fellow!--Miss Rosamund, please answer me onequestion. Do you greatly object to marrying your--your cousin?"
"I am not bound to reply to you," I said. "I knew that I should have tomarry my cousin if he were willing to have me when I wrote you thatletter a week ago. I did it for my mother's sake." My tears weredropping. I felt dreadfully weak and childish. I hated myself forgiving way to emotion in this fashion.
"Yes, yes," said Mr Gray, patting my arm, "and you were a very pluckygirl, Miss Rosamund, and you are going to have a happy--most happy life.Your cousin is a first-class fellow--_first-class_. I had the pleasureof communicating to him the contents of the will a few days ago, and hesends you a message now."
"What--what is it?" I stammered.
"He says you are to take your own time. He won't even come to see youunless you wish it. He had made all arrangements to go back to Africa,and he will go all the same unless you wish him to remain. It all restswith you, he says. Nothing could be more gentlemanly than his conduct."
I sat very still, my eyes were fixed on the spring landscape outside thewindow.
"There has been no--no letter, I suppose?" I said.
"There is no letter, but not for want of thought, I assure you. Yourcousin felt that you would rather not hear from him. He said I couldconvey his wishes to you; in short, his wishes are yours. There is justone thing more. If you elect to postpone the--the marriage for a year,I have made arrangements to supply you with funds to live on at thePriory with your family."
I sat very still.
I don't know why, but my silence and almost apathy began to irritate MrGray very much. I felt that he was looking at me impatiently. I evenheard him sigh. Suddenly he sprang to his feet.
"What answer am I to take to Tom Valentine?" he asked.
Then I raised my head.
"Tell him to come to see me," I said.
"Good gracious! Do you mean it?"
"I do mean it."
"When is he to come?"
"To-night, if he likes--the sooner the better."
I rushed away, I flew up the wide stairs. My one desire was to takerefuge in my mother's room. A wide bay-window faced the sofa where shelay. The sun had set more than half an hour ago, but faint rose tintsstill lingered in the sky, and a full moon was showing her cold butbrilliant face. The weather was turning quite genial and spring-like.Under ordinary circumstances I should not have cared to sit so near thefire. Now I huddled up to it, glad of its warmth, for I was shiveringslightly, with the queerest mixture of suppressed excitement, despair,and yet gladness. Now and then I glanced at my mother. From where shelay I could only see a dim outline of her figure. She was lying verystill; her hands were peacefully folded by her side; her breathing camegently; there was repose about her attitude.
Her voice, very sweet and clear, soon broke the silence.
"Rose, come here, darling."
I sprang up, ran to her, and knelt by her side. My mother often calledme in this way, not because she had anything special to say, but becauseshe liked to feel my firm young hand clasping hers.
She laid her fingers in mine now, and turned her soft brown eyes tocatch the outline of my face.
"Mother!" I exclaimed with sudden passion, "in all the wide world youare to me the very sweetest, the dearest, the best." Tears trembled inmy voice, and almost choked me. I hated myself for giving way. Mymother kept on looking at me. She softly patted the hand which held oneof hers. It was not in her to express her feelings except by thatgentlest of touches.
"And if you die, I shall die," I continued. "Mother, you must getbetter--you must live, you must!"
"It is as God wills, my darling."
"That is just it, mother. He would not have made us rich if He did notwill that you are to live. Poverty and care were killing you. Now theyhave folded their wings, and gone away. You will always be rich in thefuture; you will always have the most nourishing food, the softest care,the tenderest love. Don't you think you can nestle down into the loveand the care, mother? Don't you think you can try?"
"I do try, Rose. But poverty--poverty and trouble have left their mark.That mark has sunk deep, very deep. Still, I will try to live for yoursake--indeed, for all your sakes. Don't cry, my dear daughter."
I wiped my tears softly away. After a time, I said in a voice which Itried hard not to be tremulous:
"Are you strong enough, mother, for me to say something?"
"Yes, my darling, certainly."
"Are you not a little surprised, mother, at this sudden change? Are younot a little curious to know by what means poverty has folded her wingsand flown away from us?" My mother was silent for nearly a full moment,then she said slowly:
"I know you have a story to tell me whenever I am ready to hear it. ButI am too weak to listen to it to-night. Weakness keeps us from beingvery curious, Rose. I don't think, even in health, I was everinordinately curious about anything. I was always able to take thingson trust from those I loved. I can take riches on trust for thepresent, Rose."
"You are just the sweetest mother in the world," I said, kissing her onher forehead.
Just then the peal of the front-door bell penetrated into my mother'sroom. I started back at the sound.
"What is the matter, dear?" she asked. "Did that bell startle you?"
"It did, mother, because--because I know who has come."
"Some friend of yours, darling?"
"Yes, a--a friend of mine. I must go down-stairs to see him. Mother,give me your two hands for a moment."
She gave them without a word. I bent low, and placed my mother's handson my head.
"Mother, say these words over me, `God bless you, Rosamund; yourmother's God bless you!'"
"Your mother's God abundantly bless you, my precious daughter?" said mymother.
I kissed her thin hands passionately, and ran out of the room.
A footman in livery was coming up the stairs. He bore a card on asilver salver.
"The gentleman is in the drawing-room, miss," he said.
I took the card, rushed past the astonished servant, and untidy anddiscomposed, tears scarcely dried on my cheeks, entered thedrawing-room.
My cousin Tom was standing by one of the windows. When he heard my stephe turned quickly round, advanced a pace or two, then stood still, acrimson wave of colour dyeing his darkly-bronzed cheeks, and his whitebrow. He looked confused, awkward, uncertain. I, on the contrary, hadno room in my over-full heart for embarrassment.
"I have sent for you, Cousin Tom," I said, "to say that I will marry youas soon as ever you will have me." I looked him full in the face as Ispoke, and when I had finished I held out one of my hands for him totake.
He stared at me for a moment in absolute astonishment. Then a queerchange came over his whole face. It became irradiated with the sweetestand most joyful light. He took my slim fingers between his two greathands, and almost crushed them.
"And I would marry you to-morrow, Rosamund," he said, "_not_ because ofCousin Geoffrey's will, but because I love you for yourself. I loveyou, Rosamund; I have loved you since--"
There came an interruption. The drawing-room door was banged noisilyopen. Jack's voice was heard on the threshold. Hetty's gay, agitatedlittle treble followed it.
Tom Valentine dropped my hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
THE DEAREST BOND.
My cousin, Tom Valentine, stayed to supper. We had a very merry,rapturous sort of evening. There was an unexplained mystery that no onespoke of; but that did not make our spirits the lower, or our laughterthe less frequent. We laughed a good deal; we made witty remarks; wejoked each other; we criticised each other; we even alluded, lightly andgracefully, to the old days of poverty.
We were all present at the board--all except my mother. Her room wasoverhead. Our gay voices must have floated up to her through the bigwindows which were partly open. My father took the foot of the table;his face looked quite handsome; his bro
w was smooth; he made thewittiest remarks of any one present.
Looking down the long table--for I poured out coffee at the farthestend--I perceived at a glance that poverty had all his life acted as asort of umbrella over my father's head, shutting away the genial rays ofthe sun, and causing his nature to wither as a plant does when removedfrom the light and air. Now the umbrella was shut, and my father'snature was expanding genially.
George too was very much the better for his good food, cheerful home,and well-made clothes. (I had sent him to a West End tailor a week ago,and when he returned home in the suit of clothes which that tailor hadgiven him, I discovered for the first time that George was a remarkablywell-made man.)
As to Jack and Hetty, this was their first taste of the good