"Another present, Honor? I thought you had really received the last."
"So did I," replied Honor, sitting up in her low chair, and beginning
to untie the string that was round the small parcel. "People are very
kind; wonderfully kind."
Mrs. Latimer looked up quickly at the sound of the dejected voice.
She was a slight, sweet-looking woman, in widow's dress, whose face,
despite its never-varying sadness, bore traces of great beauty. The
present proved to be a very beautiful pendant of emeralds and diamonds.
Mrs. Latimer, having admired it as it lay on its satin bed, handed it
back to her daughter.
"So kind of your Uncle James," she said, as she did so, watching
meantime, with puzzled uneasiness, Honor's listless fingering of the
jewel-case.
"Very kind!" remarked the girl, tilting her chin somewhat
superciliously. "Am I not marrying a rich man? If Ronald had been poor,
how would Uncle James have treated me?"
"Honor, Honor," said her mother, a pained look crossing her face, "how
very unlike you to be so bitter."
Honor crossed over to where her mother sat and dropped down on the rug
beside her, and taking one of her mother's hands pressed it to her
cheek.
"He thinks it really, little mother, only you are too good to see it,
and know too that I love Ronald so dearly that I'd marry him if he
hadn't a second coat to put on. Uncle James, of all people!"--she threw
the case into the chair she had just vacated, her blue eyes shining and
hard--"Uncle James, who might have done so much, who might have saved
his nephew from destruction by holding out a helping hand. Poor Jim!"
Her clear voice broke for a moment, then she pointed to a table in the
corner that was covered with wedding presents.
"I'd give them all for one little note from Jim saying he was sorry and
was coming to us. Just imagine if he came home and sat with us here in
this very room! I cannot get him out of my thoughts to-night. Perhaps,
somewhere, he is thinking of us."
Mrs. Latimer sank back in her chair, the tears coursing down her face.
"I pray night and morning that he may come back to us, and it seems
as though God turned a deaf ear to all my pleadings. I dream of him,
Honor, so often, our handsome boy, as he was before he went astray, and
the awakening seems more than I can bear."
A pang shot through Honor's heart as she looked up into the fragile
face, and she regretted having been carried away to speak of the
prodigal.
"He will come back to us sooner or later," she said, hastily; "I am
certain of it. He is too fond of us to go far astray. The threats Uncle
James used terrified him."
"I am almost sorry we left the other house," Mrs. Latimer said,
presently. "Suppose he came and found strangers occupying our place?"
"He has only to ask in the neighbourhood to find us no farther than the
next road," said Honor. "Don't let that worry you. He will come home to
us some day."
She spoke with a cheerfulness she was far from experiencing; the
thought had often occurred to her that Jim, her only brother, must be
dead. Heedless and headstrong he might be, but he had always possessed
a warm heart, and would not have left them to anxiety for so long.
Twice her wedding had been postponed, but the prodigal still delayed,
and in a few days her marriage would be an accomplished fact.
Presently Mrs. Latimer said "good-night" and went to bed. After
lighting her candle and watching her up the staircase, Honor returned
to the room in which they had spent the evening. An unbearable
restlessness was upon her, and she could settle to nothing, though
there were notes to be written and a host of other things to be done.
She heard the servants troop up to bed, and then a silence fell upon
the house, only broken by the melancholy soughing of the wind among
the trees in the garden. The loneliness and silence told after a time,
and she rose to follow her mother's example, though sleep was the
farthest thing from her thoughts. She examined the window fastenings,
and picking up the case containing the pendant, placed it among the
presents on the table. The thought occurred to her that there ought to
be a place in which to lock up the valuables, but in her preoccupation
the fact troubled her little. Jim was the one absorbing thought,
ousting even Ronald from her mind. A mental picture of Jim, destitute
and starving, rose before her continually, embittering her life, and
she could look forward to nothing until she was at rest about him.
She looked in at her mother on the way to her own room, and found her
sleeping tranquilly. At the sight of the thin cheek on the pillow,
Honor's heart contracted painfully; her mother grew paler and more
fragile day by day, and the doctors had said that in the weak state of
her heart a sudden shock might prove fatal. A tear dropped on the thin
hand lying outside the counterpane, and Honor crept away to her own
room. When ready for bed she lay in the darkness, feeling every nerve
acutely on the alert.
The clock in the hall below ticked solemnly and struck the hour from
time to time, and Honor could hear the faint sound of the cuckoo. She
remembered the little bird as long as she could remember anything; from
babyhood it had been the delight of herself and Jim, with its perky,
impertinent manner, and the brisk way in which it bounced out and in
again. Hot tears blinded Honor's eyes and soaked into her pillow.
[Illustration: "SHE LOOKED INTO THE WIDE HALL BELOW."]
