Chapter XXVIII: Conclusion

THE winter passed swiftly and happily for the household at Haresdown House, and before the days began to lengthen, Mr. Willis had finished his picture. It was exhibited in his studio to the friends he had made in Wreyford ere it was safely packed for its journey to town. No one knew better than Angel how the artist had pinned his most cherished hopes on the success of this piece of work, once laid aside through no fault of his own, now completed in every detail with the greatest care. She and Gilbert Mickle had many a long talk about it, never doubting either of them but that others would be as appreciative of Mr. Willis' talent as themselves. Nor were they to be disappointed, for, in due course, the picture was hung on the walls of Burlington House in a most excellent position, and known to be the picture of the year. 'Righteousness and Peace' was declared, in artistic circles, to be the work of a genius, and Angel and Gerald's delight knew no bounds, whilst Mr. Bailey felt vastly proud of his nephew.

One beautiful May evening, when the fresh spring breeze was sweet with the scent of hawthorn and wild flowers, a very happy party was congregated in the Mickles' dining-room—Mrs. Mickle and her four children, Miss Goodwin, and Angel and Gerald Willis. The two latter had lately arrived upon the scene: they had explained that they were going to the station to meet their father and uncle, who were returning from London that night, but that having half an hour to spare before the train was due to reach Wreyford, they thought they would pass the time with their friends.

"We wanted to tell you about the papers father has sent us from London," Angel said, her grey eyes sparkling with excitement; "they all speak so well of 'Righteousness and Peace,' and Uncle Edward wrote and told us that when he went to Burlington House there was quite a crowd around father's picture, and every one was admiring and praising it."

"It is a most marvellous piece of work, to my mind!" Miss Goodwin exclaimed. "How proud we ought to feel, dear Mrs. Mickle, that we were privileged to have a private view of the picture, which I am informed, is by far and away the best in the Royal Academy this year. We were indeed most fortunate!"

"So I think," Mrs. Mickle replied, smiling. "What is that, my dear?" she asked, as Angel pulled an envelope from her pocket.

"It's a letter from Mrs. Steer," Angel answered; "you know who she is—our old landlady in London. I should like you to read what she says, because it's mostly about father. Please read it aloud, Mrs. Mickle; I dare say the others would like to hear it too."

Mrs. Mickle took the letter from the little girl's hand, smiled into the eyes that met her own full of a great happiness; then turned her attention to Mrs. Steer's rather indistinct handwriting, and read aloud, slowly, as follows—

"MY DEAR MISS ANGEL,—"

"I am sending you a few lines, because I think you will like to know I have seen your dear pa twice. First, he called on Saturday, and asked me to go with him to look at his picture at Burlington House; but, as Saturday is always the busiest day of the week with me, as I dare say you remember, I couldn't go then, and so I told him. He said I was to study my own convenience, being as considerate as he ever was, dear Miss Angel, and as nice, and good-tempered. Well, I told him I could go on Tuesday, and on Tuesday he fetched me in a cab, and we drove off together. One of my lodgers had told me as how your pa's picture is a great deal thought of by them who understand such things, and that every one is talking of it, so you may imagine I was a bit curious to see it, but I wasn't prepared for the fuss folks made about it. There was a crowd of people around the picture, gang at it with all their eyes, and saying such flattering things about your pa; one gentleman kept on repeating to himself— 'Beautiful! beautiful! What perfection of colouring!' and after he had gone away, and I thought I had seen the last of him, he came back, and stared at the picture again and again."

"Of course, as you know, dear Miss Angel, I had seen that picture times enough before it was finished; I had watched it grow from shadows so indistinct that you couldn't make out what they were meant for into those two women going towards each other to kiss; and, as your pa said, I couldn't be expected to look at it with quite the same eyes as other people—it was like watching a conjurer's trick when you know all the while how it's done—but I must say it's a most wonderful picture—so real, I felt as though I had only to stretch out my hand, and touch two living women, and I didn't wonder any longer that your pa is considered clever. I think it was very nice of him to take me to see 'Righteousness and Peace;' but there, Miss Angel, I always did say your pa meant well. He tells me as how it is better times for you now; that he is earning more money, and that the success of this picture of his has made you all very happy. Dear Miss Angel, I am very, very glad. I must say I think you understood what your pa could do better than I did, for you always thought he would be famous some day, and it seems he is, and I am proud to speak of him as having once lodged in my house—as kind a man as I ever knew, and a perfect gentleman."

