Chapter VIII

The steady pulse of time, which goes on mercilessly beating with calm inflexibility, regardless of all the lesser human pulses that hurriedly beat with it for a little while and then cease for ever, had measured out six whole years since Boy went to “skool” in France, and he was now sixteen, and also one of the foremost scholars at a well-known English military school. He had stayed in France for over a year, his mother having gone there to spend his holidays with him, rather than allow him to return to England and “spoil his French accent,” as she said. Poor Boy! He never had much of an accent, and what he learned of French was very soon forgotten when he came home. But what he learned of morals in France was not forgotten, and took deep root in his character. When he came back to England he found his father settled in London again, and bent on a sudden new scheme of education for him. The Honourable Jim was beginning to suffer severely from his constant unlimited potations; he was looking very bloated and heavy, and his eyes had an unpleasant fixed glare in them occasionally, which to a medical observer, boded no good. He had almost died in one bad fit of delirium tremens, and it was during the gradual process of his recovery from this attack, when in a condition of maudlin sentiment and general shakiness, that he decided on a public military training school as the next element in Boy’s education.

“Poor little chap!” he whimpered to the physician who had just blandly told him that he would be dead on whisky in two years,--“Poor little chap! I’ve been a bad father to him, doctor,--yes, I have--d----n it! I’ve left his bringing up to my wife--and she’s a d----d fool--always was--married her for her looks; ain’t much of ’em now, eh? ha-ha! all gone to seed! Well, well!--we’re here to-day and gone to-morrow!” and he rolled his confused head to and fro on his pillows, smiling feebly,--“That’s what the old-fashioned clowns used to say in the old-fashioned pantomimes. But by Jove! I’ll turn over a new leaf--Boy shall be properly educated, d----n it! He shall!”

So he swore--and so he resolved, and for once carried his way over the expostulations of his wife, who had some other “scheme” in view for “my son’s advancement,” but what scheme it was she was unable to state clearly. No such idea crossed either of their minds as the fact that Boy was already educated, so far as character and susceptibility of temperament were concerned. Both father and mother were too ignorant to realize that whatever good or bad there was in his disposition, was already too fully developed to be either checked or diverted from its course. And when the lad went to the school decided upon, it was with exactly the same weariness, indifference and cynicism with which he had gone to France. He had a bright brain, and soon became fully conscious of his powers. He mastered his lessons easily,--and as he had a sort of dogged determination to stand high in his classes, he succeeded. But his success gave him no joy. His vague fancies about the great possibilities of life, had all vanished. In the French school, among the boys of all ages and dispositions he met there, he had learned that the chief object of living was to please one’s Self. To do all that seemed agreeable to one’s Self--and never mind the rest! For example,--one could believe in God as long as one wished to,--but when this same God did not arrange things as suited one’s Self, then let God go. And Boy took this lesson well to heart,--it coloured and emphasized all the other “subjects” for which he “crammed” steadily, filling up his exam. papers and gaining thousands of marks for the parrot-like proficiency in such classical forms of study as were bound to be of no use whatever to him in the practical business of life. He was training to be an officer--and in consequence of this, was learning precisely everything an officer need not know. But as this is too frequently the system of national education nowadays in all professions, particularly the military, the least said about it the better. Boy, like other boys, did just what he was ordered to do, learned just what he was required to learn, with steady dogged persistence but no enthusiasm, and spared no pains to grind himself down into the approved ordinary pattern of an English college boy, and for this he made a complete sacrifice of all his originality. His studies fagged him, but he showed nothing of his weariness, and equally said nothing. He grew thin and tall and weak and nervous-looking--and one of the chief troubles of his life was his mother. Always dutiful to her, he did his best to be affectionate,--for he was old enough now to feel very sorry for her,--sorry and ashamed as well. Truth to tell, the most casual stranger looking at Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, could not but feel a timid reluctance to be seen in her company. Always inclined to fat, she had grown fatter than ever,--always loving slothful ease, she had grown lazier; her clothes were a mere bundle hooked loosely round her large form, and with ill-cut, non-fitting garments, she affected a “fashionable” hat, which created a wild and almost alarming effect whenever she put it on. Boy blushed deeply each time he saw her thus arrayed. In fact he often became painfully agitated when passers-by would stare at his mother with a derisive smile,--always over-sensitive, he could scarcely keep the tears out of his eyes. He lived in terror lest she should fulfil her frequently expressed intention of visiting his college to see the cricket matches or sham fights which often took place in the grounds--for if she did come, he would have to walk about with her and introduce her perhaps to some of his school-fellows. He dreaded this possibility, for he could not but compare her with the neat, and even elegantly dressed ladies who came at stated times to the school, and were proudly presented by various boys to their masters as “my mother.” How dreadful it would be if he had to own that the large lolling bundle of clothes, wispy hair and foolish face was “my mother”! It was not as if she had not the means to be tidy,--she had,--and as Boy often noticed, even some of the poorest women kept themselves clean and sweet. Why could not his mother look as tidy for instance as their own servant-maid when she went out on Sunday? He could not imagine. And he dared not ask her to be more careful of her personal appearance in order to save him shame; she would of course take the suggestion as a piece of gross impertinence.

