AT HOME.
Another sunset, red and gorgeous, over swelling English meadows, waving
trees, and grassy terrace, lighting up with its crimson radiance the
gray forest of Thetford Towers.
In the pretty, airy summer drawing-room, this red sunset streams through
open western windows, kindling everything into living light. It falls on
the bright-haired, girlish figure, dressed in floating white, seated in
an arm-chair in the center of the room: too childish looking, you might
fancy, at first sight, to be mamma to that fat baby she holds in her
lap; but she is not a bit too childish. And that is papa, tall and
handsome and happy, who leans over the chair and looks as men do look on
what is the apple of their eye and the pride of their heart.
"It is high time baby was christened, Guy," Lady Thetford--for, of
course, Lady Thetford it is--was saying; "and, do you know, I'm really
at a loss for a name. You won't let me call him Guy, and I shan't call
him Noel--and so what is it to be?"
"Rupert, of course," Sir Guy suggests; and little Lady Thetford pouts.
"He doesn't deserve the compliment. Shabby fellow! To keep wandering
about the world as he does, and never to answer one's letter; and I sent
him half a ream last time, if I sent him a sheet, telling all about
baby, and asking him to come and be godfather, and coaxing him with the
eloquence of a female Demos--what-you-may-call-him. And to think it
should be all of no use! To think of not receiving a line in return! It
is using me shamefully, and I don't believe I will call baby Rupert."
"Oh, yes you will, my dear! Well, Smithers, what is it?"
For Mr. Smithers, the butler, stood in the doorway, with a very pale and
startled face.
"It's a gentleman--leastways a lady--leastways a lady and gentleman. Oh!
here they come theirselves!"
Mr. Smithers retired precipitately, still pale and startled of visage,
as a gentleman, with a lady on his arm, stood before Sir Guy and Lady
Thetford.
There was a cry, a half shout, from the young baronet, a wild shriek
from the lady. She sprung to her feet, and, nearly dropped the precious
baby.
"Rupert! Aileen!"
She never got any further--this impetuous little Lady Thetford; for she
was kissing first one, then the other, crying and laughing and talking,
all in one breath.
"Oh, what a surprise this is! Oh, Rupert! I'm so glad, so glad to see
you again! Oh, Aileen! I never, never hoped for this! Oh! good gracious,
Guy, did you ever!"
But Guy was wringing his brother's hand, with bright tears standing in
his eyes, and quite unable to reply.
"And this is the baby, May? The wonderful baby you wrote me so much
about," Mr. Rupert Thetford said. "A noble little fellow, upon my
word--and a Thetford from top to toe. Am I in season to be godfather!"
"Just in time; and we are going to call it Rupert; and I was just
scolding dreadfully because you hadn't answered my letter, never
dreaming that you were coming to answer in person! I would as soon have
expected the man in the moon. And Aileen, too! And to think you should
be married, after all! Oh, gracious me! Do sit down and tell me all
about it!"
It was such a delightful evening, so like old times, and May in the
possession of a baby, that Rupert and Aileen nearly went delirious with
delight.
"And you are going to remain in England?" Sir Guy eagerly asked, when he
had heard a resume of those past five years. "Going to reside at Jocyln
Hall?"
"Yes; and be neighbors, if you will let us."
"Oh, I am so glad!"
"I promised Aileen; and now--now I am willing to be at home in England,"
and he looked fondly at his wife.
"It is just like a fairy-tale," said May.
"We haven't yet been to Jocyln Hall. We came at once here, to see this
prodigy of babies--my wonderful little namesake."
Very late that night, when the reunited friends sought their chambers,
May lifted her golden head off the pillow, and looked at her husband
entering the room.
"It's so very odd, Guy," slowly and drowsily, "to think that, after all,
a _Rupert Thetford_ should be SIR NOEL'S HEIR."