by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XXVII.--TWO MOTHERS.
"Here is a letter for you, ma'am."
Nancy was standing by her mistress, who, in a traveling cloak andbonnet, had just come home.
"For me, Nancy?" said the lady of the forest in a tired voice. "Who canwant to write to me? And yet, and yet--give it to me, Nancy."
"It has the London postmark, ma'am. Dear heart, how your hands doshake!"
"It is evening, Nancy, and to-morrow will be the 5th of May. Can youwonder that my hands shake? Only one brief summer's night, and my day ofbliss arrives!"
"Read your letter, ma'am; here it is."
Mrs. Lovel received the envelope with its many postmarks, for it hadtraveled about and performed quite a little pilgrimage since it leftAvonsyde some days ago. Something in the handwriting caused her tochange color; not that it was in the ordinary sense familiar, but in avery extraordinary manner it was known and sacred.
"The ladies of Avonsyde have been true to the letter of their promise!"she exclaimed. "This, Nancy," opening her letter and glancing hastilythrough it, "is the invitation I was promised six years ago for Rachel'sthirteenth birthday. It has been sent to the old, old address. Theladies have not forgotten; they have kept to the letter of theirengagement. Nancy dear, let me weep. Nancy, to-morrow I can make my ownterms. Oh, I could cry just because of the lifting of the pain!"
"Don't, my dear lady," said Nancy. "Or--yes, do, if it eases you. Thedear little lassies will be all right to-morrow--won't they, Mrs. Lovel?"
"I shall see them again, Nancy, if you mean that."
"Yes, of course; but they'll be heiresses and everything--won't they?"
"Of course not. What do you mean?"
"I thought Master Phil had no chance now that the tankard is really lostand can never be found."
"What do you know about the tankard?"
"Nothing. How could I? What less likely? Oh! look, ma'am; there's acarriage driving through the forest, right over the green grass, as sureas I'm here. Now it's stopping, and four people are getting out--a ladyand three gentlemen; and they are coming here--right over to the cottageas straight as an arrow from a bow. Oh, mercy me! What do this mean?"
"Only some tourists, I expect. Nancy, don't excite yourself."
"No, ma'am, begging your pardon, they ain't tourists. Here they're allstepping into the porch. What do it mean? and we has nothing at all inthe house for supper!"
A loud peal was now heard from the little bell. Nancy, flushed andagitated, went to open the door, and a moment later Mr. Baring, Mrs.Lovel, and Rupert Lovel and his son found themselves in the presence ofthe lady of the forest. Nancy, recognizing Mrs. Lovel and concludingthat she had discovered all about the theft of the tankard, went and hidherself in her own bedroom, from where she did not descend, even thoughshe several times fancied she heard her mistress ring for her.
This, however, was not the case; for a story was being told in that tinyparlor which caused the very remembrance of Nancy to fade from all thelisteners' brains. Mrs. Lovel, little Philip's mother, was thespokeswoman. She told her whole story from beginning to end, very muchas she had told it twice already that day. Very much the same words wereused, only now as she proceeded and as her eyes grew dim with the agonythat rent her heart, she was suddenly conscious of a strange andunlooked-for sympathy. The other mother went up to her side and, takingher hand, led her to a seat beside herself.
"Do not stand," she whispered; "you can tell what you have to say bettersitting."
And still she kept her hand within her own and held it firmly. Bydegrees the poor, shaken, and tempest-tossed woman began to return thisfirm and sympathizing pressure; and when her words died away in awhisper, she turned suddenly and looked full into the face of themysterious lady of the forest.
"I have committed a crime," she said, "but now that I have confessedall, will God spare the boy's life?"
The other Mrs. Lovel looked at her then with her eyes full of tears, andbending forward she suddenly kissed her.
"Poor mother!" she said. "I know something of your suffering."
"Will the boy live? Will God be good to me?"
"Whether he lives or dies God will be good to you. Try to rest on that."
* * * * *
That same evening Miss Katharine tried to soothe away some of therestlessness and anxiety which oppressed her by playing on the organ inthe hall. Miss Katharine could make very wonderful music; this was herone great gift. She had been taught well, and when her fingers touchedeither piano or organ people were apt to forget that at other times shewas nothing but a weak-looking, uninteresting middle-aged lady. Seatedat the organ, Miss Katharine's eyes would shine with a strange, newradiance. There was a power, a sympathy in her touch; her notes wereseldom loud or martial, but they appealed straight to the innermosthearts of those who listened.
