CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
A PROUD MOMENT.
Margot's recovery was somewhat tedious, so that it was quite three weeksafter the departure of the brothers Elgood before she was strong enoughto face the journey home. In the meantime Edith remained in charge asnurse, while Mr Vane and Ron varied the monotony of life in the Glen bymaking short excursions of two or three days' duration to places ofinterest in the neighbourhood.
Notwithstanding the unchanged position of affairs, they appeared to beon unusually good terms, a fact which would have delighted Margot if shehad been in her usual health and spirits; but she had become of late solanguid and preoccupied as to appear almost unconscious of hersurroundings. Once a day she did, indeed, rouse herself sufficiently toshow some interest in passing events, that is to say, when the postarrived in the morning; but the revival was but momentary, and on eachoccasion was followed by a still deeper depression.
The elder sister was very tender during those days of waiting; verytactful and patient with little outbursts of temper and unreasonablechanges of mind. She knew that it was not so much physical as mentalsuffering which was retarding the girl's progress, and yearned over herwith a sympathy that was almost maternal in its depth.
The little sister had proved herself such a true friend during thetrials of the last few years, that she would have gone through fire andwater to save her from pain; but there are some things which even themost devoted relative cannot do.
Edith could not, for instance, write to George Elgood and question himconcerning his silence: could not ask how it came to pass that while hisbrother had written to Margot, to Ronald, even to herself, he remainedsilent, content to send commonplace messages through a third person. Asfor Margot herself, she never mentioned the younger of the two brothers,but was always ready to talk about the elder, and seemed unaffectedlypleased at her sister's appreciation of the kindly, genial little man.
"But why was he so sweet to me?" Edith would ask, with puzzledwonderment. "From the moment I arrived he seemed to be on the outlookto see how he could help. And he took an interest in Jack, and askedall about him and his affairs. The astonishing thing is that I toldhim, too! Though he was a stranger, his interest was so _real_ and deepthat I could confide in him more easily than in many old friends. Hadyou been talking about us to him, by any chance?"
Margot turned her head on the pillow, and stared out of the window tothe ridge of hills against the skyline. Her cheeks had sunk, making thebrown eyes appear pathetically large and worn. There was a listlessnessin her expression which was strangely different from the vivacious,self-confident Margot of a few weeks ago.
"Yes, I spoke about you one day. He liked you, because you were so fondof Jack. He was in love himself, and the girl died, but he loves herstill, just the same. He tries to help other girls for her sake. Hesaid he wanted to know you. If it were ever in his power to help youand Jack, he would do it; but sometimes no one can help. It makesthings worse when they try. You might just as well give up at once."
"Margot! What heresy, dear! From you, too, who are always preachingcourage and perseverance! That's pneumonia croaking, not the gallantlittle champion of the family! What would Ron and I have done withoutyou this last year, I should like to know? Isn't it nice to see fatherand the boy on such good terms? I believe that also is in a greatdegree due to Mr Elgood's influence. The pater told me that hecongratulated him on having such a son, and seemed to think Ron quiteunusually gifted. It is wonderful how much one man thinks of anotherman's judgment! We have said the same thing for years past, and it hashad no effect; but when a calm, level-headed man of business drops aword, it is accepted as gospel. You will be happy, won't you, darling,if Ron's future is harmoniously arranged?"
"Ron will be happy!" said Margot shortly. At the moment it seemed toher as if such good fortune could never again be her own. She mustalways be miserable, since George Elgood cared so little for her that hecould disappear into space and leave her without a word. Formalmessages sent through another person did not count, when one recalledthe tone of the voice which had said, "_Margot_!" and blushed at theremembrance of that other word which had followed.
Sometimes, during those long days of convalescence, Margot almost cameto the conclusion that what she had heard had been the effect ofimagination only; as unreal and dream-like as the other events of thatfateful afternoon. At other times, as if in contradiction of thesetheories, every intonation of the Editor's voice would ring in her ears,and once again she would flush and tremble with happiness.
At last the day arrived when the return to town need no longer bedelayed. Mr Vane was anxious to return to his work, Edith to herhusband and children; and the doctor pronounced Margot strong enough tobear the journey in the comfortable invalid carriage which had beenprovided.
Preparations were therefore made for an early start, and poor Elspethmade happy by such a wholesale legacy of garments as composed a verytrousseau in the estimation of the Glen.
No one was bold enough to offer a gift to Mrs McNab, but when the lastmoment arrived Margot lifted her white face with lips slightly pursed,like a child asking for a kiss. As on the occasion of her firstappearance, a contortion of suppressed emotion passed over the dourScotch face, and something suspiciously like moisture trembled in thecold eyes.
"When ye come back again, come back twa!" was the enigmatical sentencewith which the landlady made her adieu, and a faint colour flickered inMargot's cheek as she pondered over its significance.
The journey home was broken by a night spent in Perth, and London wasreached on the afternoon of a warm July day. The trees in the Parklooked grey with dust, the air felt close and heavy after theexhilaration of the mountain breezes to which the travellers had becomeaccustomed; even the house itself had a heavy, stuffy smell, despite theimmaculate cleanliness of its _regime_.
Jack Martin was waiting to take his wife back to Oxford Terrace, thechildren having already preceded her, and Margot felt a sinking ofloneliness at being left to Agnes's tender mercies.