And did he ever think of Miss Letty? Yes,--often and often he thought of her, but in a dull, hopeless, far-away fashion, as of one who had passed out of his life, never to be seen again. Ages seemed to have rolled by since his childhood,--and the face and figure of his old friend were pretty nearly as dimly indistinct in his memory as the shape and look of his once adored cow “Dunny.” He heard of her now and then,--for her course of life and action had considerably astonished and irritated Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, who frequently found occasion to make unkind remarks on the “fads” of that “silly old maid.” However, Miss Letty had no “fads,”--she merely made it a rule to be useful wherever she could,--and if she thought she saw a line of work and duty laid down for her to follow, she invariably followed it. When she had gone out to the States with Major Desmond as temporary chaperone to his niece, she met with so much kindness and hospitality from the Americans,--so much instant appreciation of her good breeding, grace and fine qualities, that she was quite affected by it,--and she had only been two or three months in New York, when she found to her amazement and gratitude that she had hosts of friends. Young girls adored her,--young men came to her with their confidences,--and all the elder women, married and unmarried, came round her, attracted by her sweetness, tactfulness, simplicity of manner and absolute sincerity. “Our English Miss Letty” was her new sobriquet,--and Major Desmond’s young niece, Violet Morrison, always called her “my own Miss Letty.” Violet was a very sweet, engaging child, and when she went to the school in New Jersey selected for her, she said to her uncle coaxingly on the day he left her there,--

“Wouldn’t it be nice if Miss Letty lived over here while I am at school? I could always go to her for my holidays then.”

The Major pinched her soft round cheek and kissed her and called her a “little baggage,”--did she suppose, he asked, that Miss Letty was going to absent herself from England all that while just to make holidays for a chit of a girl? But he thought about the matter a good deal, not from any selfish point of view, but solely on account of the happiness of the dear woman he had secretly loved so long, and whom he meant to love to the end. Sitting meditatively in one of the luxurious New York clubs, of which, with the ready courtesy Americans show to their stranger-visitors, he had been made an honorary member, the Major turned Miss Letty’s position over in his mind. She was all alone in the world, and though she was rich, he knew her nature well enough to be sure that in her case riches did not compensate for solitude. She had certain friends in England,--but none of them were half as sympathetic, warm-hearted or kindly, as those she had made so quickly in America. She had been disappointed in her love for Boy,--and if she tried to intervene in the further disposition of his fate, she would probably be disappointed again. Now here, in America, was Violet,--studying hard to become a bright, clever, sweet woman,--to learn to talk well and to know thoroughly what she was talking about--not to be a mere figure-head of femininity, just capable of wearing a gown and having a baby. Something more than that was demanded for Violet,--the Major wanted her to be brought up to understand the beauty and satisfaction of an impersonal life--a life that should widen, not narrow with experience,--and who could be a more faithful home instructress of unselfishness and virtue than Miss Letty? Yes; it would certainly mean a great and lasting benefit to Violet if she could have the blessing of Miss Letty’s influence and affectionate guidance in the opening out of her young life. And what of Miss Letty herself?

“Give that dear woman something to do for somebody else,” mused the Major, “and she’s perfectly happy. It’s only for herself she doesn’t care to do anything. Now I shall make her life best worth living, if I can fill it with duties--that is, if I can only persuade her to accept the duties.”

And after some further cogitation he went to Miss Letty and explained himself thoroughly, with, as he thought, a most artful and painstaking elaboration of his young niece’s position,--how hard it was for her to be without some one of her own sex to look after her, deprived as she was of a mother’s influence and example, and so on and so on, till Miss Letty suddenly stopped him in his eloquent harangue by a little shake of her hand, and an uplifted finger of protest.

