A week or two pa.s.sed and Virgie appeared to be improving, when, one morning, there came a cablegram from Heathdale, announcing that the dowager Lady Heath was alarmingly ill, and imploring the baronet"s immediate return if he desired to see her alive.
The message threw the young husband into a distressing state of mind.
It seemed like harshest cruelty to obey the summons and leave his wife alone in that strange city. And yet the alternative of remaining and allowing his mother to die without seeing him once more, seemed almost equally unkind.
He sought Dr. Knox again in his extremity and explained his desperate situation.
"I could not answer for the consequences if you take your wife; it will be a fearful risk for Mrs. Heath to go. She might endure the voyage safely, but the probabilities are that she would not," the physician gravely told him. "But," he added, kindly, "I sympathize with you--I appreciate your dilemma, and, if you must go, I advise you to leave her in my charge and I promise faithfully to give her every attention during your enforced absence."
This seemed the only thing to be done and Sir William finally decided to return to his home alone.
Virgie herself urged him to go, though her heart was almost breaking at the thought of the separation, for it might be that she would never see him again.
Still she was brave--she put aside her own feelings out of regard for the duty which he owed his mother, and there was a possibility that he could return to her in the course of two or three weeks.
"Do not feel unduly anxious for me, Will," she said to him, on the evening before he was to sail, "I know that Dr. Knox will do all for me that you can wish. I will either write or send some message to you by every steamer, and I am going to trust that everything will be well."
"But it is agony to me to leave you--oh! my darling, if your heart fails you in the least, if you say you prefer to have me stay, I will not go even now," he said, his own courage failing him and having more than half a mind to renounce his intended voyage even at that late hour.
"No, dear, I know that it is your duty to go," Virgie answered, gently. "I should never forgive myself, if your mother should die, for keeping you from her at such a time."
"But if--I should lose you, too," he was going to say, but checked himself and concluded, "but if you should be neglected and unhappy?"
"I shall not be, Will; you have provided against the former contingency most generously, and the latter I can regulate myself. I will not be unhappy, for I know that you are doing right and that you will return to me the moment that you are at liberty to do so."
"Indeed I shall," he answered, as he gathered her close to his breast and rained pa.s.sionate kisses upon her lovely face.
But his heart was very heavy notwithstanding her apparent cheerfulness.
A superst.i.tious dread seemed to have seized him, warning him that some fearful calamity would follow this separation. He was not given to such unreasonable imaginings, and he reproached himself for indulging in them; but he could not shake them off nevertheless.
Morning came and with it the hour of departure and the last farewells.
Virgie wore a brave and even smiling face through all. She had resolved that she would not unman him at the last moment.
She watched at her window until he drove away, waving her handkerchief and throwing him a kiss as he pa.s.sed from sight, then the pent-up grief of her heart found vent in a wild burst of tears such as she had not shed since the hour of her father"s death.
But she would not indulge it long.
She had every comfort. Her rooms were cheerful and elegant; a motherly, middle-aged woman had been engaged to remain with her as companion and nurse during her husband"s absence; she had an abundance of money at her command, and Dr. Knox had promised to look in upon her every day. Surely she had nothing to complain of, save the enforced separation from her dear one, and that would not be for long, she trusted.
The ninth day after the departure of Sir William there came a cablegram, telling of his safe arrival at Liverpool, and this, at his request, she immediately responded to, telling him that all was well with her.
The next steamer, she knew, would bring her a letter and after that she would hear from him every few days.
Sir William found his mother alive, but in a very low state; "she might rally, she might not," they told him; and, with a sigh of resignation, he could only wait and try to patiently adapt himself to circ.u.mstances.
Thus four weeks went by, and then, early one June morning, a message went flying through the depths of the ocean, telling that a tiny little maiden, with eyes and hair like her father"s, but bidding fair to become the counterpart of her mother in form and features had come to Virgie the morning previous, and "all was well."
The fervent "thank G.o.d!" accompanied with something very like a sob, which burst from Sir William Heath"s lips as he read this message, told how intense had been his anxiety during the weeks of his absence from his darling, and how great his relief at those favorable tidings.
He returned a message of love and congratulation, and when, a little later, there came a letter to the happy young mother, it begged that their little one should be called "Virgie May," the latter name being that of a dear sister of whom Sir Will had been very fond, and who had died several years previous.
And thus the little heiress of Heathdale was christened by her mother.
Chapter XI.
"You Have Overstepped All Bounds."
Sir William Heath could hardly control his impatience to fly to his dear ones across the water.
His fond heart yearned mightily to behold his child and to clasp once more the beautiful wife who had now become dearer than ever to him.
But his mother"s condition did not improve; she still lay hovering between life and death, and he knew that he must not leave her until there was some change either for the better or worse.
Her disease was partial paralysis, which, however, had not affected her brain, and her son"s return and presence appeared to be of the greatest comfort to her.
Still she was liable, at any hour, to have another shock, which would doubtless prove fatal, and Sir Herbert Randal--an eminent London physician--commanded perfect quiet and freedom from all excitement, since the least anxiety or disturbance of any kind would bring the dread messenger which they all feared so much.
Thus it seemed as if the young baronet was hopelessly bound to Heathdale for the present.
Not a word had pa.s.sed between him and his mother regarding his marriage.
Knowing how displeased she had been at the time of it, and fearing to excite her if he recalled the event to her mind, he had thought it best to say nothing, but leave her to broach the subject whenever she should feel inclined, although he wondered that she did not make some inquiry regarding his young wife whom the family had expected he would bring with him to Heathdale.
The meeting with his sister had been somewhat cold and formal, for he could not forget how harshly she had expressed herself regarding his choice, while she could not and would not forgive him for disappointing all her ambitious hopes for him.
Like his mother, she ignored the subject of his marriage not deigning to make the slightest inquiry regarding his wife, although she had been greatly astonished at the non-appearance of Virgie, and was burning with curiosity to know why he had returned alone.
This negligence and obstinacy on her part made Sir William very indignant, and after the first excitement consequent upon his arrival had subsided, he determined to a.s.sert himself, and have it distinctly understood that his wife was henceforth to be recognized as a member of and a power in his household.
Therefore, the morning following his return he had drawn Lady Linton into the library, and after conducting her, with something of formal politeness, to a seat, remarked:
"Miriam, you have not yet done me the honor to inquire after Lady Heath."
Lady Linton bowed coldly, and lifted her fine eyebrows questioningly.
Sir William flushed angrily.
"It is evident that you are still very angry with me, and intend to annoy me upon this point," he continued, sternly, "and we may as well understand each other at the outset. I shall demand and expect that my wife when I bring her home, will be received with all the honor and courtesy which has ever been accorded to the mistress of Heathdale in the past."
Again Lady Linton bowed; but she did not deign to open her lips in response, although a spot of vivid red settled in either cheek.
"She is worthy of it in every respect," her brother resumed a gleam of fire in his eye, "and will grace the position which I have given her as well as the most noted London belle could do. I have pictures of her here--perhaps you will do me the favor to look at them."