We Two Part 43

"'There is some soul of goodness in things evil.'

'Tis wonderful to look back in life and trace it out."

He spoke rather abruptly, but Erica's thoughts had been following much the same bent, and she understood him.

"Trust is easy on such a day as this and in such a place," she said, looking down to the beautiful valley and up to the green, encircling hills.

Donovan smiled, and touched up the ponies.

It seemed to Erica that they had turned their backs on bigotry, and annoyance, and care of every description, and were driving right into a land of rest. Presently they turned in at some iron gates, and drove down a long approach, bordered with fir trees. At the end of this stood the manor, a solid, comfortable, well-built country house, its rather plain exterior veiled with ivy and creepers. Donovan led her into the hall, where stately old high-backed chairs and a suit or two of old armor were intermixed with modern appliances, fis.h.i.+ng tackle, a lawn-tennis box, and a sprinkling of toys, which indicated that there were children in the house.

This fact was speedily indicated in another way, for there came a rush and a scamper overhead, and a boy of five or six years old ran down the broad oak staircase.

"Oh, father! May I ride round to the stables on Speedwell?" he cried, in a desperate hurry to attract his father's attention away from the servant and the portmanteau; then, catching sight of Erica, he checked himself, and held out his hand with a sort of shy courtesy. He was exactly what Donovan must have been as a child, as far as looks went.

"To the stables, Ralph?" replied his father, looking round. "Yes, if you like. Put on your hat though. Where's your mother?"

"In the garden with Mr. Cunningham; he came a few minutes ago; and he's got such a horse, father! A real beauty just like cocoa."

"A roan," said Donovan, laughing; then, as Ralph disappeared through the open door, he turned to the servant.

"Is it Mr. Cunningham of Blachingbury?"

"No, sir; Mr. Leslie Cunningham."

Erica listened, not without interest, for she knew that Leslie Cunningham was the recently elected member for East Mounts.h.i.+re, the eldest son of Sir Michael Cunningham.

"We must come and find them," said Donovan; and together they went out into the garden.

Here, on one of the broad, gra.s.sy terraces, under the shade of a copper-beech, was afternoon tea on a wicker table. Gladys was talking to Mr. Cunningham, but catching sight of her husband and Erica at the other end of the terrace, she hurried forward to greet them.

"This is delightful!" she exclaimed. "I hoped that Donovan might unceremoniously carry you off today, but hardly dared to expect it. You are just in time for tea."

"Your arrival has caused quite a sensation in the nursery," said Donovan to Leslie Cunningham. "My small boy is in raptures over your horse 'just like cocoa!'"

Leslie gave rather an absent laugh. He was watching Erica, who was still at a little distance talking to Gladys.

"May I be introduced to your guest?" he said.

"Certainly," said Donovan. "She is the daughter of Mr. Raeburn."

Leslie started.

"Indeed! I have heard about her from old Bircham, the editor. He can't say enough of her."

Apparently Leslie Cunningham could not look enough at her.

Donovan, thinking of Brian, was perhaps a little vexed at the meeting.

However, putting himself into his guest's position, he felt that the admiration was but natural, and as to Brian if he chose to lose his heart to such a lovely girl, he must expect to have many rivals.

Erica's first thought, as she glanced at Leslie Cunningham, was one of disappointment. He was not the least like his father. However, by degrees she began to like him--for his own sake. He could not have been more than five-and-twenty, and looked even younger; for he was fair-complexioned and clean-shaven. His thick, flaxen hair, and rather pallid face were decidedly wanting in color, but were relieved by very dark gray eyes. His features were well cut and regular, and the face was altogether a clever as well as an attractive one.

Erica felt as if she had got into a very delicious new word. The novelty of a meal AL FRESCO, the lovely view, the beautifully laid out grounds were charming externals; and then there were the deeper enjoyments the lovability of her host and hostess; the delightful atmosphere of broad-hearted sympathy in which they seemed to live and move, and, above all, the restfulness, the freedom of not living in momentary expectation of being rubbed the wrong way by a vexing conversation on religious, or political, or personal topics. It was like a beautiful dream quite unlike any part of real, waking existence that she had ever before known. The conversation was bright and lively. They talked because they had something to say, and wished to say it, and the artificial element so prevalent in society talk was entirely absent.

Presently Ralph came out of the house, leading a fairy-like little girl of four years old.

"Here come the children," said Gladys. "The hour before dinner is their special time. You have not seen Dolly, have you?"

"Dolly!" The name awoke some recollection of the past in Erica, and, as she kissed the little girl, she looked at her closely. Yes, it was the same fascinating little baby face, with its soft, pink cheeks and little pointed chin, its innocent, blue-gray eyes, its tiny, sweet-tempered mouth. The sunny brown hair was longer and Dolly was an inch or two taller, but she was undoubtedly the same.

"Now I know why I always felt that I knew your face!" exclaimed Erica, turning to Donovan. "Was not Dolly lost at Codrington last year?"

"On the beach," replied Donovan. "Yes! Why, could it have been you who brought her back? Of course it was! Now it all comes back to me. I had exactly the same feeling about knowing your face the other evening at Lady Caroline's, but put it down to your likeness to Mr. Raeburn. There is another bond between us."

They both laughed. Donovan took Dolly upon his knee.

"Do you remember, Dolly, when you were lost on the beach once?"

"Yes," said Dolly, promptly, "I clied."

"Who found you?"

"Farver," said Dolly.

"Who brought you to father?"

Dolly searched her memory.

"An old gentleman gave Dolly sweets!"

"My father," said Erica, smiling.

"And who helped you up the beach?" asked Gladys.

"A plitty lady did," said Dolly.

"Was it this lady, do you think?" said Donovan, indicating Erica.

Dolly trotted round with her dear little laughing face to make the scrutiny.

"I fink vis one is plittier," she announced. Whereupon every one began to laugh.

"The most charming compliment I ever heard!" said Leslie Cunningham.

"Dolly ought to be patted on the back."

Erica smiled and colored; but as she looked again at Donovan and little Dolly, her thoughts wandered away to that June day in the museum when they had been the parable which shadowed forth to her such a wonderful reality. Truly, there were links innumerable between her and Donovan.

Leslie Cunningham seemed as if he intended to stay forever; however, every one was quite content to sit out on the lawn talking and watching the children at their play. It was one of those still, soft September evenings when one is glad of any excuse to keep out of doors.