Chapter XVIII: The Right Home Appears

ONE autumn afternoon, Damaris took the dogs out for a run over the common. The heather was dying, but the golden bracken and the late gorse seemed to gild the scene, and the trees in their deep red and russet brown foliage were a real joy to Damaris. She was standing by a group of hawthorns, when she was startled by a voice close to her.

"Good afternoon."

It was Stuart. He was striding over the ground at a rapid rate.

"So glad to see you out," he said. "Weather conditions better, eh? Rising fair, I should say."

Damaris laughed, as she always did when he alluded to her barometrical tendencies, as he called them.

"Oh, yes, I am feeling it is good to be alive this afternoon. What are you doing out here?"

"I was coming over to see you," he said in a very quiet tone. "I made up my mind to do it last night, and the thought of it kept me awake all night."

"Oh, what a pity you thought of it at all," said Damaris laughing. "Have you any very unpleasant business to transact with me?"

He looked at her rather searchingly, but a smile was in his eyes.

"Now what kind of unpleasant business could I want to transact with you?" he asked her. "You are looking better—not such an ethereal phantom as when I saw you last. How is Miss Hardacre?"

"Very fit."

"Are you and she going to set up housekeeping together?"

"I think we are. I don't quite know." Damaris's eyes were dreamy as she spoke. "She thinks I would be more free without her, but I don't like living alone; I have had too much of it. And I'm inclined to wonder why I am turned out of one home after the other. It seems to be my fate, but, of course, it's all right."

"Well now, I am sure you have had a lot of suggestions from everyone. And I want you to listen to mine, will you?"

Damaris looked up at him, and then as suddenly looked away. His eyes revealed too much.

"I want to offer you a home," he said abruptly. "Shall we make one together?"

Damaris caught her breath. Then she said slowly, but with lifted head—

"It is very kind and good of you. But I ought not to have insinuated that I was homeless. Aunt Barbara has asked me to stay with her, and Aunt Ella wants me to live with her."

"But don't you understand me?" said Stuart quickly.

"Yes," said Damaris in the same slow way, "I do. You lay awake last night filled with pity for one of your many friends—you see, I call myself your friend—and you wondered if you could offer me the home you thought I was in need of—and now you have done it. And I am grateful, though I must decline it."

"You are talking nonsense!" Stuart said hotly. Then he added, "I beg your pardon. Mine is not a business proposal. I have started the wrong end. And as for pity—I may have that; but it is love that has kept me awake all night. Didn't I tell you I did not want to be your friend? I want to be your lover, no other role will suit me. You are such a dainty remote little creature, so quick to resent undue familiarity, so sensitive to hasty words, that I have gone slowly, trying to discover your mind. And now I'm in absolute suspense as to how you regard me. As a useful friend and neighbour, eh? I flatter myself that you have some small liking for me, but whether there's something still waiting for me below the surface is the problem. It isn't a home I want to give you—it's my heart and life; and I want to have yours."

He had stopped walking by her side, and had now swung round in front of her, holding her hands as if he never meant to let them go.

Damaris's colour came and went, her lips quivered, she seemed as if she were about to cry, and then she looked up into his face, and a soft little sigh escaped her.

"You can have it," she murmured.

It was just as well that they were in a lonely part of the common, as Stuart took her right in his arms then and there.

"Well, this is bliss!" he said at last.

And then Damaris laughed, she could not help it. There was something so naïve and boyish in his tone.

"I can't understand your wanting me," she said presently. "You have so many women friends, and I always feel very young and ignorant when I'm with you."

"And you are the only person who inspires me with a feeling of doubtful uncertainty and of diffidence," said Stuart with a twinkle in his eyes. "I haven't been able to keep away from you, but I've always pretended to be very self-assured and grandfatherly in my remarks, when in reality I have been trembling in my shoes!"

Then he tucked her hand into his arm. "Oh, let us walk over the hills and far away! I want to be alone with you in the world. Damaris, sweetest, how long has your heart been mine? Let's make our confessions one to the other. Do you remember when we first saw each other? You were sitting by the roadside and Barbara and I passed you; and then I saw you in church on the Sunday, and I said to myself,—

"'If ever I have a wife, she must look just like that.'

