Wee Wifie Part 22

"What a nice idea, and you live together in this dear old house; how delightful!"

Raby's smile grew perceptibly sadder.

"We were not always alone. What is it Longfellow says?

"'There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair.'

But, as you say, we live together, the old bachelor and old maiden brother and sister."

"Miss Ferrers is not an old maid," returned Fay, indignantly, on whom Margaret's stately presence had made a deep impression. "You ought not to speak so of your sister."

"Do you like the name of unappropriated blessing better, as I heard an unmarried lady called once?" he asked, in an amused voice; "but, no, that would not be true in Margaret's case, for her brother has appropriated her."

A gentle smile pa.s.sed over Margaret's face. "I shall be here as long as you want me, Raby," and then, as though she would turn the subject, she asked Fay if she read much, and which were her favorite books. But she soon saw her mistake.

"I am afraid I am very stupid," returned Fay, blus.h.i.+ng a little, "but I do not care to read very much. Aunt Griselda--she was the aunt with whom I lived until I was married--did not like me to read novels, and heavy books send me to sleep."

"I dare say you are too busy to read," interposed Raby rather hastily; "with such a household as yours to manage, you must be sufficiently employed."

"Oh, but I have not so much to do after all," replied Fay, frankly.

"When I married I was terribly afraid that I should never know how to manage properly; the thoughts of accounts especially frightened me, because I knew my sums would not ever come right if I added them up a dozen times."

"Ladies generally hate accounts."

"Oh, but I have none to make up," returned Fay, with a merry Laugh; "Hugh, I mean my husband, attends to them. If I have bills I just give them to him. And Mrs. Heron manages everything else; if there are any orders she goes to Sir Hugh. He says I am so young to be troubled about things, and that I don't understand how to regulate a large household. We lived in such a tiny cottage, you see, and Aunt Griselda never taught me anything about housekeeping."

"Yes, I see," observed Raby rather absently; he was wondering what Margaret would say to all this.

"I never thought things would be quite so easy," went on Fay, gayly.

"Now if Hugh, I mean my husband, says two or three gentlemen are coming to dinner, I just tell Mrs. Heron so, and she tells Ellerton, and then everything is all right. Even when things go wrong, as they will sometimes, Sir Hugh does all the scolding; he says I am each a little thing that they might only laugh at me; but I tell him I shall never be taller if I live to be an old woman."

Mr. Ferrers kept his thoughts to himself, but he said kindly, "I dare say you find plenty of little duties for yourself, Lady Redmond."

"Oh, yes, I am always busy," returned Fay, seriously; "Mrs. Heron says that she is sure that I shall grow thin with so much running about, but unless I am driving or riding, or Erle is talking to me, I do believe I am never still for many minutes at a time. Oh, I do work sometimes, only one can not work alone, and I go to the poultry-yards and the stables. Bonnie Bess always has a feed of corn from my hand once a day, and there are all the animals to visit, and the greenhouses and the hot-houses, for I do like a chat with old Morison; and there is Catharine's dear little baby at the lodge, and the children at the Parkers' cottage; and I like to help Janet feed and clean my birds, because the dear little things know me. Oh, yes, the day is not half long enough for all I have to do," finished Fay, contentedly.

CHAPTER XVII.

"I AM ONLY WEE WIFIE."

This would plant sore trouble In that breast now clear, And with meaning shadows Mar that sun-bright face.

See that no earth poison To thy soul come near!

Watch! for like a serpent Glides that heart disgrace.

Ask to be found worthy Of G.o.d's choicest gift, Not by wealth made reckless, Nor by want unkind; Since on thee dependeth That no secret rift Mar the deep life-music Of her guileless mind.

PHILIP STANHOPE.

Raby felt as though he were listening to a child's innocent prattle as Fay chattered on in her light-hearted way. In spite of his deep knowledge of human nature he found himself unaccountably perplexed.

Margaret had spoken to him, as they sat together over their luncheon, of the flower-like loveliness of the little bride, and yet he found himself unable to understand Hugh Redmond's choice; his thoughtful, prematurely saddened nature could not conceive how any man of Hugh's age could choose such a child for his life-companion. With all her sweet looks and ways he must grow weary of her in time.

Perhaps her freshness and innocence had bewitched him; there was something quaint and original about her nave remarks. The disappointed man might have found her brightness refres.h.i.+ng--her very contrast to Margaret might have been her attraction in his eyes. Well, Raby supposed that it was all right; no doubt she was an idolized little woman. Hugh seemed to keep her in a gla.s.s case; nothing was allowed to trouble her. She will be thoroughly spoiled by this sort of injudicious fondness, thought Raby, perfectly unconscious how far he was from grasping the truth.

It was Margaret who began to feel doubtful; her womanly intuition perceived that there was something wanting; she thought Lady Redmond spoke as though she were often alone.

"I suppose you are never dull?" she asked, gently.

"Oh, no," returned Fay, with another gay little laugh. "Of course we have plenty of callers; just now the snow has kept them away, but then I have had our cousin Erle. Oh, he is such a pleasant companion, he is so good-natured and full of fun. I shall miss him dreadfully when he goes back to London next week."

