had not beenquicker to notice his failing health. Guy had usurped her thoughts toomuch.
"But I don't think it will be difficult to arrange. I can soon get holdof some female dragon, some elderly chaperon who will take you."
The girl's eyes filled with tears. Not for the first time did sheappreciate that unselfish parental love, the love that gives everything,and asks so little in return.
She kissed him very tenderly. "No, no, a thousand times no, you kindestof all kind fathers. Until you get well and strong again, I would notleave you for a thousand lovers."
He patted her hand. He was the most unselfish of men, but it pleasedhim very much to hear her say that much. The stranger who had come intoher life was not going to oust the old father from his place in herheart.
"We have been so much to each other, little girl, since your dear motherdied, have we not?" he asked gently.
"More than so much," she whispered back. "Oh, more than so much. Wehave been everything to each other." At that moment even her lover wasalmost forgotten. A few hours later, she stole out of the house, andcalled on the doctor.
"My father is worse," she said impetuously, when she entered theconsulting-room.
Doctor Jones looked very grave. "My dear child, he is as bad as he canbe. I have warned you before. The end may come at any moment."
"And yet it only seems yesterday that he was out shooting--of course Iknow it is months ago--and when he came back, I used to ask him if hewas tired, and he always told me he never felt more fit in his life.And a big, strong man in appearance! A few weeks ago he did not lookhis age."
"It is frequently the way with this particular disease," was thedoctor's reply. "They hang on for years, with a sort of spuriousenergy, and then, all of a sudden, they go--snap."
"Will he suffer much, do you think?" asked Isobel, bravely keeping backthe tears.
"Don't trouble yourself about that. He will go out like the snuff of acandle. Take my word for it, he will not suffer."
He accompanied her to the door; he had become very attached to thepair--the charming girl devoted to her father, the elderly man whoworshipped his daughter.
"Keep a brave heart, my child. It may come to-night, to-morrow. He isworse than I thought." And three days after that interview with thekindly doctor the end came.
The housemaid went into his room with his morning cup of tea. The poorold General was lying on his side, his face quite placid. But the girlknew that the pallor on it was the hue of death. She ran sobbing toIsobel's room.
"Miss, miss! Come at once to the General." Isobel guessed immediatelywhat that summons meant. She sprang out of bed and went to her father'sroom. One glance at the white, placid face confirmed her worst fears.She sent the frightened girl for the doctor. He came, and was able toease her mind in one respect--her beloved father had died peacefully,without a struggle.
The charming little home which had sheltered her for so many years was ahouse of mourning. She thought tearfully of his loving kindness, of themany self-sacrifices he had made to give her some small comfort, somelittle luxury. Even from a devoted husband, would she ever have such adisinterested love as that?--the love that gives all and asks nothing.
But she was a soldier's daughter, and she braced herself to go throughthe ordeal, the most trying of all ordeals to affectionate hearts, theremoval of the beloved dead.
She first sent a wire to Maurice Farquhar, asking him to come to her.Then she sent another wire to the General's elder brother, the owner ofthe small family estates.
In two hours came back her cousin's answer.
"Am catching an early train."
The Squire's answer came back about the same time. "Will be with youto-morrow morning." And then she thought of a quite new, but verysincere friend. Lady Mary Rossett. She wired to her the sad news. ToGuy she wrote a long letter. If she had sent him a wire, he might haverushed over, and neglected his duties. That would have rendered noservice to the dead.
Lady Mary arrived first in her car--it was not a very long run fromTicehurst Park to Eastbourne. She explained that she had taken rooms atthe "Queen's" for herself and her maid, and would see Isobel throughthis trying ordeal.
The two girls clung together. Mary said she would like to look upon theGeneral for the last time. Isobel led her into the darkened chamber,and Mary imprinted a kiss upon the waxen brow.
"He was a most perfect gentleman," she said. "You will always be proudto remember that you were his daughter."
"He was the dearest and the best. He was--"
But Isobel could say no more, for fear she should break down.
A few moments after Mary's arrival came Farquhar, lumbering up from thestation in a somewhat antiquated taxi.
Isobel welcomed him warmly. "How good of you, Maurice, to come so soon,and of course you are frightfully busy. I am afraid grief makes onevery selfish."
"I don't think you were ever very selfish, Isobel," replied Farquhar inhis grave, quiet tones. "I am, as you say, frightfully busy, but I havehanded over all my briefs to a friend, and I am going to see you throughall this sad business. I suppose you have wired to the Head of theFamily?"
Isobel's lip curled a little. "Yes, I have wired to the Head of theFamily. I have got his answer. He is coming down to-morrow. My truefriends are here to-day, yourself, and Lady Mary Rossett. By the way,how remiss of me not to have introduced you."
Lady Mary rose, and held out her hand to the rising young barrister.
"But, dear Isobel, we have met before, on that well-remembered eveningat the Savoy. You will no doubt recollect, Mr Farquhar, you weredining with a very dark-complexioned gentleman, evidently a foreigner."
"Of course, I remember perfectly. The man who was my guest is my oldfriend Andres Moreno, a very capable journalist."
Lady Mary looked approvingly at the grave young barrister. Her heartwas, of course, buried in the grave of the young Guardsman, but she felta pleasurable thrill in this new acquaintance. There was something inhis sedate demeanour that appealed to her practical and well-orderednature--a nature that was apt occasionally to be disturbed bytempestuous and romantic moods.
"Where are you putting up?" asked Lady Mary casually.
"At the `Queen's,'" answered Farquhar.
"Oh, so am I. I have taken a suite of rooms for myself and maid, whileI am looking after dear Isobel. But it will be a little bit dull. Areyou dining in the general room?"
"I certainly shall--unless--" Farquhar looked towards Isobel.
Poor Isobel looked very distressed. "You are both such darlings," shesaid, in her candid, impulsive way. "I should like to put you both up,to ask you to stay. But I shall be such poor company for you."
They both understood. The bereaved girl wanted to be left alone withher dead, for that day at least. She welcomed their sympathy, but theycould not mourn with her whole-hearted mourning.
Farquhar and Lady Mary drove back in the car to the "Queen's." Farquharsuggested tea. Lady Mary accepted the invitation willingly. There wassomething about this serious young barrister that attracted her.
Over the teacups they chatted.
"Tell me, are you going to be Lord Chancellor some day? You have plentyof time."
It was Lady Mary who put the question. Farquhar caught the spirit ofher gay humour.
"Oh, no, nothing so stupendous as that. In my wildest dreams, I havenever aspired to be anything higher than Solicitor or Attorney-General.I shall probably end by being a police magistrate, and cultivate areputation for saying smart things."
"Oh, but I shall be quite disappointed in you if you don't become LordChancellor," persisted Lady Mary, in her most girlish vein. "Howdreadfully ancient we shall both be when you reach that exaltedposition. And then, think of your wife, she will be the first femalesubject in the kingdom. The Archbishop of Canterbury's wife doesn'tcount at all, although the Archbishop goes before you. Isn't itcomical?"
Farquhar fell in with her humorou
s mood. They had come from the houseof mourning, but the poor old General had been very little to them. Itwas Isobel who stirred a generous chord of sympathy in their hearts.And Isobel was young, she had a lover, and she would recover shortly.The young do not mourn for ever after the old. Such is the inexorablelaw of nature.
They met again at dinner. The good understanding, begun at tea, wasfurther cemented.
"You are going to be a sort of relation, in addition to being at leastAttorney-General, or a police magistrate, or something of that sort,"said Lady Mary at the conclusion of the meal. "Do you shoot?"
"I can account for a few," replied Farquhar, in his usual modest andcautious manner.
"Then you must come to