After all, the dreaded influenza epidemic did not make its appearance, and, though people still talked learnedly of germs and microbes, and put meddling fingers into the medical pie, it was decided by the legitimate authorities that the mischief had blown over for the present.

It is a curious fact that there is a fashion even in talk. A subject is discussed until it is worn thread-bare. When the germ theory was exhausted the bicycle craze took its place. Perhaps future students of hieroglyphics may yet discover in some palimpsest that in old days the Egyptian maidens had quaint iron machines that carried them swiftly through the desert.

In the early March days, when the winds were keen and bl.u.s.terous, Mr.

Williams died; his end was very sudden.

Greta had just retired to her room for the night when the nurse noticed a change in him and hastily summoned her. A messenger was sent for Dr.

Luttrell, but before he could reach the house Mr. Williams was dead.

He could have done nothing if he had been there. That was the sole comfort Marcus could give to the stricken daughter, and she knew that he spoke the truth.

The bow of the king of terrors is never drawn at a venture. The arrow goes deep and true, but to Greta and Olivia he was only the angel of sorrow, who did his master's bidding. Alwyn in after years worked out this idea in a n.o.ble picture called the "House of Mourning."

The little one, evidently the sole child and heir of a goodly heritage, lay panting out his feeble life on the pillow. The broken-hearted parents bent over him hand in hand. The filmy look of unshed tears in the mother's eyes was wonderfully rendered. On the threshold stood a kingly presence, in dark trailing robes of majesty and a starry crown on his head. The face, solemn and beautiful, wore an expression of infinite pity; the arms were stretched out to the child with a gesture of tenderness.

Underneath was written those striking words: "Is it well with the child?" and the answer, "It is well." It was that picture that made Alwyn Gaythorne's name.

Olivia hurried round to Brunswick Place as soon as her husband broke the news to her, and spent the greater part of each day there for the next week or two.

It was touching to see how the poor girl clung to her friends; she would do nothing without their advice.

Dr. Luttrell saved her as much as possible. He and Alwyn did the necessary business, and Olivia brought her work and Dot, and strove in every way to cheer and console her.

It was a very quiet funeral. Only Marcus and his wife and Alwyn and the lawyer were present. When they went back to the house the will was read. The provisions were perfectly simple. Everything, with the exception of a few minor legacies, was left to Greta,--the house in Brunswick Place and an income of nearly three thousand a year.

Olivia opened her eyes a little widely when she heard this. She had no idea that Greta would be such a rich woman. But Greta herself seemed utterly indifferent.

"How am I to live on here alone?" she said, with an outburst of grief, when she found herself left with Olivia. "Dear Mrs. Luttrell, you must both help me. All my friends must help me to some decision, but to live alone in this house just because it belongs to me; oh, I cannot do it," with a sudden shiver of repulsion. "I would sooner go into a hospital and learn nursing." But when Olivia repeated this speech to Marcus he only smiled.

"An attractive young woman with three thousand a year will soon discover some object of interest," he said, a little dryly. "But it would hardly do to hint at this just now. Nursing in a hospital is a fine work, no doubt, for anyone who has a vocation, but you may as well tell Miss Williams not to ask my advice. She has not the physical strength; besides, in her position, the idea is absurd.

"Why take the bread out of other women's mouths? No, no; just counsel her to patience, and in a few months we shall see which way the wind blows," for, though no word had yet pa.s.sed between them, Marcus was quite aware of Alwyn Gaythorne's _penchant_ for his old playfellow, though the idea was hardly more pleasing to him than it was to Olivia.

"There is not enough of him," he said to himself. "He does not come up to her mark. It is not her money, for Mr. Gaythorne is a rich man and his son will have plenty, but she stands on a higher plane than his, and, in my humble opinion, Miss Williams could do better for herself."

Strange to say, Mrs. Broderick differed from them. She had already made Greta's acquaintance, and they had mutually taken to each other.

Greta had been charmed with Mrs. Broderick's cheerfulness and quaint speeches, and Aunt Madge, in her turn, had declared herself fascinated by Greta's gentleness. "She is exactly my idea of a young English gentlewoman," she had said after her first visit. "I thought the article had gone out of fashion. Oh," as Olivia looked shocked at this, "I grant you there are hundreds and thousands of good, honest girls, I'm thankful to say, but they are so terribly outspoken and up to date. Of course, I am only an old-fashioned frump and sadly behind the times, but though slang may not be sinful and a little outward roughness is only the husk, and there is plenty of sweet, sound kernel inside, yet I must own, Livy, I like gentleness as well."

Alwyn and Aunt Madge were already firm friends. She shared his artistic tastes and could talk intelligently to him on the subjects he liked best, and from the first she refused to see any defects in him.

"My dear Livy," she once said when Olivia had made a somewhat disparaging remark about his want of steadiness, "you are far too critical. You judge men by Marcus's standard, but you must remember every one is not a moral son of Anak.

"Now Mr. Alwyn is a great favourite of mine, and I think highly of him.

Few young men would be so good-natured as to come two or three times a week to chat with an elderly invalid. And yet that is what Mr. Alwyn does, and he knows I enjoy his visits.

"Yesterday when he came in he found Miss Williams sitting with me, and they both looked as pleased as though they had not met for years. And it made me feel quite young to look at them. Oh!" in an exasperated tone, as Olivia shook her head, "I know what that means,--that you and Marcus forbid the banns,--but you might just as well try to stop an express train with a penny whistle, so you may as well save your breath.

"Those two mean to take each other for better or worse. They don't know it themselves yet, but it is written already in the book of fate."

"Oh, Aunt Madge, how can you say such things? You have not seen Greta more than three or four times."