Miss Katharine did not very often play. Music with her meant somethingalmost as sacred as a sacrament; she could not bring her melodies intothe common everyday life; but when her soul burned within her, when shesought to express a dumb pain or longing, she went to the old organ forcomfort.
On this evening, as the twilight fell, she sat down at the organ andbegan to play some soft, pitiful strains. The notes seemed to cry, as ifthey were in pain. One by one the children stole into the hall and cameup close to her. Phil came closest; he leaned against her side andlistened, his sweet brown eyes reflecting her pain.
"Don't!" he said suddenly. "Comfort us; things aren't like that."
Miss Katharine turned round and looked at the little pale-faced boy,from him to Rachel--whose eyes were gleaming--to Kitty, who washalf-crying.
"Things aren't like that," repeated Phil. "Play something true."
"Things are like this," answered Miss Katharine; "things are very, verywrong."
"They aren't," retorted Phil. "Any one to hear you would think Godwasn't good."
Miss Katharine paused; her fingers trembled; they scarcely touched thekeys.
"Play joyfully," continued Phil; "play as if you believed in him."
"Oh, Phil, I do!" said the poor lady. "Yes, yes, I will play as if Ibelieved."
Tears filled her eyes. She struck the organ with powerful chords, andthe whole little party burst out in the grand old chant, "Abide withme."
"Now let us sing 'O Paradise,'" said Phil when it was ended.
The children had sweet voices. Miss Katharine played her gentlest; MissGriselda slipped unseen into the hall and sat down near Phil. Thechildren sang on, hymn after hymn, Phil always choosing.
At last Miss Katharine rose and closed the organ.
"My heart is at rest," she said gently, and she stooped down and kissedPhil. Then she went out of the hall, Rachel and Kitty following her.Phil alone had noticed Miss Griselda; he went up to her now and nestleddown cozily by her side. He had a very confiding way and not a scrap offear of any one. Most people were afraid of Miss Griselda. Phil's totalwant of fear in her presence made one of his greatest charms for her.
"Wasn't the music nice?" he said now. "Didn't you like those hymns?Hasn't Rachel a beautiful voice?"
"Rachel will sing well," answered Miss Griselda. "She must have the bestmasters. Philip, to-morrow is nearly come."
"The 5th of May? Yes, so it has."
"It is a great day for you, my little boy."
"Yes, I suppose it is. Aunt Griselda, when do you think my mother willbe home?"
"I don't know, Philip--I don't know where she has gone."
"I think I do. I think she's gone to get you a great surprise."
"She should not have gone away to-day, when there was so much to bedone."
"You won't say that when you know. Aunt Grizel, you'll always be good tomother--won't you?"
"Why, of course, dear; she is your mother."
"But even if she wasn't my mother--I mean even if I wasn't there, you'dbe good to her. I wish you'd promise me."
"Of course, Phil--of course; but as you are going
to be very much there,there's no use in thinking of impossible things."
Phil sighed.
"Aunt Griselda," he said gently, "do you think I make a very suitableheir?"
"Yes, dear--very suitable."
"I'm glad you love me; I'm very, very glad. Tell me about the RupertLovel who went away two hundred years ago. He wasn't really like me?"
"In spirit he was, I don't doubt."
"Yes; but he wasn't like me in appearance. I'm small and thin and pale,and he--Aunt Griselda, wouldn't your heart beat and wouldn't you be gladif an heir just like the old Rupert Lovel came home? If he had just thesame figure, and just the same grand flashing eyes, and just the samesplendid strength, wouldn't you be glad? Wouldn't it be a joyfulsurprise to you?"
"No, Phil, for my heart is set on a certain little pale-faced boy. Nowdon't let us talk about nonsensical things. Come, you must have yoursupper and go to bed; you will have plenty of excitement to-morrow andmust rest well."
"One moment, please. Aunt Grizel, tell me--tell me, did you ever see thelady of the forest?"
"Phil, my dear child, what do you mean?"
