Part 39 (2/2)
”It was a very bad bargain for you,” I could not help saying. I trembled very much, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.
”But we must keep our bargains, whether they are good or bad, Heather,”
whispered my father to me. ”That is the law of life: as we sow we shall reap. And I am not altogether unhappy, not since this good fellow has found out the truth and I am cleared in his eyes, and in the eyes of you, my child, and in my sister-in-law's eyes. Nothing else greatly matters. Heather, you are in the morning of your days, I am in the evening of life. When we come to the evening of life nothing concerns us, except so to live that we may fear G.o.d and do His commandments, and so fulfil the duty of man. That's about all, child. I am more grateful to you than I can say, and more than grateful to you, Carbury. Give poor dear Pen my love when she wakes, and tell her that it is quite all right--yes, quite all right. I am in the evening of life, and I will do my duty worthily to the very end.”
As father said the last words he got up. He took me in his arms and kissed me; there was a solemnity about his kiss, and his dear, bright blue eyes looked softer than I had seen them for a long time.
”Heather, you're the image of your mother,” he said abruptly. ”And she--bless her memory!--she was the one woman in all the world for me.”
Then he wrung Vernon's hand and went away. We could not detain him. I sat up for a little longer with Vernon, and then I went upstairs to bed.
Vernon was staying in an hotel not far away.
All that long night I lay awake, not for one minute could I slumber. My past seemed to come before my eyes, it seemed to torture me. I felt somehow as though I were pa.s.sing into a region of great darkness, as though I were going--I, myself--through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. What right--oh, what right had I to be happy when my father, my darling father, was thought so cruelly of by the world! I felt I could not bear it. I got up, I paced the floor, I drank cold water, I went to bed again, I tried every dodge for coaxing sleep to come to me, but sleep would not obey my mandate. At last morning broke, and with the first blush of dawn I got up. I was downstairs and in the breakfast-room when Vernon appeared. He brought in some beautiful roses; he laid them on my plate.
”Have you told Aunt Penelope yet?” he asked.
”No,” I replied. ”I have not seen her since last night.”
Just at that moment my dear auntie entered the room.
”Well, children,” she said, ”I hope you have slept well. I have. I have got a great accession of strength and am determined to go right through with this matter. We'll wait here, as promised, until twelve o'clock, then we'll go straight to my solicitors, and, hey, presto! the thing is done. That fine madam will be down on her knees to us before the day is over. I know the sort--horrible, painted wretch!”
”You will have some breakfast before you do anything else, won't you?”
said Vernon.
He took the head of the breakfast table. Really nothing could ever discompose Captain Carbury. He poured out tea and coffee for us both.
Aunt Penelope ate her breakfast with appet.i.te; then she desired me to sit by the window and watch.
”We have given her till twelve o'clock, but the woman may send round long before then, that's what I am expecting.”
I looked at Vernon. The waiter had removed the breakfast things; we had the room to ourselves. Vernon went and shut the door, then he came up to Aunt Penelope and took her hand.
”Twelve o'clock won't make any difference, my dear friend,” he said.
”Why, what on earth do you mean, Vernon?” was her remark. ”You surely are not backing out of it!”
”Heather and I can have nothing to do with it.”
”You and Heather? what nonsense you talk! I don't believe I am hearing you aright.”
”Yes, you are. Major Grayson was here last night; he came after you had gone to bed. He doesn't wish it done; he says he will abide by his bargain. He is as brave a soldier as I have ever come across, and for my part I don't see why he should be deprived of his laurel wreath.”
”Oh, what are you talking about!” said Aunt Penelope. ”His laurel wreath! Why, you know as well as I do that he's cas.h.i.+ered from the army. And you call that a glory, or whatever else you consider a laurel wreath!”
”In the eyes of G.o.d he is a hero, and he doesn't much mind what man says. Now, I'll tell you everything. You've got to listen--you can't go against a n.o.ble spirit like his.”
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