She briefly explains the situation, and Miss Grimwood faintly opens her eyes to request that someone will bury her with her "cousin Mary Jane."
"But this snake is not venomous," says the old man with the white head and bowed gentle face. "There is no poison here. Look, I take it up fearlessly. This is utterly harmless, and I assure you that you are unhurt, Miss Grimwood."
"Stephen Glyn! You have saved my life. But are you sure it is really harmless?" cries Miss Grimwood, forgetting her panic, and jumping up to witness him fearlessly handle the reptile. "What a blessing you know all about such creatures! I assure you I never had such a shock to my nerves, at least, not since Matthew Gummer proposed to Rebecca. Mr. Glyn knows all about reptiles, Rebecca. We can trust his word. How providential that you were passing, Stephen Glyn! And who is this? "
"This is Carlo Allaga, a friend of mine, who has undergone many adventures and hair-breadth escapes," says Mr. Glyn, with a smile. "He has nursed me through a serious illness, and not being very strong himself just now, I have persuaded him to take rest and change in this beautiful reviving air."
Allaga does not explain that Mr. Glyn seemed to him too nervous to travel alone, or that he has another motive yet in this visit to a hitherto unknown land.
"Permit me, my benighted friend," says Miss Grimwood, pulling out a tract entitled To the Heathen. Allaga is a Christian and a Protestant; but Miss Grimwood, regarding his picturesque hat and vest, decides he worships wood and stone, and he accepts her gift politely.
"Well, Miss Amaranth, the impudence of that furriner!" says Susan, when made aware of Allaga's arrival.
"Why, Susan," says Amaranth, "I think he is most courteous, and it was very good of him to accompany Father; and really he is quite good-looking."
But all that Susan will utter on the subject is "The impudence of that furriner!" She tells him not to come near her kitchen; and when he insists on eating his meals there, she devotes her conversation to Dickey, and quite flatters the boy by agreeing with his opinions in preference to Allaga's.
When Amaranth meets her father first, he is in his study, turning over with trembling fingers the cards little Eddie has written for his benefit. Mrs. Glyn is at his side. She has told him of the success of A Scientist's Dream, of Amaranth's fame and progress as an artist, but just now he does not seem to heed. He sits among the specimens, and Tim and the toad and the tortoise and the canary are all around him. He looks so worn, so old, so grey-faced, that Amaranth's heart smites her for her coldness towards him, as she remembers his years of love and patience with her.
"Father!" she cries, "kiss me -- forgive me -- I have been a wicked daughter to you; but you know I love you dearly."
He takes her in his arms, and she kisses him for herself and for her brother taken from their midst.
"It is good to come home," says Stephen Glyn tremblingly, looking from his wife to his daughter.
That night, after his long, toilsome wanderings, Stephen Glyn once more lies down to rest in the room he occupied for so long. The last time he slept there was the night when the bag of gold hung behind in his coat in the hall. As he dozes off into deep, heavy slumber at last, it is preceded by restless memories, bewildered recollections, troublesome thoughts.
Dickey sleeps in a little room overlooking the garden, and about two in the morning he arms himself with a poker, for he feels sure there are burglars in the garden. He hears a quiet, stealthy tread, and going out into the hall he is dismayed to feel a current of cold air. Evidently the back door is standing open.
Dickey has read many exciting tales of single-handed encounters with burglars, but his teeth begin to chatter a little tonight as he hurriedly steals to Allaga's chamber, and explains to him the situation.
"Are you sure they are thieves?" asks Allaga. "The signor walks in his sleep, you know. He has often done it in Cama, and he did it once on board the ship. Let us follow him, but do not startle him."
Dickey and Allaga steal downstairs, and out of the garden door.
"Yes, it is the signor," says Allaga, seeing Mr. Glyn's long dressing gown moving in the moonlight. "It is well he stayed to put that on."
"Is he a-going to drown himself in the river?" says Dickey, frightened. "Or is he going after frogs? There's a lot down by the water, but he'll tumble in for sure in the dark."
Mr. Glyn, however, pauses before he reaches the river, and turns aside into Amaranth's summerhouse, and to their surprise begins to work away at the flooring. One of the planks is a little loose, and after some effort he pulls it up, takes something out, and carefully replaces it. He then returns to the house, holding a small bag tightly in his hand, goes to a cupboard in his study, and locks the bag inside. Then he shuts the garden door, draws the bolts, and goes quietly away to bed.
Allaga shakes his head, unable to fathom Mr. Glyn's strange movements. He has held his hand over Dickey's mouth to repress the boy's excitement, but now Dickey bursts out, half sobbing, "If I don't believe as that's the very bag they've kicked up the shine about! Bless me if master didn't hide it away himself the last night he slept here at The Bower, and tonight he's thought of a safer place for the money. You go back to bed, Mr. Allaga, while I sits here by this here cupboard. I'll guard this here bag of money till the morning, for I believe as master's good name is a-going to get righted after all!"