"The beautiful lady who wears a green dress, greener than the leaves,and has a lovely face, and brings a gift in her hand. Did you ever seeher?"
"Philip, I can't stay any longer in this dark hall. Of course I neversaw her. There is a legend about her--a foolish, silly legend; but youdon't suppose I am so foolish as to believe it?"
"I don't know; perhaps it isn't foolish. I wanted to see her, and I didat last."
"You saw her!"
"In a dream. It was a real dream--I mean it was the kind of dream thatcomes true. I saw her, and since then everything has been quite clear tome. Aunt Griselda, she isn't only the lady of the forest; she hasanother name; she comes to every one some day."
"Phil, you are talking very queerly. Come away."
That evening, late, Mrs. Lovel came quietly back. She did not ask forsupper; she did not see the old ladies; she went up at once to her towerbedroom, where Phil was quietly sleeping. Bending down over the boy, shekissed him tenderly, but so gently that he did not even stir.
"Farewell all riches; farewell all worldly success; farewell even honor!Welcome disgrace and poverty and the reproach of all who know me if onlyI can keep you, little Phil!"
Poor mother! she did not know, she could not guess, that for somenatures, such as Phil's, there is no long tarrying in a world socheckered as ours.
CHAPTER XXVIII.--THE LADY WHO CAME WITH A GIFT.
A glorious day, warm, balmy, with the gentlest breezes blowing and thebluest, tenderest sky overhead. The forest trees were still wearingtheir brightest and most emerald green, the hawthorn was in fullblossom, the horse-chestnuts were in a perfect glory of pink-and-whiteflower; the day, in short, and the day's adornments were perfect. It wasstill too early in the year for a garden-party, but amusements wereprovided for the younger guests in the grounds, and the whole appearanceof Avonsyde was festive without and within. The old ladies, in theirrichest velvet and choicest lace, moved gracefully about, givingfinishing touches to everything. All the nervousness and unrest whichhad characterized Miss Katharine the night before had disappeared.To-day she looked her gentlest and sweetest--perhaps also her brightest.Miss Griselda was really very happy, and she looked it. Happiness is amarvelous beautifier, and Miss Griselda too looked almost handsome. Herdark eyes glowed with some of the fire which she fancied must haveanimated those of her favorite ancestors. Her soft pearl-gray dresssuited her well. Rachel and Kitty were in white and looked radiant. Themarked characteristics of their early childhood were as apparent asever: Rachel was all glowing tropical color and beauty; Kitty was one ofOld England's daintiest and fairest little daughters.
The guests began to arrive, and presently Mrs. Lovel, accompanied byPhil, came down and took her place in the great hall. It was here thatMiss Griselda meant to make her little speech. Standing at the upper endof the hall, she meant to present Phil as her chosen heir to all herassembled guests. How strange, how very strange that Mr. Baring had notyet arrived! When Mrs. Lovel entered the hall Miss Griselda crossed itat once to speak to her.
"I have given Canning directions to let you know the very moment Mr.Baring comes," she said. "You and he can transact your business in thelibrary in a few moments. Mr. Baring is sure to come down by the nexttrain; and if all your proofs are ready, it will not take him very longto look through your papers."
"Everything is ready," replied Mrs. Lovel in a low, hushed voice.
"That is right. Pardon me, how very inappropriate of you to put on ablack velvet dress to-day."
Mrs. Lovel turned very white.
"It--it--is my favorite dress," she half-stammered. "I look best in blackvelvet."
"What folly! Who thinks about their looks at such a moment? Black hereand to-day looks nearly as inappropriate as at a wedding. I am notsuperstitious, but the servants will notice. Can you not change it?"
"I--I have nothing else ready."
"Most inconsiderate. Kitty dear, run and fetch Mrs. Lovel a bunch ofthose crimson roses from the conservatory. Have at least that muchcolor, Mrs. Lovel, for your boy's sake."
Miss Griselda turned indignantly away, and Mrs. Lovel crossed over tothat part of the hall where Phil was standing.
"Mammy darling, how white you look!"
"Miss Griselda wants me to wear crimson roses in my dress, Phil."
"Oh, do, mother; they will look so nice. Here comes Kitty with a greatbunch."