"And your proud little face stamped itself then and there on my heart. Then we met you coming across the common, and I saw you once or twice after that; the third or fourth time I was introduced to you at the Rectory; and then the day you were running off—at the station; do you remember? What a state I was in when Barbara told me who you were supposed to be! I went up to town, and felt I would never give up looking for you till I had found you.

"How angry you were with me when we met! I was determined to get you down into these parts again. And all this year, I've been looking forward to the moment which is now with us. But doubts and fears have beset me, and it wasn't till Barbara was talking with me yesterday that I determined to put my fortune to the test. Why didn't you let me see just a tiny bit that you cared for me?"

"How could I?" said Damaris, with a soft glow in her eyes. "How can any girl show her feelings before she knows that a man cares for her? Only some days ago, when you last came over and played so exquisitely before—before our trouble, I thought to myself, as I sat listening to you, 'I would give all the world to be able to have the right to go over to him and put my arms round his neck and thank him.'"

"You shall do it," murmured Stuart ecstatically; "next time I'm at the piano, you shall do it, and I shall demand two very soft kisses then and there."

Damaris paid no attention to this interruption.

"And then," she continued, "I felt it would be quite impossible to expect you to care more for me than for anyone else, and people always said of you that you were friendly with everyone."

"Why did you think I came over so often? It was not to see your grandfather."

"I thought that was just habit. You used to come and see Aunt Barbara; and as you were friendly with her, I thought you meant to be friendly with me."

"I have been a laggard wooer," said Stuart in a contrite tone. "I have always been steeling my heart to wait until I had some inclination from you to encourage me. And you never gave it."

"And you are positively sure that you are not offering me a house out of pity?"

"Now stand still and look into my eyes, and say whether it is pity or love you see there."

In this way they talked, like all lovers do, and eventually came to the Hall together.

"Is Miss Hardacre in?" Damaris asked Symons a little nervously.

She felt self-conscious, being afraid of betraying her happiness to all who saw her.

"Yes, ma'am, and her ladyship is with her."

"Oh, Aunt Barbara has come over. What shall we do?"

She turned a pretty appealing face towards Stuart.

"Do?" he said. "Await their congratulations. I want to proclaim it from the house-top. Come along in; I will do all the talking for you."

And so they went in to tell their news, Damaris feeling very shy but almost dazed by her sudden happiness. To her the whole aspect of the world had changed within the last hour.

Barbara was sitting by the library fire talking to Miss Hardacre. They both looked up as Damaris and Stuart came in, and both knew before they were told what had happened.

"My promised wife," said Stuart proudly.

And then Damaris made a quick step forward, and the next moment was kneeling beside her aunt's chair.

"Oh, Aunt Barbara, I hope you approve! I hope you'll be pleased! It has happened so suddenly that I hardly realise it."

"My dear child, I've hoped that it would come off for some time. I knew where Stuart's heart was, but I could not be quite sure about yours. You are a very reserved little mortal, you know, and most Early Victorian in your sense of decorum and propriety."

"She's everything that is perfect in my eyes," said Stuart; "so please spare your criticism. I don't know whether Miss Hardacre thinks me good enough for her darling."

"Oh," said Miss Hardacre, smiling, "I always felt you would be the man from the first day that I saw you. And I hoped that nothing would come between you."

"There, you see," Damaris said, trying to speak lightly, "everybody seems to have settled it for us beforehand, so I must side with the majority."

But she felt nearer tears than laughter, and when Stuart eventually departed, she slipped up to her room and locked the door. She wanted quiet thought, for the sudden joy had unnerved her. She could acknowledge to herself now, without any feelings of shame, that her love for Stuart had come many months before. It had been a continual struggle to repress it and ignore it. It had been simply happiness to be in the same room with him, to hear him speak, to watch his every movement. And when he had condoled with her over her grandfather's death, she had very nearly shown her feelings.

