Chapter XXI: The Return of the Americans

"IT is a restless age," observed Colonel Hyde the next morning, as with the utmost precision and deliberation, he opened his egg. "My godson was in London yesterday, yet he must be off to town again by the first train this morning. Then he talks of joining a party of friends who are going to Norway next week for some fishing."

Aunt Patty and I glanced at each other. Fishing might effect a cure as well as hunting.

"He needs and deserves a holiday after working so well," my aunt said. "He has been at home a great deal of late."

"His father has not had much of his company," remarked the colonel. "Jack has been going up to London continually, and whatever leisure he had he spent here."

"Does the vicar complain that he has too little of his son's society?" inquired Aunt Patty. "It always seems to me that he prefers the company of his books, since Jack and he have so little in common. But he must be very pleased that Jack has passed his exam."

"Has he passed?" exclaimed Miss Cottrell eagerly. "When did you hear? Why did no one tell me?"

It was not quite easy to answer the latter question. I trembled lest Miss Cottrell with her talent for investigation should discover why Jack had become suddenly desirous of change of scene. Happily she was just then too absorbed in anticipating the return of her fiancé to devote much attention to the affairs of others.

They were expected to arrive in time for afternoon tea. I watched Miss Cottrell drive off, radiant with satisfaction, to meet them at the station, then I took a book and seated myself amid the flowers in my favourite nook on the top of the porch. It was a warm afternoon, no breeze reached me where I sat, and the air was heavy with the perfume of the roses and jasmine that grew about the porch. Bees were buzzing about me, and now and then a white butterfly would flit past my book. It was a book on Goethe which Alan Faulkner had advised me to read and which father had procured for me from a London library. I was truly interested in it, yet I found it hard to fix my attention on its pages this afternoon. The sweet summer atmosphere and the stillness, broken only by the hum of insect life, made me drowsy. My book dropped, my head sank sideways, and I passed into a pleasant dream.

I was wandering through a wood with Alan Faulkner beside me when the stir and bustle of arrival below roused me to consciousness of my actual surroundings. How long I had been sleeping I could not tell, but the wagonette stood before the house, and as I sprang up and rubbed my eyes, I heard Paulina's high, thin American tones calling for "Nan." I ran down and we met at the foot of the stairs.

"Nan—you dear old Nan! Why weren't you on the doorstep to welcome me?" cried Paulina as she threw her arms round me. "Come, you need not be afraid to kiss me! I am warranted perfectly harmless."

"That's more than I'd warrant you, Pollie Dicks," came as an aside from her father.

"Indeed, I am not afraid," I responded, a little surprised at the fervour of her embrace, "and I'm very glad you've come back."

"That's right. I can't tell you how good it feels to be at 'Gay Bowers' again!" cried Paulina gleefully. "But say, Nan, what's the matter with you? I declare you've been sleeping! You lazy thing! It's time I came back to wake you up."

"She'll rouse you all—you may trust Pollie Dicks for that!" cried her father, rubbing his hands, while Miss Cottrell hovered near him, looking absurdly self-conscious. "Say, doesn't she look as if scarlet fever agreed with her?"

She certainly did. I had expected to see her looking thin and pale and languid, but it was not so. She had put on flesh in her convalescence, and the sea air had given her a more ruddy hue than I had yet seen her wear. She appeared to be in robust health, and was undoubtedly in excellent spirits. I need not have been anxious on the score of her happiness.

"If you mention scarlet fever again, I'll fine you a thousand pounds!" she cried, turning on her father. "I don't want to hear the name again, do you understand? All the same, Nan," she added, turning to me, "it is not half bad having a fever. It is good for the complexion. It rejuvenates you altogether, I guess. You'll be sorry one of these days that you haven't had it. Anyway, I've had a jolly time for the last fortnight, with nothing to do save eat and drink and take mine ease."

"You have changed if you have grown fond of repose," I said, as we went upstairs.

"Ah, Nan! Sharp-tongued as ever!" she replied. "I know you thought me a terrible gadabout, and I certainly never went to sleep in the middle of the day like some one I know. But you must have been deadly dull without me, and your cousin gone too, and the Professor. What a miserable little party you must have been here!"

"We have managed to bear up somehow," I said, smiling; "but it is good to have you here again, Paulina."

