Chapter V

MRS. AUSTIN was far too just to fail in the promise she had made, and too good a woman of business to defer the legal steps by which her adopted daughter's future would be provided for.

Margery, by her mother's marriage settlement, would be sole heiress to the Monks Lea estates, which brought in a large income. Mrs. Austin's personal property, which was very considerable, was entirely at her own disposal. This, with the exception of legacies to distant relatives, friends, and servants, she decided should, after her own death, be divided equally between Margery and Clare. If either should marry during her lifetime, Mrs. Austin was in a position to give her a handsome portion at once.

In the meanwhile the girls had each an ample allowance for personal expenses and charity purposes. They had been trained to think of the needs of others, whilst thankfully acknowledging the bountiful goodness of God towards themselves. Both girls profited by Mrs. Austin's teaching and example, and used well the money entrusted to them.

Clare might have her faults, her vanities, too great love of admiration, and a determination to indulge it at all costs. She might be an unconscious actress, according to the judgment of the Frenchwoman, or what Barbara called "close" with regard to her own little secrets; but she was tender where poverty and suffering came, and her sympathy was real and practical.

She gave willingly and liberally, if not always with sound judgment, and her tears at such times were marks of true feeling, whilst her kind words came from the heart, and doubled the value of her help.

In such labours of love Margery and Clare walked hand-in-hand and stood on equal ground.

There was much that was genuine and deeply loveable about Clare; but she gained credit for more than she really deserved, and Margery, except in the case of those who could see below the surface, for far less.

Another year had passed over the heads of the two girls, and Christmas was close at hand.

There was to be a large gathering of guests at Monks Lea, and there was every prospect of an exceptionally happy season.

Two of the guests—Mrs. Anstruther, widow of an old colleague of Colonel Austin, and her son, a captain in a cavalry regiment, and a young man of the highest character—came nearly a fortnight before the rest, and whilst Clare was absent from home.

Mrs. Austin was anxious to enjoy quietly the society of her friend, and to make the acquaintance of her son, who had lately returned from Africa, and of whom she had seen little for several years past.

So it happened that while the elder ladies talked of old times and compared experiences, Captain Anstruther and Margery were thrown a good deal together, apparently much to the satisfaction of the young soldier, who had of late been almost banished from female society of a civilized sort.

Margery was, as usual, perfectly unaffected. She did all in her power to promote the comfort and happiness of her mother's guests, and, as the elder people preferred the warmer atmosphere of home during the wintry days, Captain Anstruther and she were companions perforce in walks and rides, Margery being an accomplished horsewoman.

The girl never looked better than when enjoying her favourite exercise, which set her bright face all aglow with colour—the one thing it sometimes lacked to make it deserve the word "beautiful."

It seemed to have abundant attraction for her companion, and for the first time Margery listened to certain delicate compliments, and accepted from the handsome soldier more pointed attentions than she had ever before received without manifest shrinking and distaste.

The mothers noted the growing liking for each other's society in the young people, and smiled approval. Mrs. Austin knew that Margery would be a great heiress, whilst the young soldier was comparatively poor; but wealth was not all, and if her darling should find this brave officer and good son the man of all the world to fill the highest place in her affections, there would be enough for both.

Mrs. Anstruther felt that Margery's combined wealth and worth fitted her to expect to mate more highly than with a poor soldier. "But," she said to herself, "my son is in himself what neither wealth nor position could make him. He is worthy to wed a queen amongst women."

They understood each other, these mothers, without words.

During walks and rides Margery often talked of Clare, and at first regretted her absence. As the days went on, she looked-for Clare's return with something like dread.

Hitherto the elder girl had seen people leave her own side to cluster round the chair of her beautiful sister, and had taken it as a thing of course. "Every one must admire Clare, and be attracted by her charming ways. It was the natural thing." And no person was so proud of the fact as Margery, for Clare's sake.

But she felt differently about Captain Anstruther, and asked herself—

"When Clare comes, will he desert me, as others have done before? Does he follow me, and listen to my words, and watch to anticipate my wants, because he has not seen Clare? or does he really care for me?"

Not that Captain Anstruther had declared his affection for Margery. It was too soon for such a decided step; but if ever looks and actions were eloquent, his told that sweet Margery Austin had made a deep impression on his heart.

The girl had often spoken to Frank Anstruther about her lovely sister, and in her unselfish way told him of the admiration she always excited, and that he would be sure to love Clare.

"I shall," he replied, "if only because she is so dear to you."

The meaning tone and the look of frank admiration which accompanied these words, made Margaret's cheeks flush and her eyes droop shyly. But she felt very happy, with a joy hitherto unknown to her innocent heart, and she cherished her glad thoughts with reverent thankfulness. It was so sweet to feel that she was beloved, and by one like this brave young soldier! She thought he must be much like what her father was when he went with his tale of love to her mother.

Margery had always been accustomed to open her heart to her mother; but of this new happiness she could not speak even to her. Yet she thought that Mrs. Austin knew of it, and sympathized with and blessed her child in the unselfish way that true mothers show when they live their girlish days over again in those of their daughters.