“Dick!” she said, with a sparkle in her eyes suggestive of a dewdrop and sunbeam in one--“You are a dear old humbug!”

The Major started and blushed,--yes, actually blushed. He had considered himself a wonderful diplomatist, able to prepare a scheme of so deep and wily a nature that the most astute person would never be able to fathom it, and after all his crafty preparations, his plan turned out to be so transparent that a simple woman could see through it at once! He wriggled on his chair uneasily, coughed, and looked distinctly taken aback, while Miss Letty went on,--

“Yes, you are a dear old humbug, Dick!” she said, “And a good kind friend as well! It is not for Violet’s sake that you want me to stay over this side of ocean for a while, for there are hundreds of nice women here who would be only too pleased to have the child pass her holidays with them and their daughters,--no, Dick!--it isn’t for Violet’s sake half so much as it is for mine! I see that,--and I understand your good heart. You think I am a lonely old body--getting older quickly every day--and that the more friends I have, and the greater the interest I can take in other lives than my own, the better it will be for me. And you’re right, Dick! I’m not a fool, and I hope I am neither obstinate nor selfish. I see what you mean! You are very clear, my dear friend,--clear as crystal! I have not known you all these years for nothing. I honour and admire you, Dick, and if I didn’t go by your advice pretty often, I should be the most ungrateful creature under the sun. The only interest I have--or had--in England, apart from my natural love of home, is Boy,--but it is quite evident his mother doesn’t wish me to interfere with him, so I’m better out of the way. And the long and the short of it is, Dick, I’ll do just what you wish me to do!”

“Hooray, hooray!” cried the Major ecstatically. “Oh, Letty, Letty, what a wife you would have made! And it’s not too late even now. Won’t you have me? We’re too old to play Romeo and Juliet, but we can play Darby and Joan!”

In his excitement, Desmond had risen, and leaning behind Miss Letty’s chair, had slipped an arm round her, and now with one hand he turned up the dear face, so delicate, so little wrinkled, so tenderly shaped by approving Time into the sweetest of sweet expressions. The faintest pink coloured the pale cheeks at this impulsive caress of her old and faithful adorer.

“Dick, if I did not believe, as I do, that God always brings true lovers together again after death, I should say ‘yes’ to you, and do my best, old woman as I am, to be a companion to you for the rest of your life, and make your home cosy and comfortable; but you see I gave my promise to Harry before he went to India, that I would never marry any one but himself. He died true--and so must I!”

Never was the poor Major more bitterly and sorely tempted than at that moment. With all his heart he longed to tell the gentle trusting creature how utterly unworthy this same “Harry” had always been of such pure devotion,--he wanted to say that the person likely to “die true” was himself, and that the dead man she idolized did not merit a day’s regret,--but the strong sense of honour in the gallant old man held him silent, though he bit his lips hard to check the outburst of truth which threatened to rise and overcome his self-control. If he told her all, he would be doing two things that were in his estimation villainous,--first, he would be taking away a dead man’s character, and secondly, he would be destroying a good woman’s lifelong faith. No,--it was impossible--he could not, would not do it. He gave a deep sigh,--then patted Miss Letty’s white forehead gently and smoothed the silver hair.

“Have your own way, my dear!” he said resignedly, “Have your own way! I ought to be contented to have you as my friend, without hankering after you as a wife. I am a selfish old rascal,--that’s what’s the matter with me. Forget and forgive!”

“There’s nothing to either forget and forgive, Dick,” she said quickly, and with a sense of compunction, giving him her hand, which he kissed tenderly, though “Harry’s” engagement-ring still sparkled on it,--“I don’t deserve all your affection,--but I don’t mind telling you I should be very much unhappier than I am, without it!”

“Well, that’s something!” said the Major, beginning to smile again, and walking up and down the room,--“That’s what we may call a bit of heartsease. And now if you are going to do exactly what I want you to do, I suggest that you should take a pretty house on Long Island,--one of those charming and luxurious villas with big gardens, where you can roam about and enjoy yourself,--and let me cross the herring-pond for you and see to the letting of your place in England. You can do something advantageous with it for a year or two, and till that time you might tour through America and see everything worth seeing. And when I have transacted your business I will attend to my own, come out here again, and enjoy myself too!”