I spoke in all sincerity. I had not taken readily to Paulina Dicks. Her odd, American ways had jarred on me when first she came. I had not realised how much I liked her, or how I missed her, till now that her eager, vivid personality once more made a pleasant stir in the house. I think I laughed more in the first half-hour after her arrival than I had laughed during the whole of her absence. A cheerful disposition wields a potent charm.

Yet I had seen Paulina other than cheerful. What a different Paulina she was from the girl who had gone away in sore anxiety and dread! She made no allusion to the manner of her departure, yet I knew it was in her mind as she opened the door of her room. I had suggested to aunt that we should make a little alteration in the arrangement of Paulina's room. So the bedstead now stood in another position, and the aspect of the room did not inevitably recall the long, weary night in which she had suffered so much. I saw that she noted the change with satisfaction. All she said was, "Nan, you are a darling!" It was not Pollie Dicks's way to indulge in sentiment or make a parade of emotion.

Yet ere we slept that night she opened her heart to me as she had not done save on that night when she looked death in the face and was afraid.

Dinner had been over about half-an-hour. I chanced to be alone in the drawing-room. It was growing dusk, but the lamps were not yet lighted, when I heard Paulina's voice at the open window.

"Do come out, Nan," she cried. "I want to show you something."

I ran out willingly enough. It was lovely in the garden at that hour. After the heat of the day the air seemed deliciously cool and sweet. The moon was slowly rising above the tree-tops. A soft breeze whispered through the leaves. The flowers were giving forth their sweetest perfumes.

"Oh, how lovely!" I exclaimed as I drew a deep breath.

"Hush," said Paulina, with a warning gesture, "not a word! I want to show you something."

She led me noiselessly along the grass till we reached the tall thick hedge at the end of the lawn. Then she signed to me to peer stealthily over it. I did so, and perceived Josiah Dicks and Miss Cottrell pacing arm in arm the narrow path between the apple trees. As a precaution against chill, for the dew was falling, his long neck and lean shoulders were enveloped in a Scotch plaid. She wore her huge garden hat, and had wrapped herself in a red shawl. They were certainly an odd-looking couple.

"Romeo and Juliet," whispered Paulina, and I nearly exploded.

"You naughty girl!" I said as we withdrew to a safe distance. "But I am glad you can laugh. I feared it might be a trouble to you."

"What—the betrothal of my youthful papa?" she said, laughing. "Well, I'll own up that it did vex me for about fifteen minutes."

"Not longer?" I asked.

"No," she said naïvely, "for I was convinced upon reflection that it was a blessing in disguise. You see, I knew she could not take my place in his heart. He will always love me best."

"Oh!" I said.

"Do you doubt it," she asked with some warmth, "when I am his child—his own Pollie? How can a woman whom he has known but a few weeks, be more to him than me? Why, he did not propose until I gave him permission."

"He asked your permission?" I repeated in amazement.

"Certainly. We talked it over together, and I came to the conclusion that it would be a convenience to both me and poppa. You see, he is not very strong; the fact is, he is getting old, and he wants some one to fuss over him continually, and look after his little comforts. Miss Cottrell loves doing that sort of thing, and I don't. Besides, you know, I am a good deal younger than he is."

"Naturally," I said.

"And our tastes are different," she went on quite seriously, "so I want to live my own life; but it will be a comfort to me to know when I am not with poppa that he is being well looked after and made happy in his own way. And I like Kate Cottrell. I have no fear that she will plague me as a step-mother."

"I should certainly advise her not to interfere with you," I said, laughing. "And so you graciously permitted your father to woo her?"

"Yes; and when he was getting a ring for her, he got me one, too, to mark the occasion," said Paulina, stretching forth a finger for my inspection. "Isn't it a beauty? Poppa is always giving me jewels, though he threatens that a day may come when he will no longer be able to do so. He talks sometimes as if he were afraid of suddenly losing his money; but I don't think that is likely, though all sorts of things happen in business. I should not like him to lose his money. It's nice to have plenty to spend, isn't it?"

"I am sure you find it so," I replied; "for myself, I have never had the experience."

"How dryly you say it!" laughed Paulina. "But now, Nan, tell me—why has the Professor taken himself off, and Jack Upsher? What is the meaning of it? Have you been breaking hearts here during my absence?"

