Chapter XLIV: Perfect Faith

Philip’s convalescence was quite rapid after the events related in the last chapter; happiness is a great restorer, and he began to gain strength so fast that the surgeon told him he would not be obliged to remain in the hospital more than a fortnight longer at that rate.

“And, Mrs. Paxton,” he said to Arley, whose face seemed to gain new beauty and brightness in proportion to Philip’s progress, “one would almost imagine that you also had been suddenly restored from a severe illness, for I never saw such a change in any one before, as there has been in you since your husband began to recover.”

“It is not strange, is it, that I should rejoice to have my husband restored to me?” she asked, somewhat tremulously, but he did not dream how much of significance her question contained, although Philip understood it well.

“No--no indeed,” he returned, “but, really, you seem like an entirely different person from what you were when you came here.”

And he was right; for she seemed suddenly to have been transformed from the sad-faced, unhappy woman who had come there expecting to see her husband die into the bright and beautiful Arley whom we first knew at Hazelmere.

She was somewhat more mature and dignified in her bearing, but with love and happiness blossoming anew in her heart, with every trace of the old bitterness and despair wiped out, the lines of pain faded from her face like magic, her beautiful dark eyes grew bright and sparkling, a lovely flush tinged her cheeks, and her mournful lips were wreathed with smiles once more.

The first time that Lady Elaine saw her after her reconciliation with Philip she exclaimed:

“Ah! you have good news for me--Philip is better.”

“Yes, darling,” Arley said, joyfully, “going to get well, and--we are both better in body and soul.”

Lady Elaine understood at once, and kissed her with tremulous lips.

“I am so thankful,” she murmured, “my own sister, may God grant that all your future be bright--that no other shadow ever fall upon it.”

Tears sprang to Arley’s eyes, and she mentally cried:

“Oh, if I could only bring back happiness to her sorrowful heart.”

“Have you told him who you are?” Lady Elaine asked later.

“No, not yet--I want to enjoy the luxury of being loved for myself--a poor, nameless waif, who has not a bit of dower with which to enrich her lord--for a while,” Arley returned, with shining eyes, adding: “There will be time enough for disclosures by and by.”

“Have you been with Miss McAllister ever since your return to London?” Philip asked her one day, when she had been telling him of her travels with Lady Herbert and her son.

“No, not all the time,” Arley answered, a slight flush rising in her cheek. “I was with her for a while until Lady Elaine decided to open Mordaunt House once more, and I have been with her, as a sort of companion, since then.”

“Ah! then Mordaunt House has been reopened!” said Philip, somewhat surprised, “how does Lady Hamilton get along without her?”

“She does not get along without--she has consented to make Mordaunt House her home whenever she is in London, and Elaine will spend a good deal of time, as before, at Hazelmere.”

“What does Lady Elaine think of me?” Philip asked, a deep flush rising to his brow, and a troubled look in his eyes.

“She thinks she will be very proud to own you as a ‘brother,’” Arley had almost said, but she hastily substituted the word “friend.” “She knows of all that you have been doing during the past year--she honors you for it, and--she helped make your peace with me.”

“God bless her!” he said, heartily, “I believe the Lily of Mordaunt is almost an angel. Poor Wil!” he added, with a heavy sigh.

“Yes, Elaine is the most lovely character I have ever known. Her sorrow is the only bitter drop in my cup now,” Arley answered, echoing his sigh.

“Where would you like to live, Arley, when I am able to go away from here?” he asked, at another time.

“Almost anywhere within our means, dear,” she returned, with downcast looks. “You know,” she added, with a mischievous glance out of the corner of her eye, “to quote a homely adage, ‘beggars mustn’t be choosers.’”

“Don’t, darling, speak in that way of yourself,” Philip said, really pained; “but,” he added, after a moment, “I am glad that you are ‘poor and nameless,’ as you used to say, for now I can prove to you that I really love you for yourself alone.”

“Do you dare to call the wife of Philip Paxton ‘nameless?’ Do you consider me ‘poor’ when I have twenty thousand pounds in my own right in the Bank of England?” she demanded, shyly.

“I have the best of the argument, notwithstanding,” he retorted, smiling, “for you are indebted to me for both name and fortune. I cannot help glorying in the fact, after all my cruelty in the past, and my whole future life shall be devoted to you, my beloved. But you have not yet told me where you would like to live. How would you enjoy spending a portion of the year in the country?”

“I should enjoy it exceedingly; but that would interfere with your business, would it not? Besides, it would be very expensive.”

“But my business has been in a flourishing condition of late, and will, doubtless, continue to be when I can get at it again, and I think it will warrant our consulting our taste and inclination regarding a home.”

“Will you still keep Eddie?” Arley asked.

“I should like to, if you do not object,” Philip answered, regarding her somewhat anxiously.

“I should object to his being sent away from you,” she said, earnestly. “I think he is a very promising boy; and since he is so interested in art, he will make a most agreeable companion for me. Perhaps it would be wise for us to take rooms in the city for a while, and not be too hasty about deciding upon a permanent home.”

She said this merely to test him, and never once suspected that he had been trying her in the same way.

“Very well, Arley,” he said, quietly; “I shall be governed by your wishes in all things. I perceive that you are rather fearful regarding the cost, but you need not be, for I shall never trouble you hereafter by living beyond my means,” he concluded, with a peculiar smile.

She smiled, too, thinking of the fortune which had recently come to her, and how ample their income would be for almost any kind of life which they might choose to live; while, on the other hand, his plans were all matured, and he knew just what he would do.

