She loves thee even as far-forth than
As any woman may a man;
And is thine own, and so she says;
And cares for thee ten thousand ways.
—SURREY.
Something in Elizabeth's aspect seemed to attract Cedric's attention; perhaps it was the veiled brightness of her expression, or the white flowers at her breast, but more than once he eyed her in a puzzled fashion.
"What have you done to yourself, Betty?" he burst out at last; "you look scrumptious—ten years younger, and as though you had turned up trumps;" and though Elizabeth pretended to frown at these personal remarks, it was impossible not to laugh. Cedric had no idea how nearly he had gauged the truth: he little knew the good news that awaited him the next day. The knowledge that his dearest and most honoured friend was to be his brother-in-law would fill his cup of bliss to the brim.
Anna was somewhat weary with her unusual exertions that day, and after dinner Dinah established her in a cosy corner of the drawing-room, promising that Cedric should come and talk to her there.
"I will stay with you till he comes, and then I have a letter to write," she observed, for Dinah's tact was never at fault.
Elizabeth kissed her hand to them smilingly; then she wrapped herself up in a soft fleecy shawl and went out into the moonlight, and presently Malcolm joined her.
"I had some difficulty in shaking off Cedric," he remarked, as he took her hand and placed it on his arm; "he was in a talkative mood, but I told him his ladye-love would be waiting for him. He little knew my ladye-love was waiting for me too."
"No; how pleased he will be when we tell him." How sweetly that "we" sounded in Malcolm's ears! "Malcolm, there is something I want to ask you. Will you go with me to Rotherwood to-morrow? I must see Mr. Carlyon. He will be so happy about this"—with a light emphasising pressure on his arm—"and he is like my own father. And then I want you to come with me to David's grave."
"Did you fear I should refuse?" for Elizabeth's voice had been somewhat hesitating. "Do you think I should refuse any wish that it is in my power to gratify?"
"No," she said gently; "I know how good you will be to me—that if it were possible you would strew my daily path with thornless roses. But it is not possible, Malcolm."
"Then we will take our share of the briars and thorns together."
"Indeed we will. Malcolm, there is something I want to tell you before we stand by that grave to-morrow—something I should like you to know;" and then, in a voice broken by emotion, Elizabeth repeated the substance of her conversation with Mr. Carlyon.
"It has made me so much happier," she faltered, when she had finished. Then Malcolm drew her closer to him.
"I am glad you told me this," he said in a moved tone. "Dear Elizabeth, I have a confession to make. In those old unhappy days I used to wonder how you could care so much for him. He was good and true and earnest, and he loved you dearly; but all the same I could not understand."
"Dinah and Mrs. Godfrey could not understand either," she replied gently; "but you none of you knew my David: it made me a better woman only to be near him. His father has just the same simple, guileless nature—my two Nathanaels I used to call them."
"Dear, I understand better now," returned Malcolm kindly; "but I ask myself, could I have done the same in his place? I fear—I greatly fear, my love is not so selfless. If I had to die and leave you—" but Elizabeth would not listen to this.
"If you had been in his place you would have been equally generous; I know your good heart far too well to doubt that, Malcolm." Elizabeth was a tall woman, and as she bent involuntarily towards him, her cheek rested for a moment against his; that simple womanly caress seemed to set the seal to her sacred confidence. But when she would have moved away he held her fast.
"Elizabeth—Elizabeth," it was all he could say; but it was enough—no words were needed. Silently they said their Te Deum together, and the fair white moonlight lay on their bowed heads like a benison.
Two or three days later Malcolm found his way to 27 Queen's Gate, and entered his mother's study unannounced. Mrs. Herrick was writing as usual. Her keen gray eyes lighted up with pleasure when she saw him.
"My dear boy, at this hour—what a delightful surprise! I was just writing to Anna. Cedric will not hear of bringing her back until Thursday."
Malcolm smiled at his mother's tone. Strong-willed woman as she was, he knew that Cedric would rule her utterly; the lad's wheedling ways and blarneying tongue had already won her heart. Cedric never could be made to understand why people were afraid of Mrs. Herrick.
"Have you come to spend the afternoon with me, Malcolm?"
"Yes, if you will have me. I have some news for you, mother." Malcolm was little nervous, and spoke with some abruptness. Mrs. Herrick laid down her pen and looked at him intently.
"You need not tell me," she returned quietly. "I know your news—I can read it in your face—Elizabeth Templeton has promised to marry you."
"Mother, are you a witch?" in an astonished tone. "It is not possible that any one has betrayed me; Anna and Cedric promised not to say a word."
"No one has betrayed your confidence, Malcolm; and a mother does not need witchcraft to enable her to read her children's hearts."
"My dear boy," she continued—her strong features working a little with emotion,—"do you really imagine that I have been blind all these years—that, although you chose to withhold your confidence from me, I was not aware of your trouble. You are a reserved, self-contained man like your father, Malcolm—he always kept things to himself too—but all the same you could not hide from your mother that your poor heart was almost broken because the woman you wanted refused to marry you."
Malcolm took his mother's hand and kissed it. "You have been very good to me," he murmured; "but I could not speak, the pain was too great. Thank God, Elizabeth is mine now."
"I say, thank God, too"—and the keen eyes filled with tears. "Will you bring her to me, Malcolm?"
"Will I not, mother! But you must send her a message."