Chapter 15 (Last chapter)
Christmas Roses
When Susan comes downstairs to open the house next morning, she finds Dickey wide awake, seated in front of the cupboard. As a rule he is somewhat prone to "a little more sleep and a little more slumber," and Susan congratulates herself that her many admonitions have taken effect and that he has turned over a new leaf, and got the knives and boots finished early. But when she understands his news, she is as excited as Dickey.
Mrs. Glyn, coming down later, finds quite a group around the cupboard that Mr. Glyn locked in his sleep. The key has previously been in the lock, but Mrs. Glyn fetches it softly from her husband's dressing gown pocket, reporting that he is fast asleep.
"How strange that such an idea occurred to none of us!" she says. "I've never known him walk in his sleep before, and I thought the habit commenced abroad. But doubtless his mind was full of the bag of money that night as he slept, and he puzzled himself to find a safe place for it, till he thought of taking up a plank in the summerhouse. Can't you remember, Amaranth, one of our kittens got under the summerhouse boards once, and Father released her by taking up a plank? I suppose the incident remained in his mind. It is my opinion that now this lost money is found he will never walk in his sleep again."
And Mrs. Glyn is right. It is probable that in all his restless nocturnal wandering her husband has been vaguely searching for the money; and on the night that he rested back in the house and bedroom familiar to him so long, the feeling of that unfortunate night returned to him, and he was able to put his hand once more upon the hidden bag. Many know that on lying down to rest on our familiar pillow, vanished dreams, or the memory of them, will sometimes float back to us. In some such way Stephen Glyn has been able to recall at last the long-forgotten hiding place.
The tale soon spreads over Bryantwood. Dickey's tongue is as good as the telegraph, and many call to see the bag, to gaze at the plank, and to express their congratulations and sympathy, and likewise in many cases their contrition for a too hasty judgment.
"A most superior man is Stephen Glyn," decides Miss Grimwood, ever since the incident of her recovery from hysteria. "His knowledge of the natural world is marvellous and most useful, and it is said he is quite making a name as a writer."
Miss Grimwood leads Bryantwood opinion in a great measure, and the Glyns become the most popular family in the neighbourhood. Stephen Glyn looks years younger since his name is cleared. He holds his head erect, and brightens up. He seems to have found fresh interests in life when he is offered the professor's chair in natural history at an important college a short distance from Bryantwood.
Mr. B
igham guesses from where comes a generous gift for the organ of Forest Moor Church; and when the organ is first played and Stephen Glyn bows his head in humble adoration by the door, the rector meets him before he leaves, and holds his hand, and falters that he has been too quick of judgment, too ready to condemn.
"Thank Heaven," says the rector, softly, "there is a judgment higher than man's -- the one judgment as kind as wise, that never makes mistakes, that shall deal with each one of us, friend, at the last."
They leave Forest Moor Church arm in arm, truer friends than they ever expected to be on earth. Stephen Glyn goes his way, and does not pause till he reaches a little grave -- a grave where Tim is lying in the sunlight -- and there the last voluntary that pealed from the organ seems to linger in echoes yet: "And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain."
Christmas time is drawing near. The village shops are beginning to set forth raisins, and currants, and candied peel more lavishly than is their wont, and bonbons and toys and appropriate cards make the High Street look quite festive.
Amaranth has been hard at work for a winter exhibition in London, and her mother bids her now take her rest with a contented mind, for the critics say she has surpassed herself, and in her picture, "Suspense" there is many a moving touch of the girl's own state of mind just now.
Before Mr. Glyn's return, Ardyn Home left Bryantwood to assist a chaplain on the Continent. He told his uncle he felt he needed change, and Mr. and Mrs. Bigham agreed that he had evidently suffered in mind through seeing and meeting Amaranth once more about the neighbourhood. Since the discovery of the money, Amaranth has half expected some message of gladness and sympathy, if not of love. But Ardyn hears more and more of her artistic greatness, and a mistaken sense of pride is keeping him silent.
Amaranth decides Ardyn has found consolation in the arms of another, and tries, with very poor success, to forget the love of her life.
One afternoon, in the week preceding Christmas, Amaranth strolls down her garden in rather a melancholy mood. The sky is cold and grey, and nature, to the casual observer, seems perhaps a little depressing. But the sun is making a deep red gleam on high, and the mosses are bright and silvery; the seeds lie sleeping, covered closely, safely.
Amaranth is wrapped in a fleecy white shawl and the air brings a healthy colour to her cheeks. She bends down to gather a cluster of the starry Christmas roses, and starts up with a sudden, amazed exclamation, as Ardyn Home, bronzed, more manly-looking than of yore, stands before her. He has found the little gate leading to the forest standing open, and catching a glimpse of her dress down the path an irresistible impulse has drawn him to her side.
