"MY DEAREST REST"
She loves thee even as far-forth than
As any woman may a man;
And is thine own, and so she says;
And cares for thee ten thousand ways.
--SURREY.
Something in Elizabeth's aspect seemed to attract Cedric's attention;
perhaps it was the veiled brightness of her expression, or the white
flowers at her breast, but more than once he eyed her in a puzzled
fashion.
"What have you done to yourself, Betty?" he burst out at last; "you
look scrumptious--ten years younger, and as though you had turned up
trumps;" and though Elizabeth pretended to frown at these personal
remarks, it was impossible not to laugh. Cedric had no idea how nearly
he had gauged the truth: he little knew the good news that awaited him
the next day. The knowledge that his dearest and most honoured friend
was to be his brother-in-law would fill his cup of bliss to the brim.
Anna was somewhat weary with her unusual exertions that day, and after
dinner Dinah established her in a cosy corner of the drawing-room,
promising that Cedric should come and talk to her there.
"I will stay with you till he comes, and then I have a letter to
write," she observed, for Dinah's tact was never at fault.
Elizabeth kissed her hand to them smilingly; then she wrapped herself
up in a soft fleecy shawl and went out into the moonlight, and
presently Malcolm joined her.
"I had some difficulty in shaking off Cedric," he remarked, as he took
her hand and placed it on his arm; "he was in a talkative mood, but I
told him his ladye-love would be waiting for him. He little knew my
ladye-love was waiting for me too."
"No; how pleased he will be when we tell him." How sweetly that "we"
sounded in Malcolm's ears! "Malcolm, there is something I want to ask
you. Will you go with me to Rotherwood to-morrow? I must see Mr.
Carlyon. He will be so happy about this"--with a light emphasising
pressure on his arm--"and he is like my own father. And then I want you
to come with me to David's grave."
"Did you fear I should refuse?" for Elizabeth's voice had been somewhat
hesitating. "Do you think I should refuse any wish that it is in my
power to gratify?"
"No," she said gently; "I know how good you will be to me--that if it
were possible you would strew my daily path with thornless roses. But
it is not possible, Malcolm."
"Then we will take our share of the briars and thorns together."
"Indeed we will. Malcolm, there is something I want to tell you before
we stand by that grave to-morrow--something I should like you to know;"
and then, in a voice broken by emotion, Elizabeth repeated the
substance of her conversation with Mr. Carlyon.
"It has made me so much happier," she faltered, when she had finished.
Then Malcolm drew her closer to him.
"I am glad you told me this," he said in a moved tone. "Dear Elizabeth,
I have a confession to make. In those old unhappy days I used to wonder
how you could care so much for him. He was good and true and earnest,
and he loved you dearly; but all the same I could not understand."
"Dinah and Mrs. Godfrey could not understand either," she replied
gently; "but you none of you knew my David: it made me a better woman
only to be near him. His father has just the same simple, guileless
nature--my two Nathanaels I used to call them."
"Dear, I understand better now," returned Malcolm kindly; "but I ask
myself, could I have done the same in his place? I fear--I greatly
fear, my love is not so selfless. If I had to die and leave you--" but
Elizabeth would not listen to this.
"If you had been in his place you would have been equally generous; I
know your good heart far too well to doubt that, Malcolm." Elizabeth
was a tall woman, and as she bent involuntarily towards him, her cheek
rested for a moment against his; that simple womanly caress seemed to
set the seal to her sacred confidence. But when she would have moved
away he held her fast.
"Elizabeth--Elizabeth," it was all he could say; but it was enough--no
words were needed. Silently they said their Te Deum together, and the
fair white moonlight lay on their bowed heads like a benison.
Two or three days later Malcolm found his way to 27 Queen's Gate, and
entered his mother's study unannounced. Mrs. Herrick was writing as
usual. Her keen gray eyes lighted up with pleasure when she saw him.
"My dear boy, at this hour--what a delightful surprise! I was just
writing to Anna. Cedric will not hear of bringing her back until
Thursday."
Malcolm smiled at his mother's tone. Strong-willed woman as she was, he
knew that Cedric would rule her utterly; the lad's wheedling ways and
blarneying tongue had already won her heart. Cedric never could be made
to understand why people were afraid of Mrs. Herrick.
"Have you come to spend the afternoon with me, Malcolm?"
"Yes, if you will have me. I have some news for you, mother." Malcolm
was little nervous, and spoke with some abruptness. Mrs. Herrick laid
down her pen and looked at him intently.
"You need not tell me," she returned quietly. "I know your news--I can
read it in your face--Elizabeth Templeton has promised to marry you."
"Mother, are you a witch?" in an astonished tone. "It is not possible
that any one has betrayed me; Anna and Cedric promised not to say a
word."
"No one has betrayed your confidence, Malcolm; and a mother does not
need witchcraft to enable her to read her children's hearts."
"My dear boy," she continued--her strong features working a little with
emotion,--"do you really imagine that I have been blind all these
years--that, although you chose to withhold your confidence from me, I
was not aware of your trouble. You are a reserved, self-contained man
like your father, Malcolm--he always kept things to himself too--but
all the same you could not hide from your mother that your poor heart
was almost broken because the woman you wanted refused to marry you."
Malcolm took his mother's hand and kissed it. "You have been very good
to me," he murmured; "but I could not speak, the pain was too great.
Thank God, Elizabeth is mine now."
"I say, thank God, too"--and the keen eyes filled with tears. "Will you
bring her to me, Malcolm?"
"Will I not, mother! But you must send her a message."
