"I'm afraid I must, dear, much as it goes against me to say so. It couldn't be, Mary--it couldn't indeed, my dear; and you know what you told me--how sensible and wise poor John Grange spoke about it himself.

It would be a kind of madness, Mary, dear: so come, come, wipe your poor eyes. G.o.d knows what is best for us all, and when the afflictions come let's try to bear them patiently."

"Yes, mother," cried Mary, hastily drying her eyes. "I will be patient and firm."

"And you see, dear, that it would not be right for you to go down to old Hannah's. It would be, as I said, like flying in the face of father, who, I'm sure, has been as nice as could be about all you did that day."

"Yes, mother," said Mary, with another sigh. "Then I will be patient and wait."

"That's right, my darling. And there, now I'll tell you something I heard from father. Poor John Grange is not forgotten; Mrs Mostyn is trying to place him in a home, and if she doesn't, he's to go to some friends, and she's going to pension him for life."

Mary sighed once more, a deeper, more painful sigh, one which seemed to tear its way through her heart, as in imagination she saw the fine manly fellow who had won that heart pursuing his dark road through life alone, desolate, and a pensioner.

Up at the house James Ellis was not kept waiting long before there was a rustling sound, and Mrs Mostyn came in through the French window from the conservatory, which ran along one side of the house.

She looked radiant and quite young, in spite of her sixty-five years and silver hair, and there was a happy smile upon her lip that brightened the tears in her eyes, as she nodded to her agent cheerfully, and held out a great bunch of newly-cut orchids, which she held in her hand.

"Smell those, James Ellis. Look at them. Are they not beautiful?"

"Yes, ma'am, and if you sent them to the Guildstone Show they'd take the first prize."

"And the plants come back half spoiled. No, I don't think I shall. I have them grown for their beauty and perfection, not out of pride and emulation. You never used to grow me and my dear husband such flowers when you were head-gardener, James."

"No, ma'am," said Ellis, smiling at his mistress, as she sat down, drew a great shallow china bowl to her side, and began to daintily arrange the quaint, beautifully-tinted blooms according to her taste; "no, ma'am, but there were no such orchids in those days."

"Ah, no! That's forty years ago, James Ellis. Well, what is it this morning?"

"About the big oak, ma'am. It is three parts dead, and in another year it will be gone. Of course, it's a bad time of year, but I thought if it was cut down now, I might--"

"Don't! Never say a word to me again about cutting down a tree, James Ellis," cried his mistress angrily.

The bailiff made a deprecating sign.

"Let them stand till they die. Tell Barnett to plant some of that beautiful clematis to run over the dead branches. No more cutting down dead boughs while I live."

"Very good, ma'am."

"Is that all?"

"No, ma'am; about the hay. Mr Nixon would be glad to have it at the market price."

"Of course, let Mr Nixon have all you can spare. And now I'm very busy, James Ellis--by the way, how is your wife, and how is Mary?"

"Quite well, thank you, ma'am," said the bailiff, hesitating, as he turned when half-way to the door.

"I am glad of it. Mind that Mary has what flowers she likes for her little greenhouse."

"Thank you, ma'am, she will be very pleased, but--"

"Yes! What?"

"There was one other thing, ma'am. Daniel Barnett has been speaking to me about help, and there is one of Admiral Morgan's men wants to leave to better himself. I know the young man well. An excellent gardener, who would thoroughly suit. His character is unexceptionable, and he is an excellent grower of orchids."

"Oh!" said Mrs Mostyn sharply; "and you want me to engage him to take poor John Grange's place?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the bailiff respectfully. "The Admiral will recommend him strongly, and I don't think you could do better."

"Then I do," cried the lady, bringing down one hand so heavily upon the table that the water leaped out of the bowl on to the cloth. "James Ellis," she said, rising, "come with me."

The bailiff stared, and followed the rustling silk dress out through the French window, and along the tiled floors of the conservatory, to the angle where it turned suddenly and went along by the drawing-room.

There she stopped suddenly, with her eyes looking bright and tearful once more, as she pointed to the far end and whispered--

"Not do better, James Ellis? Man, what do you say to that?"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

James Ellis did not say anything to "that" for a few moments, but stood rubbing the bridge of his nose with the hard rim of his hat, which he held in his hand.

For there, to his utter astonishment, was John Grange, bright-eyed, erect, and with his face lit up with eager pleasure, busily tying up a plant to the sticks from which its strands had strayed. A few pieces of raffia gra.s.s were hung round his neck, his sleeves were turned up, and, evidently in utter ignorance of the fact that he was being watched, he bent over the plant upon its shelf, and with deft fingers traced the course of this branch and that, and following all up in turn, tied those which were loose. After cutting the gra.s.s as he tied each knot, he examined the plant all over with his fingers till he found one wanton, wild, unnecessary shoot, and pa.s.sing the knife-blade down to its origin, he was in the act of cutting it off when James Ellis made a gesture to stop him, but was arrested by Mrs Mostyn, who held up her hand and frowned.

