Olivia had expected Greta quite early, but she did not make her appearance until late in the afternoon. She had been detained, she said--nurse had asked her to take her place for a couple of hours. And then she looked anxiously at Olivia.
"I am afraid Alwyn is ill," she observed; but Olivia a.s.sured her that it was only a temporary break-down. "We have such good news of Mr.
Gaythorne that he cannot fail to be cheered, but of course he is fretting about the loss of his mother and sister. It was such a shock, you see, and, as my husband says, we must give him time to pull himself together. But you do not look very well yourself, Greta; you are terribly pale."
"Oh, that is nothing," she returned. "I suppose I was too much excited, for I could not sleep for hours. I seemed to be living through my old life again. They were such happy days, Mrs. Luttrell; one"s existence was not meagre and colourless then."
"I wish you would tell me a little about it all," observed Olivia as she ensconced Greta in the most comfortable chair. "You cannot imagine how it interests me." And then Miss Williams smiled.
"Oh, you are so sympathetic--that is your great charm; but indeed I love to dwell on that part of my life. You know the Gaythornes lived at Medlicott Grange. It was a quaint, picturesque, old house, covered with ivy, and with a lovely garden. There was a lime-walk that was delicious on hot summer afternoons; I can smell the limes now.
"Mr. Gaythorne, who had been abroad a great many years, had taken a fancy to the place and half thought of buying it, but he changed his mind later.
"We lived at the Lodge, a much smaller house, looking over the village green; it was rather an inconvenient house, full of small rooms all opening out of each other, and long, rambling pa.s.sages; but dear mother and I were very fond of it. We liked the three-cornered little drawing-room with its bay-window, where we could sit and work and watch the old men in their grey smocks having a palaver under the big elm in the centre of the green.
"Mrs. Luttrell"--interrupting herself--"do you know Ivy Dene Lodge is to let now? I saw the advertis.e.m.e.nt in the _Standard_. Now, I should love to live there again. If anything happened to poor father I know I should go back there; it is the only place I ever called home. Don"t you love a village green, with geese waddling over it and a big pond where little bare-legged urchins are always sailing their boats, and then the church and the lich-gate and the vicarage smothered in creepers?"
"Why, Greta, what a charming description! You quite make me long to see it."
"But it is not as charming as it really is; even strangers allow that Medlicott is a pretty village. It is true that Ivy Dene has not much of a garden--just a little patch of lawn and a mulberry tree and a flower-bed or two; but as I spent most of my time in the Grange garden that did not matter.
"Dear mother was always so unselfish. She would never let me stay at home with her. She thought it good for me to be with young people of my own age, and so Olive and Alwyn and I were always together. Olive was my friend, but I always looked upon Alwyn as a dear younger brother. He is not really much younger--only a few months--but I was always a little older than my age."
"He must have been very handsome," observed Olivia, and Greta coloured slightly.
"Yes; all the Gaythornes were handsome. Mr. Gaythorne himself was a fine, stately-looking man, only a little foreign and unusual in his dress. I was always a little afraid of him, and I never approved of the way he treated Alwyn. He had been over-indulged and petted in his boyhood, but later on his father thwarted him unnecessarily. He was always calling him to account for some foolish imprudence. And though his mother and Olive shielded him as much as possible, there were often sad scenes at the Grange. Mr. Gaythorne had set his heart on Alwyn"s reading for the Bar. He thought he had sufficient money and influence to warrant the hope that his only son might eventually enter Parliament, but Alwyn had already secretly determined to be an artist.
He detested his law studies and could not be induced to work, and spoilt all his father"s plans.
"As I told you last night," finished Greta, "they were both to blame.
But at the time I could not help taking Alwyn"s part. He was not good to his father, and often lost his temper and said disrespectful things.
But Mr. Gaythorne had no right to be so tyrannical.
"When my mother died father would not hear of our living at Ivy Dene.
He said he hated the place, and we went to America for a year or two, and there I heard of Olive"s death. Olive had told me in her letters of Alwyn"s disappearance.
""There has been an awful scene," she wrote, "poor dear mother has been so ill. Father thinks that Alwyn has done something very wrong, but of course neither mother nor I believe it for a moment, though it cannot be denied that appearances are terribly against him. Forgive me, dearest Greta, if I do not enlarge on this painful subject. We do not know what has become of Alwyn; but we think he has enlisted."
"This was the last letter I received from Olive. Before many months had pa.s.sed she died at Rome, and her mother did not long survive her."
CHAPTER XVI.
BUSY DAYS.
"Rely upon it, the spiritual life is not knowing or learning, but doing. We only know so far as we can do; we learn to do by doing; and we learn to know by doing; what we do truly, rightly, in the way of duty, that and only that we are."--_Rev. Frederick Robertson_.
When Alwyn heard that Greta was downstairs, he brightened perceptibly.
"She is a dear creature," he said; "except in looks she has not changed a bit. She used to be rather a pretty girl,--interesting-looking, that was the word for Greta; but she is very graceful still. Will you give my love to her, Mrs. Luttrell? I shall hope to see her to-morrow or the next day," and then he turned wearily on his pillow, as though talking were too great an effort.
The following afternoon Greta came earlier; but, as she was unable to stay long, Olivia found an opportunity of going round to Mayfield Villas.
