So the night pa.s.sed on, and Valentine remained motionless by the dying man"s bed. What her thoughts were, none might read.
At last, towards the break of day, the time when so many souls go away, Wyndham stirred faintly and opened his eyes. Valentine moved forward with an eager gesture. He looked at her, but there was no comprehension in his glance.
"What is the matter?" said Valentine to the nurse. "I scarcely know him--his face has altered."
"It looks young, madam. Dying faces often do so. Hark, he is saying something."
"Lilias," said Wyndham. "Lilly--mother calls us--we are to sing our evening hymn."
"Bright in the happy land!"
"Lilias, do you _hear_ mother; she is calling? Kneel down--our evening prayers--by mother--we always say our prayers by mother"s knee. Kneel, Lilias, see, my hands are folded--"Our Father"----"
There was a long pause after the last words, a pause followed by one more breath of infinite content, and then the nurse closed the dead man"s eyes.
CHAPTER LII.
TWO YEARS AFTER.
Augusta Wyndham was pacing up and down the broad gravel walk which ran down the centre of the rectory garden in a state of great excitement.
She was walking quickly, her hands clasped loosely before her, her tall and rather angular figure drawn up to its full height, her bright black eyes alert and watchful in their expression.
"Now, if only they are not interrupted," she said, "if only I can keep people from going near the rose-walk, he"ll do it--I know he"ll do it--I saw it in his eyes when he came up and asked me where Lilias was.
He hasn"t been here for six months, and I had given up all hope; but hope has revived to-day--hope springs eternal in the human breast. Tra la, la--la, la. Now, Gerry, boy, what do you want?"
A st.u.r.dy little fellow in a sailor suit stood for a moment in the porch of the old rectory, then ran with a gleeful shout down the gravel walk towards Augusta. She held out her arms to detain him.
"Well caught, Gerry," she said.
"It isn"t well caught," he replied with an angry flush. "I don"t want to stay with you, Auntie Gussie; I want to go to my--my own auntie. Let me pa.s.s, please."
"You saucy boy, auntie"s busy; you shall stay with me."
"I won"t. I"ll beat you--I won"t stay."
"If I whisper something to you, Gerry--something about Auntie Lil. Now be quiet, mannikin, and let me say my say. You love Auntie Lil, don"t you?"
"You know that; you do talk nonsense sometimes. I love father in heaven, and mother, and Auntie Lil."
"And me, you little wretch."
"Sometimes. Let me go to Auntie Lil now."
"I want to whisper something to you, Gerry. Auntie Lil is talking to someone she loves much better than you or me or anyone else in the world, and it would be very unkind to interrupt her."
Gerry was sitting on Augusta"s shoulder. From this elevated position he could catch a glimpse of a certain grey dress, and a quick flash of chestnut hair, as the sun shone on it--that dress and that hair belonged to Auntie Lil. It was no matter at all to Gerry that someone else walked by her side, that someone was bending his dark head somewhat close to hers, and that as she listened her steps faltered and grew slow.
Gerry"s whole soul was wounded by Augusta"s words. His Aunt Lilias did not love anyone better than him. It was his bounden duty, his first duty in life, to have such an erroneous statement put right at once.
He put forth all his strength, struggled down from Augusta"s shoulders, and before she was aware of it was speeding like an arrow from a bow to his target, Lilias.
"There, now, I give it up," said Augusta. "Awful child, what mischief may he not make? Don"t I hear his shrill voice even here! Oh, I give it up now; I shall go into the house. The full heat of the sun in July does not suit me, and if in addition to all other troubles Lilias is to have a broken heart, I may as well keep in sufficient health to nurse her."
Meanwhile Gerry was having a very comfortable time on Carr"s shoulder; his dark eyes were looking at his Aunt Lilias, and his little fat, hot hand was clasped in hers.
"Well," he said suddenly, "which is it?"
"Which is what, Gerry? I don"t understand."
"I think you are stoopid, Auntie Lil. Is it him or me?"
Then he laid his other fat hand on Carr"s forehead.
"Is it him or me?" said Gerry, "that you love the most of all the peoples in the world?"
"It"s me, Gerry, it"s me," suddenly said Adrian Carr; "but you come next, dear little man. Kiss him, Lilias, and tell him that he comes next."
"Gerald"s dear little boy," said Lilias. She took him in her arms and pressed her head against his chubby neck.
"Dear, dear little boy," she said. "I think you"ll always come second."
She looked so solemn when she spoke, and so beautiful was the light in her eyes when she raised her face to look at Gerry, that even he, most despotic of little mortals, could not but feel satisfied.
He ran away presently to announce to all and everyone within reach that Mr. Carr had kissed Auntie Lil like anything, and the newly-betrothed pair were left alone.
"At last, Lilias," said Carr.
She looked shyly into his face.
"I thought I should never win you," he continued. "I have loved you for years, and I never had courage to tell you so until to-day."
"And I have loved you for years," replied Lilias Wyndham.
"But not best, Lilly. Oh, I have read you like a book. I never came before Gerald in your heart."
"No," she said letting go his hand, and moving a step or two away, so that she should face him. "I love you well, beyond all living men, but Gerald stands alone. His place can never be filled."
The tears sprang into her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
"And I love you better for loving him so, my darling," answered her lover. He put his arms round her, and she laid her head on his breast.
For a long time they paced up and down the Rose-walk. They had much to say, much to feel, much to be silent over. The air was balmy overhead, and the rose-leaves were tossed by the light summer breeze against Lilias" grey dress.
Presently she began to talk of the past. Carr asked tenderly for Valentine.