And so,--after more discussion, it was finally decided, and so,--much to the pleasure of Miss Letty’s numerous friends in America, it was finally arranged. And “our English Miss Letty” established herself in a beautiful house elegantly furnished, whose windows commanded a fine view of the sea, and which was surrounded by gardens full of wonderful flowers, such as are never seen in England, and a conservatory still more gorgeously supplied,--and though she missed the songs of the sweet English birds, the skylark, the blackbird, the thrush, and the familiar robin, she still had sufficient natural beauty about her to be in her own quiet way thankful for life and its privileges. She began to have serious thoughts of making her home for good in America, for Violet gathered about her such an assemblage of bright young people, and she herself was so much in demand, that she often wondered how it would ever be possible for her to escape from so many pleasant ties and go back to England again. She had written to Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, giving her address and stating something of her future intentions,--but had received no reply. And Boy never wrote to her at all. But she was not very much surprised at that, as it was most likely his mother would not tell him where she was. And so time flew on insensibly, one year after another, and Violet Morrison, from a little girl, grew up into a pretty maiden of seventeen summers,--graceful and gentle--clever, good, true, and devoted to Miss Letty, who loved her as a daughter, though her old affection for Boy never grew cold. Boy as she knew him,--Boy with all his little droll, pretty ways as a child,--Boy with his sad, wistful, old-fashioned manner, the result of home drawbacks, when he came to see her in Scotland, after which she had lost him for good,--Boy was still the secret idol of her heart next to “Harry,” whose image remained the centre of that inmost shrine. She could not picture Boy at all as a lad of fifteen--to her he was always a child; and on a little bracket near the chair where she was accustomed to sit every day with her needlework, there always stood the only two mementoes she had of him--the toy cow “Dunny,” unchanged in aspect, which he had viewed with such indifference in Scotland, and had left behind him there; and the little pair of shabby shoes, the souvenirs of the first time he ever stayed with her.

One day Violet Morrison asked her uncle about these mysterious relics.

“Why does Miss Letty keep that funny toy cow and those little shoes always beside her?”

Major Desmond puffed at his cigar, and surveyed his niece’s pretty rounded figure, bright face and sweet expression with much inward satisfaction. He met her question with another.

“Have you ever asked her?”

Violet blushed.

“No, I don’t think it’s good taste to ask people about their little fancies. One may hurt them quite unintentionally. And I wouldn’t hurt darling Miss Letty for the world!”

“That’s right, child!” said the Major--“You have the true feeling. But there is not much mystery about that toy cow or those shoes. Miss Letty, bless her heart, has no deep secrets in her life. The cow and the shoes belonged to a little chap named Robert D’Arcy-Muir, but generally called ‘Boy.’ She loved him very much, and wanted to adopt him; but his mother would not let her--and so--and so--she has got the cow and the shoes, and that’s all that’s left of him!”

“I see!” murmured Violet, and her pretty eyes grew moist. After a pause she said, “I suppose she could not love me as she loved Boy?”

“She loves you very much,” answered the Major discreetly.

“Yes--but not as she loved Boy! I was never quite a little child with her. I think”--and the girl’s fair face grew very serious--“if you once love a little child, you must always love it!”

“What, even if the child disappears altogether into a boy, and then into a man?--and perhaps an unpleasant man?” queried the Major with some amusement. But Violet did not smile.

“Yes--I think so,” she replied. “You see, you can never forget--if you ever knew--that though he may be grown into a man--perhaps a bad man--still he was a dear little child once! That’s what makes mothers so patient, I’m sure!”

She turned away, not trusting herself to say any more,--for she had loved her own mother dearly, and had never quite got over her loss.

The Major took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at its end meditatively.

“How these young creatures think nowadays!” he said. “Dear me! I never used to think about anything when I was Violet’s age. Life was all beer and skittles, as they say! I kicked about me like a young colt in a green pasture! Upon my word, I think that life is much too crowded with learning for the young folks in our present glorious age of progress. They become positively metaphysical before they’re twenty!”