It was just in the gloaming,--Aunt Madge"s rest hour, as she called it,--and there was unmistakable gladness in her voice, when Olivia"s tall figure appeared on the threshold. "Welcome, welcome, little stranger," she said, merrily; "do you know, Livy, that you have played truant for four whole days. I was just thinking of sending Deb round this evening to know if anything were the matter. Oh, I see," as her bright, penetrating glance read her niece"s face. "You have something wonderful to tell me. Draw up your chair and I will be as quiet as a mouse. I am a splendid listener, as my dear Fergus used to say."
"Something wonderful," repeated Olivia, breathlessly. "Why, Aunt Madge, I feel as though I were in the third volume of a sensational novel. What do you think? Robert Barton, whom Marcus found starving on a doorstep, is Mr. Gaythorne"s long-lost son, Alwyn."
It was evident that Mrs. Broderick was intensely surprised, for she quite flushed up with excitement.
"Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning. I will not interrupt,"
she said, quickly, and Olivia, nothing loath, gave a graphic account of the afternoon at Galvaston House.
"Is it not grand, Aunt Madge?" she finished, but Mrs. Broderick"s voice was not so steady as usual as she answered,--
"So the blessing has come to him, and he will have his heart"s desire; but there is a heavy load laid on him, too, poor, stricken man. Oh, Livy, we must just pray for him until he is able to pray for himself."
"His brain is really much clearer to-day," returned Olivia; "he spoke quite sensibly to Marcus, only his speech is a little affected. He asked why his son had left the house, and then Marcus told him that he was weak and needed rest, and that I was taking care of him.
""Crampton will see that he has all he requires," he said, and Mrs.
Crampton came over of her own accord last night. Do you know, Aunt Madge, I felt so ashamed of her seeing him in that bare little room, and I tried to explain to her that it was only a sort of disused lumber room, but she soon made plenty of suggestions for his comfort. She has sent a pair of thick curtains for the window, and a big rug that nearly covers the floor, and a softer mattress and another pillow. And now the room looks so cosy. Marcus quite stared when he went up this morning. It was quite touching to see Mr. Alwyn with her. He actually kissed her and called her his dear old "Goody." I find she has lived with them ever since they were quite children. I think she was Olive"s nurse. And the fuss she made over him, calling him her "poor, ill-used lamb." It almost made me cry to hear her."
"Poor fellow, he has certainly had his fill of husks."
"Yes, indeed; but Mrs. Crampton is determined to kill the fatted calf now. The things she sends over would feed half a dozen prodigal sons,--game and soups, and jellies and fruit. She says her master has given her _carte blanche_, and that the doctor has laid a great stress on nourishment, so of course we can say nothing."
"Well, Livy, your life is not exactly stagnant just now."
"No, indeed; but, oh, there is one thing I forgot to tell you. Marcus has another patient,--that is number five. Actually the surgery bell rang twice yesterday."
Mrs. Broderick clapped her hands. Then she said, in a teasing voice, "Are you not glad that you kept Martha?" and Olivia laughed.
"Why, Aunt Madge," she said in an amused tone, "Marcus actually proposed this morning that we should get an older and more capable servant, but I told him I would rather work twice as hard than part with Martha; she is such a good, willing little soul."
"Of course, as long as Mr. Alwyn keeps his room we shall have plenty of running about, and Dot is cutting some more teeth, and is rather fretful, so our hands are full; but the only thing that troubles me is that I see so little of Marcus. He is out most of the evening, either at Galvaston House or in Brunswick Place. Alas, things are no better there, and if this influenza epidemic comes on, as the doctors predict, he will have a busy spring."
"No doubt, but as we have only to live one day at a time, we will not trouble our heads about that. Well, you have given me food enough for some days. I shall send Deb round to-morrow evening to inquire after the invalids, but you must not come again until you are more at leisure. Teething troubles and the care of a sick man are enough for any woman."
"Dear Aunt Madge!" exclaimed Olivia, affectionately. "If I could only be as unselfish as you. I do believe you never think of yourself at all."
"Nonsense," returned Mrs. Broderick, "I am an old bundle of selfishness. Well, I shall be thinking of those two poor things. My heart aches for that young man, but I pity his father, too. I was reading about the deaf man with an impediment in his speech this morning; it is the lesson for to-day, you know, and I could not help pondering for some time on those words, "Jesus took him apart from the mult.i.tude." Just as though quiet and stillness were needed for the healing. I think that is the lesson that sickness teaches us; the poor sufferer is led apart to wait for the word of healing; sometimes he waits long, but the time has not been lost. "Lord, it is good for us to be here;" I think some of us will say that when our painful sojourning at the Mount of Suffering is over. Yes, it is good for us to have drunk of His cup without complaining."
Aunt Madge"s eyes had a dreamy look in them; the beautiful voice vibrated in Olive"s ear like music; but as she stooped to kiss her, somewhat awed by her unusual solemnity, the old kind smile returned to her lips.
"Good-bye, Livy darling, my love, and congratulations to Marcus."
Olivia was putting a good face on things, but Marcus, oppressed with the heavy responsibility of three serious cases, hardly knew how hard she worked from morning to night. Dot, feverish and fretful, was always wanting to be in her mother"s arms. Martha, with all her willingness, was too young and inexperienced to be a very efficient help; so, although Olivia always wore a bright expression when Marcus came in for his meals, and chatted to him in her old cheerful way, she was often too weary to sleep.
It was a relief, therefore, when Alwyn was able to leave his room and lie on the couch downstairs. Greta"s afternoon visits were then a real boon; she could leave them together while she went out and did her business.