Part 58 (2/2)

Bonnie Bess hailed her mistress with delight, and Fay resumed her old rides and drives; only her husband was always with her. Hugh found out, too, that her clear intelligence enabled her to enter into all his work, and after that he never carried out a plan without consulting her; so that Fay called herself the busiest and happiest little woman in the world.

And what of Margaret?

In one of the most crowded courts of the East End of London there is a sister who is known by the name of ”Our Sister,” though many patient, high-souled women belonging to the same fraternity work there too.

But ”Our Sister” is, _par excellence_, the favorite, from the crippled little road-sweeper who was run over in Whitechapel Road to the old Irishwoman who sold oranges by day, and indulged in free fights with others of her s.e.x at night. ”And the heavens be her bed, for she is a darlint and an angel,” old Biddy would say; and it would be ”tread on the tail of my coat”--for it was an Irish quarter--if any man or boy jostled ”Our Sister” ever so lightly.

”Our Sister” used to smile at the fond credulity and blind wors.h.i.+p of these poor creatures. She was quite unconscious that her pale, beautiful face, bending over them in sickness, was often mistaken for the face of an angel. ”Will there be more like you up yonder?”

exclaimed one poor girl, a Magdalene dying, thank G.o.d, at the foot of the Cross; ”if so, I'll be fine and glad to go.”

”What do they do without you up there, honey?” asked another, an old negro woman whose life had been as black as her skin; ”they will be wanting you bery much, I'm thinking;” and little Tim, dying of his broken bones, whispered as ”Our Sister” kissed him, ”I am wis.h.i.+ng you could die first, Sister, and then it would be first-rate, seeing you along with the gentry at the Gate;” for, to Tim's ignorant mind, the gentry of heaven were somewhat formidable. ”And what must I say to them, plase your honor? when they come up and says 'Good-morning, Tim;' but if Sister were along of them she would say, 'It is only Tim, and he never learned manners nohow.'”

Raby would come down sometimes, bringing his wife with him, and talk to Margaret about her work.

”You are very happy, dear,” he said one day to her; ”I have often listened to your voice, and somehow it sounds satisfied.”

”Yes,” she returned, quietly, ”quite satisfied. Does that sound strange, Raby? Oh, how little we know what is good for us. Once I thought Hugh's love was everything, but I see now I was wrong. I suppose I should have been like other women if I had married him; but I should not have tasted the joy I know now. Oh, how I love my children--dirty, degraded, sinful as they are; how I love to spend myself in their service. G.o.d has been good to us, and given us both what He knew we wanted,” and Raby's low ”Amen” was sufficient answer.

There was one who would willingly have shared Margaret's work, and that was Evelyn Selby; but her place was in the world's battle-field, and she kept to her post bravely.

Fern, in her perfect happiness, often thought tenderly of the girl to whose n.o.ble generosity she owed it all; but for some years she and Evelyn saw little of each other. Fern often heard of her visits to the cottage where her mother and Fluff lived. She and Mrs. Trafford had become great friends. When Evelyn could s.n.a.t.c.h an hour from her numerous engagements, she liked to visit the orphanage where Mrs.

Trafford worked. Some strange unspoken sympathy had grown up between the girl and the elder woman.

Evelyn's brave spirit and dauntless courage had carried her through a trial that would have crushed a weaker nature. Her life was an uncongenial one. Often she sickened of the hollow round of gayety in which Lady Maltravers pa.s.sed her days; but she would not waste her strength by complaint. But by and by, when she had lost the first freshness of her youth, and people had begun to say that Miss Selby would never marry now, Hedley Power crossed her path, and Evelyn found that she could love again.

Mr. Power was very unlike the bright-faced young lover of her youth.

He was a gray-haired man in the prime of middle-age, with grave manners, and a quiet thoughtful face--very reticent and undemonstrative; but Evelyn did well when she married him, for he made his wife a happy woman.

”Evelyn is absurdly proud of Hedley,” Lady Maltravers would say; ”but then he spoils her, and gives her her way in everything.” Every one thought it was a pity that they had no children; but Evelyn never owned that she had a wish ungratified. She contented herself with lavis.h.i.+ng her affection on Erle's two boys. To them Aunt Evelyn was a miracle of loveliness and kindness; and the children at the orphanage had reason to bless the handsome lady who drove down often to see them.

”I do think Evelyn is happy now,” Fern said one day to Erle, when they had encountered Evelyn and her husband in the Row.

”Of course she is,” he would answer; ”much happier than if she had married your humble servant. Hedley Power is just the man for her.

Now, dear, I must go down to the House, for Hugh and I are on committee;” and the young M. P. ran lightly down-stairs, whistling as he went, after the fas.h.i.+on of Erle Huntingdon.

Yes, Hugh Redmond represented his county now, and Fay had her house in town, where her little fair-haired sons and daughters played with Erle's boys in the square gardens.

The young Lady Redmond would have been the fas.h.i.+on, but Fay was too shy for such notoriety, and was quite content with her husband's admiration. And well she might be, for the face that Hugh Redmond loved best on earth was the face of his Wee Wifie.

THE END.

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