Mrs. White had to attend to her household cares, so the lovers were again left alone. They had somewhat settled down to their new relations by this time, so they sat side by side and talked over the vague bright future before them. They arranged where they would live and so on, and formed all manner of plans, as is the way of young people in their situation.

"Why, I feel quite like an old married woman already," said Mary at last, with a smile.

"You see we know each other pretty well by this time--we are not strangers to each other," he replied.

"No, Harry! but I can hardly realize all this yet. Poor Mrs. King! what will become of her?" she exclaimed suddenly, as the recent events flashed across her mind.

"Oh! she will be all right, I suppose," replied the doctor, who could hardly be expected to take much interest in Catherine's welfare.

"She was very good to me," said Mary, thoughtfully. "We loved each other very much."

"How came you to live with her, Mary? I beg your pardon; that may be part of your secret."

"Oh no! It is not. I can tell you all about that. In fact, I had made up my mind to tell you some time to-day. You ought to know something about me before you make me your wife, dear."

"I know quite enough about you, my darling, to know that I shall always love you very much, and that you deserve the love of a better man than me," he replied, kissing her.

"Ah! but you will be ashamed of me when I tell you this. Harry, I have deceived you. Mrs. King is not really my aunt."

"So much the better, my pet. I am very glad to hear it."

"I must tell you who I am, Harry. It has been on my mind for a long time to do so. Now listen, and don't interrupt me till I have finished."

Dr. Duncan had never before inquired into her history, and now, for the first time, she told him who her parents were, of her life at Brixton, how she had run away from home, how she had been kindly treated by the unfortunate barrister, and how, at last, she had met Catherine King and had been adopted by her.

When she had completed her narration, she sobbed and covered her face with her hands. "Ah, Harry!" she cried, "now you know what a wicked girl I have been. You will not put trust in me any more. Do you hate me now, Harry?"

"Hate you!" he exclaimed, taking her hands from her face and kissing it.

"You silly little thing! you say that to tease me." He paused a little, looking into her eyes as he held her head, and then continued in a voice that shook with strong pa.s.sion, "You know I trust you--trust you as I would--as I would--yes!--even as I would trust the good G.o.d himself, who created that pure soul of yours, my queen! Ah! Mary, Mary, you do not half understand how dear you are to me now!"

"Yes I do, Harry; I have only to think of what you are to me, to understand it," she said, smiling through her tears.

"It _is_ delicious to hear those words from your lips, Mary!"

"And you are not ashamed of me then, dear, after what I have told you?"

"Ashamed of you? No! prouder of you than ever. It is a strange history this of yours, Mary. Very few could have come out of such an ordeal unscathed, as you have done."

"I wish I could tell you all the rest too, dear; I do so wish you knew my secret. But I have sworn not to reveal it."

"There is now no object for revealing it, pet, except to gratify my idle curiosity; and I would not have you do that. But I have an important question to ask you."

"What is it?"

He put his arm round her and drew her close to him. "When are we to be married?"

"Oh! I have not thought of that yet."

"Well, it is rather sudden; but, Mary, it will do you so much good to go abroad for awhile. Now, if we are married soon, we can go away together for a long holiday. I can get someone to do my work for me in my absence."

So it was settled that the marriage should take place in the course of a few weeks; and when the sun set that evening, and the lights were lit in the cottage, there were no happier people in all merry England than the doctor, his sweetheart, and his sister.

But even on that, the first evening of unalloyed happiness for the lovers, the stern Fate that seemed to hunt relentlessly the unfortunate girl put forth her grim finger in warning. While the three were sitting down in the cosy drawing-room after dinner, the postman's knock was heard at the door and the maid brought Mary a letter.

"A letter for me!" she exclaimed as she took it, and her face paled, and a shiver ran through her body as she turned it over in her hands uneasily without opening it. No one ever wrote to her, and she felt a foreboding of some great ill. Instinctively she moved her chair a little nearer to her lover, who was sitting by her, as if to lean upon him for protection against the unknown danger. He understood that pleading gesture, and placed his arm firmly round her.

Then she opened the letter, she turned to the signature at the end of it and saw that it was from Susan Riley. She dropped it again on her lap.

"Harry," she said, "I feel that I am going to read something terrible.

All through this bright day I have felt that such perfect happiness could not last long, that some misfortune must soon follow."

"Read the letter, dear, and don't be so superst.i.tious," said Mrs. White.

She took it up again and read steadily through it. It ran thus--

"DEAR MARY,--So you have left us. I thought you would. I fear the Society has gone to the dogs, so I will have to look out for some other field for my energies. Did the doctor give you my message? I asked him to tell you that I would never forget my little sister nurse. You don't trouble much about me, but see how considerate I am for you. Three weeks ago I saw the enclosed extract in a suburban paper. I did not send it to you then, fearing that it might give you a shock in your feeble state of health--little as you loved your father. But now I hear from Dr. Duncan that you are very much better, so I forward it to you. The doctor tells me that he will be with you this evening, so you will have someone by to help you bear up under your affliction. Accept my condolence for your loss, also my congratulation on your coming happiness--for I have eyes in my head, Mary, and I can guess that you will soon be married. I suppose what has happened will put off the happy day though. I suppose you'll have a baby or babies. How funny that _one of us_ should go in for that sort of thing! I promise you that I'll take a great interest in your life, dear. _I'll stand as fairy G.o.d-mother to your baby._ Good-bye, dear. Yours ever,

"SUSAN."

"_P.S._ Did Dr. Duncan tell you that I have married my cousin?

Sha'n't I make a capital wife?"

The cutting from the newspaper which was enclosed in the letter was an announcement of her father's death.

Mary read the letter slowly, and each line seemed a separate sting, as doubtlessly it was intended to be. Little as she loved her father, she was shocked to hear that he was dead. She had intended to go to him as soon as she was married, and implore his forgiveness. She had looked forward to the reconciliation with him, for all her hate had died away long since. She was troubled, too, by the vague threats the letter contained, couched though they were in terms of affectionate solicitude. She felt a great terror when she read the underlined promise of the woman who hated her, to stand as fairy G.o.d-mother to her child.

She could not shake away the fear that the shadow, far away though it was now, would once again rise up from the horizon to cloud her happiness; but she stifled these fancies with a great effort, and said, "Oh, Harry! my poor father is dead."

There were no exaggerated protestations of sympathy where little grief was felt, but the event cast a chill over the party.

This letter had come at so inopportune a moment, that it could not but raise forebodings. Even the doctor felt a vague dread, and Mrs. White was quite upset by what she considered a very bad omen indeed.

No one had spoken for some time, Mary had been holding the letter in her hand thinking; at last she said, "Harry, I cannot tell whether I ought to show you this letter. Will you be angry if I don't. There is something about the secret in it."

"Mary, darling, unless there is something in it you want to preserve, I should put that letter in the fire. Observe your oath, and don't worry yourself about showing me everything as if I was suspicious of you. You know I am not that."

"Thank you, dear; I will burn it then."

CHAPTER XXVI.

SHATTERED IDOLS.

About six months had pa.s.sed away since the events narrated in the last chapter. In that short time a considerable change had come over the lives of the characters of this story.