"Dear me, child, what a wreck you look! Your Highland holiday has beena fine upset for us all. What did I tell you before you started?Perhaps another time you may condescend to listen to what I say!" Suchwas the ingratiating welcome bestowed upon the weary girl on herarrival; yet when Margot turned aside in silence, and made no responseto the accompanying kiss of welcome, Agnes felt hurt and aggrieved.From morning to night she had bustled about the house, assuring herselfthat everything was in apple-pie order; arranging flowers, putting outtreasures of fancy-work, providing comforts for the invalid. "And shenever notices, nor says one word of thanks. I can't understand Margot!"said poor Agnes to herself for the hundredth time, as she seated herselfat the head of the table for dinner.
"Are there any letters for me, Agnes?" queried Margot anxiously.
"One or two, I believe, and a paper or something of the sort. You cansee them after dinner."
"I want them now!" said Margot obstinately. She pushed back her chairfrom the table, and walked across the room to the desk where newly-arrived letters were laid out to await the coming of their owners.Three white envelopes lay there, and a rolled-up magazine, all addressedto herself. She flushed expectantly as she bent to examine thedifferent handwritings. Two were uninterestingly familiar, belonging tofaithful girl friends who had hastened to welcome her home; the thirdwas unmistakably a man's hand,--small and compact, the letters fine, andaccurately formed.
A blessed intuition told Margot that her waiting was at an end, and thatthis was the message for which she had longed ever since her return toconsciousness. With a swift movement she slipped the envelope into herpocket, to be opened later on in the privacy of her room, and returnedto the table, bearing the other communications in her hand.
"I should have thought that after six weeks' absence from home you mighthave been willing to talk to _me_, instead of wanting to read letters atyour very first meal!" said Agnes severely; and Margot laugh
ed in good-natured assent.
"I won't open them! It was only curiosity to see what they were. I'lltalk as much as you like, Aggie dear."
It was, all of a sudden, so easy to be amiable and unselfish! Thenervous irritation which had made it difficult to be patient, even withdear, tactful Edie during the last weeks, had taken wing and departedwith the first sight of that square white envelope. The light came backto Margot's eyes; she held her head erect, the very hollows in hercheeks seemed miraculously to disappear, and to be replaced by the olddimpling smile. Mr Vane and Ron exchanged glances of delight at themarvellous manner in which their invalid had stood the journey home.
The letters and parcel lay unnoticed on the table until the conclusionof the meal, but as Margot picked them up preparatory to carrying themupstairs to her own room, she gave a sudden start of astonishment.
"Ron, it's the _Loadstar_! Some one has sent me a copy of the_Loadstar_. From the office, I think, for the name is printed on thecover. Who could it be?"
"The Editor, of course--as a mark of attention on your return home.Lazy beggar! It was easier than writing a letter," laughed Ron easily,stretching out his hand as he spoke to take forcible possession, for themagazine was of more interest to himself than to Margot, and he feltthat a new copy was just what was needed to occupy the hours beforebedtime.
Margot made no demur, but stood watching quietly while Ron tore off thewrapper, and flattened the curled paper. She was not in a reading mood,but the suggestion that George Elgood might have sent the magazine madeit precious in her sight, and she waited anxiously for its return.
"It's mine, Ron. It was sent to me! I want to take it upstairs."
"Let me look at the index first, to see who is writing this month! Youdon't generally care for such stiff reading; I say, there's a finecollection of names! It's stronger than ever this month. I don'tbelieve there is another paper in the world which has such splendidfellows for contribu--"
Ron stopped short, his voice failing suddenly in the middle of the word.His jaw dropped, and a wave of colour surged in his cheeks.
"It--it can't be!" he gasped incredulously. "It _can't_! There must beanother man of the same name. It can't possibly be meant for _me_!..."
"What? What? Let me see? What are you talking about?" cried Margot,peering eagerly over his shoulder, while Ron pointed with a tremblingfinger to the end of the table of contents. Somehow the words seemed tobe printed in a larger type than the rest. They grew larger and largeruntil they seemed to fill the whole page--"_Solitude. A Fragment. ByRonald Vane_!"
"Oh, Ron, it is!" shrieked Margot, in happy excitement. "It _is_ you,and no one else! I _told_ you it was beautiful when you read it to methat day in the Glen! Oh, when did you send it to him?"
"Never! I never so much as mentioned my verses in his hearing. Thatwas part of the bargain--that we should not worry him on his holiday.Margot, it was you! You are only pretending that you know nothing aboutit. It must be your doing."
"Indeed it isn't! I never even spoke of you to him." Margot had thegrace to blush at the confession; but by this time Ron had turned overthe pages until he had come to the one on which his own words faced himin the beautiful distinct typing of the magazine, and the rapture of themoment precluded every other sentiment. He did not hear what Margotsaid, so absorbed was he in re-reading the lines in their delightful newsetting.
"It _is_ good; but it is only a fragment. It isn't finished. Why wasthis chosen, instead of one of the others?"
"I told you you would ruin it if you made it longer. It is perfect asit is, and anything more would be padding. It is a little gem, worthyeven of a place in the _Loadstar_. Father, do you hear? Do youunderstand? Look at your son's name among all those great men! Aren'tyou glad? Aren't you _proud_! Aren't you going to congratulate us_both_?"
Mr Vane growled a little, for the sake of appearances; but though hiseyebrows frowned, the corners of his lips relaxed in a manner distinctlycomplacent. Even recognising as he did the herald of defeat, it wasimpossible to resist a thrill of pride as his eye glanced down theimposing list of names held open for his inspection. A great scientist;a great statesman; a leading author; an astronomer known throughout theworld; a soldier veteran, and near the end that other name, so dearlyfamiliar--the name of his own son! The voice in which he spoke wasgruff with emotion. "Humph! You are in good company, at least. Let mesee the verses themselves. There must be something in them, I suppose,but I am no judge of these things."