"I think you have, and I think you must; and as you have forgiven, so, of course, you will absolutely forget."

She made no reply for a long time. Then she rose, kissed me lightly on the forehead, and said:

"You are a good child, Heather, you take after your poor mother. Now go out and help Jonas with the tea."

I went out, and it was that very day that an extraordinary thing happened--that thing which, all of a sudden, changed my complete life.

Jonas and I were in the kitchen; we were excellent friends. I was busy b.u.t.tering some toast, which he was making at the nice, bright, little fire. Tea had been made and it was drawing on the top of the range.

There was a snowy-white cloth on the little tray, and when enough b.u.t.tered toast had been made I was going to carry the tray into the drawing-room, for Aunt Penelope liked me to do this, in order to save b.u.t.tons and give him more time to "look after the garden," as she expressed it. We were so employed, and were fairly happy, although we both knew quite well that I must shortly take my leave, and that the little house would have to do without me--that Jonas would have n.o.body to help him, and that Aunt Penelope would miss me every hour of the day.

Well, as we were thus occupied, I suddenly heard someone run up the steps which led to the front door. There were four or five steps, rather steep ones. The person who ascended now must have been young and agile, for there was quite a ringing sound as each step was surmounted. Then there came a pull at the bell and a sharp, very quick "rat-tat" on the front door.

"Miss Heather, who can it be?" said Jonas.

He had his toasting-fork in his hand and a great slice of tempting brown toast, which he was just finishing, on the edge of it; his round, very blue eyes were fixed on my face. For no earthly reason that anyone can tell I felt myself changing colour, and I knew that my heart began to beat in a very queer and excitable way.

"What can it be?" repeated Jonas. "It's a man, by the step. I'll take a peep out by the area."

"Oh no, Jonas, you mustn't," I said; but I might as well have spoken to the wind. Jonas, toasting-fork, toast and all, were out of sight. The next minute he came tiptoeing back.

"It's as smart a young gent as I ever laid eyes on," he said. "Miss Heather, for the Lord's sake slip upstairs and put on your best 'Sunday-go-to-meeting' dress and tidy your 'air, miss, it's ruffled from doing things in the kitchen, and take the s.m.u.t off your cheek, and--there! I mustn't keep him waiting any longer. He be a bloomin' fine boy and no mistake."

"Let me pa.s.s you, Jonas; I'll go first," I said, and in this fashion we both left the kitchen, I rushed to my room--I wasn't above taking a hint from Jonas; soon one of my pretty frocks, which I used to wear at Lady Helen's, was on once more, a white embroidered collar encircled my throat, my hair was tidily arranged, the obnoxious s.m.u.t removed, and I came slowly downstairs. Jonas was waiting for me on the bottom step.

"It's you he's asked for, miss--he's a captain in the harmy, no less.

Carbury his name be. I 'as took in the tea, and my missus is chatting with him as lively and pleasant as you please. You go in, miss; you're all right now, you look like any queen. Ring if you want me, Miss Heather; don't you be doing things yourself when a gent like that's in the house. Ring and give your orders properly, same as if there was twenty Jonases here instead of one. I'm not tired, not a bit of it; I'm real pleased to see you looking so perky, miss."

I put out my hand and touched his; he grasped mine in a sort of pleased astonishment, and tears absolutely moistened his eyes.

"Go in and prosper, miss," he said, and then he dashed downstairs.

I entered the drawing-room.

There was no one like Vernon. He had a trick of making friends with people in about two minutes and a half. It could never be said of Aunt Penelope that she was a person who was brought quickly round to be cosy and confidential and friendly with anyone; it had taken me the greater part of my life to know the dear old lady as she really ought to be known, and yet, here was Vernon, seated on a low chair facing the tea table, and absolutely pouring out tea for himself and Aunt Penelope! He looked up as I entered, threw down the sugar tongs with a slight clatter, came towards me and gave my hand a squeeze.

"She's much too weak, Heather, to be bothered making tea, so I thought I'd do it."

"He is making it very nicely, Heather, my dear," said Aunt Penelope, "and I don't see why he should not go on. I'm quite interested in Captain Carbury's stories about the army; it is so long since I have met a soldier. I a.s.sure you, Captain Carbury, in my young days I hardly ever met anyone else."

"And a very great advantage for the army, madam," said Vernon, with that pleasant twinkle in his eyes which would have made an Irish girl call him "a broth of a boy" at once.

I sat down; I found it difficult to talk. Aunt Penelope took no notice of me; she kept up a ceaseless chatter with Vernon. He was in the best of spirits; I never saw anything like the way he managed her. What could he have said to her during those very few minutes while I was changing my dress and tidying my hair and getting that s.m.u.t off my cheek?

The tea came to an end at last, and then the dear old lady rose.

"Heather," she said, "I am a little tired, and am going to lie down. You can entertain Captain Carbury. Captain, I have not the least idea what this dear child of mine has ordered for supper, but whatever it is I hope you will share it with us. We should both like you to do so."

"Thank you, I shall be delighted," he replied, and then Aunt Penelope went out of the room. The moment she had gone Vernon looked at me and I looked at him.

"Oh, you have done wrong," I said, "you know you have done wrong!"

"Shall we have our little talk," he said, in his calmest voice, "before or after b.u.t.tons removes the tea-things?"

"Oh, what do the tea-things matter?" I replied. "Let them stay. Vernon, you oughtn't to have come here."

"Oughtn't I? But I very well think I ought. Why shouldn't a man come to see the girl who has promised to marry him?"

"Vernon, you know--you got my letter?"

"I did certainly get a letter--an extraordinarily dear, sweet, pathetic little letter. Well, my dear, I have acted on it, that's all."

"Acted on it, Vernon! What do you mean?"

He put his hand into his pocket and took the letter out.

"Come and sit close to me on the sofa, Heather."

"No, no; I can't; I daren't!"

"But you can and dare. Do you suppose I am going to stand this sort of thing? You are the girl I am going to marry. Heather, what nonsense you are talking! Kiss me this minute!"

"Vernon, you know I daren't kiss you."

"And I know you dare and shall and will. Come, this minute--this very minute."

"Oh, Vernon! Oh, Vernon!"

Before I could prevent him his arms were round me and his lips were pressed to mine. The moment I felt the touch of those lips I ceased to struggle against his will and lay pa.s.sive in his arms. My heart quieted down, and a great peace, added to a wonderful joy, filled me.

"Vernon, dear Vernon!"

"Say 'darling Vernon'; that's better than dear."

"Oh, well, if I must--darling Vernon!"

"Say 'your very own Vernon,' whom you will marry."

"Vernon, I can't. I will not tie you to me and to shame."

"Of course you won't, you poor darling; but suppose--now I think this is about the stage when the hero and heroine had best sit on the sofa, or the heroine may perhaps faint."

"Vernon, what are you talking about?"

"We are quite comfortable now," he said.

He drew me very close to him, and put his arm round my waist.

"You little angel!" he said, "you darling! When I marry you I marry _honour_, not shame. Yes--honour, not shame. I marry the bravest girl on earth and the daughter of the bravest gentleman in His Majesty's army."