by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XXVI
HAND IN HAND
Mr. Fanning went away and Mrs. Fanning took care of me. She openly didthis; she made a tremendous fuss about me, but she never by word ordeed alluded to my engagement to her son Albert. She did not talknearly so much as in former times of her son; perhaps he had told herthat I was not to be worried, but she was very good and very nice, andI got sincerely attached to her: and I never saw the Duchess nor LadyThesiger nor my old friends, although I heard that the Duchess wasfairly well again, and was out and going into society; and every onenow seemed certain that Jim Randolph had gone to the bottom in the_Star of Hope_, but by universal consent the boarders decided that thenews should be kept from mother, and mother grew much better. Theweather was so fine she was able to go out. We got a bath chair forher and took her out every day; and the boarding-house was thronged,absolutely thronged with guests; and by Mrs. Fanning's suggestion MissMullins put up the prices, and very considerably too, for the Londonseason, but the boarders paid what they were asked willingly, for thehouse was so sweet and so bright and so comfortable; and Jane had hermoment of triumph when she saw that No. 14 in the next street wasbeginning to imitate us, to put up sun blinds, and even to fixbalconies on to the windows, and to have the same hours for meals; andthe ladies who kept No. 14 called one day and asked to see JaneMullins. Jane did give them a spice of her mind, and sent them awaywithout any information whatever with regard to her plans.
"I could not tell them to their faces," said Jane to me that day,"that it wasn't I. I am just a homely body, and can only do the roughhomely work; I didn't tell them that it was because I had a lady whohad the face of an angel and the ways of a queen in the drawing-room,and a young lady, the princess, her daughter, that the boarding-houseprospered. I never let out to them that because you two are realladies, and know how to be courteous and sympathetic and sweet, andyet to uphold your own dignity through everything, that the place wasalways full. No, I never told them that. What cheek those MissSimpsons had to try to pick my brains!"
Yes, undoubtedly, whether we were the cause or not, things seemed tobe flourishing, and mother enjoyed her life; but one evening towardsthe end of June she began to talk of old times, of the Duchess, andthe friends she knew in Mayfair, and then quite quietly herconversation turned to a subject ever I believe near her heart, JamesRandolph and his friendship for her.
"He ought to be back now," she said. "I have counted the months, andhe ought to be in England many weeks ago. I cannot understand hissilence and his absence."
I did not answer. Mother looked at me.
"He was fond of you, West," she said.
My heart gave a great throb and then stood still. I bent my head, butdid not reply.
"He never wished me to tell you," said mother. "He felt, and I agreedwith him, that it would be best for him to speak to you himself. Hesaid that he would be back in England early in April at the latest,and then he would speak to you. But he gave me to understand that iffor any reason his return was delayed I might act on my owndiscretion, and tell you what comforts me beyond all possible words,and what may also cheer you, for I can scarcely think, my darling,that the love of a man like that would be unreturned by a girl likeyou, when once you knew, Westenra, when once you surely knew. Yes, heloves you with all his great heart, and when he comes back you willtell him----"
"Oh don't, mother," I interrupted, "oh don't say any more."
My face, which had been flushed, felt white and cold now, my heartafter its one wild bound was beating low and feebly in my breast.
"What is it, West?" said mother.
"I would rather----" I began.
"That he told you himself? Yes, yes, that I understand. Whenever hecomes, West, take your mother's blessing with the gift of a good man'sheart. He has relieved my anxieties about you, and his friendship hassweetened the end of a pilgrimage full--oh, full to overflowing--ofmany blessings."
Mother lay quite quiet after these last words, and I did not dare tointerrupt her, nor did I dare to speak. After a time she said gently--
"Your father came to me again last night. He sat down by me and heldmy hand. He looked very happy, almost eager. He did not say much aboutthe life he now leads, but his eyes spoke volumes. I think he willcome back to-night. It is quite as though we had resumed our old happylife together."
Mother looked rather sleepy as she spoke, and I bent down and kissedher, and sat with her for some little time. I saw that she was in asound sleep, and her lips were breaking into smiles every now andthen. She had been so well lately that we had sent Nurse Marion away,for her services seemed to be no longer required.
After sitting with mother until nearly midnight I went up to my ownroom. I sat down then and faced the news that mother had given me.
"I always knew it," I said to myself, "but I would not put it intowords before; I always guessed it, and I was happy, although Iscarcely knew why. Yes, I have put it into words at last, but I mustnever do so again, for on the 1st of June next year I am to marryAlbert Fanning, and he is a good man, and he loves me."
I stayed awake all night, and early in the morning went downstairs. Ientered mother's room. I felt anxious about her, and yet not anxious.The room was very still, and very cool and fresh. The windows wereopen and the blinds were up; mother always liked to sleep so, and thelovely summer air was filling the room, and there was a scent ofheliotrope and roses from the flowering plants on the verandah. Motherherself was lying still as still could be on her bed. Her eyes wereshut, and one of her dear white hands was lying outside the coverlet.It was partly open, as though some one had recently clasped it andthen let it go.
I went up to the bedside and looked down at mother. One glance at herface told me all. Some one _had_ clasped her hand, but he had not letit go. Hand in hand my father and mother had gone away, out throughthat open window, away and away, upward where the stars are and theGolden Gates stand open, and they had gone in together to the Landwhere there is no Death.