Daddy's Girl Part 39

"What, darling?"

"Something to you and to him. I want you both to be happy. I'm tremendous anxious that you should both be happy, and I think--I wouldn't like to say it to mother, for perhaps it will hurt her, but I do fancy that, perhaps, I'm going to have wings, too, not like dolly's, but real ones, and if I have them I might----"

"What, darling?"

"Fly away to my beautiful Lord Jesus. You don't know how I want to be close to Him. I used to think that if I got into father's heart I should be quite satisfied, but even that, even that is not like being in the heart of Jesus. If my wings come I must go, Lady Helen. It will be lovely to fly up, won't it, for perhaps some day I might get tired of lying always flat on my back. Mother doesn't know, darling mother doesn't guess, and I wouldn't tell her for all the wide world, for she thinks I'm going to get quite well again, but one night, when she thought I was asleep, I heard Nursie say to Miss Winstead, 'Poor lamb, she'll soon want to run about again, but she never can, never.'

I shouldn't like to be always lying down flat, should you, Lady Helen?"

"No, darling, I don't think I should."

"Well, there it is, you see, you wouldn't like it either. Of course I want to see father again, but whatever happens he'll understand. Only if my wings come I must fly off, and I want everyone to be happy before I go."

Lady Helen had great difficulty in keeping back her tears, for Sibyl spoke in a perfectly calm, contented, almost matter-of-fact voice which brought intense conviction with it.

"So you must marry Mr. Rochester," she continued, "for you both love each other so very much."

"That is quite true," replied Lady Helen.

Sibyl looked at her with dilated, smiling eyes. "The Lombard Deeps Mine is full to the brim with gold," she said, in an excited voice. "I know--Lord Grayleigh told me. He has it all wrote down in his pocket-book, and you and Mr. Rochester are to have your share. When you are both very, very happy you'll think of me, won't you?"

"I can never forget you, my dear little girl. Kiss me, now--see! the angel doll is finished."

"Oh, isn't it lovely?" said the child, her attention immediately distracted by this new interest. "Do take it down to mother. She's dressing the stall where the dolls are to be sold; ask her to put the angel doll at the head of all the other dolls. Take it to mother now.

I can watch from my window--do go at once."

Lady Helen was glad of an excuse to leave the room. When she got into the corridor outside she stopped for a moment, put her handkerchief to her eyes, made a struggle to subdue her emotion, and then ran downstairs.

The great marquee was already erected on the lawn, and many of the stall-holders were arranging their stalls and giving directions to different workmen. Mrs. Ogilvie was flitting eagerly about. She was in the highest spirits, and looked young and charming.

"Sibyl sent you this," said Lady Helen.

Mrs. Ogilvie glanced for a moment at the angel doll.

"Oh, lay it down anywhere, please," she said in a negative tone. But Lady Helen thought of the sweet blue eyes looking down on this scene from the Chamber of Peace. She was not going to put the angel doll down anywhere.

"Please, Mrs. Ogilvie," she said, "you must take an interest in it."

There was something in her tone which arrested even Mrs. Ogilvie's attention.

"You must take a great interest in this doll," she continued. "Little Sibyl thinks so much of it. Forgive me, Mrs. Ogilvie, I----"

"Oh, what is it now," said Mrs. Ogilvie, "what can be the matter?

Really everyone who goes near Sibyl acts in the most extraordinary way." She looked petulantly, as she spoke, into Lady Helen's agitated face.

"I cannot help thinking much of Sibyl," continued Lady Helen, "and I am very--more than anxious about her. I am terribly grieved, for--I think----"

"You think what? Oh, please don't begin to be gloomy now. You have only seen Sibyl for the first time since her accident. She is very much better than she was at first. You cannot expect her to look quite well all of a sudden."

"But have you had the very best advice for her?"

"I should rather think so. We had Sir Henry Powell down twice.

Everything has been done that could be done. It is merely a question of time and rest. Time and rest will effect a perfect cure; at least, that is my opinion."

"But what is Sir Henry Powell's opinion?"

"Don't ask me. I don't believe in doctors. The child is getting better, I see it with my own eyes. It is merely a question of time."

"Sibyl is getting well, but not in the way you think," replied Lady Helen. She said the words with significance, and Mrs. Ogilvie felt her heart throb for a moment with a sudden wild pain, but the next instant she laughed.

"I never knew anyone so gloomy," she said, "and you come to me with your queer remarks just when I am distracted about the great bazaar. I am almost sorry I asked you here, Lady Helen."