"I don't know what you mean," I said, thankful for the veil of twilight. "Professor Faulkner has gone to the assistance of a friend who is ill. He is taking classes as a locum tenens in some Scotch college."

"Oh, I know—Miss Cottrell told me that," she replied impatiently; "but I guess I can see as far through a brick wall as most people, and I know there's something behind. You can't throw dust in my eyes."

"I have no wish to do so," I said coolly; "there is no occasion that I know of."

"You are an obstinate little mortal, Nan," said Paulina severely; "I hoped you were going to be my friend. I meant to tell you, you might call me 'Pollie.' No one has done so yet except poppa and one other person, though I presume Miss Cottrell thinks she has a right to do so now; indeed she tried it on yesterday."

I nudged Paulina to make her aware that her father and his companion had emerged from the sheltered path and were taking their way to the house. Paulina responded by throwing her arm round my waist and drawing me quickly behind a bush.

"What a couple of old dears they look!" she said irreverently. "I don't want them to see us, for I do not mean to go in yet. It is too lovely."

I assented eagerly. The moon was now visible far beyond the trees and shed its radiance full upon the lawn. The shadow of each tree and bush was sharply defined upon the grass. Bats were beginning to flit on heavy wing across the garden. The light breeze which was sweeping through the trees was not too cool for us. Paulina linked her arm in mine, and we turned towards the path between the apple trees.

The beauty and mystery of the night laid its spell upon us, making:

"Deep silence in the heart,
For thought to do her part."

For some minutes neither of us spoke. Then Paulina began to speak in a low, soft voice, very unlike her usual high-pitched tones.

"Nan, do you remember that night before I went away?"

"I remember it well," I said.

"How frightened I was when I knew that I had scarlet fever—how I thought I should die as mamma did?"

"Yes," I murmured. As if I could forget!

"I shall never forget what you said that night and how you prayed with me," she went on. "You don't know how you helped me. I learned to pray that night, Nan."

"Oh, Pollie, dear Pollie," I said, drawing her closer to me, "I am so glad!"

She bent and kissed me ere she spoke again. "I thought of your words when I felt lonely and frightened in the days that followed. I tried to believe that the Lord Jesus was with me, and I asked Him to take me into His keeping. I was too weak and ill to think or pray much; but I rested on the thought that I was in His loving grasp. And presently all my fear went, and I was calm and peaceful as—as a girl would be who had her mother beside her."

"Oh, I am so glad!" I said once more. It seemed almost too wonderful to be true, that God should thus have used me to bring Paulina to Himself. Never had I felt more poor and mean and unworthy, yet never was I more truly thankful.

"And now I want to be a different sort of girl," continued Paulina. "I mean to try to be good for all I am worth, and you must help me, Nan. I am afraid I shall never be a real Christian, though."

"You are surely not going to be a sham one," I said. "You cannot be if Christ has you in His keeping."

"That is true," said Paulina. "Oh, Nan, life seems so much more to me now! I have such new hopes and plans and I am so happy!"

"And I am happy too," I cried.

Indeed I felt as if I could never be troubled again. I could only wonder that I had ever allowed myself to be ruffled by trifles. The things which had so lately disturbed my peace seemed now of slight importance, since there came to me a blessed conviction that my life, and the lives of those I loved, were in the keeping of a God of Love, who would make all things work for our good. What a difference it makes whether one regards one's life as ruled by a hard, blind, inexorable Fate, or as guided by the Hands of Love! My mood at that hour might have found expression in Mrs. Browning's well-known lines:

"And I smiled to think God's greatness
Flowed around our incompleteness,
Round our restlessness, His rest."

Paulina and I did not utter many words as we paced the path together. Our hearts were too full of deep emotion. That sacred confidence cemented between us a lasting friendship. We lost all sense of time as we wandered to and fro, now in the clear moonlight and now in the shade of the trees, till at last Aunt Patty's voice was heard from the farther end of the lawn.

"Girls—girls I Where are you? It is time to close the house. Do you mean to spend the night in the garden? Nan, you forget that Paulina is an invalid."

"That I am not!" cried Paulina stoutly, and, laughing, we ran indoors.