Chapter XXIII: Waiting

LANCELOT'S letter was written from a sick bed. He had had a bad attack of fever, and had been unable to write. He was in great concern over Hope, and told her that circumstances were guiding him to return home at once.

"My bailiff in the North has died very suddenly," he wrote, "and I am wanted to look into things. And now you are free, I am impatient to get to you. I cannot bear to think of you as housekeeping companion to that penurious old Squire. I was very doubtful, as I told you, whether I ought to have returned to India, and the doctors say I've been here long enough. I should not think of my health if I were really needed out here, but everything points to my returning. As soon as I can travel, I shall get back to my mother, and see what she thinks. Meanwhile, will you promise to take the greatest care of yourself for my sake? I know you will not do it for yours."

This, and much more, brought the colour to Hope's cheeks and the light to her eyes.

"He is coming back. I need have no anxiety now."

And then she wondered if his health was really bad, and when she could hear again, for he had told her that he might send a cablegram, if he decided to come home at once.

For a long time she sat in happy dreams over her letter, then she took up Kitty's.

"MY DARLING HOPE,—HOW I hate Mr. Spencer! I was in such a fury when I heard how he treated you that I dashed out of the house determined to have it out with him, and then I tumbled downstairs in my furious haste, and wrenched my ankle, and had to lie up a whole week. Of course this is his fault, not mine! Well, yesterday I managed to get to him; but I encountered a very grand lady in the hall, who said she was his sister. Directly she spoke of you, we were the greatest friends, for I told her what an angel you were, and she seemed to agree so thoroughly. I couldn't help laughing when we went in to Mr. Spencer, and I felt rather sorry for him too!

"Mrs. Harper said, 'Miss Parr has come to ask why Miss St. Clair is not
here.'

"He was sitting at his study table pretending to read the newspaper,
and he turned round with a half-shamed look on his face.

"'You women plague my life out!' he growled.

"Then I spoke up. 'That Mrs. Hadley does, and you ought to get rid of
her!'

"'Oh,' said Mrs. Harper coolly, 'she's going this afternoon, both she and her husband—I have arranged that. This house is not fit for pigs to live in.'

"Then Mr. Spencer broke into a kind of sobbing fury; he seemed quite
helpless, and yet as angry as he could be.

"'You're turning my house inside out, and when you've cleared out my servants, you'll leave me to be ruined and cheated by extravagant worthless creatures, who will make my life a misery!'

"'I'm going to see that you live in comfort, as a gentleman should,'
said Mrs. Harper, 'and I shall not leave you till it's done.'

"I chuckled. Then I wondered how she would manage, and suggested that Mrs. Goddles and a niece of hers should come in till proper servants could be found. I went off at once and settled that; and to-day Mrs. Harper came up to us to say that the Squire wanted you back, and that when the Hadleys had really left, he seemed quite relieved in his mind. She is such a capable woman that I believe she will alter the whole of Mr. Spencer's house, and make him live like other people. She says she will stay till she does it, and the Squire seems quite helpless in her hands.

"I've had a jolly letter from Brian, and I'm going to write every month to him. Dad says I'm not to write oftener. Mr. and Mrs. Manners are a great joke. I passed by to-day and found them following each other all over the garden. They come to church and sit close together like two love-birds, and she walks home leaning on his arm and looking quite pretty! She has started the poultry again, and they're full of business as well as love. When I marry, I shall never take Brian's arm, and never follow him about or wait upon him; but I'm sure he wouldn't expect it. The only time I shall be really affectionate to him will be when he is very ill, or when he's just going away on a long journey. You'll have to come back to us. Every one misses you so. Tons of love.

"Your affectionate

"KITTY."

Hope smiled and sighed over this letter. She was not surprised when the next post brought her a letter from the Squire.

