loved him so. Isn't that how we treat our
Father?"
The words sank into Monica's heart. She began to see dimly a little of
what she had missed in her life; but she said nothing, only turned the
conversation into another channel.
And presently Randolph returned with the chattering boy.
"We've been having a lovely time. Cousin Ran has been telling me about
snakes. Aunt Monnie, I'd like to go out to India one day and do what
Cousin Ran is doing. Miss Sid says he's an Empire builder. I should
like to build an Empire. It's such a big thing to do."
"You won't be ready for that just yet," said Monica.
"And you have to take care of your aunt, Chuckles," said Sidney. "She
will want someone to love her and care for her when we have gone."
"Is Cousin Ran going to take you away from us? That's horribly nasty of
him."
"I can't build without her," said Randolph.
"She does know how to build wonderful," said the child with a wise nod.
"She taught me all about it; she said God taught her, so, of course,
she couldn't build wrong."
"Of course she couldn't," said Randolph gravely, as his eyes met
Sidney's. "We can all learn from the Master Builder, and then there
will be no mistakes."
"But you will be done building before me," pursued Chuckles, who, once
on his favourite topic, was not easily quenched; "because the older
people are, the higher their house is, and when it's very high and
close to heaven, God takes them in. I made that up myself."
Sidney smiled, but Monica's brows were furrowed.
"Of course," Chuckles continued in his most dreamy voice, as he gazed
up into the summer sky, "some people get their houses knocked down,
and then, I suppose, they begin again. Miss Sid says they can. That's
because they didn't build tight on the rock. I do hope my building
won't slip off the rock."
"Run off to bed," said his aunt shortly.
She felt she could bear no more.
Chuckles obediently wished them all good-night; then, as a parting
shot, he called out to Randolph:
"I see you out of my window when you take Miss Sid through the garden.
You stick so close you only make one shadow!"
"That is what we will do through life," murmured Randolph in Sidney's
ear, not at all embarrassed by the child's remark. "Our shadows will be
merged into one."
Later on, when they were taking their evening stroll together, Sidney
looked up at Chuckles' window.
"I hope he will grow up a comfort to Monnie," she said. "She has
spoiled her life in saving him; and yet I do think no life can be
spoiled down here. She will come through it yet, a nobler and finer
character."
"She will learn to rebuild, eh?" said Randolph, divining Sidney's
thoughts.
And then, as if Chuckles had heard them, he raised his window and shot
his head out.
"I see you! Miss Sid, do you know why I'm going to be like a limpet?
Because I'm going to build tight and stick to the rock for ever and
ever. I've just said it in my prayers."
And Randolph raised his hat and looked upwards. "Amen," he said.
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