"All I could spare. I do not grudge a drop of it."

Then Jane laid her arm across her mother's shoulders and looked lovingly at her. "I am so glad," she said. "You may value money highly, mother, but you can cast it away for higher things."

"I hope I should never hesitate about that, Jane. A baby's life is worth all the money I have"--and Jane sighed and went home with a new thought in her heart.

She found John and his little daughter in the garden planting bulbs and setting out hardy geraniums. She joined them, and then she saw the old, steadfast light on her husband's face and the old sure smile around his mouth. She put her hand in his hand and looked at him with a question in her loving eyes. He smiled and nodded slightly and drew her hand through his arm.

"Let us go into the house," he said. "The evenings are yet chilly"--and they walked together silently and were happy without thought or intention of being happy. A little later as they sat alone, Jane said, "You look so much better than you have done lately, John. Have you had any good news?"

"Yes, my dear one--the best of news."

"Who brought it?"

"One who never yet deceived me."

"You know it to be true?"

"Beyond a doubt. My darling, I have been thinking of the sad time you have had here."

"I hope I have done some good, John."

"You have done a great deal of good. The trouble is nearly over, it will be quite over in a few weeks. Now you could go to London and see your aunt. A change will do you good."

"Cannot you and Martha go with me? You have nothing to do yet."

"I shall have plenty to do in a short time. I must be preparing for it."

"Then I must be content with Martha. It will be good for the child to have a change."

"Oh, I could not part with both you and Martha!"

"Nor could I part with both you and Martha. Besides, who is to watch over the child? She would be too much alone. I should be miserable in London without her."

"I thought while you were in London, I would have the house thoroughly cleaned and renovated. I would open it up to every wind of heaven and let them blow away all sad, anxious thoughts lurking in the corners and curtains."

"O John, I would like that so much! It would be a great comfort to me.

But you can see that Martha would be running about cold and warm, wet and dry, and her old nurse went to Shipley when she left here."

"I have considered these things, Jane, and decided that I would take Martha up to Hatton Hall, and we would stay with mother while you were away. It would be a great pleasure to mother, and do us all good."

"But, John, London would be no pleasure to me without Martha."

"I feel much the same, Jane. Martha is the joy of life to me. You must leave me my little daughter. You know her grandmother will take every care of her."

"I can take care of her myself. She has been my companion and comforter all through these past four years of sorrow. I cannot part with her, not for a day."

This controversy regarding the child was continued with unremitting force of feeling on both sides for some time, but John finally gave way to Jane's insistence, and the early days of April were spent in preparations for the journey to London and the redecoration of the home.

Then one exquisite spring morning they went away in sunshine and smiles, and John returned alone to his lonely and disorderly house. The very furniture looked forlorn and unhappy. It was piled up and covered with unsightly white cloths. John hastily closed the doors of the rooms that had always been so lovely in their order and beautiful a.s.sociations. He could not frame himself to work of any kind, his heart was full of regrets and forebodings. "I will go to my mother," he thought. "Until I hear they are safe in Lord Harlow's house, I can do nothing at all."

So he went up to Hatton Hall and found his mother setting her dinner-table. "Eh, but I am glad to see thee, John!" she cried joyfully.

"Come thy ways in, dear lad. There's a nice roast turning over a Yorkshire pudding; thou art just in a fit time. What brought thee up the hill this morning?"

"I came to see your face and hear your voice, mother."

"Well now! I am glad and proud to hear that. How is Martha and her mother?"

"They are on their way to London."

"However could thou afford it?"

"Sometimes we spend money we cannot afford."

"To be sure we do--and are always sorry for it. Thou should have brought Martha up here and sent her mother to London by herself."

"Jane would not go without her."

"I'm astonished at thee! I am astonished at thee, John Hatton!"

"I did not want her to go. I said all I could to prevent it."

"That was not enough. Thou should not have permitted her to go."

"Jane thought the change would do her good."

"Late hours, late dinners, lights, and noise, and crowded streets, and air that hes been breathed by hundreds and thousands before it reaches the poor child, and----"

"Nay, mother, that's enough. Count up no more dangers. I am miserable as it is. How goes all with you?"

"Why, John, it goes and goes, and I hardly know where it goes or how it goes, and the mischief of it all is this--some are getting so used to the Government feeding and clothing them that they'll think it a hardship when they hev to feed and clothe themselves."

"Not they, or else they are not men of this countryside. How is Harry? I heard a queer story about him and others yesterday."

"Queer it might be, but it was queer in a good way if it is set against Harry. What did you hear?"

"That Harry had trained a quartette of singers and that they had given two concerts in Harrow-gate and three in Scarborough and Halifax, and come back with nearly five hundred pounds for the starving mill-hands in Hatton District."

"That is so--and I'm thankful to say it! People were glad to give. Many were not satisfied with buying tickets; they added a few pounds or shillings as they could spare them. Lord Thirsk went with the company as finance manager. People like a lord at the head of anything, and Thirsk is Yorkshire, well known and trusted."

"No more known and trusted than is Hatton. I think Harry might have asked me. It is a pity they did not think of this plan earlier."

"There may be time enough for the plan to wear itself out yet."

"No. We shall have peace and cotton in three months."

"However can thou say a thing like that?"

"Because I know it."

Then she looked steadily at him. He smiled confidently back, and no further doubt troubled her. "I believe thee, John," she said, "and I shall act accordingly."