When Margery went to rest that night she thought that her mother's arms had never before held her with such yearning love, or her kiss been so tender. The girl, with quick intuition, divined the reason. What if her mother were looking into the future, and dreading the thought of a possible parting? Wealth could do much, but when a girl took upon her such solemn new duties in another home the place in the old one must be vacated.

Mrs. Austin was so looking at possibilities, but while thinking of the trial it would be for her to part with Margery, she placed her child's happiness first of all, and would have rejoiced in her joy. On the following day Clare returned to Monks Lea. She was looking paler than usual, and there was an anxious, preoccupied expression on her face that no one had noticed there before. It passed away during the evening; but the girl was very quiet, and retired early, as many guests were expected on Christmas Eve, and she wished to be ready to help in entertaining them.

"I must have a good night's rest beforehand," she said, "or I shall be fit for nothing to-morrow. Christmas Eve is the most important anniversary in my life, for on it, eleven years ago, I came to this dear mother, sister and home."

Clare laid her head on Mrs. Austin's shoulder to be caressed; she kissed Margery and clasped her closely, as if she had forgotten the presence of Mrs. Anstruther and her son, though it was to the lady she had spoken of her first coming. Then she turned suddenly to Mrs. Anstruther, and lifted up her face to be kissed, saying—

"I know you are dear mamma's friend, so I hope you will adopt me as one of her children."

Lastly she extended her white hand to the captain, flashed a glance from her wonderful eyes, and was gone.

And Frank Anstruther, who had been urging Margery to sing for him before this little scene took place, remained in a dreamy state for some moments, replied to a remark of his mother's in an irrelevant fashion, and would have forgotten all about the song he had asked for, if Miss Austin had not recalled him to himself by beginning it.

He listened—no one could help it when Margery sang—thanked her, and mentally reproaching himself for his momentary abstraction, asked for more music.

Margery sang a second time, and then she spoke with pleasure of Clare's home-coming.

"Without my sister, Christmas would not be at all the same happy time," she said. "Was I not right when I said that Clare is lovely?"

"She is quite the most beautiful girl I ever saw," he replied enthusiastically. "Yet beautiful is not the word. Miss Clare is that and more. I never saw any one at all like her." Then he added, "In the face, I mean, of course. As yet all else is strange to me, except as revealed by the charming picture I witnessed a short time ago."

Margery could hardly tell in what it consisted, but there was a difference between the happy, frank intercourse of a few hours before and that of this evening. It seemed as though an invisible barrier had come between Captain Anstruther and herself. He was more silent than usual, and Margery went to her room with a sense of weight and pain that she vainly strove to ignore.

"What will Christmas bring?" she asked herself. "It is a fateful season to me. Eleven years ago it brought Clare and the beginning of a new life. Will this Christmas see a repetition of what has happened before? Will Frank Anstruther leave my side for Clare's? I have never envied her those who have gone before, and never cared except when they suffered. But if he too should learn to love her, and be treated as others have been—how shall I bear to see it?"

On her knees the girl pleaded—

"God give me grace to do right, patience to endure willingly, and to submit unselfishly and silently, if need be!"

At first Captain Anstruther struggled against Clare's fascinations, and remained by Margery's side, helping her with Christmas decorations, and apparently devoting himself to her service. But before night came he was one of a little group round Clare, laughing at her lively sallies and her almost childlike daring, and wondering at her marvellous beauty.

He took himself to task when he noticed Margery looking pale and distrait, though trying hard to appear as if she were listening to an uninteresting story, which was being poured into her ear by the one bore of the party. He resumed his attentions, remained by her side after having succeeded in ridding her of her companion, and, but that Margery noticed his eyes wandering towards the group he had left, the girl might have thought that no change had taken place, and that she still held the foremost rank in his regard.

Clare rallied Margery about her captain.

"I see how it is," she said, "you have conquered the gallant soldier whilst I have been away. I can understand his laying down his arms; but he is not half good enough for you, Margery, darling."

"I do not know who is, for this sweet sister of mine is worthy the love of the best man in the world."

"Captain Anstruther is good," said Margery, blushing. "A good son, a brave soldier, and a true man; but you are mistaken, Clare, if you think he has ever spoken one word of love to me."

"He looked a thousand to-night, if he did not utter them. You shall keep your soldier for me, Margery, darling. He would not be my choice were he twenty times as good as you say." And she ran laughing away.

If she could have seen Margery's face after this! It flushed with the daintiest colour, and such a glad light came into the sweet eyes, that it was a pity Frank Anstruther was not there to mark it.

"I was not wrong then." Margery rather breathed the words than spoke them. "Clare sees that he cares for me best of all. She will not rob me of the one heart's love that I would fain call mine. Thank God!"

The girl fell asleep with a thanksgiving on her lips, to be aroused from her rest only when morning came, by Clare's light touch.

As each Christmas Day came round, it was the custom for the younger girl to awaken Margery with a kiss, whilst she whispered, "Here am I, darling. Dorothy's Christmas gift,—come with loving wishes for my sister."

Then they went together to Mrs. Austin's room to offer the season's greetings.

It was a happy Christmas after all. Clare had plenty of homage, but for that one day she held herself aloof from Frank Anstruther, without appearing to do it purposely, whilst the young soldier kept his old place near Margery.

So the weight was lifted from the loving heart, the cloud disappeared, and all at Monks Lea told of joy, peace, and good-will.