"Well, at least take the doll--the child is looking at you," said Lady Helen. "Kiss your hand to her; look pleased even if you are not interested, and give me a promise, that I may take to her, that the angel doll shall stand at the head of the doll stall. The child wishes it; do not deny her wishes now."

"Oh, take her any message you like, only leave me, please, for the present. Ah, there she is, little darling." Mrs. Ogilvie took the angel doll in her hand, and blew a couple of kisses to Sibyl. Sibyl smiled down at her from the Chamber of Peace. Very soon afterward Lady Helen returned to her little friend.

It was on the first day of the bazaar when all the big-wigs had arrived, when the fun was at its height, when the bands were playing merrily, and the little pleasure skiffs were floating up and down the s.h.i.+ning waters of the Thames, when flocks of visitors from all the neighborhood round were crowding in and out of the marquee, and people were talking and laughing merrily, and Mrs. Ogilvie in her silvery white dress was looking more beautiful than she had ever looked before in her life, that a tired, old-looking man appeared on the scene.

Mrs. Ogilvie half expected that her husband would come back on the day of the bazaar, for if the _Sahara_ kept to her dates she would make her appearance in the Tilbury Docks in the early morning of that day.

Mrs. Ogilvie hoped that her husband would get off, and take a quick train to Richmond, and arrive in time for her to have a nice straight talk with him, and explain to him about Sibyl's accident, and tell him what was expected of him. She was anxious to see him before anyone else did, for those who went in and out of the child's room were so blind, so persistent in their fears with regard to the little girl's ultimate recovery; if Mrs. Ogilvie could only get Philip to herself, she would a.s.sure him that the instincts of motherhood never really failed, that her own instincts a.s.sured her that the great doctors were wrong, and she herself was right. The child was slowly but gradually returning to the paths of health and strength.

If only Ogilvie came back in good time his wife would explain these matters to him, and tell him not to make a fool of himself about the child, and beg of him to help her in this great, this auspicious occasion of her life.

"He will look very nice when he is dressed in his, best," she said to herself. "It will complete my success in the county if I have him standing by my side at the door of the marquee to receive our distinguished guests."

As this thought came her eyes sparkled, and she got her maid to dress her in the most becoming way, and she further reflected that when they had a moment to be alone the husband and wife could talk of the wonderful golden treasures which Ogilvie was bringing back with him from the other side of the world. Perhaps he had thought much of her, his dear Mildred, while he had been away.

"Men of that sort often think much more of their wives when they are parted from them," she remembered. "I have read stories to that effect. I dare say Philip is as much in love with me as he ever was.

He used to be devoted to me when first we were married. There was nothing good enough for me then. Perhaps he has brought me back some jewels of greater value than I possess; I will gladly wear them for his sake."

But notwithstanding all her dreams and thoughts of her husband, Ogilvie did not come back to his loving wife in the early hours of the first day of the bazaar. Neither was there any message or telegram from him. In spite of herself, Mrs. Ogilvie now grew a little fretful.

"As he has not come in time to receive our guests, if I knew where to telegraph, I would wire to him not to come now until the evening," she thought. But she did not know where to telegraph, and the numerous duties of the bazaar occupied each moment of her time.

According to his promise Lord Grayleigh was present, and there were other t.i.tled people walking about the grounds, and Lady Helen as a stall-holder was invaluable.

Sibyl had asked to have her white couch drawn nearer than ever to the window, and from time to time she peeped out and saw the guests flitting about the lawns and thought of her mother's great happiness and wonderful goodness. The band played ravis.h.i.+ng music, mostly dance music, and the day, although it was late in the season, was such a perfect one that the feet of the buyers and sellers alike almost kept time to the festive strains.

It was on this scene that Ogilvie appeared. During his voyage home he had gone through almost every imaginable torture, and, as he reached Silverbel, he felt that the limit of his patience was almost reached.

He knew, because she had sent him a cable to that effect, that his wife was staying in a country place, a place on the banks of the Thames. She had told him further that the nearest station to Silverbel was Richmond. Accordingly he had gone to Richmond, jumped into the first cab he could find, and desired the man to drive to Silverbel.

"You know the place, I presume?" he said.

"Silverbel, sir, certainly sir; it is there they are having the big bazaar."

As the man spoke he looked askance for a moment at the occupant of his cab, for Ogilvie was travel-stained and dusty. He looked like one in a terrible hurry. There was an expression in his gray eyes which the driver did not care to meet.

"Go as fast as you can," he said briefly, and then the man whipped up his horse and proceeded over the dusty roads.

"A rum visitor," he thought; "wonder what he's coming for. Don't look the sort that that fine young lady would put up with on a day like this."