"Thank you, I will come in May." And then Phillis woke up to the perception of what she had said. "Oh, no, I did not meant that," she began, incoherently; but this time it was Archie who moved away, with a smile on his face and a certain vivid brightness in his eyes, and her stammered words were lost in the darkness.
The whole week was much occupied by paying farewell visits. On the last afternoon Phillis went down to the White House to say good-bye.
It was one of Magdalene"s bad days; but the unquiet hour had pa.s.sed, and left her, as usual, weak and subdued. Her husband was sitting beside her: as Phillis entered he rose with a smile on his lips. "That is right, Miss Challoner!" he said, heartily. "Magdalene always looks better the moment she hears your voice. Barby is unfortunately out, but I can leave her happily with you."
"Is he not good?" exclaimed his wife, as soon as he had left them. "He has been sitting with me all the afternoon, my poor Herbert, trying to curb his restlessness, because he knows how much worse I am without him. Am I not a trying wife to him? and yet he says he could not do without me. There, it has pa.s.sed: let us talk of something else. And so you are going to leave us?" drawing the fresh face down to hers, that she might kiss it again.
"Yes, to-morrow!" trying to stifle a sigh.
"There are some of us that will not know what to do without you. If I am not very much mistaken, there is one person who----" but here the girl laid her hand hurriedly on her lips. "What! I am not to say that?
Well, I will try to be good. But all the same this is not good-bye.
Tell your mother from me that she will not have her girls for long.
Captain Middleton has lost his heart, and is bent on making that pretty little sister of yours lose hers to; and as for you, Phillis----" but here Phillis stooped, and silenced her this time by a kiss.
"Ah, well!" continued Magdalene, after a moment"s silence, as she looked tenderly into the fair face before her; "so you have finished your little bit of play-work, and are going back into your young-ladyhood again?"
"It was not play-work!" returned Phillis, indignantly: "you say that to provoke me. Do you know," she went on, earnestly, "that if we should have had to work all our lives as dressmakers, Nan and I would have done it, and never given in. We were making quite a fine business of it. We had more orders then we could execute; and you call that play? Confess, now, that you repent of that phrase!"
"Oh, I was only teasing you," returned Magdalene, smiling. "I know how brave you were, and how terribly in earnest. Yes, Phillis, you are right; nothing would have daunted you; you would have worked without complaint all your life long, but for that red-haired Alcides of yours."
"Dear Harry! how much we owe to him!" exclaimed Phillis.
"No, dear, you will owe your happiness to yourself,--the happiness,"
as the girl looked at her in surprise, "that is coming to you and Dulce. It was because you were not like other girls--because you were brave, self-reliant gentlewomen, afraid of nothing but dishonor; not fearful of small indignities, or of other people"s opinions, but just taking up the work that lay to your hands, and going through with it--that you have won his heart: and, seeing this, how could he help loving you as he does?" But to this Phillis made no answer.
The next day was rather trying to them all. Phillis"s cheerfulness was a little forced, and for some time after they had left the Friary--with Grace and Archie waving their farewells from the road--she was very silent.
But no sooner had they crossed the threshold of Glen Cottage than their girlhood a.s.serted itself. The sight of the bright snug rooms, with their new furniture, the conservatory, with its floral treasures, and Sir Harry"s cheery welcome, as he stood in the porch with Mrs.
Mayne, was too much even for Phillis"s equanimity. In a few minutes their laughing faces were peering out of every window and into every cupboard.
"Oh, the dear, beautiful home! Isn"t it lovely of Harry to bring us back!" cried Phillis, oblivious of everything at that moment but her mother"s satisfied face.
In a few days they had settled down into their old life. It was too early for tennis while snowdrops and crocuses were peeping out of the garden borders. But in the afternoon friends dropped in in the old way, and gathered round the Challoner tea-table; and very soon--for Easter fell early that year--d.i.c.k showed himself among them, and then, indeed, Nan"s cup of happiness was full.
But as April pa.s.sed on Phillis began to grow a little silent again; and it became a habit with her to coax Laddie to take long walks with her, when Nan and Dulce were otherwise engaged. The exercise seemed to quiet her restlessness; and the spring sights and sounds, the budding hedgerows, and the twittering of the birds as they built their nests, and the fresh leafy green, unsoiled by summer heat and dust, seemed to refresh her flagging spirits.