Meanwhile Violet, whose heart was burdened with a secret which she was afraid to tell to her uncle, went in search of Miss Letty. It was a very warm day, though not as warm as summer days in America usually are, and the shadiest part of the house was the deep verandah, where clematis and the trumpet-vine clustered together round the light wooden pillars, and made tempting festoons of blossom for the humming-birds, which, like living jewels, poised and flew, and thrust their long slender beaks into the deep cups of the flowers, with an incessant, soft, bee-like murmur of delight. Violet, in her simple white gown, tied at the waist with a knot of ribbon, paused and shaded her eyes from the burning sunlight, while she looked right and left to see if Miss Letty were anywhere near. Yes!--there she was, sitting just inside the verandah in a low basket-chair, protected by a pretty striped awning, busy as usual with the embroidery at which she was such a skilled adept, her white fingers moving swiftly, and her whole attitude and expression one of the greatest simplicity and content.

“How peaceful she looks!” thought Violet, with a little nervous tremour--“I wonder if she will be vexed with me?”

Miss Letty at that moment raised her eyes to watch the dainty caperings of two of the humming-birds, whose exquisite blue wings glittered like large animated sapphires, and in so doing saw Violet, and smiled. The girl approached quickly, and threw herself down beside her, taking her hat off, and lifting her bright hair from her forehead with a little sigh.

“Are you tired, my dear?” asked Miss Letty gently.

“Yes, I think I am. It is warm, isn’t it? Oh dear, Miss Letty, you do look so sweet! Were you always as good as you are now?”

Miss Letty laid down her embroidery and smiled at this question.

“Good? My dear child, I’m not good! I am just as I always was--a woman--getting to be a very old one now--full of faults and failings. What makes you ask me such a funny question?”

“I don’t know!” and Violet bit the ribbon of her hat spasmodically--“My own Miss Letty! Were you ever in love?”

The gentle lady started, and her delicate hands trembled, as she quietly took up her work and resumed her stitching.

“Yes, Violet,” she answered softly--“And what you will say is more extraordinary, I am in love still!”

“He is dead?” queried Violet timidly.

“Yes. He is dead, so far as this world goes--but he is alive for me in Heaven. And I shall meet him--soon!”

She raised her patient sweet eyes for a moment--and their expression was so heavenly--the youth and beauty of the past was so earnestly reflected in their clear depths, that Violet almost forgot it was an old face in which these orbs of constancy were set.

“Is that why you never married?” asked Violet, in hushed, tender tones.

“Yes, my dear. That is why. For I am an old-fashioned body--and I believe in the maxim, ‘Once love, love always’!”

“Ah yes!”

Violet turned her head away and was silent for a long time. Miss Letty, still working, glanced at her now and then with a smile, till at last she said in sweet, equable tones,--

“Well! How long am I to wait for this little confession! Who is he?”

A face was turned upon her, rosy as the leaves of the trumpet-vine flowers above,--a pair of bright eyes flashed, like the twinkle of the humming-bird’s wings, and a muffled voice exclaimed,--

“Miss Letty!”

In another moment the girl was at her feet, hiding her head in the folds of her old friend’s gown, and making dreadful havoc with the silks and filoselles which were in use for the embroidery.

“Mind! There are needles about!” said Miss Letty, laughing a little--“They will scratch your pretty face--dear me!--you’re catching all the silks in your hair!” and she carefully took out threads of blue and red and gold from the bright, rippling curls of the bent head at her knee. “Now what’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” answered Violet, still hiding her eyes--though she got hold of Miss Letty’s two hands and held them fast,--“It’s only that last night--he said--he said----”

“That he loved you?” said Miss Letty tenderly, trying to help her out,--“Well, that’s very natural on the part of any young man, I’m sure! But who is he?”

Violet perked her head up for a minute, and then burrowed it down again.

“Ah! That’s just it!” she said, in smothered accents. “He is not exactly young.”

“Oh, dear me! Is he old?”

“Oh _no_!” This answer was most emphatic--“But he isn’t a boy, you know! He is--well--I suppose he is about thirty-five!”

“My dear child! But--before I pass any opinion, or give any advice--will you not just tell me plainly who he is? Does your uncle know him? Do I know him?”

“Everybody knows him!” said Violet. “That’s the worst of it! That’s why I’m afraid you won’t like it! He is Mr. Max Nugent!”

Miss Letty almost jumped out of her chair. Max Nugent, the millionaire!--the man after whom all the “society” beauties of London, Paris, and New York had been running like hunters after a fox,--he in love with little Violet? It seemed strange--almost unnatural--she could scarcely believe it, and in the extremity of her surprise, was quite speechless.