By that time the shoot was neatly taken off--cut as a gardener can cut, drawing his knife slightly and cleverly across, making one of those wounds in the right place which heal so easily in the young skin.

Then Grange's hands played about the plant for a few minutes as he felt whether it was in perfect balance, and pressed it back a little upon the shelf, measuring by a touch whether it was exactly in its place.

Directly after he walked across that end of the conservatory without a moment's hesitation, stopped before the opposite stand, and stretched out his hand to place it upon a pot, about whose contents it began to stray, was withdrawn, extended again, and then wandered to the pots on either side; but only to be finally withdrawn, the poor fellow looking puzzled, and Mrs Mostyn smiled, nodded, and placing her lips close to the bailiff's ear, whispered--

"There used to be another of those white pelargoniums standing there."

By this time John Grange's hands were busy at a shelf above, and the lookers-on watched with keen interest for the result, for the flower he sought had been moved on to the higher range, and they were both wondering whether he would find it.

They were not long kept in suspense, for John Grange's hand touched one of the leaves the next moment, pressed it gently, raised it to his nose, and a look of satisfaction came into the poor fellow's face as, with a smile, he bent over, lifted the pot from its place, stood it on the floor, and went down on one knee to begin examining the plant all over with fingers grown white, soft, and delicate during his illness.

Mrs Mostyn kept on glancing brightly at James Ellis, as if she were saying, "Do you see that? Isn't it wonderful?" And the bailiff stared, and kept on rubbing his nose with the hard brim of his felt hat, while he watched John Grange's fingers run up the tender young shoots, and, without injuring a blossom, busy themselves among those where the green aphides had made a nursery, and were cl.u.s.tering thickly, drawing the vital juices from the succulent young stems. And then bringing all his old knowledge to bear, he knelt down on both knees, so that he could nip the pot between them with the plant sloping away from him, and with both hands at liberty, he softly removed the troublesome insects, those which he failed to catch, and which fell from their hold, dropping on to the floor instead of back among the leaves of the plant.

Every flower, bud, and shoot was examined by touch before the pot was once more stood upright, the various shoots tried as to whether they were properly tied up to their sticks, and then the young man rose, lifted a plant from the lower shelf, placed it where the pelargonium had stood, and lastly, after raising it from the floor, and smelling its leaves, arranged it in the place on the shelf where he had left it a couple of days before his accident.

The next minute he walked to where another was standing, as if led by a wonderful instinct, though it was only the result of years of care, application, and method, for he had worked in that conservatory till he knew the position of every ornamental plant as well as he knew its requirements, how long it would last, take to flower, and with what other kind he would replace it from one end of the year to the other.

Mrs Mostyn and her bailiff stood watching John Grange for quite half-an-hour, in what seemed to the latter almost a miraculous performance, and in those hasty minutes they both plainly saw the man's devotion to his work, his love for the plants he cultivated, and how thoroughly he was at home in the house and interested in what had taken place in his enforced absence. He showed them, by his actions, that he knew how much the plumbago had grown on the trellis, how long the shoots were that had been made on the layer, and his fingers ran from one mazy cl.u.s.ter of buds and flowers to another; hard-wooded shrubby stems were examined for scale, which was carefully removed; and every now and then he paused and placed his hands on the exact place to raise up some fragrant plant--lemon verbena or heliotrope--to inhale its sweet odour and replace it with a sigh of satisfaction.

James Ellis watched the young gardener, expecting moment by moment, and, in his then frame of mind, almost hoping to see him knock down some pot on to the tiled floor, or stumble over some flower-stand. But he watched in vain, and he thought the while that if John Grange, suffering as he was from that awful infliction, could be so deft and clever there amongst that varied collection of flowers, his work in the other houses among melons, pines, cuc.u.mbers, tomatoes, and grapes would soon grow simplicity itself, for, educated as he was by long experience, he would teach himself to thin grapes by touch, train the fruit-bearing stems of the cuc.u.mber and melon vines, and remove the unnecessary shoots of the tomatoes with the greatest ease. There would be a hundred things he could do, and each year he would grow more accustomed to working by touch. And as James Ellis thought, he, an old gardener, shut his eyes fast, and, in imagination, saw before him a fresh growing tomato plant, and beginning at the bottom, felt whether it was stiff and healthy.

Then ran up his fingers past the few leaves to the first great cl.u.s.ter of large fruit, removed the young shoots which came from the axils of the leaves, and ran up and up the stem feeling the cl.u.s.ters gradually growing smaller till higher up there were fully-developed blossoms, and higher still tufts of buds and tender leaves with their surface covered with metallic golden down.

He started from his musing to gaze open-eyed at his mistress, who had touched his arm, and now signed to him to follow her softly back to the library window, and into the room.

"Why, James Ellis!" she said petulantly, "were you asleep?"