"I send my best respects to Master Gerald and yourself; your pa says one of these days he may bring you up to town, and he has promised we shall meet."

"I am, dear Miss Angel," "Your old friend and well-wisher," "MARIA STEER"

There were amused smiles on the faces of the listeners as Mrs. Mickle read the above epistle; but the moment her voice ceased, Gilbert exclaimed, with some indignation in his tones—

"She evidently doesn't properly appreciate your father's talent, Angel! She must be a very ignorant old woman! Does she always speak of Mr. Willis as 'your pa'?"

"Always," Angel and Gerald responded together.

"It is a very kind letter," Mrs. Mickle said, "and if she does not appreciate Mr. Willis' talent—and I agree with you, Gilbert, that she does not—she appreciates his character, nevertheless. She remarks, you see, that he is as kind a man as she ever knew, and a perfect gentleman."

"Yes," Angel cried brightly. "I am very fond of Mrs. Steer; she was always good to me, and used to take me out shopping with her sometimes; and if she was not too busy, she would often come into our sitting-room and talk to me when father was at work in his studio, and Gerald was at school. Then, too, she used to lend me story-books to read. I hope father will take us to London to see her some day. Mrs. Steer was my friend when I had no others."

"You have a faithful heart, my dear," Mrs. Mickle said, as she drew the little girl to her side and kissed her; "you have many friends now, I am sure."

"Oh, yes!" Angel responded quickly; "and so has Gerald."

Her eyes rested contentedly on her brother, who was discussing the prospects of the cricket season with Tom; then she felt a light touch upon her arm, and turned to meet Miss Goodwin's gentle glance.

"Do you know, my dear, sometimes you remind me of myself when I was your age?" the old lady said seriously.

"Do I?" Angel exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes. I, too, had a brother whom I dearly-loved, and—"

"Oh, I never knew that!" Dora interposed quickly. "Oh," she cried, meeting her mother's reproving look, "do forgive me for so rudely interrupting you, but—I was so astonished! Is your brother dead, Miss Goodwin?"

"Yes, dear child. He died—a great while ago—in India."

"In India!" Dora repeated, her wondering blue eyes scanning the old lady's withered face, which wore a pensive expression, that presently gave place to a look of trouble and doubt.

"It was long, long ago," Miss Goodwin said slowly, after a short pause. She sat with her thin little hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I was trying to remember the other day how old my brother would be if he was alive now," she continued, "but I forget—I have lost count of time."

"Never mind," said Mrs. Mickle gently. "don't worry about it. Time only affects the things which perish; love is for eternity. I am sure you love your brother now as much as you ever did."

"Yes!" Miss Goodwin cried, the cloud from her face suddenly clearing. "When I see Angel and Gerald, I always think of my brother and me. Circumstances parted us in life, but his last message to me was one of love. Yes, love is for eternity."

She fell into a train of happy thought, and a few minutes later Angel and Gerald took their departure. When they reached the garden gate they turned and waved their hands to the group of smiling faces at the dining-room window, then hurried on in the direction of the railway station.

"Angel," said Gerald suddenly, "do you remember last summer, when father and Uncle Edward went to London, and all that happened whilst they were away? Of course you do! As though you would be likely to forget! It's a foolish question to ask."

"Yes, I remember," Angel answered gravely.

"How I dreaded father's return!"

"So did I."

"For my sake! Oh, Angel, how unkind I used to be to you sometimes! And so selfish too! I am ashamed to think how often I must have grieved you! Then, I was always terribly jealous when people liked you better than me. I am sure it was no wonder they did. That night when I slipped into the clay pit, and thought I was going to be drowned, I remembered all the selfishness and wickedness of my conduct, and wondered what you and father and Uncle Edward would think of me when I was dead, and—"

"Oh, Gerald, pray say no more about it," Angel interrupted, with a shudder; "that is all past now. I do not believe you will ever behave so badly again."

"I hope not," Gerald responded earnestly. "I shall never forget how good father was to me then. Here we are at the station. Only just in time, too, for I believe I hear the train coming."