“He says he wishes he was not a millionaire!” said Violet in doleful accents, beginning to twist her hat round and round--“He says he wishes he was just a clerk in an office doing a grind, and coming home to me in a little weeny house! He would be quite content! But he can’t help it! You see, his father left him all the dreadful money,--and the only thing he can use it for is to try to make other people happy. And he thinks I might help him to do that! But there,--I see by your looks you don’t like it!”

A sudden rush of tears filled her eyes, and Miss Letty, recalling her scattered wits, made haste to put her arms round her and comfort her.

“My dear Violet, my darling girl, don’t cry,--you quite mistake me. I am surprised,--indeed very much surprised--but I am not displeased. I know very little about Mr. Nugent,--I daresay he is a very good man--your uncle sees more of him than I do,--but--you must remember he is so much older than you are, and so much sought after by the world that it seems difficult to realize that he wants to marry my little girl! There--there! Don’t cry! Does your uncle know?”

“I couldn’t tell him!” sobbed Violet--“I wanted to, but I didn’t dare! And Max said that if I told you, he would tell uncle. Do you see? Then you two would meet and talk it over. There is nothing wrong with Max except his horrid money! Because everybody will say that I am a mean, designing, little wretch--and I really have not been anything of the kind--I never did anything to make him like me--only be just myself----”

Miss Letty kissed her.

“That is the secret of it, little one!” she said--“Being yourself--your dear self--is the only way to win a man’s heart! And do you love him?”

Violet raised her eyes fully this time, and dashed away her tears.

“Yes, I do!” she said earnestly--“I love him dearly!”

Miss Letty stroked her hair thoughtfully.

“It will be a very responsible position for you, dear child, if you marry Mr. Nugent,” she said seriously--“Very brilliant--very difficult--almost dangerous for such a young thing as you are! I think, Violet--that perhaps you would rather not have any advice from me just now?”

“Oh yes--yes! Do advise me! I want advice!” cried the girl enthusiastically. “Max said whatever you told me I was to do--as he honoured you more than any woman in the world--except me!”

Miss Letty laughed.

“I was going to say--surely he makes that one reservation!” she said. “Well, my dear, my advice is that you refrain from entering into any sort of an engagement for at least a year. Your love for each other will hold out during that time of probation if it is worth anything--and then--you will be more certain of your own mind. Yes, I know”--for Violet was about to interrupt her,--“You think you are quite certain now, but you are not quite eighteen yet--a mere child--and Mr. Nugent is a man of the world--believe me, dear, it will be better for you, and better for him, to endure this test of faith. However, I am not the only one whose advice you must consider--there is your uncle Desmond. Now you know, Violet, he is one of the best and kindest men living, and he is very anxious to do everything well for his dear sister’s child,--you will obey his wishes whatever they are, will you not?”

“Indeed, indeed I will!” said Violet earnestly,--“I promise!”

“That’s my dear girl!” and Miss Letty kissed her again--“Now tell me all about this wonderful Max--though I know just how you feel about him.”

“Do you?” said Violet, smiling and blushing--“Then _you_ tell _me_!”

“You feel,” said Miss Letty, taking her hands and pressing them tenderly, “that there never was, and never will be, such a splendid lover for a girl in the world as he is,--you feel that when he is near you you are quite happy, and want nothing more than just to hear him speak, and watch his eyes resting upon you,--you feel that there is a blank in your life when he is absent,--you feel that you would not worry him or vex him by so much as a thought--you feel that if God were to take him from you now--you would be very lonely--that you would perhaps never get over it all your life long.”

Her voice trembled,--and Violet threw her arms impulsively about her.

“Dear, _dear_ Miss Letty, you know!”

“Yes,” said Miss Letty with a faint smile--“I know! Now, little one, let us try and talk quietly over this affair. Let me get to my work--you talk--and I listen.”

And so as the drowsy heat of the afternoon cooled off towards sunset, when the humming-birds left off kissing the flowers and went to bed, like jewels put by in their velvety nest-cases, the two women sat together--the one young and brimful of hope and the dreams of innocence--the other old, but as fresh in heart and simplicity of faith as the girl who so joyously exulted in her springtime.

