Part 26 (2/2)

”Poor Jack,” murmured Miss Jane gently, and little Miss Mary laid her small withered hand upon one of his big ones. ”I am afraid it is chiefly our fault, sister,” she said sadly. ”In our love we have been selfish.”

Miss Jane pressed her lips together tightly. She was thinking the same thing, but it was hard to say it.

”You will have all that we have some day, Jack,” she said presently.

”You will not be poor.”

”I know you will do all you can for me, aunties,” he answered, ”but I hope it will be a long, long time before anything that is your becomes mine.”

Then he told them all about his plans and about his friend, and they tried to listen as if they were glad for his sake, and finally arranged that Mr Wilkinson should be brought over to the Parsonage the following day, so that they might get to know him and hear all about the country he had come from. It was quite late when they finally went upstairs to bed, and no one spoke as they kissed their usual good-night in the sisters' room, for their hearts were too full. Five minutes later, however, there was a gentle tap upon Jack's door, and in answer to his voice little Miss Mary slipped into the room and softly pushed the door to behind her.

Jack was sitting on his bed, feeling utterly wretched, and he had remained so since he came upstairs. Miss Mary sat down beside him and slipped one arm through his.

”Jack dear,” she said, ”you know that sister and I don't really care for anything in the world except you and your happiness, and that if we thought you were unhappy it would be impossible for us to be otherwise?”

”Yes, auntie, I know,” he answered, with a catch in his voice. ”You are just too good to me, that's all.”

”No, dear, because no words could ever tell all you have done for us.

If you had not come into our lives to keep us young and hopeful, a sorrow that nearly broke my heart, and Jane's for my sake, would probably have ended in making us sour, embittered old maids.”

Jack shook his head; he knew how impossible that would have been.

”But it might, Jack,” the little lady urged; ”and so we must always feel we cannot ever do enough for you.”

That Jack had had no choice in the matter of coming into their lives did not appear to strike her; but what of that?--she could not love him less or more either way.

”What I want to say, Jack dear,” she continued, ”is that sister and I have often thought how foolish it was that you should have to wait until we are dead to have our money when we would much rather you had it now.

As you know, we have three hundred pounds a year each, and however much we try we cannot spend more than fifty pounds each, living in this quiet country parsonage. So we think if you would take the remaining five hundred pounds a year you might be able to win something of all you want, and we should never miss it at all.”

”How good you are--how good you both are,” was all he could say.

”And you will take it?” with unconcealed eagerness.

”No, no,” hastily. ”It is impossible--quite, quite impossible. Oh, auntie! how could I--a great strong fellow such as I--with my health and strength, take away the income of two frail women?”

”Jack dear,” she urged tearfully, ”don't look at it in that way. It is only that we long to repay you for all the happiness you have brought into our lives.”

”It is impossible, auntie,” he said, and his eyes glistened.

”Jack,”--there was a new note of tenderness in Miss Mary's voice--”is there anything between you and Eileen?”

For answer he dropped his face in his hands with a low groan. For some moments Miss Mary was silent. She could not trust herself to speak.

”Don't think your old auntie over-curious, Jack,” she said at last. ”I love you so. It is just as if the pain was mine again, as it was long ago. It is because I suffered so once, and understand it all, I came to you to-night. Perhaps if you could tell me about it--”

”You are an angel, auntie,” he murmured, and gripped the little hand in his until he hurt it.

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