There came a faint sound from below, so faint as only to make the
stillness more noticeable. The wind moaned round the house, but
fitfully, as if a storm were gathering at a distance. Honor half sat
up in bed, straining her ear to listen. There was not a stir in the
house, yet she felt convinced that someone shared her vigil. Fearing
her mother might be ill, and yet not wishing to disturb her if she
slept, she drew herself noiselessly out of bed, and groped for her
dressing-gown without striking a light. On her way she looked into
the wide hall below. A faint glimmer illumined it, and her eyes soon
became accustomed to the dim light. Someone stood facing the clock.
Click! the doors flew open, and out sprang the cuckoo.
One, two, three. The doors closed again. There was a faint sound,
which might have been a box of matches falling on the tiled floor. It
was followed by a smothered exclamation. The figure stole away in the
direction of the morning-room, where she and her mother had lately been
sitting. Honor remained in the dark motionless, wondering what she
had better do. All the servants were women, and to awaken them meant
rousing her mother, and that she dare not do.
She gathered her dressing-gown closely round her and crept noiselessly
from stair to stair, quivering all over as they creaked under her bare
feet, but never pausing until she stood at the half-open door of the
morning-room and looked in. What she saw froze her into immovability. A
film swam before her eyes. It was Jim! The prodigal had returned, but
why in this way? What could it mean? She rubbed her eyes incredulously.
There was another man standing near the window, but it was upon Jim her
glance was fixed with reluctant, fascinated horror.
[Illustration: "THE LIGHT FELL FULL UPON HER."]
Jim leaned against the mantelpiece, his face was white and drawn, and
in his eyes was reproduced some of the incredulity of Honor's.
"I can't, I tell you," he spoke in a low voice, that yet came clearly
to the listener. "I promised, as it was to be the last time, but I
break my word--I must get out of this, I tell you. That clock! My God!
what I'd give not to feel such a scoundrel!"
"_Clock?_ What are you raving about?" said the other. "What's wrong
with the clock? They must strike, I suppose! Come on, let's get out of
this. What's given you such a scare? You might have seen a ghost."
"So I have, the place is full of them. I must go; the very air stifles
me." He stood upright and moved towards the door.
"Not a foot until you've done your share," replied the other,
advancing, and Honor could see his evil, dissipated face; "don't desert
an old chum."
"I wish to Heaven I had years ago, Hammersley. You've been my curse
ever since I've known you. Let's clear out."
Honor started at the name, that of an old school-fellow. She pushed the
door open farther, and the light fell full upon her, disclosing her
white face with its glittering aureole of hair, and the blue eyes wide
with pain.
Hammersley dropped the trinket he held with a little sharp tinkle, and
drew back into the shade shamefacedly. But Honor never noticed him, all
her glance was for Jim, who stood rigidly upright, staring at her as if
she were a visitant from the grave.
"Honor!" the words came with difficulty from his parched throat.
"_You!_ What does it mean?"
Honor advanced a step nearer.
"_Mean?_" She spoke in a clear, relentless voice, half mad with the
disgrace of it all. "Mean? It means that you have sunk so low as to
rob your mother and sister of a few valuables. It means that you have
broken into your mother's house like a common thief. No, no----" Her
voice vibrated with a sharp throb of pain--"even the lowest, the most
degraded, would think twice before robbing his own."
The light showed clearly all the misery of Jim's handsome, haggard
young face.
"I swear to you----" he began, but Honor went on speaking, her voice
low with concentrated scorn, and he drew back under the lash of her
glance.
"Why did you not die years ago? Only to-night we were talking of you,
praying that you might return, and _this_ is how God answers our
prayers!"
She pointed to the table, and Jim's head sank lower.
"Take them all if you want them, but go."
He moved blindly towards the door, and as he reached it, a footstep
sounded along the passage, and Mrs. Latimer appeared. Before Honor
could stir she had caught sight of Jim, and putting down the light she
carried, she made a little run forward, and put her arms round his neck.
"God bless you, my own boy. I knew you would come," she said, and fell
inertly with her cheek against his.
Above his mother's head, Jim's eyes met those of Honor, in anguished
appeal. As he stood holding his mother in his arms his punishment
seemed greater than he could bear.
A fresh fear took possession of Honor, and for a moment she dared not
ascertain the worst. Had not the doctors talked of a sudden shock?
"Bring her here," she said, indicating a couch close by; "she must
never know, poor, poor mother!"
In the bustle that ensued Hammersley made good his escape, unnoticed by
anyone. Honor applied restoratives, and after a long time Mrs. Latimer
came back to consciousness. Her glance sought for Jim; Honor motioned
him over.
"My own darling boy, why did you come back so late? How thin and white
you are! We must feed him well, must we not, Honor?"
[Illustration: "SHE PUT HER ARMS ROUND HIS NECK."]
She stroked his face as he bent over her, and under her loving trust
and entire unconsciousness of the true facts of the case Jim suddenly
broke down, and, like a penitent child, buried his face in a fold of
her dressing-gown. And she never knew the truth. But even Honor, who
knows, has perfect faith now in Jim.
_In Nature's Workshop._