"All the same, the oracle has spoken," with a wise nod of her head.

"My dear, Greta Williams was born into this world to be someone's crutch. A strong, healthy-minded man could not utilise her best qualities. She would be simply wasted on him. She has got to mother her husband, you see, and that is what Mr. Alwyn wants his wife to do.

Leave them alone, they will soon find out their need of each other.

And then they will settle matters. And for pity's sake, Olive, don't you try and put a spoke in their wheel." But Olivia, who was a little huffy on the subject, refused to say another word.

"It was no business of hers or anyone's," she said, pointedly, "whom Alwyn Gaythorne chose to marry, but in her opinion it was always a pity to couple names together beforehand," and with this virtuous snub she rose to take her leave, but Mrs. Broderick only indulged in one of her hearty laughs.

"Livy, I do declare you are actually cross with me,--well, there, I will not say another word; don't look as though I have been talking treason. I quite allow your Greta is too good for any ordinary faulty man, and that even my young friend is not worthy of her," and at this admission Olivia's brow cleared.

"Thank you for saying that, Aunt Madge. I know we do not really differ, only--only," with a little laugh, "you are always so ready for a love-story."

"Yes, I love a lover," returned Mrs. Broderick, playfully, and then her manner changed. "No, I will not jest about it; life and death and love are no subjects for jests,--they are three splendid realities. Yes, my dear Olive, you are right, and love-stories, even the poorest, interest me. Haven't I lived mine? Do I not know how it glorifies life? but we can only read the first chapters here,--there is eternity for us presently. 'The many mansions,' I think I love those words more than any in the Bible; they always make me think that even there there will be a special home for Fergus and me and our boy."

Olivia certainly found it difficult to satisfy the various claims on her; her household tasks occupied most of the morning; as long as Martha remained their sole domestic, it was necessary for the mistress to superintend the cooking. To look after Marcus's comfort was her first and paramount duty, and it was seldom that she found herself at leisure until the afternoon, and then she and Greta were generally together, either at Brunswick Place or Galvaston Terrace.

Sometimes she would combine her duties by taking Greta with her when she went to Mayfield Villas, but she never ventured to take her to Galvaston House after her first visit, as she found that Mr. Gaythorne preferred her to come alone.

"Miss Williams is all very well," he said once, "and we are always pleased to see her, but I like my pleasures singly; besides, Alwyn always monopolizes her. Invalids are allowed to be exacting, so I may tell you plainly that I like to have you to myself," and after that Olivia went alone.

It was always a pleasure to her to go there, she had such a warm welcome from the father and son, and it did her heart good to see the light of happiness in the old man's eyes, he seemed hardly able to bear his son out of his sight. Alwyn's health, his comforts and his tastes were his chief topics of conversation. One day he made Alwyn take her upstairs and show her the new studio that had been planned; two rooms were to be thrown into one, and a fresh window put in.

Directly the work was commenced he and Alwyn were going to Bournemouth for a few weeks. The sea-voyage had been postponed for the present.

Mr. Gaythorne fretted himself at the idea of parting so soon with his boy, and he hated the thought of his going alone.

"If there were someone to look after him," he would say to Dr.

Luttrell; "but I feel as though I could never trust him to take care of himself again; look at him, he is a perfect wreck." And though Marcus still held to his opinion that a long voyage would be his best remedy, he thought it more prudent to wait a little, and on his side Alwyn seemed reluctant to go.

"I have been too much my ain lane already," he said; "I should prefer to stay at home a little longer," and then Bournemouth was selected as a compromise. Mrs. Crampton would go with them, and, at Mr.

Gaythorne's request, Marcus went down first and chose their rooms.

"Why not go from Sat.u.r.day to Monday, and take your wife down? I will frank your expenses," he said, "and the little trip will do you both good." And though Marcus hesitated over this, as Martha was too young to be trusted with the care of Dot, Greta came to the rescue by undertaking to look after the child.

Olivia could scarcely believe her ears when this magnificent project was unfolded to her. Two whole days with Marcus by the sea! And they had neither of them had an outing since their modest wedding-trip,--a week at St. Leonards.

"It will be another honeymoon," she said, flushing with pleasure. And as they sat together in the hotel garden that Sat.u.r.day evening, she thought of the humble lodging to which Marcus had taken her, and what fun they had got out of their first attempt at housekeeping.

The little change did them both good, but, though neither of them would have owned it for the world, No. 1, Galvaston Terrace, certainly looked a little dreary on their return.

The bright spring weather only made the dinginess more apparent, but nothing would induce the landlord to treat them to a fresh coat of paint. Marcus whitewashed one or two of the rooms in the intervals of his work, and Olivia put up clean curtains and purchased a plant or two. As far as scrupulous cleanliness could avail, the little house was in first-rate order. Nevertheless Marcus gave vent to an impatient sigh now and then as he looked round the small, low room. The side windows had been blocked up in the days of the window-tax, and the one small window lighted the room imperfectly.

"If we could only move," he said once. "I want you and Dot to have more light and air. We are too near the cemetery, too. We should do much better in Compton Street or Norfolk Terrace." And then, as Olivia looked at him in surprise, he said a little impatiently:

"Oh, I know it is not to be done yet. We shall have to want a little longer. I believe it was that insufferable woman, Mrs. Tolman, put it into my head. She actually told me that we ought to move, as no good cla.s.s of patients would ever come to Galvaston Terrace. It was just like her impudence--eh, Livy?"

"Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry," and Olivia put down her work and looked at him sympathetically. "I thought something had annoyed you the moment you came in. It is too bad of Mrs. Tolman always to tread upon people's corns in this fashion. She might wait until one asks her advice."