Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife Part 128

'The best coming home I ever had, and the most surprising. I have seen so much that is unexpected, that I don't know how to realize it.'

'Heartsease,' was Percy's brief reply.

'Violet? You don't mean it!'

'The history of these years is this,' said Percy, making an emphatic mark on the gravel with his stick. 'Every one else has acted, more or less, idiotically. She has gone about softening, healing, guarding, stirring up the saving part of each one's disposition. If, as she avers, you and Helen formed her, you gave a blessing to all of us.'

'How can this be? No one has spoken of her power.'

'It is too feminine to be recognized. When you talk to the others you will see I am right. I will speak for myself. I verily believe that but for her I should have been by this time an unbearable disappointed misanthrope.'

'A likely subject,' said John, laughing.

'You cannot estimate the shock our rupture gave me, nor tell how I tried to say "don't care," and never saw my savage spite till her gentle rebuke showed it to me. Her rect.i.tude and unselfishness kept up my faith in woman, and saved me from souring and hardening. On the other hand, her firmness won Theodora's respect, her softness, her affection. She led where I drove, acted the sun where I acted Boreas; and it is she who has restored us to each other.'

'Highly as I esteemed Violet, I little thought to hear this! My father wrote that he regretted Theodora's having been left to one so little capable of controlling her.'

'Lord Martindale is a very good man, but he has no more discrimination of character than my old cat!' cried Percy. 'I beg your pardon, John, but the fact was patent. Mrs. Martindale is the only person who has ever been a match for Theodora. She conquered her, made her proud to submit, and then handed her over to the lawful authorities. If Lord Martindale has an unrivalled daughter, he ought to know whom to thank for it.'

'I hope he appreciates Violet.'

'In a sort he does. He fully appreciates her in her primary vocation, as who would not, who had watched her last winter, and who sees what she has made her husband.'

'Then you are satisfied about Arthur?'

'Better than I ever thought to be.'

'And, Percy, what is this that he tells me of your having rescued him at your own expense?'

'Has he told you all that?' exclaimed Percy.

'He wished me to know it in case of his death.'

'I could not help it, John,' said Percy, in apology. 'If you had seen her and her babies, and had to leave him in that condition on her hands, you would have seen there was nothing for it but to throw a sop to the hounds, so that at least they might leave him to die in peace.'

'It saved him! But why did you object to my father's hearing of it?'

'Because I knew he would dislike any sense of obligation, and that he could not conveniently pay it off. Besides, we had to keep Arthur's mouth shut out of consideration for the blood-vessel, so I told him to let it rest till you should come. I fancy we have all been watching for you as a sort of "Deus ex Machina" to clear up the last act of the drama, though how you are to do so, I cannot conceive.'

The next day was Sunday, almost the first truly homelike Sunday of John's life. Not only was there the churchgoing among friends and kindred after long separation, but the whole family walked thither together, as John had never known them do before; and with his mother on his arm, his little G.o.dson holding Lord Martindale's hand, Helen skipping between her father and mother, Theodora gentle and subdued, it seemed as if now, for the first time, they had become a household of the same mind.

It was one of the most brilliant days of summer--a cloudless sky of deep blue suns.h.i.+ne, in which the trees seemed to bask, and the air, though too fresh to be sultry, disposing to inaction. After the second service, there was a lingering on the lawn, and desultory talk about the contrast to the West Indian Sundays, and the black woolly-headed congregation responding and singing so heartily, and so uncontrollably gay and merry.

At length, when Johnnie and Helen, who had an insatiable appet.i.te for picaninny stories, had been summoned to supper, John and Violet found that the rest of their companions had dispersed, and that they were alone.

'I told you that Fanshawe came home with me,' said John. 'The new arrangements have increased his income;' then, as Violet looked up eagerly and hopefully,--'he made me a confidence, at which I see you guess.'

'I only hope mamma will not be anxious about the climate. I must tell her how well it has agreed with you.'

'I am glad that you think there are hopes for him. It has been a long attachment, but he thought it wrong to engage her affections while he had no prospect of being able to marry.'

'It is what we guessed!' said Violet. 'Dear Annette! If he is what I remember him, she must be happy.'

'I can hardly speak highly enough of him. I have found him a most valuable friend, and am sincerely glad to be connected with him; but, tell me, is not this the sister about whom Percy made a slight mistake!'

'Oh! do you know that story? Yes, it was dear Annette! Otherwise I should never have known about Mr. Fanshawe. It was only a vague preference, but it was very fortunate that it prevented any attachment to Percy, or it would have been hard to decide what would be right.'

'Percy was much obliged to you.'

'He was very kind not to be angry. I could have wished it exceedingly, but I am so glad that I did not persuade Annette, and particularly glad of this, for she has been out of spirits, and rather wasting her bloom at home, without much definite employment.'

'I understand. And did you never wish that you had influenced her otherwise?'

'If Percy and Theodora had not been reconciled, I thought I might have done so. It did seem a long time to go on in doubt whether I had acted for her happiness.'

'But you acted in faith that the straightforward path was the safest.'

'And now I am so thankful.' She paused, they were pa.s.sing the drawing-room, and saw Arthur lying asleep on the sofa. She stepped in at the French window, threw a light shawl over him, and closed the door.

'He did not sleep till daylight this morning,' she said, returning to John. 'Any excitement gives him restless nights.'

'So I feared when I saw those two red spots on his cheeks in the evening. I know them well! But how white and thin he looks! I want to hear what you think of him. My father considers him fully recovered. Do you?'

Violet shook her head. 'He is as well as could be hoped after such an illness,' she said; 'and Dr. L. tells him there is no confirmed disease, but that his chest is in a very tender state, and he must take the utmost care. That delightful mountain air at La.s.sonthwayte entirely took away his cough, and it has not returned, though he is more languid and tired than he was in the north, but he will not allow it, his spirits are so high.'

'I should like you to spend the winter abroad.'

'That cannot be. If he is able in October, he must join, and the regiment is likely to be in London all the winter,' said Violet, with a sigh.

'Then he does not mean to sell out?'

'No, we cannot afford it. We must live as little expensively as we can, to get clear of the difficulties. Indeed, now the horses are gone, it is such a saving that we have paid off some bills already.'

'Has Arthur really parted with his horses?'

'With all of them, even that beautiful mare. I am afraid he will miss her very much, but I cannot say a word against it, for I am sure it is right.'

'ALL the horses?' repeated John. 'What are you to do without a carriage horse?'

'Oh! that is nothing new. We have not had one fit for me to use, since the old bay fell lame three years ago. That does not signify at all, for walking with the children suits me much better.'

John was confounded. He had little notion of existence without carriages and horses.

'I shall have Arthur to walk with now. He promises Johnnie and me delightful walks in the park,' said Violet, cheerfully, 'if he is but well.'

'Ah! I see you dread that winter.'

'I do!' came from the bottom of Violet's heart, spoken under her breath; then, as if regretting her admission, she smiled and said, 'Perhaps there is no need! He has no fears, and it will be only too pleasant to have him at home. I don't think about it,' added she, replying to the anxious eyes that sought to read her fears. 'This summer is too happy to be spoilt with what may be only fancies, and after the great mercies we have received, it would be too bad to distrust and grieve over the future. I have so often thanked you for teaching me the lesson of the lilies.'