It was the 1st of May, when one afternoon she called to Laddie, who was lying drowsily in the sunny porch. Nan, who was busily engaged in training the creeper round the pillars of the veranda, looked up in a little surprise:
"Are you going out again, Phil? And neither Dulce nor I can come with you. Mrs. Mayne has some friends coming to five-o"clock tea, and she wants us to go over for an hour. It is so dull for you, dear, always to walk alone."
"Oh no; I shall not be dull, Nannie," returned Phillis, with an unsteady smile, for her spirits were a little fluctuating that afternoon. "I am restless, and want a good walk: so I shall just go to Sandy Lane, and be back in time to make tea for mother." And then she waved her hand, and whistled to Laddie as she unlatched the little gate. It was a long walk. But, as usual, the quiet and the sweet air refreshed her, and by the time she reached Sandy Lane her eyes were brilliant with exercise, and a pretty pink tinge of color was in her cheeks. It is May-day,--the 1st of May. I wonder how soon he will come, she thought, as she leaned on the little gate where poor d.i.c.k had leaned that day.
There were footsteps approaching, but they made no sound over the sandy ruts. A tall man, with a fair beard and a clerical felt hat, was walking quickly up the road that leads from Oldfield; and as he walked his eyes were scanning the path before him, as though he were looking for some one. At the sight of the girl leaning against the gate his face brightened, and he slackened his steps a little, that he might not startle her. She was looking out across the country with a far-off, dreamy expression, and did not turn her head as he approached. It was Laddie who saw him first, and jumped up with a joyous bark to welcome him; and then she looked round, and for a moment her eyes grew wide and misty, for she thought it was a continuation of her dream.
"Laddie saw me first," he said, stepping up quietly to her side,--for he still feared to startle her,--and his voice was very gentle.
"Phillis, you must not look so surprised! Surely you expected me? It is the 1st of May!"
"Oh, I knew that," she said; and then she turned away from him. But he had not dropped her hand, but was holding it very quietly and firmly.
"But I could not tell the day; and----"
"Did you think I should wait an hour beyond the time you fixed?" he answered, very calmly. "May is your favorite month; and what could be more beautiful than May-day for the purpose I have in hand! Phillis, you will not go back from your promise now? You said you would listen to me in May."
There was no answer to this; but, as Archie looked in her face, he read no repulse there. And so, in that quiet lane, with Laddie lying at their feet, he told all he had to tell.
"Are you sure you can trust me now, Phillis?" he asked, rather wistfully, when he had finished. "You know what I am, dear--a man with many faults."
"Yes; now and forever," she answered, without a moment"s hesitation.
"I am not afraid--I never should have been afraid to trust you, I have faults of my own: so why should I wish you to be perfect? I care for you as you are; you will believe that?" for there was almost a sad humility in his face as he pleaded with her that went to her heart.
"Oh, yes; I believe what you tell me. You are truth itself, my darling,--the bravest and truest woman I have ever met. You do not know how happy you have made me, or how different my life will be when I have you by my side. Phillis, do you know how glad Grace will be about this?"
"Will she?" returned Phillis, shyly. They were walking homeward now, hand in hand toward the sunset,--so, at least, it seemed to the girl.
No one was in sight, only the quiet country round them bathed in the evening light, and they two alone. "Archie!" she exclaimed, suddenly, and her beautiful eyes grew wistful all at once, "you will not let this make any difference to Grace? She loves you so; and you are all she has at present. You must never let me stand between you two. I am not so selfish as that."
"You could not be selfish if you tried, dearest. How I wish Grace could have heard you! No; you are right. We must not let her suffer from our happiness. But, Phillis, you know who must come first now."
And then, as she smiled in full understanding, he put her hand upon his arm, and held it there. His promised wife,--Archie"s wife! Ah, the Drummond star was rising now in earnest! His life lay before him, like the road they were now entering, white and untrodden and bathed in the sunlight. What if some clouds should come, and some shadows fall, if they might tread it together to the end? And so, growing silent with happiness, they walked home through the sunset, till the spring dusk and the village lights saw them standing together on the threshold of Glen Cottage, and the dear faces and loving voices of home closed around them and bade them welcome.
THE END