It was well that the mother and child had fallen into the hands of these good Samaritans. In spite of her wretchedness and the strange weight that lay so heavy on her young heart, a sort of hazy comfort stole over Fay as she lay between the coa.r.s.e lavender-scented sheets, and listened to her baby"s cooes as he stretched his little limbs in the warm fire-light.
"Ay, he is as fine and hearty as our Robbie was," observed Mrs.
Duncan, with a sigh; and so she prattled on, now praising the baby"s beauty, and now commenting on the fineness of his cambric shirts, and the value of the lace that trimmed his night-dress, until Fay fell asleep, and thought she was listening to a little brook that had overflowed its banks, and was running down a stony hill-side.
She hardly woke up when Mrs. Duncan placed the baby in her arms, and left them with a murmured benediction, and went down for a gossip with Jean. "And a lovelier sight my old eyes never saw," she said, "than that young creature, who looks only a child herself, with the bonnie boy in her arms, and her golden-brown hair covering them both. "Deed, Jean, the man must have an evil spirit in him to ill-treat a little angel like that. But we will keep her safe, my woman, as sure as my name is Jeanie Duncan;" and to this Jean agreed. They were both innocent unsophisticated women who knew nothing of the world"s ways, and as Mrs. Duncan had said, "they would as soon have turned a shorn lamb away, and left it exposed to the tempest," as shut their door against Fay and her child.
Fay was not able to rise from the bed the next day; indeed for more than a week she was almost as helpless as a baby, and had to submit to a great deal of nursing.
Mrs. Duncan was quite in her element--petting her guest, and ordering Jean about; for she was a brisk, bustling little woman, and far more active than her three-score and ten years warranted.
It was a delight to her motherly nature to dress and undress Fay"s bonny boy. She would prose for hours about Robbie and Elsie as she sat beside the homely cradle that had once held her own children, while Fay listened languidly. It was all she could do to lie there and sleep and eat. Perhaps it was bodily exhaustion, but a sort of lull had come to her. She ceased to fret, and only wondered dreamily if Hugh were very pleased to get rid of her, and what he was doing, and who dusted and arranged his papers for him now she was no longer there. But of course Mrs. Heron would see to that.
Jean had plenty of work on her hands, but she never grumbled. There was the baby"s washing and extra cooking, and the care of her old master. But in spite of her hard work, she often contrived to find her way to the pink room; for Jean worshiped babies, and it was a proud moment when she could get the boy in her arms and carry him out for a breath of air.
Mrs. Duncan told Fay that she had had great difficulty in making her husband understand the facts of the case. "His brain was just a wee bit clouded to every-day matters," she said; but he knew that he had guests at the Manse, and had charged his wife to show every hospitality.
"There is a deal said about the virtue of hospitality in the Bible,"
he continued. "There was Abraham and the fatted calf; and the good widows in the apostles" time who washed the feet of strangers; and some have entertained angels unaware; and it shall never be said of us, Jeanie woman, that we turned anybody from the Manse."
Fay went to see the old man when she was strong enough to leave her room, which was not for a fortnight after her arrival.
She found him lying on one side of the big bed with brown moreen hangings that she remembered so well, with his white head pillowed high, and his fine old face turned to the setting sun.
He looked at her with a placid smile as she stood beside him--a small girlish figure, now sadly frail and drooping, with her boy in her arms--and held out his left hand--the right arm was helpless.
"Mother and child," he murmured; "it is always before our eyes, the Divine picture; and old and young, it touches the manhood within us.
So you have come to bide a wee with Jeanie and me in the old Manse, my dear young lady; ay, and you are kindly welcome. And folks do say that there is no air so fine as ours, and no milk so pure as our brindled cow gives, and may be it will give you a little color into your cheeks."
"Don"t you remember me, Mr. Duncan?" asked Fay, somewhat disappointed to find herself treated like an ordinary visitor. "Don"t you remember Fay Mordaunt, the little girl who used to play with you in the orchard? but I am afraid I was older than I looked."
"Elsie used to play with me in the orchard," replied the old man, wistfully; "but Jeanie says she has gone to Heaven with wee Robbie.
Nay, I never remember names, except Jeanie--and may be Jean comes handy. And there is one I never forget--the name of my Lord Jesus;"
and he bowed his old head reverently.
"Come away, my bairn; Donald will have plenty to say to you another time," said Mrs. Duncan, kindly. "He is a bit drowsy now, and he is apt to wander at such times." But the minister heard her, and a sort of holy smile lit up his rugged face.
"Ay, but He"ll not let me wander far; I have always got a grip of His hand, and if my old feet stumble a bit I"m just lifted up. No, I could not forget His name, which is just Love, and nothing else. But perhaps you are right, Jennie, la.s.s, and I am a bit sleepy. Take both the bairns away, and watch over them as though they were lambs of the fold--and so they are lambs of His fold," finished the old man. "And may be the Shepherd found them straying, poor bit creatures, and sent them here for you and me to mind, my woman."
CHAPTER x.x.xIV.
TRACKED AT LAST.
Thus it was granted me To know that he loved me to the depth and height Of such large natures; ever competent, With grand horizons by the sea or land, To love"s grand sunrise.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
It was at the close of a lovely September day that Raby Ferrers sat alone in the piazza of a large fashionable boarding-house in W----.