That evening Violet went off to a dance at the house of a neighbour, and Major Desmond dropped in to see Miss Letty, just as she was thinking it was about time to go to bed, notwithstanding the wonderful glory of the moon which looks so much more luminous and brilliant in the clear atmosphere of America than in the half misty but more tender pearl tint of the ever-changeful English skies. She stood on the low step of her verandah, gazing wistfully up at the proudly glittering Diana, sweeping through heaven like the veritable huntress of the classic fable, without a cloud to soften the silver flashing of her bow--and as the Major’s stalwart figure came slowly across the lawn, she was for a moment startled. He looked anxious and careworn; and her heart sank a little. She was not actually surprised to see him; he had his suite of rooms at an hotel not so very far away, and he was accustomed to stroll up to her house very often, bringing his friends with him. But a worried look on that cheery face was new to her, and she was not a little troubled to see it.

“Why, Dick!” she said, as he approached--“Isn’t this rather a late visit?”

“Is it too late for you, Letty?” he asked gently--“If so, I’ll go away again.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” she said cheerily,--“Violet has gone to a dance, and I meant to sit up for her in my room, but now we’ll both sit up for her here. What a warm day it has been!--and it’s a warm night too--I’ll order you an iced sherry-cobbler.”

She rang a bell which communicated with the house, and gave her order to the servant who answered it--then pushed a comfortable chair forward. The Major sank into it with a deep sigh.

“That’s nice!” he said--“And I won’t say no to the sherry-cobbler. I’ve had a wearying day.”

“Have you? I am sorry!” and Miss Letty’s eyes were full of sympathy--“Is it about--about Violet?”

“Yes--it’s about Violet,” said the Major, and then became silent, meditatively tinkling with a spoon the lumps of ice in the sherry-cobbler which had just been set before him.

“But I don’t think you need worry about that,” began Miss Letty.

He interrupted her by a slight gesture.

“Ah, you dear woman! You don’t know! You are as sweetly ignorant of the ways of modern men as the ladies in the old-fashioned ‘Book of Beauty,’ who always wore their hair parted in the middle and went on smiling serenely at everything and everybody, even when their lives were ruined and their hearts broken. No, Letty! You don’t know! Has Violet told you?”

“About Mr. Nugent--yes. I confess I was very much surprised.”

“So was I--so I am still!” said the Major--“I don’t know what to say about it. You see, Letty, it’s this way. Max Nugent’s father was the biggest rascal that ever died unhanged. He made his wealth by fraud--and thank goodness, he killed himself by overeating! This young man, his only son, may be a very good fellow--but he has nothing to be proud of in his ancestry, and he has seen a great deal of the worst side of the world. He has lived his own life in Paris, Petersburg and Vienna, and I doubt--I doubt whether he would make such a simple, unsophisticated little girl as Violet, happy. I told him so plainly. He came to me to-day, and talked very eloquently--and I must say very well. I explained to him that his wealth was simply monstrous and appalling,--positively vulgar, in fact. He said he knew it was, but he could not help it. Which of course he can’t!”

Miss Letty laughed.

“Poor man! Are you not a little hard on him, Dick?”

The Major sipped his cobbler with a relish. His brows were clear,--the gentle presence of Miss Letty was already doing him good.

“I think not--I hope not!” he answered--“I told him just what I felt about it. I said that his money was a disgrace, because it had been gotten together by fraud. He admitted it. He offered to endow hospitals, free libraries, and build all sorts of benevolent institutions,--educate poor children, and encourage deserving beggars all round, if I let him marry Violet----”

“Well!”

“Well--I don’t like it,” said the Major very emphatically--“I tell you plainly, I don’t like it! There’s just a something about Nugent that I don’t quite trust!”

Miss Letty looked grave.

“If you really feel like that, Dick----” she began.

“I do feel like it!” and the Major squared his shoulders with a movement of resolution--“But I don’t mean to make myself a slave to personal prejudice. And I have not refused Nugent--but I have said he must wait a year.”

“That’s exactly what I told Violet!” said Miss Letty triumphantly.

Desmond looked at her wistfully.

“There you are, you see! Everything proves as plainly as possible that we two ought to have been one, Letty! Our wits jump together by mutual consent. Well now, I have told this golden-crusted millionaire that I cannot permit any sort of engagement to exist between him and my young niece for twelve months. After that time is ended, if both he and she are of the same mind, I will consent to an engagement,--the marriage to follow in six months afterwards. He was very loth to agree to these terms--but finally, as I would hear of nothing else, he consented. And what does Violet say?”

“She is willing to do anything you wish,” said Miss Letty.

“Yes--she is willing to do anything you wish!” echoed a soft voice behind them.

