I feel sure that you would have replied, "Bring your wife home, Arthur, and I will love her as a daughter, only do not leave me."

Oh, father, forgive your boy! Thoughts of your loneliness would intrude at all times and mar my happiness, until I determined to return and bring my wife, trusting to your love, and was on my way home when I was attacked with this dreadful fever. Oh, how I repent that I did not mention my wife in my last letter to you! It is but a few short months since I left you, but O how long those lonely months must have been to you! Then let your sad hours be cheered by Louisa, since the sight of your boy may never gladden your heart in this world. Bestow upon her the same love and kindness you have ever shown to me. Nothing can alleviate my pain in leaving her, but the certainty I feel that you will love and cherish her for my sake. Oh make not her coming alone harder by one word or action. But as you love me, so deal with my wife.

Farewell, dear father!--a last farewell! Before you receive this, I shall be sleeping in my distant grave. And oh when my poor Louisa presents it, treat her not harshly, as you hope that we shall meet again.

Your affectionate and repentant son, ARTHUR.

As the old man ceased reading, his head fell upon the table, and bitter tears coursed down his cheeks. "Oh, Arthur! Arthur! my boy! my only child! why, why did you leave me? How gladly would I have received your wife! But now how harshly have I treated her--how cruelly sent her forth into this heartless world, friendless and alone! But I will find her and bring her home--yes, yes, I will love her for his sake. Oh if I had only taken this when she brought it! But I will lose no time now. Oh, Arthur!

Arthur!" he murmured, and he rang the bell violently. "John! John!" he said to the faithful old man who answered his summons, "stay, John, till I can speak," he cried, gasping for breath and trembling from head to foot. "My boy, my Arthur is dead!" he wailed, at length, and that person--that lady--was his widow, John. It was all true that she said, and I treated her so badly, too."

"Yes," old John replied, meekly, "I thought it wor true; she didn't look like an himpostor, she didn't," and he shook his head gravely.

"You must find her, John, and bring her back. Go, you have your orders; you must find her. Arthur is dead, and he has sent his wife to me, and I must take care of her--that is all I can do for him now."

"Ah, that's the way with them secret marriages," soliloquized old John.

"What in the world made Mr. Arthur act so, I wonder, and his governor so indulgent?"

"Yes we will find her, and she shall have the green room, not Arthur's--no, not Arthur's. Love her for his sake, he says; aye that I will," murmured his lordship, as he paced the room. "Too late, old man, too late, too late."

CHAPTER XXI.

"I declare it's a shame," cried Emily throwing a letter on the table.

"I can't think what Everard means, it's positively unkind, I shall write and tell him so," she continued endeavoring in vain to repress the tears of vexation that would not be restrained. "I would not have believed it of him, indeed I would not--what will Harry think, I should like to know."

"What is the matter," asked Grace and Isabel at the same time.

"Read this and you will see," she replied--Grace read--

DEAR EMILY,--You will, I know, be sorry to hear that I cannot be home for the Xmas. festivities, nor for the wedding; I am as sorry as you can possibly be, dear Emmy, but circ.u.mstances, over which I have no control, make it imperitive that I should remain away, therefore, pray forgive my absence, nor think it unkind.

"It is outrageous" said Grace folding the letter carefully. "Mamma will not allow it I am certain, and I cannot imagine any reason that could prevent him coming if he chose. You had better get mamma or papa to write, people will think it so strange."

"I don't care what people think, it's Harry and ourselves" replied Emily hotly, "I will write and tell him that I won't be married this Xmas. if he don't come--'there.'

"How absurd" returned Grace contemptuously.

"Do you mean it" inquired Isabel gravely.

"Oh that is another thing" replied Emily coloring, but I shall say so, and try the effect."

"It cannot be his wish to stay away" said Isabel thoughtfully.

"It is the strangest thing I ever knew," replied Grace.

"Isabel felt very uncomfortable, for somehow she could not help thinking that she might be the cause, (as, once, Everard had been very near the forbidden subject, saying that it was quite a punishment to be under the same roof, unless there was some change in their position, toward each other.

"She was sorry that he had not said so before Isabel had replied, and that very day, told Mrs. Arlington that she wished to leave, as soon as she could meet with another governess. Mrs. Arlington asked her reasons.

But Miss Leicester would give none. Then Mrs. Arlington requested that Miss Leicester would reconsider the matter, but Miss Leicester refused to do so. Then Mrs. Arlington insisted, saying that she would except her resignation, if at the end of the week she still wished it, though they would all be sorry to part with her.

Everard of course heard what had taken place, and immediately made it his business to alter that young lady's determination, protesting that he had said nothing to make her pursue such a course. He forced her to admit that it was solely on his account that she was leaving, and then talked her into consenting to withdraw her resignation at the end of the week, promising to be more careful not to offend in future.) She wished very much that she could spend this Xmas. with Mrs. Arnold, but this was impossible, as she had promised Emily to be bridesmaid.

"Then you don't think it would do to say that," Emily said inquiringly.

"It would seem childish" returned Isabel.

"And have no effect," added Grace.

"Coaxing would be better you think."

"Decidedly," said Isabel laughing.

"The begging and praying style, might answer" returned Grace scornfully, "he always likes to be made a fuss with, and all that nonsense, if the children do but kiss him, and call him a dear kind brother and such like rubbish, he will do almost anything."

Now Grace don't say the children, when you mean me, interposed Emily, I will not hear a word against Evvie, so don't be cross. I know you always were a little jealous of his partiality for me."

"I am not cross, nor did I say anything against Everard," retorted Grace haughtily "and as for partiality, where is the favouritism now."

"Oh well, I shall write such a letter that he can't but come."

"I wish you success with all my heart," returned Grace more good naturedly, while Isabel gazed silently out of the window.

"No answer to my letter yet, is it not strange said Emily as she joined Isabel in her favourite retreat, the conservatory, "what do you think about it, it makes me positively unhappy."

"Shall I tell you what I think" asked Isabel pa.s.sing her arm round Emily and continuing her walk.

"Do please, for you can't think how disagreeable it is, when Harry asks, when Everard is coming, to have to give the same stupid answer, I expect to hear every day."

"I don't think you will."

"Oh Isabel."

"No, I do not think he will write, but just quietly walk in one of these days!"

"Do you really think so," asked Emily, her face radiant.

Isabel gave an affirmative nod.

"What makes you think so, Isabel?"

"I don't know, but I feel sure he will," she replied, turning away her face.

"Isabel."

"Well, dear," said Isabel, with heightening color, still keeping her face turned away, "tell me, was it because of you that Everard would not come home."