"You will have to be content with your husband's society," observed Raby, smiling. It was a pity that neither he nor Margaret saw the lovely look on Fay's face that answered this; it would have spoken to them of the underlying depths of tenderness that there was in that young heart.

"Oh, yes," she returned, simply, "but then, you see, Hugh, I mean my husband, is so extremely busy, he never comes in until luncheon has been waiting ever so long, and very often he has to go out again afterward. Sometimes, when I know he has gone to Pierrepoint, I ride over there to meet him. He used to ride and drive with me very often when we first came home," she continued, sorrowfully, "but now he has no time. Oh, he does far too much, every one tells him so; he is so tired in the evening that he is hardly fit for anything, and yet he will sit up so late."

Raby's sightless eyes seemed to turn involuntarily to the window where Margaret sat, her pale face bending still lower over her work. This last speech of Lady Redmond's perplexed him still more. The Hugh who had courted Margaret had been a good-natured idler in his eyes; he had heard him talk about his shooting and fis.h.i.+ng with something like enthusiasm; he had been eager to tell the number of heads of grouse he had bagged, or to describe the exact weight of the salmon he had taken last year in Scotland, but Raby had never looked upon him as an active man of business. If this were true, Hugh's wife must spend many lonely hours, but there was no discontented chord in her bright voice.

"I feel dreadfully as though I want to help him," continued Fay. "I can not bear to see him so tired. I asked him to let me go and visit some of the poor people who belong to us--he is building new cottages for them, because he says that they are living in tumble-down places only fit for pigs--but he will not hear of it; he says I am too young, and that he can not allow me to go into such dirty places, and yet he goes himself, though he says it makes him feel quite ill."

Margaret's head drooped still lower, her eyes were full of tears; he had not forgotten then! he had promised to build those cottages when she had begged him to do so. She remembered they had chosen the site together one lovely September evening, and he had told her, laughing, that it should be his marriage-gift to her. They had planned it together, and now he was carrying it out alone; for Fay owned the moment afterward that she did not know where the new cottages were; she must ask Hugh to take her one day to see them, but perhaps he would rather that she waited until they were finished.

Margaret was beginning to feel strangely troubled; a dim but unerring instinct told her that Fay was more petted than beloved. It was evident that Hugh lived his own life separate from her, submerged in his own interests and pursuits, and her heart grew very pitiful over Fay as she realized this. If she could only meet Hugh face to face; if she could only speak to him. She felt instinctively that things were not altogether right with him. Why did he not try to guide and train the childish nature that was so dependent on him? why did he repress all her longings to be useful to him, and to take her share of the duties of life? Surely her extreme youth was no excuse, she was not too young to be his wife. Margaret told herself sadly that here he was in error, that he was not acting up to his responsibilities, to leave this child so much alone.

Fay's frankness and simplicity were touching Margaret's heart; even this one interview proved to her that under the girlish crudities there was something very sweet and true in her nature; the petty vanities and empty frivolous aims of some women were not to be traced in Fay's conversation. Her little ripple of talk was as fresh and wholesome as a clear brook that shows nothing but s.h.i.+ning-pebbles under the bright current; the brook might be shallow, but it reflected the suns.h.i.+ne.

Margaret's thoughts had been straying rather sorrowfully, when a speech of Fay's suddenly roused her.

"I do wish we could be friends," she observed, rather piteously. "I am sure my husband must like you both, for he spoke so nicely about you; it is such a pity when people get to misunderstand each other."

"My dear Lady Redmond," returned Raby, kindly, "it is a pity, as you say; and we have no ill feeling to your husband; but, I dare say he is wise if he does not think it possible for us to have much intercourse.

Sir Hugh and I do not agree about things," went on Raby after a slight hesitation; "perhaps he will tell you the reason some day; but you may be sure that on this point your husband knows best,"--for he felt himself in a difficulty.

"Of course Hugh is always right," returned Fay with much dignity.

"When I said it was a pity, it was only because I like you both so much, and that I know I shall want to see you again."

"You are very good," replied Raby, but there was embarra.s.sment in his tone; it was evident that Hugh's wife knew nothing about his previous engagement to Margaret. It was a grievous error, he told himself, for one day it must come to her ears; why, the whole neighborhood was cognizant of the fact. She would hear it some day from strangers, and then the knowledge that her husband had not been true to her--that he had kept this secret from her--would fill her young heart with bitterness; and as these thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind, Margaret clasped her hands involuntarily: "The first mistake," she murmured; "the first mistake."

Just then the sound of carriage wheels was distinctly audible on the gravel sweep before the house, and the next moment Erle entered the room.

"I am sorry to have been so long," he said, apologetically, and Fay thought he seemed a little flurried, "but Hugh asked me to go round and put off those people; they all seemed dreadfully sorry to hear of your accident, Fay."

"And Hugh?" with a touch of anxiety in her voice.

"Oh, Hugh seemed rather put out about the whole business. I think he wanted to pitch into me for not taking better care of you. How is the foot, Fay--less painful?"

"Oh, yes, and I have been so comfortable; Mr. and Miss Ferrers have been so good to me. I suppose I ought to go now,"--looking regretfully at Margaret, who had laid aside her work.

"Well, I don't think we ought to lose any more time," observed Erle; "the days are so awfully short, you know, and really these roads are very bad."