I will try not to disappoint her," and there were tears in the young man's eyes as he said this.

"Good-bye, Olive darling," whispered Greta, as she put her arms affectionately round her friend. "I am glad that we are not to be long away, the dear new home will be quite ready for us," and then she took her husband's arm and the little group of friends watched them as they drove away.

When Olive went to Mr. Gaythorne an hour later she found him looking pleased and excited. "Alwyn is a happy man," he said, "he has got a good wife. Greta has tact as well as heart. She will let him have his own way whenever it is possible, and he will not find out that he is guided. That is what Alwyn's nature needs. I have found that out by bitter experience." And the old man sighed heavily. In spite of his contentment the memory of the past was still painful, and both he and Alwyn would carry their scars to their dying day.

"I am sure you will love Greta dearly," Olivia observed. "She is a little shy and quiet until she gets used to people, but she is so wonderfully gentle."

"Yes, and she was my little Olive's friend. I shall never forget that, but as I told you just now, I have two daughters," and then he laid his hand on Olivia's with one of his rare gestures of affection. "My dear, Alwyn and I were talking last night. I told him that he must be master here, and that he must put his wife in her proper place at once. I shall want little during the few months or years that remain to me.

Just my quiet rooms and my children's affection and the society of the one or two friends that remain to me. But Alwyn needs more. He loves society, and to be a successful artist he must mix with his fellow-workers, and rub against other minds. He must go into the world and see and be seen."

"I think you are right," returned Olivia, slowly; she was secretly very much surprised by this speech. She had no idea how much he had brooded over this question.

"Yes," he returned, a little sadly, "I have learnt my lesson at last.

Those young lives must not be overshadowed by a sick man's whims. My son must never be able to say again that his father's house was like a jail, and that he felt cramped in body and mind. Sooner than that,"

with a trace of the old excitement in his manner, "I would rather my weary bones were laid in the earth."

"Dear Mr. Gaythorne," in a soothing voice, "Alwyn loves you far too well ever to say or think such a thing."

"I hope so--I trust so, but I would rather not put his patience to the proof. My boy must be happy, or I can know no peace. 'If you will bring your wife here and stay with your old father I will never interfere with either of you,' that is what I said to him. 'You may turn the house out of window if you like, so that you leave me my two quiet rooms;' but he only laughed in my face. 'We will see about that,' was all he answered, but I shall prove to him that I meant what I said."

"Greta will not care for gaiety this winter. You must remember that she has been used to a very quiet life."

"That is for her and Alwyn to decide," returned Mr. Gaythorne. "Ah, Mrs. Luttrell, my dear, what it will be to me to hear a woman's step about the house again. It will be like music in my ears;" and then he leant back in his chair as though he were exhausted and asked Olivia to read to him.

Later in the evening, as she walked back with Marcus, she told him of this conversation, and then she added,--

"He will be very good to Greta, I am sure of that; his voice softened so when he spoke of her. She is a link with the past, you see. But, Marcus, as he talked he looked so old and broken that I cannot help fearing that they will not have him with them for long."

"Probably not. I have hinted this more than once to Alwyn, and though he always turns it off, I think he understands me. It was his own proposition that they should only be a fortnight away. Now I have two or three patients to see, so you must not wait up for me;" and tired as he was Marcus walked off briskly, whilst Olivia lingered on the doorstep for a moment to look at the stars shining in the dark wintry sky. Alwyn had begged her, as a special favour to him, to pay a daily visit to Galvaston House, so for the next three or four days she found it impossible to go round to Maybrick Villas.

Mr. Gaythorne took her visits as a matter of course. There was always something he wanted to discuss with her. Some fresh arrangement for his daughter-in-law's comfort. One day he consulted her about a brougham that he intended to buy as a surprise.

"I shall get Dr. Luttrell to choose it," he said; "and there is a man I know at Medhurst who will pick me up a pair of chestnuts. My son's wife is a rich woman, and ought to have a pair for her carriage. There is some good stabling to be got just by, and Dr. Luttrell knows a capital coachman who has been thrown out of place by his master's death. In the spring she might have a victoria, but a brougham will be more serviceable at this season of the year when Alwyn takes her to theatres and concerts." And though Olivia smiled, she could not but own that the brougham would be a boon to Greta.

"Then we will see about it at once," he returned, eagerly. "Would you ask your husband to call to-morrow morning if he can spare the time?"

And as Olivia took her leave she promised to give the message.

To her surprise she found Marcus reading by the fire; he looked up at her a little gravely as she entered.

"You are rather late, are you not, Livy?" he said, laying down his paper. "Martha brought me some tea, but I waited to speak to you. I shall have to go out again directly."

"Let me give you Mr. Gaythorne's message first. He wants you to go round and speak to him tomorrow morning about a new brougham for Greta.

How delighted she and Alwyn will be. Greta is not strong and does not care for walking much in the winter, and she catches cold so easily."

"It is just what Alwyn wished for her. Yes, I will try to run across to-morrow morning, but I have a long day's work before me. Olive, darling, I have rather bad news for you," and here he put his arm round her. "Aunt Madge is ill."

Olivia turned very pale. "Marcus, how did you know? Has Deb sent a message? I hope--oh, I do hope, it is not influenza."

