It was an accident--so people said at Merland, and from being a wonder
for a time, it was soon forgotten; and when, pale and weak from many
months of illness, Ada Lee was seen out, with the tall bronzed soldier
pushing her invalid chair, or reading to her from some book, the gossips
of the village used to prophesy. And yet no word of love had passed
between the invalid and her companion. Ada's prolonged stay at the
Rectory had resulted in Mrs Elstree wishing her to make it her home, on
the grounds of her own loneliness, now that Sir Murray Gernon had, on
account of his wife's health, decided to remain in Italy, where he had
taken a residence on the shores of Como. While Ada, continuing weak and
ill, accepted Philip's attentions with a smile of pleasure, though there
was sorrow at her heart, which bled daily for the sufferings of her
companion.
For time seemed to bring no healing to the wounds of Philip Norton, who,
apparently disgusted with life, had sold out from the army, to settle
down at his own place, Merland Hall, seeing no one, visiting nowhere
save at the Rectory.
But the result was what might have been expected. Philip Norton awoke
one day to the fact that there was happiness for him yet in this world,
and he told himself it would be his duty to devote his life to the
suffering invalid--to the blighted woman who paid penalty for his sin.
And one evening, when the sun was glowing ruddily in the west, Philip
Norton rested his brown hand upon the thin transparent fingers, and
then, in the stillness of the evening, he asked her, in low, earnest
tones, if she would take him as her protector.
"Ada," he said, calmly, "I cannot love. You know all; but I owe you my
life. Will you take that life now, with such devotion as I can attach
to it, such tenderness as time will enable me to weave with it? I know
I am but a broken, disappointed man; but you know my weaknesses and
sufferings; you can help me to get through my journey, and, perhaps, in
time you may learn to love me."
Ere he had finished speaking another trembling, fluttering hand was
raised, to be placed upon his strong arm, and then, leaning forward,
Ada's poor thin pale lips were pressed upon his hand, as one might
salute a king, and then softly whispering to herself the words, "At
last! At last! Thank God!" the invalid sank back in her chair,
fainting from the wild tumult of joyful feelings that, in her then weak
state, seemed almost more than she could bear.
For Ada Lee was dying; not, perhaps, in the ordinary sense of the word,
for she might have lived on for years; but, none the less, she was
fading away. One disappointment she had fought down; but the news of
Norton's death had preyed heavily upon her. Then had come his return,
the shock, the adventures of the wedding-day, and, lastly, the wound.
Her by no means strong constitution had given way beneath this, when, in
addition, there had ever been the pang of hope deferred, and the sick
heart finding no ease.
It was a strangely unimpassioned wooing, that of Philip Norton; but Ada
was content; and at the end of five years, bright, happy of face, and
only slightly more matronly, she came one day into her husband's study,
to find him stern and thoughtful--looks which passed away as if by
magic, as the sturdy little fellow she led by the hand ran to him and
climbed upon his knee.
"Is there anything the matter?" exclaimed Ada anxiously, as she leaned
upon her husband's shoulder.
"Matter! No, love!" said Norton, heartily--another man now, his face
lighting up with pleasure as his child snatched first at pens, then at
paper, everything within reach--"unless it is with this young rebel; but
what made you ask?"
"Philip," she said, softly, "you keep nothing from me, dear: do not
begin now."
"Well, there," he said, "I won't;" and he drew her nearer towards him.
"Heaven forbid that I should from the woman to whom I owe life and
happiness such as no other man could enjoy. But you see," he said,
slightly hesitating, "I have been over to the Rectory this morning."
"Yes," said Ada, anxiously.
"And they have had a letter from Italy."
"Well, Philip?" she said, laying her head against his cheek, as one arm
drew her nearer and nearer, while the other toyed with the boy's curls.
"Well, darling, it is nothing; but I could not help it: the news seemed
to cause me a vague feeling of uneasiness--nothing but a passing cloud--
for thoughts will go backwards sometimes. Not complimentary, that," he
said, laughing; "but I meant no more, love, than a general reference to
old troubles."
"I know--I know," she said, with unruffled countenance; "but what was
the news?"
"Well, dear, it was that workmen are to be sent up to the Castle
directly; and there's to be painting, and paper-hanging, and
re-furnishing, and Heaven knows what beside; and I was thinking that
Merland has done for years past now uncommonly well with the Castle in
its present state, and that, if I had my will, it should remain as it
is."
"And all this means, dear?" said Mrs Norton, quietly.
"Yes, of course," laughed Norton. "Now, did you ever see anything like
the dog? Both his fingers in the ink! Yes, it means, of course, that
after five years of absence the Gernons are coming home."
Book 1, Chapter IX.