Stuart's cheeriness, high spirits and his wonderful talents, especially for music, had drawn from her the highest admiration. But it was the little serious touches, the deep feeling that he sometimes betrayed that had appealed to her most. Her girlish heart was attracted by his good looks and charming personality; but her spirit was drawn to his by the love and faith they had together in the Unseen.

And Damaris knelt beside her window, and, gazing up into the fast darkening sky, she whispered her thanks to the One Who held her life and soul in His keeping.

Barbara and Stuart had left the house together, so when Damaris came downstairs, she found Miss Hardacre alone in the fire-lit library. She gave a little sigh of relief as she nestled down by her side.

"Now we can have a chat together," she said. "It will alter my whole life, won't it? And I'm afraid yours too. He will not hear of me going to the Dower House."

"Well," said Miss Hardacre cheerfully, "I am too delighted for you, dear, to care about anything else. But I am seriously thinking of going to Mrs. Patch's lodgings. I shall be so very happy there. Do you remember we talked about it when you were first coming down here to live? I have been several times to see that old Mrs. Patch since you first introduced me to her, and I feel I should love to live under the same roof with her."

"Yes," said Damaris thoughtfully; "I believe you would be comfortable and cosy there—I was. And we'll add some things to the sitting-room—a more comfortable arm-chair and cushions, and a few other little comforts. You won't regret the town in the winter, will you? You won't be dull?"

"Compare it with the Bayswater boarding-house," said Miss Hardacre, laughing.

Damaris looked into the fire dreamily.

"We are going ahead, aren't we?" she said. "Stuart has no home of his own, and we may not be married for ages—though he wants to hurry it on. Aunt Barbara wants me to go and stay with her now; but she would love to have you too. You will come, will you not?"

"Shouldn't think of it," said Miss Hardacre in her decisive little way. "I am not going to drag on to your heels everywhere. No; I shall go round to-morrow and make my arrangements with the Patches. When you leave this, I will go there, and I shall go joyfully."

Then one of her old wrinkled hands touched Damaris's curly head with great tenderness. "I want to tell you, child, that I am like the blind man in the Bible. My sight is slowly coming to me. I see 'men as trees walking.'"

"How?" Damaris asked softly.

"I suppose we none of us have the same experience. You in your youth and innocence, have 'lifted the latch,' as you told me, and walked in. I am like a shut-up darkened house, that doesn't realise its dust and decay till the light creeps in. And it's a very slow process with me. My eyes are old and dim, and unbelieving even of what they're beginning to see; but the light is coming slowly, and old Mrs. Patch is as good as any pulpit preacher. You will think of me as enjoying mental food and comfort there as well as physical."

"Dear Miss Hardacre!" Damaris gave her a little hug.

The entrance of Symons to close the shutters put an end to their conversation. But Damaris felt greatly comforted about her friend, and no longer made objections to her lodging with the Patches.

The next day, Mrs. Bonnycott arrived over with her congratulations.

"Don't say you knew it was coming," said Damaris, smiling as she welcomed her.

"Oh, I don't sit down and make up matches! And Stuart has given me many false alarms. But I shall miss the boy when he leaves me. I'm not satisfied with Geoffrey Lancaster, and he was simply rude to me when I told him the news: said he didn't believe it. My dear, where are you going to live? I wouldn't trust Stuart; he has such extraordinary ideas. He says people in our class are now suffering from our luxurious ideas of what is necessary to comfort. That they don't want half-a-dozen sitting-rooms, and everyone ought to start with a small house and add to it as their families grow. He will be taking one of these model cottages he is building, and planting you in one. He has no sense of proportion.

"I hope he'll make you a good husband. I suppose you know what he is like? Has too big a heart, I tell him, takes in too many people and interests into his life. I wonder how much of his heart and life and time will now be set apart for you? Very little, I fear. But this doesn't sound like congratulations. Well, I'm glad you're going to settle down among us, and he ought—I've told him so—to be really grateful to you for accepting him. You're the prettiest girl in the county, and one of the pleasantest, too!" Mrs. Bonnycott paused for breath.