They both started and turned round. There stood Violet, just returned from her dance, looking the very perfection of sweet girlhood, in her simple white ball-dress, with a knot of carnations on her bodice, and a little wisp of tulle thrown over her head and shoulders. Her face was smiling, but her eyes were soft and serious, and as soon as she saw she was perceived, she came forward and knelt down with a pretty grace at her uncle’s feet.

“She is willing to do anything you wish!” she repeated--“Dearest uncle, you know I am!”

The old Major patted her head kindly.

“Yes, child!--I am sure you are! And so you have been playing the eavesdropper, eh? Now, who brought you home from the dance just now?”

“Max--Mr. Nugent did,” answered Violet frankly--“But only just as far as the door. I asked him to come in and see Miss Letty, but he wouldn’t!”

“Why wouldn’t he?” asked the Major.

“Oh, I don’t know!” and Violet gave a pretty gesture of deprecation--“I think he was shy!”

Desmond gave a short laugh.

“Shy! I never heard that of Max Nugent before! However,--love works wonders! Well now, Violet, Miss Leslie and I have been talking this matter over--and I’ll tell you what we have decided. We are going to take you back to England for a year!”

Violet rose from her kneeling attitude at her uncle’s side, and her face grew wistful.

“To England!”

“Yes--to England. Eh, Letty?” and he gave her a side wink. Miss Letty was startled, but she did not show it outwardly. She merely replied with a becoming meekness,--

“Whatever you think best for Violet, Dick.”

“Well, I think that best,” said Desmond firmly--“And to England we will go as soon as the summer is over; it’s July now--we’ll give you August and September to be happy in your own way, Violet, and to make Mr. Nugent distinctly understand that you have sufficient breadth and firmness of character to obey those who feel themselves responsible in a way for your future life and happiness,--and that you mean to make him deserve you by patience and fidelity. Do you understand?”

“Yes, uncle. I quite understand!” said Violet gently.

“And you are not unhappy about it?”

“No, uncle. You have been so good to me, and your love has been so true and kind, that I cannot doubt your knowing and doing for the best. I should indeed be an ungrateful little wretch if I thought otherwise. I shall obey you absolutely. And dear Miss Letty too!”

She stooped and kissed them both tenderly.

“Good night!” she said cheerily. “I have danced nearly all the evening--I’m tired, and I’m going to bed!”

“Good night, little one--God bless you!” said Miss Letty fondly.

“God bless you, darling Miss Letty!” And with another kiss and smile, Violet entered the house, paused on the threshold for a moment to wave her hand once more, and then vanished.

The two old people were silent for some minutes after she had gone. The glorious moon shed broad haloes of silvery light around them, and in the deep silence a whisper seemed to steal upon the heavily perfumed air, and creep into both their hearts, saying--“You two--you both were young once,--and now--do you not think you have wasted your lives for a dream’s sake?”

But though they were conscious of this subtle suggestion, their brave souls had but the one response to it. Miss Letty certainly did not think her life was wasted because she had been faithful to the memory of her first love, and because since his death she had done what she could to make others, instead of herself, happy. And Dick Desmond, though he sometimes did feel a little bit sore about having had to sacrifice a sweet wife and cosy home, for the memory as he always said to himself “of a dead rascal,”--still he did not complain of the romantic faith that had kept his heart warm all these years, and enabled him to do good wherever he could in his own particular way. So that whisper of a half regret passed them by like the merest passing shadow,--and the Major rose up to go, squaring his shoulders in his usual fashion and shaking himself like a big retriever.

“I think I’m right, Letty!” he said with a meaning nod towards the direction in which Violet had disappeared.

“You are always right, Dick, I am sure!” responded Miss Letty sweetly.

The Major took up his broad Panama hat, and looked into its crown thoughtfully.

“You’ll be ready to sail the first week in October, Letty?”

“Quite!”

“Good night!”

“Good night, Dick!”

Whereupon the Major put his Panama firmly on his head and walked slowly and meditatively down the garden and out of it--and Miss Letty put by the chairs on the verandah, and shut all the drawing-room windows. As she paused for a moment by her worktable to put one or two trifles by, her eyes rested for a moment on the pair of little worn shoes on the bracket above, and the pensive aspect of the toy cow “Dunny” that stood close by them, and that seemed to be steadfastly regarding their shabby toes with a contemplative sadness too deep for even a movable head to wag over.

“Poor Boy!” mused Miss Letty--“I wonder where he is--and what he is like--now!”