"I fear it is," returned Marcus, reluctantly. "I met Randolph, and he stopped and told me. He was just going there for the second time. He wants to send a nurse in, but Deb was so against it that he did not venture to insist; but I am afraid she is very ill, Livy."

"I must go round at once. Marcus, do you think you can spare me?

Martha is very careful; she will look after Dot. But you know"--and here there were hot, smarting tears in Olivia's eyes--"you know what Aunt Madge is to me. I cannot leave her to Deb."

Marcus sighed; he could not bear his wife to run the risk, and yet how could he be selfish enough to deprive Mrs. Broderick of the comfort of having her with her? He knew their deep affection for each other.

Aunt Madge was her second mother; few aunts were so fondly beloved.

"I hate you to go, dearest," he said, "and yet I cannot deny that Randolph is very anxious about her. It is the prostration he fears; the fever has been so high these two days."

"She has been ill two whole days, and Deb has never sent for me," and Olivia sobbed in a heart-broken manner.

"My dear girl, you must not lose heart in this way," and Marcus stroked her hair tenderly. "Let me tell you exactly how it was. I went round with Randolph and waited while he paid his visit. Deb came out to speak to me; she is an obstinate, incorrigible, cross-grained old woman, and I told her so. Oh, I spoke my mind to her. She cannot deny that she has been up for three nights, and yet the mention of a nurse throws her into tantrums. 'I have always nursed my mistress, and as long as I can drag about she shall have no strangers to hara.s.s her dear soul,' she said, defiantly. Now what are you to do with a woman like that? I asked her why she had not let us know," he went on, "and she confessed that Aunt Madge had made her promise not to send. So you see Deb was not to blame for that."

"No, I see;" and then Olivia looked up in her husband's face pleadingly. "Marcus, dear, you will not forbid my sitting up with Aunt Madge tonight. Deb will not mind me; she knows how Aunt Madge will love to have me. I will be very careful, and do just as you tell me; but I must! I must be with her!" and then very reluctantly Marcus gave his permission.

Martha was interviewed and Dot kissed in her cot, and then Olivia told Marcus she was ready; and they walked to Maybrick Villas almost in silence.

Olivia's heart was too full for speech. If Aunt Madge died, she told herself, the world would never be the same to her again; some of the warmth and the light and the joy of life would have faded out of it.

"She is one of my few treasures," she thought. "Marcus and dear baby come first, of course, but Aunt Madge has taken mother's place. All these years she has helped me so with her wise, loving counsel and sympathy."

"While there is life there is hope, Livy," observed Marcus, gently; and his hand touched hers in the darkness.

"Dr. Randolph does not own himself beaten by any means. Do what you can to help Deb, for she is just worn out, the foolish, faithful creature;" and his voice changing, "do not forget me or Dot, and for our sakes take care of yourself," and with these words he opened the little gate and left her to go in alone.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"I HAVE COME TO STAY."

"The dear Lord's best interpreters Are humble human souls; The gospel of a life Is more than books or scrolls."--_Whittier_.

"Deb, I have come to stay," were Olivia's first words, as the woman met her on the top of the stairs; but Deborah's only answer was to lift her hands in dumb protest and lead the way into the kitchen.

Deb's strong, hard-featured face was haggard and drawn with fatigue and anxiety, and she looked more gaunt and angular than ever: her reddened, swollen eyelids told their own tale.

"I am come to stay," repeated Olivia, firmly; but Deborah only shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the fireplace.

"You won't need to stay long, Miss Olive," she said, in a choked voice--at moments of excitement it was still "Miss Olive" with Deb--"she is failing fast, dear soul; the fever's gone and left her as weak as a new-born babe. I always said my mistress was only fit to be among the angels!" and Deb gave an expressive sniff as she filled her kettle. Olivia felt a dull pain at her heart at this speech, but she would not let herself give way. Deborah, as she knew, always took a gloomy view of her mistress's illnesses.

"Dr. Randolph is coming again to-night," she observed; "my husband told me so;" but Olivia's hand shook as she took off her hat and jacket.

"Yes, Miss Olive, the doctor is coming again, and that speaks for itself, to my mind. I knew what it was four days ago, for she was taken ill the very night after you drove round to see her, but I dare not let you know. 'We won't tell Mrs. Luttrell, or she will be anxious, and will insist on coming to nurse me. Promise me that you will not send to Galvaston Terrace, Deb;' and what was a poor servant to do? I suppose if Dr. Luttrell has sent you you will have to stop, but I won't give up nursing my mistress even to you, Miss Olive," and Deb sniffed defiantly. "There, you may go in while I warm her milk, but she will not take any notice of you. She is too weak to speak."

The folding-doors were open, and the little sitting-room, with its cheery fire, had a cosy aspect, the sick-room was dimly lighted. As Olivia bent over the invalid her heart contracted with anguish. Could only four days have wrought such deadly havoc?

Aunt Madge's face looked pinched and sunken, and so changed that Olivia could hardly recognise it, but, as she hung over her in speechless grief, the heavy eyelids unclosed, and something like a smile pa.s.sed over the features. "My little Livy" was all she whispered, but it was the old caressing tone.