"Tell her, that from this hour she shall be the dearest of daughters to me, and that, for your sake, I shall love her dearly. And tell her—no, I will keep that for my own lips when we meet—that my son, God bless him! is worthy of any woman's love." And then, as Malcolm bent over her, she folded him in her motherly embrace. At that moment Malcolm and his mother fully understood each other.
Malcolm was anxious to be married as soon as possible; and as his mother and Dinah were on his side, and there was really no reason for delay, Elizabeth soon yielded to his persuasions, and a day was fixed early in August. Cedric and Anna were to wait until the elder couple returned from Scotland, and then Malcolm would give his adopted sister away; and after a fair amount of grumbling, Cedric acquiesced in this arrangement.
In the middle of June, Dinah and Elizabeth paid a long visit to 27 Queen's Gate, and Elizabeth did her shopping and saw the house in South Kensington that Malcolm had described to her in such glowing terms. A friend of his had recently bought it and furnished it in admirable taste; and now his wife's ill-health obliged him to part with it, and Malcolm was in treaty for it. The sisters were charmed with the house when they saw it, and Elizabeth strongly advised Malcolm to take most of the furniture. "It suits the house so exactly, and it will save you so much trouble," she observed sensibly; "I know Dinah agrees with me." And Dinah smiled and nodded.
"Die has made such a charming suggestion," continued Elizabeth, as she stepped out through the French window at one end of the long drawing-room on to a balcony, pleasantly shaded by an awning and prettily fitted up with flower-boxes and Indian matting and delightful lounging-chairs. "She says we must call this our town house, but that the Wood House must be our country house. She wants us to be there ail the summer and autumn;" and here Elizabeth looked at Malcolm rather wistfully.
"And you think that arrangement would suit you?" he asked with a smile; but he knew her answer before hand.
"Oh, I should love to be with Die;" she replied earnestly. "Dear, do you mean that you will consent? Think what it would mean to me. I shall not be separated from Mr. Carlyon and my poor people; and I do so love the country; and we should have our winter and spring in town."
"I think it will work excellently," returned Malcolm in a tone of such conviction that Elizabeth's doubts vanished. "I can do my work as well at Staplegrove as here, and I love the country too. As long as we are together and you are happy, I shall be satisfied."
"Dearest, how good you are," she whispered, with one of her rare, shy caresses. "Die has planned everything so beautifully. You know the large end room we call our morning-room, that is to be your study. You are to have all your own books and things. Die is going to fit it up; she says it is to be her wedding present to you. The smaller room near it is to be the morning-room."
"But you will not leave me alone in my study!" observed Malcolm in an alarmed voice. "Your writing-table must be there too, Elizabeth. Do you think I could bear you out of my sight?"
Elizabeth laughed and blushed, and called him a foolish, jealous boy; but in her heart she loved to think that she was the delight of his eyes, and that every day she grew dearer to him.
It was the evening before the wedding, and a quiet little house-party had assembled at the Wood House—Mrs. Herrick and Anna, Colonel and Mrs. Godfrey; and Malcolm, who had taken up his quarters at the "King's Arms," had joined them at dinner. The wedding was to be at an early hour the next morning, and no other guests were to be invited. Colonel Godfrey would give the bride away, and the vicar and Mr. Carlyon would perform the ceremony between them. Anna would be the solitary bridesmaid.
The sunset clouds were fading behind the little fir wood when Elizabeth and Malcolm came out on the terrace. Elizabeth had been a little grave and thoughtful during dinner, and Malcolm, who could read her perfectly, knew that she was somewhat oppressed by all the talk. The still peacefulness of the evening, only broken by the sleepy twittering of the birds, seemed to calm and refresh her.
"Malcolm," she said presently, "did you hear what Mrs. Godfrey was telling me at dinner—that Mr. Rossiter is coming to the Manor House?"
"Yes, I heard her," was the reply. "The Colonel was talking to me this afternoon; he says it is a foregone conclusion that Leah Jacobi will not refuse him a third time. His kindness and devotion after her brother's death have already won her gratitude. Hugh Rossiter is one of the best fellows I know," he observed, "and Leah will be a happy woman the day she marries him. And marry him she will, you may take my word for it."
"Poor Leah, I am so glad he cares for her. Of course you know Mrs. Richardson is dying, Malcolm, and that she is likely to be left alone in the world?"
"Yes, and then Hugh Rossiter will have his innings." And Malcolm was right, for before long the news of Leah's marriage reached them.
"I am so glad Mrs. Godfrey told me that," went on Elizabeth. "I want every one to be as happy as we are to-night. But for saying good-bye to Die and Mr. Carlyon I should not have a care. I can think of David without sadness, and life looks so beautiful. Dear," with the vivid, bright smile he loved so well, "I am so glad you are an author and a famous man—I shall be so proud of you; and though I cannot share your work as some women could, I can help you in other ways. I must be your right hand, Malcolm."
"Shall I tell you what you will be to me," he returned, in a voice of deep, vibrating tenderness that thrilled her through and through. "I once read an old Scandinavian ballad where a warrior calls his love 'My dearest Rest.' 'Three grateful words,' the annotator goes on to say, 'and the most perfect crown of praise that ever woman won.' Shall I call you that, Elizabeth?—'my dearest Rest.'"
"It is far too beautiful for me," she whispered; "I do not deserve it." But even as Elizabeth said this, her woman's heart registered its first wifely vow.
Yes, she would be that to him—his haven and comfort when he was weary with the storm and stress of life—God helping her, now and for ever "his dearest Rest."
THE END
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