"Give me one," said Mrs. Lovel; "here, this one." Her fingers shook; shecould scarcely take the flower. "Phil, will you put it into my dress? Iwon't wear more than one; you shall place it there. Child, child, thethorn has pricked me--every rose has a thorn."
"Mother," whispered Phil, "you are quite sure of the surprise coming?"
"Yes, darling. Hush, dear. Stay close to me."
The time wore on. The guests were merry; the old place rang withunwonted life and mirth and laughter. It was many years since Avonsydehad been so gay. The weather was so lovely that even the older portionof the visitors decided to spend the time out of doors. They stood aboutin groups and talked and laughed and chatted. Tennis went on vigorously.Rachel and Kitty, like bright fairies, were flitting here, there, andeverywhere. Phil was strangely quiet and silent, standing always closeto his mother. The chaise which had been sent to the railway station tomeet Mr. Baring returned empty. This fact was communicated by Canning tohis mistress, and as the time wore on Miss Griselda's face certainlylooked less happy.
The guests streamed in to lunch, which was served in the greatdining-hall in the old part of the house. Then several boys and girlswould investigate the tower and would roam through the armory and theold picture-gallery.
"That man--that Rupert Lovel is Phil's ancestor," the boys and girlsremarked. "He is not a bit like Phil."
"No; the present heir is an awfully weakly looking chap," the boys said."Why, he doesn't look as if he had strength enough even to go in for agame of cricket."
"Oh, but he's so interesting," the girls said, "and hasn't he lovelyeyes!"
Then the guests wandered out again to the grounds and commented andwondered as to when the crucial moment would arrive, and when MissGriselda, taking Phil's hand, would present him to them all as thelong-sought-for heir.
"It is really a most romantic story," one lady said. "That little boyrepresents the elder branch of the family; the property goes back to theelder branch with him."
"How sad his mother seems!" remarked another; "and the boy himself looksdreadfully ill."
"Miss Griselda says he is one of the most wiry and athletic littlefellows she ever came across," said a third lady.
And then a fourth remarked in a somewhat fretful tone:
"I wish that good Miss Lovel would present him to us and get it over.One gets perfectly tired of waiting for one doesn't know what."
Just then there was a disturbance and a little hush. Some fresh visitorshad arrived--some visi
tors who came on foot and approached through theforest. Miss Griselda, feeling she could wait no longer for Mr. Baring'sarrival, had just taken Phil's hand and was leading him forward to greether many guests, when the words she was about to say were arrested bythe sudden appearance of these strangers on the scene.
Mr. Baring was one of them; but nobody noticed, and in their intenseexcitement nobody recognized, the sleek little lawyer. A lady, dressedquietly, with a gentle, calm, and gracious bearing, came first. At sightof her Rachel uttered a cry; she was the lady of the forest. Rachel flewto her and, unrestrained by even the semblance of conventionality, tookher hand and pressed it rapturously to her lips.
"At last!" half-sobbed Rachel--"at last I see you, and you don't turnaway! Oh, how I have loved you! how I have loved you!"
"And I you, my darling--my beloved."
"Kitty, come here," called out Rachel. "Kitty, Kitty, this is the ladyof the forest!"
"And your mother, my own children. Come to my heart."
But nobody, not even Miss Katharine, noticed this reunion of mother andchildren; for Miss Griselda's carefully prepared speech had met with astartling interruption. The mother had stopped with her children, buttwo other unbidden guests had come forward. One of them was a boy--a boywith so noble a step, so gallant, so gay, so courtly a mien that all thevisitors turned to gaze in unspoken admiration. Whose likeness did hebear? Why did Miss Griselda turn so deadly pale? Why did she drop Phil'shand and take a step forward? The dark eyes, the eagle glance, the veryfeatures, the very form of that old hero of her life, thelong-dead-and-gone Rupert Lovel, now stood before her in very deed.
"Aunt Grizel," whispered little Phil, "isn't he splendid? Isn't heindeed the rightful heir? Just what he should be, so strong and so good!Aunt Grizel, isn't it a great surprise? Mother, mother, speak, tell hereverything!"
Then little Phil ran up to Rupert and took his hand and led him up toMiss Grizel.
"He always, always was the true heir," he said, "and I wasn't. Oh,mother, speak!"
