"Thank you for your good news. When you see Mary, to-morrow, give her my love, and please tell her that I inquired about her. Say that I have not forgotten her and won't. Don't forget will you, doctor?"

"I don't like that cunning face of yours, Mrs. Riley," he said to himself when she had gone. "I distrust you. It is foolish of me, but I cannot help it. I cannot help imagining you dislike my poor little bird down there--and yet you seemed very anxious about her when she was ill.

There is thorough malice in your voice and eye, but we don't fear you."

His love for Mary had inspired him with a subtle instinct, that told him when danger to her was near; and he felt a strong antipathy for the pretty woman with the wicked languishing eyes.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE FIRST WARNING.

On the following morning Dr. Duncan took the train to Farnham, and full of delightful antic.i.p.ation walked over to his sister's cottage.

It was the most lovely spring day imaginable. The young vegetation glowed beneath the bright sky, and a warm fresh breeze stirred it to happy music. It was, indeed, the very morning to go a-wooing. All nature was in harmony with the man's feelings, and he felt all its joyous sympathy as he walked with buoyant step along the fair English lanes, and the open moorland tracks, with fancies exultant and blithe as a lark's morning song.

At last he reached a little iron gate that opened on to the grounds of the cottage. He pa.s.sed through it, and followed the path that clove the shrubbery, whose waving blossoms of lilac and laburnum seemed to whisper a glad welcome to him. Then, his heart beating fast, he walked on, till turning round a corner of the bushes, the lawn opened out before him, with the creeper-covered cottage beyond it.

And then he saw a sight that made him stand quite still suddenly, and hold his breath with keen emotion.

One who loved him had been watching for him, and had seen him from her window coming down the road, then she had gone out to meet him.

He saw the young girl walking towards him across the fresh daisy-sprinkled gra.s.s which still sparkled with dew at her feet. Her hands were slightly extended as if eager to greet him. She wore a morning dress of white muslin. There was no hat on her head, and the sunshine gleamed in her tresses. A faint blush lit her cheek, and on her lips played that smile of pleasure which, when a lover finds his presence brings it to his mistress, makes him know the most exceeding happiness this world can give.

He did not move, but stood still, wishing to prolong each stage of his delight, gazing with adoration at the lovely figure as it approached. So ethereal a being did she appear in that white robe, with her face pale save for the faint glow of joy that flushed either cheek; so fair, so fragile a creature, that she seemed to her lover as of some sweet n.o.ble order of spirits, too high, too pure, for the coa.r.s.e affections of this earth; and tears came to his eyes with the tenderness he felt in his worship of this delicate girl.

She came up to him, and placed her hands in his. He held her at his arms' length for a few moments, saying nothing, feasting his eyes with her beauty; then he drew her close to him and kissed her pa.s.sionately.

She tried to free herself from his grasp with a little low laugh that only encouraged him to hold her the closer, and they felt their hearts beat against each other.

When he released her there was a deep colour on her face, and she looked up at him with a pretty expression, a half smile, half-pout upon her mouth, as if she did not quite know whether to laugh or cry, be pleased or angry.

He led her to the bench under the beech-tree, and when they were seated spoke to her, her hands still held in his.

"My darling! so you have sent for me. Oh, my love! I can see that it is good news you have to tell me this day."

She made no reply, but he felt her hand tighten its grasp of his.

"Mary! dare I hope at last, that you will allow me to be your friend, your husband? Have all the difficulties you spoke of been removed?"

"Harry! the shadow has gone from my life. What I feared would be done will not be done. You were right in what you said. To reveal my secret now would do no harm nor good to anyone. The mischief of the secret has gone for ever."

"Thank G.o.d!" cried her lover excitedly; "and now, Mary, there is nothing between us. Keep the secret; do not betray your friends. I do not care to know it. I understand you, this precious scheme, whatever it was, has come to nothing, has been abandoned. My darling! What do I care what it was? I know well it is nothing that should bring blame to your innocent soul. Poor child! that you should have become the tool of these wicked designing wretches! But now it is all over. You trust me, Mary, don't you?"