Damaris was accustomed to her rambling talk, and happy to mind anything she said.

"Why, I would live in a garret with Stuart!" she declared. "And wouldn't we make it snug and cheery! Wherever we are, I could never be unhappy. Stuart always drives away gloom. He carries about with him a spring of joy bubbling up inside. It's like living with the sun shining on one all day long."

"And very unpleasant that is!" said Mrs. Bonnycott with emphasis. "Oh, you young people are all the same. You think life together will be heaven on earth, and then later, you are disillusioned."

Mrs. Bonnycott had never quite forgiven her nephew for giving up his agency. And Damaris knew it and understood.

But when she saw Stuart next, she linked her arm in his and asked him earnestly—

"Do you think we shall both be disappointed and disillusioned a few years later? Your aunt prophesies that we shall."

"Oh, she's in a proper stew over our engagement. I don't think there's the smallest chance of it, because we've seen enough of each other to know what to expect."

"You certainly know how moody I am," said Damaris, "for you have found me in the dumps so often."

"And you know how aggressively cheerful I am," said Stuart. "I have heard it said that a cheerful person at the breakfast table is one of the greatest bores in creation. And you'll have patience with all my plans and projects. You 'will' be the centre of my life, sweetheart—you are that now; but there will be crowds of people and things outside you, that will keep me busy. I'm made that way—I can't help it."

"I hope you'll let me help you with some of it," said Damaris.

They were in the library together. Stuart moved across to the piano.

"I'll play you a serenade," he said, "of my own composition, to show you just a morsel of what is in my heart for you."

In another moment he was making the piano speak, as only he could make it. Damaris listened, entranced. She seemed carried into another world when he played. Passion and love vibrated through her. And when the last throbbing notes had died away, he looked at her.

"Now come and thank me in a proper manner," he said.

Damaris went up, and with her arms about his neck and a soft shy kiss on his brow, Stuart was more than content.

"I believe you could make me do anything you like with your music," she said; "and when I'm cross and sad, I shall always have you at hand to charm me into happiness again."

"And now, when is the happy day to be?" Stuart asked taking out of his pocket a minute box, and producing an exquisite diamond and sapphire ring. "This is a forerunner of the real thing," he added, taking her hand in his and slipping the ring on her finger. "Why it fits as if it had been made for you. It is my mother's ring—her betrothal one. Do you like it? Blue stones suit you. I like you in blue. I should like you to wear nothing else."

"Oh, I love it!" said Damaris, the colour mounting in her cheeks.

"And when is the little plain gold one going on?"

"I don't know. You are going too fast. You make me breathless."

"I don't want to wait, my darling. We have seen each other continually for over a year. There is nothing to wait for. And I have found our home."

"Have you?"

Damaris looked up at him with interest at once.

"Where?"

"I am coming round in a car to take you to it to-morrow, if fine. You must prepare yourself to spend a long day with me. It isn't a caravan or a barge, as my aunt imagines. It is a quaint old farm-house with walled garden. It is small enough to be snug, and big enough to be roomy. And if you approve, we will have it done up at once, and start our life together as quickly as possible. I want this coming Christmas to find us by our own fireside, and then we will enjoy it together."

Damaris said nothing for a moment, then she murmured dreamily—

"Long ago, when I used to sit at my window in town, I used to see in a kind of vision, a farm-house in the country—thatched roof, and diamond-paned casement windows, and an orchard."

"A vision of your home truly. What else did you see. Wasn't I in that dream?"

Damaris shook her head with a little laugh, then she nestled against him.

"I'll do anything you like," she murmured; "for your wishes shall be mine."

And Stuart's head was bent to hers as he made answer playfully—

"We'll be a real old-fashioned couple, of one mind and one heart; but when I give myself airs and turn dictator, you must snub me well, and put me in my proper place."

"If we're going to be old-fashioned," Damaris said, "you must be the head."

"No; we'll be modern, and run in harness together, side by side."

Damaris smiled. She felt she could leave their future in the hands of the One Who loved them.

For the present she was wholly and entirely satisfied.

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