The Girls of St. Olave's Part 26

"What have you done to trace her?" he asked. Perhaps it was the easiest question he could have asked. Gertrude could answer that, and she told him all that had been done. "I wish there was something I could do," he said, when she paused.

"Is it your holidays?" she asked indifferently. "I'm afraid there's nothing much going on in Old Keston just now. You'll find it very dull."

"That won't matter to me. I have to go back on Monday."

"Oh! Have you had a nice time the first part? I thought you were going to have a fortnight in September."

As Gertrude could think of nothing to say, Reggie's holiday seemed a very safe subject.

He laughed a little.

"This is the first part; I came up by last night's mail, I haven't even been home yet. I came off directly I heard about Maud and all your trouble. I was so awfully sorry, and letters are not the least bit of use for saying what you feel."

"It's very good of you," said Gertrude gratefully. "Shall you come home again in September?"

"Oh! there won't be any September," said Reggie cheerfully.

There was another pause and then Gertrude said in a very low voice,

"Reggie, have you heard _all_ the stories that they tell?"

"I expect so," answered Reggie soberly; "but, Gertrude, I would have given up all my holiday, except one hour, if I could just say one word to comfort you."

She looked up at him suddenly, startled.

"Reggie," she said, "do you mean that you gave up all your holiday just to get four days to come up and comfort me? Me! after all you have heard!"

"I don't even _think_ about those stories," said Reggie, half scornfully, half indignantly.

"Don't you?" said Gertrude wistfully. "Oh, Reggie, it is a comfort just to see you sitting there; it is indeed! Except at home here--and they've been so good to me--you are the first that has said one kind word to me about it all. I knew you would when you heard. Only I don't feel as if I ought to be looking for comfort or happiness for myself till she is found; you'll understand that, won't you?"

"Yes, I understand. But that's your side of it, Gertrude. There's another side, and that's my side. I want you to listen to what I've come all the way from Scotland to say. I've said it to myself for years. Last night, when the train was rus.h.i.+ng down through England, I was saying it to myself over and over again. Now I'm going to say it to you.

"Gertrude, I love you, I shall always love you, I want you to belong to me for always. I only think of the happiness of my life as bound up in you. I think of your love as the best and happiest thing G.o.d can give me.

"That's my side of this matter, and I want you to think of it often, and then, when little Maud is found, and we can talk about our own happiness, then you must tell me what you think about your side of it."

"Gertrude! Gertrude!"

The voice rang through the house as no voice had rung through it since Maud went away, and there was that in the sound of it, which made Gertrude and Reggie spring to their feet and rush to the door.

In the hall was a confused group, and in the centre of the group was a little figure in a short black kilted frock with a sailor jacket, and a big white hat with a black ribbon that half hid the fluffy brown hair, that was turning golden at the roots.

For a moment Gertrude stood staring, as Denys had done, then the familiar blue eyes met hers, and the silvery little voice said gleefully,

"Hullo, Gertrude! I've come back."

"Maud! Maud! Oh, my darling, my darling!"

Reggie returned to the North on Monday, and when he went, a beautiful little half hoop of diamonds sparkled upon Gertrude's left hand.

It was Reggie's greatest treasure, for it had been his mother's engagement ring; but the wearing of that ring was the only enlightenment which Old Keston received about Gertrude's and Reggie's affairs.

As Mrs. Brougham observed, people could see what they liked, but they did not deserve to hear anything.

"And so," said Mrs. Gray, as Reggie finished telling his tale in her drawing-room, "and so n.o.body knows who took the child or how she came to be found again."

"n.o.body," repeated Reggie with emphasis. But he was mistaken. There was one man who knew. A man who had gone forth at last "in the strength of the Lord G.o.d," and who had conquered. A man, who was holding out loving, strengthening hands to his wife, and to many another tempted one; but he never told anybody what he knew, not even Tom, for Jane was Tom's sister!

[Ill.u.s.tration: The child's hand lingered on the large, heavy handle of the big door.]

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