It was as follows:—

"DEAR MISS ST. CLAIR,—As the Hadleys have gone, will you come back? My sister, Mrs. Harper, is bewildering me by her rapid movements. I am humouring her by letting her act as she likes, but I am master of my own house, and mean to be. I tell her she need have no expectations from me. If you come back, it must be for good and all, I am too old for these changes. They are most upsetting. As I have hinted before, you will not be the loser at my death by pleasing me in my lifetime. My sister is behaving as if I am a millionaire. I tell her she must pay for all luxuries herself. Food and clothes are what she considers the chief ends in life. If she kept under her body a little more, it might give her brain a chance of making itself apparent.

"Yours truly,

"ALAN T. SPENCER.

"P.S.—I should hope that foolish entanglement of yours has come to a
conclusion. I can do better for you than he."

"Poor old man!" said Hope, with real pity and concern. "After all my efforts, he is as closely wrapped up in self and money as ever he was! Oh, how I wish his heart could be reached and touched!"

She debated within herself as to whether she should return to him or not. And then that same evening, she got a cablegram forwarded from King's Dell post-office.

"Coming home by 'Malabar.'—DANE."

The next day Jim appeared, with a message from his aunt. She wanted Hope to drive down to Richmond that afternoon with her.

Hope assented, and walking to the Grosvenor with Jim, told him of her letters.

"I want advice. I think I had better wait in town till the 'Malabar' arrives. I suppose Mrs. Dane is returning with her son. I should not like them to find me at Mr. Spencer's. And he would be furious if I left him again so soon."

"Of course, you mustn't go near that old screw. He treated you abominably. I'll find out when the 'Malabar' is due."

"But I feel so sorry for the old man."

"He has his sister with him. Don't you see that if you go down, you'll only oust her, and she's the proper person to look after him!"

"I did hope," said Hope, a little wistfully, "that I could have got him to view life in a different way. We used to have some very nice talks sometimes."

"Oh, rot, my dear girl! You can't expect an old fellow like that to change the habits of a lifetime after a few talks with you. Leave him alone. Now don't put on a long face!"

"But, Jim, isn't it awful? What a master habit can become! You see, since he met with a disappointment, the Squire has lived all his life for himself alone. He doesn't reckon other people at all. It has made him genuinely and perfectly miserable. I can't help thinking of the end of his life. How sorry he will be then, that he has wasted it so."

"Ah, well, we don't all look at things so seriously," said Jim. "And what man or woman does not live for self? It's the natural thing to do! Good people are quite as selfish as profligate sinners; it's a mere matter of fancy. It pleases some to amuse themselves one way, it pleases others to amuse themselves another. Churchgoing, philanthropy, politics, racing, and gambling are only favourite pursuits of various natures."

"But, Jim, do you think we are meant to live utterly irresponsible? We are not heathen."

"We are not all devotees of religion. How would the world go on if we were?"

"It would be heaven," said Hope.

Jim laughed.

"I like to hear you talk," he said. "I do admire you for holding tight to your faith through all your buffetings of fate, but I couldn't do it myself."

"You don't want to."

"I am content as I am."

"Oh, Jim, if you only knew what a difference it makes when God is inside our lives instead of outside! You're not an infidel; you go to church. Why don't you believe properly what you pretend to believe?"

Jim looked at her gravely.

"You're hitting hard. That is the weak point of my religion, I own. We English are not as religious as the Hindus or Mohammedans. They aren't ashamed of their religion—we are. That is one of the results of excessive civilisation."

"I hope I am not ashamed of mine," said Hope thoughtfully. "I find it difficult to talk to people about it. I wish I did not."

"Well, you've talked to me about it, and now we'll talk of something else."

It was always the way with Jim. He could never be serious long. Hope sighed inwardly. She wanted every one she liked to have the same happiness that she had, and she knew there was only the one source from which it could come.

For the next few days she felt rather undecided as to what she had better do. Then she heard that the 'Malabar' would arrive in a fortnight's time, and that decided her. She wrote kindly to Mr. Spencer, telling him exactly how she was situated. She also wrote to his sister.

And a few days afterwards, she had a visit from her.

