"Never again to part, Eleanor," said he.
"Never, never," she answered.
He strained her to his breast, and her tears of unutterable joy mingled
with his kisses.
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"Nurse--nurse Abbot, here is Aunty crying, and a strange gentleman
kissing her. Oh! nurse, do come here."
But nurse Abbot drew the twins from the corridor into their nursery, and
kept them there as long as she thought proper.
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When Colonel Frankfort had been married a year or two, people who had
been mystified about Mrs Lyle's widowhood forgot everything but that
she was the sweetest and gentlest and most, lowly-mannered lady they had
ever seen. The old air of melancholy was so habitual to her, she would
have been less charming without it. The sisters were near neighbours
during half the year, and for one month in their lives were united with
all their South African friends; for the Daveneys paid another visit to
England, and the Trails accompanied them. May and Fitje and Ellen were
on the establishment; Mr Trail had brought them home as honest and rare
specimens of what Christianity had done for South Africa. Gray and
Amayeka--we never _can_ call her Mrs Gray--were left in charge of
school and pupils, and did their duty well in the good teacher's
absence.
Sir Adrian Fairfax himself examined the register in the old church in
Cornwall, and finding that the death of the curate's daughter preceded
Sir John Manvers's second marriage, he never revealed the sad history of
Sir John's earlier years.
Not long since, I saw two charming pictures of the sisters in the
exhibition of the Royal Academy. They were in the characters of Day and
Night. I recognised them, though they were not mentioned by name in the
catalogue. Marion stood in the sunlight, with a smile on her face and
the glow of summer on her azure scarf. Eleanor was seated in the shade
of twilight, with the sea in the distance, and a star rising over her
head and irradiating her pale and thoughtful brow.
Were her thoughts wandering over those shining depths to the wilderness
where her boy lay buried far from any kindred?
I heard a deep sigh behind me as I stood contemplating these sweet
portraits. I turned, and recognised in the somewhat roue-looking young
man behind me Clarence Fairfax. A celebrated _danseuse_ of the day hung
upon his arm, but she was too much occupied with another admirer to
notice his abstracted gaze.
I hope Eleanor did not meet this idol of her former fancy. I saw her
five minutes after with her husband and sister. Her veil was down, and
I could only hear the music of her gentle and cordial salutation. And
then, as exciting intelligence from Southern Africa was filling the
papers of the day, she asked, "Is there any news from Kafirland?"