Another pressure of the hand was a sufficient answer to him.

"Then, Mary, the whole of my life will be devoted to your happiness. Ah!

I never imagined that I could ever love a woman as I do you! Oh, Mary, Mary! I do not deserve to have been made so happy by you. And you really will have me as a husband? This is not a dream is it?"

"If you wish it," she whispered; "I will do all you wish."

"All _I_ wish, that is how you always speak; but what do _you_ wish?"

She raised her eyes till they met his, and whatever doubts he might have held about her feelings towards him, were dispelled by that soft, yet pa.s.sionate look.

"Mary, Mary, my love!"

"Harry! my love! my husband! You ask me for my love. Ah! indeed, you know you have it. Oh, Harry, do you think that all women feel this, do they love their husbands as dearly as I love you? It seems all so strange, so wonderful."

He drew her head towards him and kissed the tears from her tender eyes; suddenly she started.

"Harry!"

"Yes! my dear little girl."

"I must pray."

He looked at her with some surprise. There was a great earnestness in her eyes as she clung to his hand and exclaimed, "Oh, Harry! you know how wicked I have been. You know how for many years I did not even believe in G.o.d. I was an atheist!" She shuddered as she uttered the word in accents of loathing. "And yet, see! he has sent me this wonderful happiness, this sweet, sweet love. How good this G.o.d must be! He is kind even to me, to me! Do you think he will hear me, will he be pleased if I pray to him, Harry, if I thank him for all that he has done?"

Her wistful look, the simple pathos of her speech touched the man's heart and his eyes dimmed, as he cried out pa.s.sionately in reply, "Oh, my darling! my dear, dear, little sweetheart! You wicked, indeed! If G.o.d does find pleasure in any prayer, he must surely do so in such true, pure prayer as yours. You are right, Mary, you are right. We ought, indeed, to thank G.o.d together for having filled our hearts with this delicious love. I even more than you; for unlike you I have had everything in my favour, and yet I have lived an irreligious wicked selfish life. You have taught me a lesson, oh, my sweet little wife!"

Can Heaven itself disclose greater delights than did this glorious May day for these two! Ah! those golden hours; how the one, who later on will be left alone in the cold world will recall the magic rapture of them! Ah, precious hours, glimpses of Paradise, of which so few come to brighten the long dark days of most of us.

After a time the lovers went indoors, and the doctor told his sister everything. Poor little Mrs. White, how fussy and excited she was all that day! I verily believe she was happy as were they themselves on seeing that matters had been settled definitely at last between these two people whom she loved so dearly.

At lunch exceedingly high spirits prevailed, high spirits that were not far removed from tears at times, from so profound depths they sprung.

The little children caught the contagion from their elders and became very unruly in their merriment; and yet they were not reproved by their mother, who seemed to have lost her head in the excess of her gladness, and laughed so much at their pranks that their quick perceptions grasped the situation in a way; they saw that some very joyful thing had happened, and that discipline was to be ignored for the day; they discovered that mother, uncle, and "Auntie Mary," would tolerate anything, and they profited by the occasion.

"Uncle Harry, have you brought me some chokkies?" asked the little boy, and was not even rebuked for his rudeness.

Uncle had forgotten all about chocolates this time, but replied, "Bobby, I'll send you pocketsful of chokkies to-morrow."

"And a boat, Uncle Harry?"

"Yes, and a nice boat, and a new rocking-horse."

The children clapped their hands and shouted with delight; they thought their elders had surely gone mad, and that the Infant Millenium had come.

"And a new dolly for me?" cried the eldest girl.

"Yes! and a doll's house too, with lots of furniture," immediately responded the evidently insane uncle.

But, at last, the nurse, a worthy female, who alone in the establishment had not altogether lost her head, thought fit to come down and intervene, and she marched the reluctant youngsters off.