"I am up in town again for a few days. I am really going to take up my abode for the present at 'The Retreat.' I have found a capital man and his wife. I am taking down a maid for myself, and I mean to have a village girl in by the day. A very small household for such a house, but I have to go gently. My dear Miss St. Clair, you have bewitched my poor brother. He quotes you to me on every occasion, and is really heartbroken that you won't return. I have had a dreadful time with him, but his age tells upon him, and I think that if he finds he can rely upon me to manage his household without any trouble to him, he will be willing to leave it in my hands. Those Hadleys, were rogues. They simply cheated and stole right and left. I think with my additional two maids I shall manage more economically than with them. I have given my brother a very straight talk.

"'You are selfish, and I am selfish,' I said to him. 'Unless we both prepare to exercise a little unselfishness, we shall never pull together!'

"He didn't like it at first, but I believe he is afraid of being left alone again, and I am almost inclined to think that some of your words are sticking to him. He said to me a night or two ago, when we were sitting over the fire in his smoking-room,—

"'It's a wonderful thing to stand by and live by one's creed as that girl does!'

"You are always 'that girl,' let me say. I listened, but said nothing. Presently he said again,—

"'If she had come back to me, I meant to have had a regular turn round amongst my tenants. She would so have enjoyed putting things a bit straight!'

"'Well,' I said, 'I shall enjoy that, and I'll help you to do it!'

"And I mean to keep him up to it, Miss St. Clair. His property is a disgrace to him!"

"Yes," assented Hope. "I think he has drifted into doing nothing, and finds it difficult to start now. I am so thankful you are going to live with him."

Mrs. Harper looked at her with twinkling eyes.

"You are a strange young woman. Why do you take such an interest in him? Is it your way to befriend everybody you come across? I never do."

"No," said Hope slowly, "I don't think I am quick to make friends, but I can't help being interested in people with whom I am brought into touch."

"Are you interested in me?"

"I think I am a little. I felt you had it in your power to make him happy, and you are going to do it."

Mrs. Harper laughed.

"When are you going to be married? And where are you going to settle? I don't want to lose sight of you."

Hope promised to write and let her know, when she knew herself, and Mrs. Harper departed to collect her belongings in town and convey them down to her brother's. Hope was very busy that fortnight. She had not much money left, but she felt more satisfied with her wardrobe when she had been able to give it some consideration. Her heart danced within her as the 'Malabar' drew nearer to the shores of England. She counted every day, and was so full of the future that her landlady declared she imagined she could live on air. And then the eventful day came at last, and faithful Jim came round in the morning to know if he could be of any service to her.

"They will think I am at King's Dell," said Hope. "I should like you to meet them and tell them where I am. Is it asking too much of you, Jim? I would rather not meet them myself at the docks. I know they will come to Claridge's. Mrs. Dane always stays there."

Jim made a wry face. "Hasn't he any brothers? I thought one was a barrister in town. Why don't you write to him?"

"Paul has been ill and gone abroad. Rufus is in the North somewhere, and cannot leave his wife who is in delicate health. I know it is asking a good deal."

"Oh, I'm your man! But I never did like taking a back seat, so after to-day, I'll make myself scarce. If there's anything shady about him, or you want a man on your side, a wire will always bring me to you. I think I'll say goodbye."

"Jim, you're a dear!"

Hope shook hands with him with tears in her eyes. She knew this was a parting that would last; for Jim would be as good as his word. He would come to her if she wanted him, but he could not stand seeing another man have the first right to her.

He went, and Hope endeavoured to occupy herself and keep herself from becoming impatient for the hours to pass. She tried to improve the look of her sitting-room, and was delighted when her landlady brought her in a bunch of daffodils.

"A man called with a basketful, miss. I took the liberty of getting some. I know you're expecting visitors!"

Mrs. Edgar nodded her head mysteriously, and then added that she was getting a very nice tea ready in case the gentleman would like it when he arrived. Though Hope begged her not to do it, nothing would stop her. And presently the round table was covered with Mrs. Edgar's best white cloth, a plate of shrimps, some watercress, a currant cake, two pots of jam, and a large plate of cut bread and butter.

