Part 23 (1/2)

”Only your forgiveness, your complete and full forgiveness.”

”I have nothing to forgive, my dear. You do your best--no one can do better than their best.”

”No,” said poor Hilda, with a sigh. She did not add any more.

”I trust you are not going to turn into a fanciful sort of woman,” said Quentyns, half an hour later. ”If there's a person in the world who irritates me it's a woman with whims, a woman who has a grievance.”

”Oh, no, Jasper! I won't have a grievance,” she replied humbly.

CHAPTER XV.

THREE IS TRUMPERY.

The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, In the battle-field of life: My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, He loveth the weak and small; The Angels of Heaven are on thy side, And G.o.d is over all!

--ADELAIDE PROCTOR.

Judy's life was suns.h.i.+ne, and therefore Judy got quickly well; she was like the birds and the flowers--give her suns.h.i.+ne enough, and she would sing like the birds and bloom like the flowers. Hilda was her sun, and now she was always basking herself in the beloved presence. Her cup of happiness was full, and such contentment reigned in her little heart that no moment was dull to her, and time never hung heavy on her hands.

Hilda was just as sweet and loving as of old, and really, now that she lived in the house with him, Jasper, her _bete noire_, the awful big brother-in-law who had come and stolen her treasure away, seemed to make but little difference in her life; it was almost nicer being with Hilda in London than being with Hilda at the old Rectory--she seemed to get more undivided attention from her sister than when that sister was the Rector's right hand in his busy life, and when Judy had to learn lessons with Babs, and walk with stupid, non-comprehending Miss Mills.

Now Judy learned rapidly, for Hilda was her teacher; and how delightful that lunch was which was also Judy's early dinner, when she and her sister sat _tete-a-tete_, and talked always, always of old times.

If visitors dropped in at tea-time Judy could afford, in her generous happiness, to give them a little of her fascinating Hilda's attention, for so often now there were heavenly evenings to follow, when that _bete noire_ the brother-in-law was not coming home, and the two sisters could be alone.

Judy loved the cozy sort of tea-dinners which began those evenings, and then the long talk afterward in the lengthening twilight, when she sat on a stool at Hilda's feet, with her head pressed up against Hilda's arm, and her happy heart beating close to the other heart, which was all her world.

On those evenings too Hilda came upstairs and tucked her up in her white bed, and said, _Now I lay me down to sleep_ to her, just as she used in the old nursery at home, after mother died.

It was an understood thing, although no words had pa.s.sed between the two--it was an understood thing, that on the evenings when Jasper was at home, Hilda should not come upstairs to Judy. This seemed a perfectly fair and just arrangement, they were both in full accord on the subject; but Judy could not help loving those days when she might have her sister all to herself the best.

On the morning after Rivers had dined in Philippa Terrace, as Jasper was preparing to go out as usual, Hilda ran into the little hall to give him a last word; she left the door of the dining room ajar, which was not her invariable custom, and Judy, sitting at the breakfast table, found herself in the position of an eavesdropper.

”You are coming back to dinner to-night?” asked the wife.

Jasper had been visited with some slight qualms of compunction that morning, as he noticed how much paler Hilda's face was than when first he had married her, so he put his arm round her neck now, and looking at her with something of his old tenderness, said gently:

”Do you really wish it?”

”Jasper, how can you doubt?” she replied. ”All the moments you are away from me are long and wearisome.”

”Long and wearisome,” repeated Judy softly to herself in the breakfast parlor. Some of the color fled out of her face now; she lost her appet.i.te for the bread-and-b.u.t.ter and marmalade which she was eating.

”You don't find three trumpery,” pursued Jasper. Then he added with a little sigh, ”I wish I didn't; but I'll come home, Hilda, if you wish it. Good-by, my dear. Stay, stop a moment; suppose I take you to the play to-night. Judy won't mind going to bed a little earlier than usual.”

Just at that moment Hilda started and looked round; she heard a slight noise, and wondered if Susan were coming upstairs. The sound which disturbed her was made by Judy, who, awaking suddenly to the knowledge that she was an eavesdropper, had risen from the breakfast table and had gently closed the dining-room door.

”Of course Judy doesn't mind being left,” said Hilda in a joyful tone.