Now he is here he does not seem to find conversation easy. Amaranth does not like to ask, "Have you heard the bag of money is found?" for he may think she intends to hint that she is free to accept his approaches. She puzzles over what to say, and finally stammers, "Christmas will soon be here."
"Yes," assents Ardyn, "next Wednesday. It is very seasonable weather."
"Father and Mother are out," says Amaranth. "They will be in after three. They have gone to get Susan a wedding present."
"Susan?"
Ardyn looks so aghast that Amaranth cannot help laughing. "Yes, why shouldn't Susan get married if she likes?"
"Why, indeed?" says Ardyn, with so deep a sigh that his companion hurriedly continues the conversation.
"She's going to marry young Allaga. He's half Spanish, half American, and came over to England with Father. He's going back to some employment connected with mining, and Susan says if she's not there he won't know how to take care of himself. It seems he took a great fancy to Susan abroad, and came over with Father with the intention of marrying her. She is a little his senior, but they seem very fond of each other."
"Marriages seem quite the fashion, Miss Glyn," says Ardyn, beginning to perceive that somehow or other Amaranth is unable to meet his eyes. "I saw in the paper today that the lord of the manor here, Mr. Acworthy, has taken to himself a wife."
"Yes, a friend of mine," says Amaranth, with interest. "I had their cake this morning. All her sisters were bridesmaids, and her brothers were pages. It went off very well, and he has the best wife in the world, or one of them."
"I suppose," says Ardyn, casually, "we shall soon be called upon to congratulate you, Miss Glyn. I hear you see a good deal of society."
"Oh," says Amaranth, decisively, "I think it is quite a mistake for an artist to marry. I am wedded to my work. I have resolved always to lead a single life. Doubtless you have some interesting news to tell us, though. Is it a continental lady, Mr. Home, or is she English? "
He is silent, pulling at the evergreens rather savagely. Amaranth fears he shrinks from giving her pain, and hastens to reassure him.
"Oh, of course we all knew you would be sure to form some attachment at Cannes. No doubt she will be quite an acquisition to Bryantwood circles. Is she tall or short? Musical, of course. Blonde or brunette? I assure you I congratulate you most"
Here Amaranth comes to a full stop, for Ardyn has made a step forward. He takes her hands in his, and there they stay tremblingly, and the tears rush to her eyes as he speaks her name.
"Amaranth, there is no continental lady in the case. I believe you know that very well. It was love for you drove me from Bryantwood, for I feel you are above me now in your genius and fame. It is love for you that brings me back, for I have hungered to see your face. You will make some brilliant match, and be a queen in society. And I, who loved you in my boyhood, will pray for you and bless you still. Now I have looked upon you again, my dearest, I am content. Say, 'God bless you, Ardyn,' as you often said of old, and let the past be buried between us. After this we are only friends."
"I shall make no brilliant match," stammers Amaranth. "I am wedded to my art. Oh, Ardyn, how could you stay away so long?"
She bursts into tears and creeps into his arms, and he somehow forgets her great fame and her genius, and with a flush and a tremble he bows his face to hers, and takes her home to his heart, drawn close for evermore amid the shining ways of Amaranth's Garden.
THE END
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Christian Non-fiction
Four short books of help in the Christian life:
So, What Is a Christian? An introduction to a personal faith. Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6
Starting Out -- help for new Christians of all ages. Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2
Help! -- Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith. Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9
Running Through the Bible -- a simple understanding of what’s in the Bible -- Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3
Be Still
Bible Words of Peace and Comfort
There may come a time in our lives when we want to concentrate
on God’s many promises of peace and comfort. The Bible readings in this book are for people who need to know what it means to be held securely in the Lord’s loving arms.
Rather than selecting single verses here and there, each reading in this book is a run of several verses. This gives a much better picture of the whole passage in which a favourite verse may be found.
As well as being for personal use, these readings are intended for sharing with anyone in special need, to help them draw comfort from the reading and prayer for that date. Bible reading and prayer are the two most important ways of getting to know and trust Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.
The reference to the verses for the day are given, for you to look up and read in your preferred Bible translation.
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-4-0
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1
116 pages 5x7.8 inches
A Previously Unpublished Book
The Simplicity of the Incarnation
J Stafford Wright
Foreword by J I Packer
"I believe in ... Jesus Christ ... born of the Virgin Mary." A beautiful stained glass image, or a medical reality? This is the choice facing Christians today. Can we truly believe that two thousand years ago a young woman, a virgin named Mary, gave birth to the Son of God? The answer is simple: we can.
The author says, "In these days many Christians want some sensible assurance that their faith makes sense, and in this book I want to show that it does."
In this uplifting book from a previously unpublished and recently discovered manuscript, J Stafford Wright investigates the reality of the incarnation, looks at the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and helps the reader understand more of the Trinity and the certainty of eternal life in heaven.
This book was written shortly before the author’s death in 1985. The Simplicity of the Incarnation is published for the first time, unedited, from his final draft.