Hope smiled to herself, but gave up remonstrating.

"And I've a couple of muffins a-toasting downstairs, and the kettle is biling, so all you've got to do, miss, is to ring the bell when you want to make the tea."

With that Mrs. Edgar departed, and then as Hope sat by her window, sudden fear overtook her.

Supposing the "Malabar" arrived without him? He might have been taken worse. He might be on board very ill. Perhaps Jim would miss seeing them. They might have landed at Plymouth. Trouble and doubt crept into her eyes as the time went by and there were no signs of any arrival.

It was a bright spring afternoon, a tempting opportunity for many to venture out of doors. On the opposite side crept an old man, on crutches, with a violent cough. Every now and then he paused to cough, and the attacks left him weak and breathless. Further up the street was an organ-grinder with a circle of dancing children round him. Not many cabs or carriages passed through the street; a few tradesmen's carts were standing at different houses; the servant-maids, and in some cases the mistresses, were many of them standing on the doorstep enjoying a chat in the sunshine.

Hope looked and noted every detail. How would her surroundings strike her lover? Would he come to her this afternoon or not? She left the window with a little shiver, and turned to stir the fire. It was extravagant having one, with her slender purse, but she had been anxious to make her room look as comfortable as possible. Then at last she heard the sound of wheels, a sharp ring at the door, and two minutes later, as she stood in the middle of the room breathless with expectancy, the door opened and Lancelot came towards her.

She had only time to note that he looked brown, and thin, but with his arms round her, his voice sounding in her ears, her surroundings seemed to melt away, she was wafted into a little paradise. At last she found words, and came back to the practical world.

"Is your mother with you?"

"At Claridge's. I am to bring you to her at once. Now, my darling, let me look at you. How I have hungered for this moment! You are thin and fragile-looking; have you been ill?"

"No, I am always very strong."

Lancelot looked round the room. His keen, quick eye took note of everything. As his glance fell upon the table, he said:

"A London landlady's tea! But have you been living on shrimps and bread and butter?"

"You are not to laugh at it. It has been spread in honour of you. Will you delight her heart and have some tea?"

"I ask for nothing better than this—with you!"

Hope's checks were pink with excitement, her eyes shone. She rang the bell, and had the kettle and the muffins brought in. Lancelot sat down, but though he tasted of the fare Mrs. Edgar had provided, his eyes never left Hope's face.

"I liked your cottage better than this," he said; "why are you here?"

"I have a lot to tell you. But my news will wait. Are you well again? I have been so anxious."

"I picked up, as I always do, on the voyage home. It was unfortunate that I should have been sent to an unhealthy station. I was very vexed with myself for not being able to stand it better, but as you know I came home on sick-leave a year ago, and I don't think I had a fair start. Hope, you must have your belongings sent to Claridge's. You shall not sleep here another night. My mother expects you."

"Oh, but you take my breath away! I am very comfortable here."

"This will be your last meal here, I can tell you!"

He said it with a smile, but Hope recognised the masterful tone. She did not resent it. She had taken care of others for so long, that it was delicious to her to feel that it was now her turn to be managed and cared for.

"I don't know that I can leave so suddenly," she said gently.

"I will arrange it. Leave your luggage here till to-morrow, if you like, but my mother is expecting you to dine and sleep."

"Did Jim meet you at the docks?"

"Yes, and it was good news to me to find you in town. Now I am impatient to take you to more comfortable quarters. Will you get ready, and I will tell your landlady?"

Hope meekly obeyed. It was in the hansom, driving to Claridge's, that she told Lancelot how it was she was in town. But to him she made light of her previous anxieties and shortness of money. Yet his brows were knitted more than once, and just before they reached the hotel, he took her hand in his, and said in a quiet tense tone:

"It will be my business now to see that those kind of worries never touch you."

The tears rushed into Hope's eyes.

Then she said, trying to smile:

"Well, through it all, Lancelot, I think I can say I have had—

"'Peace, perfect peace.'"