Arley had said that she should enjoy the country exceedingly, and, with a thrill of joy, he had said to himself: “We will go to Elmsford to live. That grand old place will, after all, become my home. I can assume the duties of my new position, and--Arley will be Lady Paxton! I will go there, have everything made ready for her, and then surprise her with her new home and the secret which I have been keeping from every one.”

Eddie was admitted to see Philip as soon as it was thought that he was able to receive visitors, and his surprise and delight upon learning that Arley was his Uncle Philip’s wife can be better imagined than described.

“There has been a misunderstanding between Mrs. Paxton and myself, for which I was wholly to blame,” Philip explained to him while Arley was out of the room. “I do not want the subject ever referred to hereafter, but I wished you to understand that it was entirely my fault that we were separated.”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie said, with a wistful look at him, as if loath to believe that he could do anything very wrong. “I thought,” he added, “that she wasn’t very happy when I saw her at the exhibition; but I’m sure she’s all right now, for she has grown--oh, so much more beautiful than she was then! May I call her auntie?”

“If she likes you to do so, yes,” and it is needless to add that Arley cheerfully granted him the privilege he desired.

At the end of a fortnight from the time that he began to improve, Philip was pronounced well enough to leave the hospital.

“My first work shall be to make a home for my wife,” he said on the evening before he was to go, “but I shall be obliged to go out of town on business for a little while first, and it is impossible to take you with me, much as I dislike being separated from you just now. Will you go and take possession of my rooms until I return, or would you prefer to go back to Lady Elaine until I come for you?”

“I will go to her until you are ready for me, Philip, if you will allow Eddie to remain with me. I shall be very lonely without you in a strange place. But,” she added, a shadow flitting over her face, “is it absolutely necessary that you go? Cannot you send some one to attend to this business for you? I fear you are not able to travel yet; besides----”

“Besides what, my beloved?” he questioned, fondly but gravely, as she hesitated, and fearing that she was still doubting him somewhat.

“I cannot bear to let you go away from me, now that I have you back once more,” she confessed, blushing like a shy girl, and hiding her face upon his shoulder.

“Oh! Arley!” he cried, in a voice in which pain and joy were blended, “I do not deserve that you should love me like this. Oh! if I could only wipe out from your memory and mine the past two years.”

“Hush,” she said, gently, “I do not believe that such a wish is right. Perhaps we both needed just that discipline to fit us for the future.”

“And is there no root of bitterness left in your heart? Way down in its deepest recesses is there no scorn or contempt for me?”

“None, Philip,” she answered, with a grave sweetness; “the remembrance of the past will gradually grow to be like a dream to me; and now I can only rejoice to find that the man whom I have loved is not a myth, an ideal, but a reality. Perhaps, Philip, if you had never been subjected to the temptations which have so beset you during these two years, you never would have known the strength of character which you possess.”

“The weakness you should have said,” he interrupted, bitterly.

“Nay, you are strong,” she persisted, “for you have come forth from the battle a conqueror--you are like a hero who has fallen time after time before his assailing foes, but who has bravely struggled up again to oppose them; who has been desperately wounded, and will carry the scars of the conflict to the end of his life, but which go to show that victory crowned him at last.”

“Your words are very comforting--you are very lenient in your judgment of me,” he replied, sorrowfully, “but if I had not dragged you down with me--if I had not wounded you also, I could bear it better. Do you know,” he added, earnestly, “that I would like the marriage service to be repeated over us? That other seems like a mockery--it was a mockery on my part, though Heaven knows that the vows which I have registered in my heart, since you have given yourself back to me, are as solemn and sincere as love and true repentance can make them.”

Arley lifted her face, all shining with tenderness and joy, and kissed him.

“Let us never refer to the past again, please,” she said; “let us, though we have been husband and wife in the eyes of the world for two years, date our real marriage from now, and never again go back of it. I give myself to you without reservation; I love you wholly, perhaps with even more of depth and tenderness than I did when you asked me, at Hazelmere, to be your wife. I have perfect faith in you, too, Philip, so do not let us mar our life with vain regrets or morbid repining. The only thing that troubles me now is that you must leave me, but--you will not be long away,” she pleaded, in conclusion.

“No longer than I can possibly help, dearest. I do not know just how much of an undertaking I have before me, but you may rest assured that I shall not remain away from my newly-recovered treasure a day longer than I can possibly help.”

The following morning Arley saw him start away on his trip, and then went back to Mordaunt House, to wait with what patience she could for his return.

Lady Elaine welcomed her back with delight.

“But,” she said, between smiles and tears, “‘there is always a thorn with a rose,’ and I cannot bear to think that you will, perhaps, have to leave me again. I am glad and thankful for your happiness, Arley, but I shall miss my sister.”

“We will not be separated more than is absolutely necessary,” Arley returned. “I suppose that Lady Hamilton will claim you a portion of the time, but I shall insist upon having you the rest.”

“I expect I shall be between two fires all the time,” Lady Elaine responded, smiling. “But when are you going to tell Philip of our discovery, my Lady Alice?”

“When he returns; we are then to decide about our future home, and I cannot delay the revelation longer, for, of course, a daughter of the house of Mordaunt will have a fitting residence in which to entertain her beloved sister and friends,” Arley said, smiling, and not having the slightest suspicion that Philip had taken those matters into his own hands, and was even then discussing with his steward the elegant furnishings which were to embellish Elmsford in honor of the home-coming of his wife.