"Tell her, that from this hour she shall be the dearest of daughters to
me, and that, for your sake, I shall love her dearly. And tell her--no,
I will keep that for my own lips when we meet--that my son, God bless
him! is worthy of any woman's love." And then, as Malcolm bent over
her, she folded him in her motherly embrace. At that moment Malcolm and
his mother fully understood each other.
Malcolm was anxious to be married as soon as possible; and as his
mother and Dinah were on his side, and there was really no reason for
delay, Elizabeth soon yielded to his persuasions, and a day was fixed
early in August. Cedric and Anna were to wait until the elder couple
returned from Scotland, and then Malcolm would give his adopted sister
away; and after a fair amount of grumbling, Cedric acquiesced in this
arrangement.
In the middle of June, Dinah and Elizabeth paid a long visit to 27
Queen's Gate, and Elizabeth did her shopping and saw the house in South
Kensington that Malcolm had described to her in such glowing terms. A
friend of his had recently bought it and furnished it in admirable
taste; and now his wife's ill-health obliged him to part with it, and
Malcolm was in treaty for it. The sisters were charmed with the house
when they saw it, and Elizabeth strongly advised Malcolm to take most
of the furniture. "It suits the house so exactly, and it will save you
so much trouble," she observed sensibly; "I know Dinah agrees with me."
And Dinah smiled and nodded.
"Die has made such a charming suggestion," continued Elizabeth, as she
stepped out through the French window at one end of the long
drawing-room on to a balcony, pleasantly shaded by an awning and
prettily fitted up with flower-boxes and Indian matting and delightful
lounging-chairs. "She says we must call this our town house, but that
the Wood House must be our country house. She wants us to be there ail
the summer and autumn;" and here Elizabeth looked at Malcolm rather
wistfully.
"And you think that arrangement would suit you?" he asked with a smile;
but he knew her answer before hand.
"Oh, I should love to be with Die;" she replied earnestly. "Dear, do
you mean that you will consent? Think what it would mean to me. I shall
not be separated from Mr. Carlyon and my poor people; and I do so love
the country; and we should have our winter and spring in town."
"I think it will work excellently," returned Malcolm in a tone of such
conviction that Elizabeth's doubts vanished. "I can do my work as well
at Staplegrove as here, and I love the country too. As long as we are
together and you are happy, I shall be satisfied."
"Dearest, how good you are," she whispered, with one of her rare, shy
caresses. "Die has planned everything so beautifully. You know the
large end room we call our morning-room, that is to be your study. You
are to have all your own books and things. Die is going to fit it up;
she says it is to be her wedding present to you. The smaller room near
it is to be the morning-room."
"But you will not leave me alone in my study!" observed Malcolm in an
alarmed voice. "Your writing-table must be there too, Elizabeth. Do you
think I could bear you out of my sight?"
Elizabeth laughed and blushed, and called him a foolish, jealous boy;
but in her heart she loved to think that she was the delight of his
eyes, and that every day she grew dearer to him.
It was the evening before the wedding, and a quiet little house-party
had assembled at the Wood House--Mrs. Herrick and Anna, Colonel and
Mrs. Godfrey; and Malcolm, who had taken up his quarters at the "King's
Arms," had joined them at dinner. The wedding was to be at an early
hour the next morning, and no other guests were to be invited. Colonel
Godfrey would give the bride away, and the vicar and Mr. Carlyon would
perform the ceremony between them. Anna would be the solitary
bridesmaid.
The sunset clouds were fading behind the little fir wood when Elizabeth
and Malcolm came out on the terrace. Elizabeth had been a little grave
and thoughtful during dinner, and Malcolm, who could read her
perfectly, knew that she was somewhat oppressed by all the talk. The
still peacefulness of the evening, only broken by the sleepy twittering
of the birds, seemed to calm and refresh her.
"Malcolm," she said presently, "did you hear what Mrs. Godfrey was
telling me at dinner--that Mr. Rossiter is coming to the Manor House?"
"Yes, I heard her," was the reply. "The Colonel was talking to me this
afternoon; he says it is a foregone conclusion that Leah Jacobi will
not refuse him a third time. His kindness and devotion after her
brother's death have already won her gratitude. Hugh Rossiter is one of
the best fellows I know," he observed, "and Leah will be a happy woman
the day she marries him. And marry him she will, you may take my word
for it."
"Poor Leah, I am so glad he cares for her. Of course you know Mrs.
Richardson is dying, Malcolm, and that she is likely to be left alone
in the world?"
"Yes, and then Hugh Rossiter will have his innings." And Malcolm was
right, for before long the news of Leah's marriage reached them.
"I am so glad Mrs. Godfrey told me that," went on Elizabeth. "I want
every one to be as happy as we are to-night. But for saying good-bye to
Die and Mr. Carlyon I should not have a care. I can think of David
without sadness, and life looks so beautiful. Dear," with the vivid,
bright smile he loved so well, "I am so glad you are an author and a
famous man--I shall be so proud of you; and though I cannot share your
work as some women could, I can help you in other ways. I must be your
right hand, Malcolm."
"Shall I tell you what you will be to me," he returned, in a voice of
deep, vibrating tenderness that thrilled her through and through. "I
once read an old Scandinavian ballad where a warrior calls his love 'My
dearest Rest.' 'Three grateful words,' the annotator goes on to say,
'and the most perfect crown of praise that ever woman won.' Shall I
call you that, Elizabeth?--'my dearest Rest.'"
"It is far too beautiful for me," she whispered; "I do not deserve it."
But even as Elizabeth said this, her woman's heart registered its first
wifely vow.
Yes, she would be that to him--his haven and comfort when he was weary
with the storm and stress of life--God helping her, now and for ever
"his dearest Rest."
THE END