This favorite American watering-place was, as usual, thronged by visitors, who came either to seek relief for various ailments from the far-famed hot springs, or to enjoy the salubrious air and splendid scenery that made W---- so notorious.
The piazza was always the favorite lounge at all hours of the day, but especially toward evening. A handsome striped awning, and the natural shade of the splendid tropical plants that twined round the slender pillars, gave a pleasant shade even at noonday. Broad low steps led to the gardens, and deck-chairs and cushioned rocking-chairs were placed invitingly at intervals.
A gay bevy of girls had just taken possession of these coveted seats, and were chattering with the young men who had just followed them out of the hot dining-room; but no one invaded the quiet corner where the English clergyman had established himself, though many a pair of laughing eyes grew a little sad and wistful when they rested on the grave, abstracted face of the blind man.
"He looks so dull," observed one girl--a fair delicate blonde, who was evidently the belle, for she was surrounded by at least half a dozen young men. "I have half a mind to go and speak to him myself, only you would all be watching me."
"Miss Bellagrove can not fail to be the cynosure of all eyes,"
returned a beardless dapper young man with the unmistakable Yankee accent; but to this remark Miss Bellagrove merely turned a cold shoulder.
"His sister has been away most of the afternoon," she continued, addressing a good-looking young officer who held her fan. "It was so clever of you to find out that she was his sister, Captain Maudsley. I had quite made up my mind they were married; yes, of course, every one must notice the likeness between them, but then they might have been cousins, and she does seem so devoted to him." But here a whispered admonition in her ear made Miss Bellagrove break off her sentence rather abruptly, as at that moment Miss Ferrers"s tall figure, in the usual gray gown, was seen crossing one of the little lawns toward the piazza.
"She is wonderfully distinguished looking," was Miss Bellagrove"s next remark. "Most Englishwoman are tall, I do believe; don"t you think her face beautiful, Captain Maudsley?" but the reply to this made Miss Bellagrove change color very prettily. Raby was profoundly oblivious of the interest he was exciting; he was wondering what had detained Margaret all these hours, and if she would have any news to bring him.
As yet their journey had been fruitless. They had reached New York just as Miss Campion and her companion had quitted it; they had followed on their track--but had always arrived either a day or an hour too late. Now and then they had to wait until a letter from Fern gave them more decided particulars. Occasionally they made a mistake, and found that Miss Campion had changed her plans. Once they were in the same train, and Margaret never found it out until she saw Crystal leave the carriage, and then there was no time to follow her. Margaret shed tears of disappointment, and blamed herself for her own blindness; but Raby never reproached her.
He was growing heart-sick and weary by this time. They had spent six weeks in this search, and were as far from success as ever--no wonder Raby"s face looked grave and overcast as he sat alone in the piazza.
Even Margaret"s protracted absence raised no sanguine expectation in his mind; on the contrary, as his practiced ear recognized her footstep, he breathed a short prayer for patience.
"Dear Raby," she said, softly, as she took a seat beside him and unfastened the clasps of her long cloak; "I have been away a longer time than usual; have you been wanting me?"
"Oh, no," with a faint smile; "Fergusson took care of me at dinner, and I had a pleasant American widow on the other side, who amused me very much--she told me some capital stories about the Canadian settlers; so, on the whole, I did very well. I begin to like Fergusson immensely; he is a little broad, but still very sensible in his views.
He comes from c.u.mberland, he tells me, and has rather a large cure of souls."
"Yes, dear"--but Margaret spoke absently--"but you do not ask me what I have been doing, Raby."
"No"--very slowly; and then, with a touch of sadness: "I begin to think it is better not to ask."
"Poor fellow"--laying her hand on his arm caressingly. "Yes, I understand you are beginning to lose hope. What did I tell you last night--that it is always the darkest the hour before dawn. Do you remember how fond Crystal was of that song? Well, it is true, Raby; I have been stopping away for some purpose this afternoon. Crystal and Miss Campion are here."
"Here!" and at Raby"s exclamation more than one head turned in the direction of the brother and sister.
"Yes, in W----. Do not speak so loud, Raby; you are making people look at us. Take my arm, and we will go into the shrubberies; no one will disturb us there." And as she guided him down the steps, and then crossed a secluded lawn, Raby did not speak again until the scent of the flowering shrubs told him they had entered one of the quiet paths leading away from the house.
"Now, tell me, Maggie," he said, quickly; and Margaret obeyed at once.
"I was at the station, as we planned, and saw them arrive; so for once the information was correct. Crystal got out first, and went in search of the luggage. I concealed myself behind a bale of goods--wool-packs, I believe--and she pa.s.sed me quite closely; I could have touched her with my hand. She looked very well, only thinner, and I think older; it struck me she had grown, too, for she certainly looked taller."
"It is possible; and you really saw her face, Margaret?"
"Yes; she was looking away. She is as beautiful as ever, Raby. No wonder people stare at her so. She is as much like your ideal Esther as she used to be, only there is a grander look about her altogether--less like the girl, and more of the woman."
"Ah, she has suffered so; we have all aged, Maggie. She will think us both changed."
Margaret suppressed a sigh--she was almost thankful that Raby"s blind eyes could not see the difference in her. He was quite unconscious that her youthful bloom had faded, and that her fair face had a settled, matured look that seldom comes before middle age; and she was glad that this was so. Neither of them spoke now of the strange blight that had pa.s.sed over her young life. Margaret had long ceased to weep over it; it was her cross, she said, and she had learned its weight by this time.