A few minutes later the train appeared in sight, and as it slowed into the station the children caught sight of their father. He sprang out on the platform, followed by Mr. Bailey; the bright faces of both showed they had had a happy visit to town. Their first questions were how Angel and Gerald had spent the time during their absence from home, and if all had gone well at Haresdown House. There was nothing to hide or be ashamed of now, so the young people gave a detailed account of their doings.

Not until they had passed Myrtle Villa on their way home, and were walking up Haresdown Hill, did Mr. Willis mention that he had a piece of good news to tell.

"Try and guess what it is," he said, looking from his uncle to the children with a smiling glance; "it is something that indirectly concerns us all."

"What can it be?" Angel cried. "Do you know, Uncle Edward?" she questioned, turning to Mr. Bailey.

"I do," he admitted, his kindly face beaming with pleasure. "Don't keep them in suspense, John," he said, turning to his nephew, "better tell them at once; or, shall I? Well, then," he proceeded, as Mr. Willis nodded acquiescence, "our great piece of news is simply this—your father has sold his picture."

"Sold his picture!" both children echoed. "Oh, I am so glad, so glad!" Gerald cried excitedly, whilst Angel flung herself, half laughing, half-crying, into her father's arms, quite unmindful of the fact that they were in a public road, where an outsider might come upon them at any moment.

Afterwards it was explained that "Righteousness and Peace" had been purchased by a rich man, who had already a fine collection of pictures, and who had willingly paid the amount of money at which Mr. Willis had priced his work.

"Why, father, we shall be rich!" Angel said, her face full of wonderment at the thought.

"Well, not exactly rich," he replied, smiling, "but we shall be better off, of course. I believe the long years I have worked are beginning to tell at last."

"Just as mother said they would."

"Yes," Mr. Willis agreed, with a faint sigh.

His eyes were dim as he thought of the wife who had always believed in him when others had doubted his capabilities, who had uncomplainingly helped him to bear the load of poverty, who had perhaps carried more than her share of the weight of care, which had been the result of small means, by reason of a temperament far more anxious than his. He knew the everyday worries of life, which to his sanguine disposition had been very small worries indeed, had oppressed her heavily, and it hurt him to think that though he had loved her so deeply, he had never been able to free her from them. It seemed hard that she, who had shared his disappointments and failures, should not be with him in the time of his success.

Perhaps Mr. Bailey guessed the thoughts which were passing through his nephew's mind, for by-and-by he said—

"I often wish your wife and I had met, John. I will not say I wish she was here now, for I know she is with Christ, which is far better."

Mr. Willis made no reply, but the trouble left his face, and when he spoke again it was quite cheerfully. The conversation turned to Mrs. Steer, and Angel took out her letter from her pocket and read it aloud amidst much merriment. By that time they had reached Haresdown House, where they found supper awaiting them, and Mrs. Vallance ready to assure her master that everything had gone well during his absence.

There remains but little of my story to be told. Mr. Willis' picture— "Righteousness and Peace" —made him famous as a painter, and he has often been heard to say that only one who has waited can understand the sweetness of the realization of hope deferred. He and his children still make their home with Uncle Edward at Haresdown House. Gerald is becoming a fine manly fellow, and the path he is humbly trying to walk is very different to that broad road he pursued on his arrival at Wreyford. Angel's affection for her brother is as deep and unselfish as it always was; but she has real cause to be proud of him nowadays, when she knows she may trust in his sense of honour and believe in his word. Gilbert Mickle is in Paris, studying in a well-known art school, happy in the work he has chosen, whilst the other Mickle children are still at home, on the best of terms with the young folks at Haresdown House. Reginald Hope has lately entered a large London hospital as a medical student; he means when he has taken his diploma to join his father in practice at Wreyford; he has wonderfully changed of late for the better, so that those who are interested in him trust that, by God's grace, he will become a good and trustworthy man.

Miss Goodwin is much the same as ever; perhaps a few lines have been added to the network of wrinkles on her face, but the clear blue eyes retain their youthful expression. She still tends her flowers, and is, in short, the same odd mixture of shrewdness and childishness, incapable of understanding the flight of time as she was when we first made her acquaintance. A few simple words Mrs. Mickle once said to her made a deep impression on her mind, and she has acquired the habit of repeating them softly to herself—

"Time only affects the things which perish; love is for eternity."

Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London