Mildred Arkell Volume Iii Part 42

"Oh, Aunt Betsey"--she had caught the name from Travice--"if he had but lived! If he could but be with us to-morrow!"

Aunt Betsey touched with her gentle finger the sorrowing face. "He is better off, Lucy."

"Yes, I know. But in times of joy it seems hard to remember it. I wonder--I hope it is not wrong to wonder it--whether he and mamma are always with me in spirit? I have grown to think so."

"The thinking it will not do you harm, Lucy."

"Oh, was it not a cruel thing, Aunt Betsey, for that boy Lewis to throw him down! He was forgiven by everybody at the time; but in my heart--I won't say it. But for that, Henry might be alive now. They left the college school afterwards. Did you know that?"

"The Lewises? Yes; I think I heard it."

"A reaction set in for Henry after he died, and the boys grew shy and cool to the two Lewises. In fact, they were sent to Coventry. They did not like it, and they left. The eldest went up to be in some office in London, and the youngest has gone to a private school."

"It is strange that the two great _inflicted_ evils in your family and in mine, should have come from the Carrs!" exclaimed Mrs. Dund.y.k.e. "But, my dear, do not let us get into a sorrowful train of thought to-day.

And, all the sorrow we can give, cannot bring back to us those who are gone."

"I wish you could have seen him!" murmured Lucy. "He was so beautiful!

he----"

"Here are people coming, my dear."

Lucy turned away, drying her eyes. A clerical dignitary and a young lady were advancing through the cloisters. As they met, the young lady bowed to Lucy, and the gentleman raised his shovel hat--not so much as to acquaintances, as because they were ladies pa.s.sing through his cloisters.

"Who are they?" whispered Mrs. Dund.y.k.e, when the echo of their footsteps had died away.

"The dean and Miss Beauclerc. Aunt Betsey, she knew Henry so well! She came to see him in his coffin."

They were at Mr. Arkell's house, in the evening--Lucy, her aunt, and Mrs. Dund.y.k.e. The breakfast in the morning was to be given in it, Miss Arkell's house being small, and the carriages would drive there direct from St. James-the-Less. Mrs. Arkell, gracious now beyond everything, had sent for them to spend the last evening, and see the already laid-out table in the large drawing-room. She could not spare Travice that last evening, she said.

Oh, how it all came home to Mildred! _She_ had gone to that house the evening before a wedding in the years gone by, taken to it perforce, because she dared make no plea of refusal. She had seen the laid-out table in the drawing-room then, just as she was looking down upon it now.

"Lucy's destiny is happier!" she unconsciously murmured.

"Did you speak, Mildred?"

She raised her eyes to the questioner by her side, William Arkell. She had not observed that he was there.

"I?--Yes; I say Lucy's will be a happy destiny."

"Very happy," he a.s.sented, glancing at a group at the end, who were engaged in a hot and laughing dispute, as to the placing of the guests, Travice maintaining his own opinion against Aunt Betsey and Lucy.

Travice looked very well now. His hair was long again; his face, delicate still--but it was in the nature of its features to be so--had resumed its hue of health. Lucy was radiant in smiles and blue ribbons, under the light of the chandelier.

"I begin to think that destinies are more equally apportioned than we are willing to imagine; that where there are fewer flowers there are fewer thorns," Mr. Arkell observed in a low tone. "There is a better life, Mildred, awaiting us hereafter."

"Ah, yes. Where there shall be neither neglect, nor disappointment, nor pain; where----"

"Here you are!" broke out a loud, hearty, laughing voice upon their ears. "I knew it was where I should find you. Lucy, I have been to your house after you. Take my load off me, Travice."

Need you be told that the voice was Barbara Fauntleroy's? She came staggering in under the load: a something held out before her, nearly as tall as herself.

A beautiful epergne for the centre of the table, of solid silver.

Travice was taking it from her, but awkwardly--he was one of the incapable ones, like poor Peter Arkell. Miss Fauntleroy rated him and pushed him away, and lifted it on the table herself, with her strong hands.

"It's our present to you two, mine and Lizzie's. You'll accept it, won't you, Lucy?"

Kindness invariably touched the chord of Lucy Arkell's feelings, perhaps because she had not been in the way of having a great deal of it shown to her in her past life. The tears were in her earnest eyes, as she gently took the hands of Miss Fauntleroy.

"I cannot thank you as I ought. I----"

"Thank me, child! It's not so much to thank me for. Doesn't it look well on the table, though? Mrs. Arkell must allow it to stand there for the breakfast."

"For that, _and for all else_," whispered Lucy, with marked emotion, retaining the hands in her warm clasp. "You must let us show our grat.i.tude to you always, Barbara."

Barbara Fauntleroy bent her full red lips on Lucy's fair forehead. "Our bargain--his and mine--was, that we were all three to be firm and fast friends through life, you know. Lucy, there's n.o.body in the world wishes you happier than I do. Jolly good luck to you both!"

"Thank you, Barbara," said Travice, who was standing by.

"And now, who'll come and release Lizzie?" resumed Miss Fauntleroy. "We shall have her rampant. She's in a fly at the door, and can't get out of it."

"Not get out of it!" repeated Mr. Arkell.

"Not a bit of it. It's filled with flower-pots from our hot-house. We thought perhaps you'd not have enough for the rooms, so we've brought a load. But Lizzie got into the fly first, you see, to pack them for bringing steadily, and she can't get out till they are out. I took care of the epergne, and Lizzie of the pots."

With a general laugh, everybody rushed to get to the imprisoned Lizzie.

Lucy lingered a moment, ostensibly looking at the epergne, really drying her tears away. Travice came back to her.

He took her in his arms; he kissed the tears from her cheeks; he whispered words of the sweetest tenderness, asking what her grief was.

"Not grief, Travice--joy. I was thinking of the past. What would have become of us but for her generosity?"

"But for her generosity, Lucy, I should have been her husband now. I should never have held my darling in my arms. Yes, she was generous! G.o.d bless her always! I'll never hate anybody again, Lucy."

Lucy glanced up shyly at him, a smile parting her lips at the last words. And she put her hand within the arm of him who was soon to be her husband, as they went out in the wake of the rest, to rescue the flower-pots and Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy.

And Mr. St. John and the dean's daughter? Ah! not in this place can their after-history be given. But you may hear it sometime.

THE END.