Then there was a buzz of voices, a knot of people gathered quickly roundMiss Griselda, and Phil, holding Rupert's hand fast, looked again at hismother. The visitors whispered eagerly to one another, and all eyes wereturned, not on the splendid young heir, but on the boy who held his armand looked in his face; for a radiance seemed to shine on that slightboy's pale brow which we see once or twice on the faces of those who aresoon to become angels. The look arrested and startled many, and theygazed longer and with a deeper admiration at the false heir than at thetrue. For a couple of moments Mrs. Lovel had felt herself turning intostone; but with Phil's last appealing gaze she shook off her lethargy,and moving forward took her place by Miss Griselda's side, and facingthe anxiously expecting guests said:
"I do it for Phil, in the hope--oh, my God!--in the vain hope of savingPhil. I arranged with Mr. Baring that I would tell the story. I wish tohumiliate myself as much as possible and to show God that I am sorry. Ido it for Phil, hoping to save him."
Then she began her tale, wailing it out as if her heart were broken; andthe interested guests pressed closer and closer, and then, unperceivedby any one, little Phil slipped away.
"I will go into the forest," he said to himself. "I can't bear this. Oh,mother! Oh, poor, poor mother! I will go into the forest. Everythingwill be all right now, and I feel always happy and at rest in theforest."
"Phil," said a voice, and looking round he saw that his Cousin Ruperthad followed him. "Phil, you look ghastly. Do you think I care for anyproperty when you look like that?"
"Oh, I'll be better soon, Rupert. I'm so glad you've come in time!"
"Where are you going now, little chap?"
"Into the forest. I must. Don't prevent me."
"No. I will go with you."
"But you are wanted; you are the real heir."
"Time enough for that. I can only think of you now. Phil, you do lookill!"
"I'll be better soon. Let us sit down at the foot of this tree, Rupert.Rupert, you promise to be good to mother?"
"Of course. Your mother did wrong, but she is very brave now. You don'tknow how she spoke to my father and me yesterday. My father never likedher half as much as he does now. He says he is going to take Aunt Bellaback with him--you and Aunt Bella, both of you--and you are always to liveat Belmont, and Gabrielle and Peggy will make a lot of you."
"I'm so glad; but I'm not going, Rupert. Rupert, do ask Gabrielle to bevery good to mother."
"Of course. How breathless you are! Don't talk--rest against me."
"Rupert, I must. Tell me about yesterday. Are all the links complete? Isit quite, quite certain that you are the heir?"
"Yes, quite--even the tankard has been found. Mrs. Lovel--the lady of theforest, you remember--her servant picked it up and gave it to us lastnight."
"Did she?" answered Phil. "I thought I had lost it in the bog. Itfretted mother. I am glad it is found."
"And do you know that the lady is Rachel's and Kitty's mother?"
"Oh, how nice! How glad Rachel will be, and Kitty too! Isn't God verygood, Rupert?"
"Yes," answered Rupert in a strong, manly young voice.
"Rupert, you'll be sure to love Aunt Grizel, won't you?"
"Yes, yes. I wish you wouldn't talk so much, little chap; you lookawfully ill. Do let me carry you home."
"No; let me rest here on your shoulder. Rupert, there is another lady ofthe forest. Rachel's and Kitty's mother is not the only one. I saw herin a dream. She is coming to me to-day; she said so, Rupert."
"Yes."
"I have suffered--awfully; but God has been very good--and I shan't sufferany more--I'm so happy."
"Dear little chap!"
For about ten minutes the boys were silent--Rupert afraid to move, hislittle cousin rapt in ecstatic contemplation. Suddenly Phil rousedhimself and spoke with strength and energy.
"The lady is coming," he said--"there, through the trees! I see her!Don't you? don't you? She is coming; she will rest me. Oh, how beautifulshe is! Look, Rupert, look!"
But Rupert could see nothing, nothing at all, although Phil stretchedout his arms and a radiant smile covered his worn little face.
Suddenly the arms fell; the eager words ceased; only the smile remained.Rupert spoke, but obtained no answer.
A little face, beautiful beyond all description now--a little face with aglory over it--lay against his breast, but Phil himself had gone away.
That is the story. Sad? Perhaps so--not sad for Phil.
THE END.
