There is an old saying, greatly credited by the generality of people, that hearts are often caught at the rebound,--that in their painful tossings from uneven heights and depths, and that sad swinging over uncertain abysses, some are suddenly attracted and held fast; and there is sufficient proof to warrant the truth of this adage.

The measurements of pain are unequal: different natures hold different capacities. A trouble that seems very real at the time, and full of stings, may be found later on to be largely alloyed by wounded self-love and frustrated vanity. Sound it with the plumb-line of experience, of time, of wakening hopefulness, and it may sink fathoms, and by and by end in nothingness, or perhaps more truly in just a sense of salt bitterness between the teeth, as when one plunges in a waning tide.

Not that Archie realized all this as he paced his room that night: no; he was very strangely moved and excited. Something, he knew not what, had again stirred the monotony of his life. He had been sick and sad for a long time; for men are like children, and fret sometimes after the unattainable, if their hearts be set upon it. And yet, though he forbore to question himself too closely that night, how much of his pain had been due to wounded vanity and crossed wilfulness!

It was long before he could sleep, for the sudden broadening of the prospective of his future kept him wide awake and restless. It was as though he had been straining his eyes to look down a long, gray vista, where he saw things dimly, and that suddenly there was a low light on the horizon,--not brilliant, not even clear; but it spoke of approaching daybreak. By and by the path would be more plainly visible.

There was great excitement at the Friary on the next day. They had found it hard to get rid of d.i.c.k the previous night; but Sir Harry, who read his aunt's tired face rightly, had carried him off almost by sheer force, after a lengthy leave-taking with Nan in the pa.s.sage.

It was only Mrs. Challoner who was tired. Poor woman! she was fairly worn out by the violence of her conflicting feeling,--by sympathy with Nan in her happiness, with pleasure in d.i.c.k's demonstrative joy, and sorrow at the thought of losing her child. The girl herself was far too much excited for sleep.

She and Phillis did all the packing for the next day, and it was not until Dulce sleepily warned them of the lateness of the hour that they consented to separate; and then Nan sat by the parlor fire a long time alone, enjoying the luxury of undisturbed meditation.

But the next morning, just as they had gone into the work-room,--not to settle to any business,--that was impossible under the present exciting circ.u.mstances,--but just to fold up and despatch a gown that had been finished for Mrs. Squails, while Dulce put the finishing-touches to Mrs. Cheyne's tweed dress, Nan announced in a glad voice that their cousin and d.i.c.k were at the gate; "and I am so thankful we packed last night," she continued, "for d.i.c.k will not let me have a free moment until we start."

"You should keep him in better order," observed Phillis, tersely: "if you give him his own way so much, you will not have a will of your own when you are married: will she, mother?" Mrs. Challoner smiled a little feebly in answer to this: she could not remember the time when she had had a will of her own.

Nan went out shyly to meet them; but she could not understand her reception at all. d.i.c.k's grasp of her hand was sufficiently eloquent, but he said nothing; and Nan thought he was trying not to laugh, for there was a gleam of fun in his eyes, though he endeavored to look solemn. Sir Harry's face, too, wore an expression of portentous gravity.

"Are you all in the work-room, Nan?" he asked, in a tone as though they were a.s.sembled at a funeral.

"Yes; mother and all," answered Nan, brightly. "What is the matter with you both? You look dreadfully solemn."

"Because we have a little business before us," returned Sir Harry, wrinkling his brows and frowning at d.i.c.k. "Come, Mayne, if you are ready."

"Wait a minute, Nan. I will speak to you afterwards," observed that young gentleman, divesting himself of his gray overcoat; and Nan, very much puzzled, preceded them into the room.

"How do you do, Aunt Catherine? Good-morning, girls," nodded Sir Harry; and then he looked at d.i.c.k. And what were they both doing? Were they mad? They must have taken leave of their senses; for d.i.c.k had raised his foot gently,--very gently,--and Mrs. Squails's red merino gown lay in the pa.s.sage. At the same moment, Sir Harry's huge hand had closed over the tweed, and, by a dexterous thrust, had flung it as far as the kitchen. And now d.i.c.k was bundling out the sewing-machine.

"d.i.c.k! oh, d.i.c.k!" in an alarmed voice from Dulce. And Phillis flew to the great carved wardrobe, that Sir Harry was ransacking; while Nan vainly strove to rescue the fashion-books that d.i.c.k was now flinging into the fender.

"Oh, you great Goth! You stupid, ridiculous Harry!" observed Phillis, scornfully, while the rolls of silk and satin and yards of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g were tossed lightly into a heap of _debris_.

Laddie was growling and choking over the b.u.t.tons. Dorothy afterwards carried away a whole shovelful of pins and hooks and eyes.

Nan sat down by her mother and folded her hands on her lap. When men were masterful, it was time for maidens to sit still. Dulce really looked frightened; but Phillis presently broke into a laugh.

"This is a parable of nature," she said. "Mammie, does your head ache?

Would you like to go into the next room?"

