Part 48 (2/2)

The children ran up to her; they threw the door wide open; two wax-lights were burning on the table, and before the fire stood Frankfort.

And for the first time for many long years Eleanor uttered a cry of joy.

She forgot that she was in her dressing-gown, that her hair hung disordered about her, that the children were half-frightened at the sight of a stranger.

Frankfort opened his arms again to her--

”Never again to part, Eleanor,” said he.

”Never, never,” she answered.

He strained her to his breast, and her tears of unutterable joy mingled with his kisses.

”Nurse--nurse Abbot, here is Aunty crying, and a strange gentleman kissing her. Oh! nurse, do come here.”

But nurse Abbot drew the twins from the corridor into their nursery, and kept them there as long as she thought proper.

When Colonel Frankfort had been married a year or two, people who had been mystified about Mrs Lyle's widowhood forgot everything but that she was the sweetest and gentlest and most, lowly-mannered lady they had ever seen. The old air of melancholy was so habitual to her, she would have been less charming without it. The sisters were near neighbours during half the year, and for one month in their lives were united with all their South African friends; for the Daveneys paid another visit to England, and the Trails accompanied them. May and Fitje and Ellen were on the establishment; Mr Trail had brought them home as honest and rare specimens of what Christianity had done for South Africa. Gray and Amayeka--we never _can_ call her Mrs Gray--were left in charge of school and pupils, and did their duty well in the good teacher's absence.

Sir Adrian Fairfax himself examined the register in the old church in Cornwall, and finding that the death of the curate's daughter preceded Sir John Manvers's second marriage, he never revealed the sad history of Sir John's earlier years.

Not long since, I saw two charming pictures of the sisters in the exhibition of the Royal Academy. They were in the characters of Day and Night. I recognised them, though they were not mentioned by name in the catalogue. Marion stood in the sunlight, with a smile on her face and the glow of summer on her azure scarf. Eleanor was seated in the shade of twilight, with the sea in the distance, and a star rising over her head and irradiating her pale and thoughtful brow.

Were her thoughts wandering over those s.h.i.+ning depths to the wilderness where her boy lay buried far from any kindred?

I heard a deep sigh behind me as I stood contemplating these sweet portraits. I turned, and recognised in the somewhat roue-looking young man behind me Clarence Fairfax. A celebrated _danseuse_ of the day hung upon his arm, but she was too much occupied with another admirer to notice his abstracted gaze.

I hope Eleanor did not meet this idol of her former fancy. I saw her five minutes after with her husband and sister. Her veil was down, and I could only hear the music of her gentle and cordial salutation. And then, as exciting intelligence from Southern Africa was filling the papers of the day, she asked, ”Is there any news from Kafirland?”

THE END.

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