"There, we have about done!" observed Sir Harry. "The place is pretty well clear: isn't it, Mayne?" And, as d.i.c.k nodded a cheerful a.s.sent, he shut the door of the wardrobe, locked it, and, with much solemnity, put the key in his pocket. "Now for my parable," he said. "Aunt Catherine, you will excuse a bit of a spree, but one must take the high hand with these girls. I have bundled out the whole lot of trumpery; but, as head of this family, I am not going to stand any more of this nonsense."

"Oh, indeed!" put in Phillis. "I hope Mrs. Squails will take her creased gown! Dulce, the sewing-machine is right on the top of it,--a most improving process, certainly."

"Now, Phillis, you will just shut up with your nonsense! As head of the family, I am not going to stand any more of this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" asked Mrs. Challoner, timidly. "My dears, I thought it was only fun; but I do believe your cousin is in earnest."

"I am quite in earnest, Aunt Catherine," returned Sir Harry, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand. "I hope our bit of larking has not been too much for you; but that fellow vowed it would be a good joke." Here d.i.c.k's eyes twinkled. "If Mrs. Squails's gown is spoiled, I will buy her another; but on your peril, girls, if you put a st.i.tch in any but your own from this day forward!"

"Please your honor, kindly," whined Phillis, dropping a courtesy, "and what will your honor have us do?"

"Do!" and then he broke into a laugh. "Oh, I will tell you that presently. All I know is, Nan is engaged to my friend Mayne here; and I have promised his father, on my word as a gentleman and head of this family, that this dressmaking humbug shall be given up."

"You had no right to give such a promise," returned Phillis, offended at this; but Nan's hand stole into d.i.c.k's. She understood now.

"But, Harry, my dear," asked Mrs. Challoner, "what would you have them do?"

"Oh, play tennis,--dance,--flirt, if they like! How do young ladies generally occupy their time? Don't let us talk about such petty details as this. I want to tell you about my new house. You all know Gilsbank? Well, it is 'Challoner Place' now."

"You have bought it, Harry?"

"Yes; I have bought it," he returned, coolly. "And what is more, I hope to settle down there in another month's time. How soon do you think you will be ready to move, Aunt Catherine?"

"My dear!" in a voice of mild astonishment. But Dulce clapped her hands: she thought she guessed his meaning. "Are we to live with you, Harry? Do you really mean to take us with you?"

"Of course I shall take you with me; but not to Challoner Place. That would be rather close quarters; and--and--I may make different arrangements," rather sheepishly. "Aunt Catherine, Glen Cottage will be all ready for you and the girls. I have settled about the furniture; and Mrs. Mayne will have fires lighted whenever you like to come down. Why, aunt,--dear Aunt Catherine," as he felt her thin hand tremble in his, and the tears started to her eyes, "did you not tell me how much you loved your old home? And do you think, when you have no son to take care of you, that I should ever let you be far from me?"

"Confound you!" growled d.i.c.k. "Is not a son-in-law as good as a son any day."

But no one heard this but Nan.

Mrs. Challoner was weeping for joy, and Dulce was keeping her company; but Phillis walked up to her cousin with a shamefaced look:

"I am sorry I called you a Goth, Harry. I ought to have remembered Alcides. You are as good as gold. You are a dear generous fellow. And I love you for it; and so do Nan and Dulce. And I was not a bit cross, really; but you did look such a great goose, turning out that wardrobe." But, though she laughed at the remembrance, the tears were in Phillis's eyes.

d.i.c.k was n.o.body after this: not that he minded that. How could they help crowding round this "big hero" of theirs who had performed such wonders?

Gilsbank turned into Challoner Place; Glen Cottage, with its conservatory and brand-new furniture, theirs again,--their own,--their very own (for Sir Harry intended to buy that too as soon as possible); Nan engaged to her dearest d.i.c.k, and all the neighborhood prepared to welcome them back!

"If you please, Miss Phillis, Mrs. Squails desires her compliments, and she is waiting for her dress."

We forbare to repeat Sir Harry's answer. Nevertheless, with d.i.c.k's help, the unfortunate gown was extricated, and privately ironed by Dorothy.

"That is a good morning's work of yours," observed Phillis, quietly looking down at the heap at her feet. "Dorothy, it seems Sir Harry is master here. If any more orders come for us, you may as well say, 'The Misses Challoner have given up business.'"

CHAPTER XLVII.

"IT WAS SO GOOD OF YOU TO ASK ME HERE."

Mrs. Challoner heaved a gentle little sigh when in the afternoon the fly carried off Nan and d.i.c.k to the station: it brought to her mind another day that would come far too soon. Phillis spoke out this thought boldly as she ran back to the cottage.

"I wanted to throw an old shoe for luck, mammie," she said, laughing, "only I knew Nan would be so dreadfully shocked. How happy they looked! And d.i.c.k was making such a fuss over her, bringing out his plaid to wrap her in. Certainly he is much improved, and looks five years older."

Perhaps d.i.c.k shared Mrs. Challoner's thought too, for an expression of deep gravity crossed his face as he sat down by Nan,--a look that was tender, and yet wistful, as he took her hand.