Part 9 (1/2)

”Is it?” Mary asked, and again there was a wistful, far-away look in her blue eyes. With an effort, she pulled herself together, and went on softly: ”Shall I tell you what I saw as I returned home across the moor from the station? The day was nearly over, and the clouds were gathering overhead. The wind was rising and falling as it swept across the moorland. The rich purple of the heather had gone, and was succeeded by dull brown--sometimes almost grey--each little floret of the ling, as Ruskin said, folding itself into a cross as it was dying. Poor little purply-pink petals! They had had their day, they had had their fill of suns.h.i.+ne, they had been breathed on by the soft breezes of a genial summer, and now all the brightness for them was over; they folded their petals, becoming just like a cross as they silently died away. You see,”

she looked up with a smile, ”even the heather knows that the way of self-sacrifice is the only way that is worth while.”

There was silence for a few minutes. The crimson light from the shaded candles fell softly on Mary's face, beautiful in its sincerity and sweet wistfulness.

The doctor shook his head. ”I should never have got on in life if I had acted in that way,” he said.

”You are quite too sentimental, Mary,” remarked her sister harshly.

”Why, the world would not go on if we all did as you do. All the same,”

she added, almost grudgingly, ”you are welcome to stay here till you get another appointment.”

Mary rose and kissed her. ”You shan't regret it, Hetty,” she said. ”I will try to help you all I can while I stay, but I may soon get another appointment.”

Fifteen months afterwards there was great rejoicing in Mrs. Forrest's small and overcrowded house in Croydon, because her youngest brother had returned from New Zealand with quite a large fortune, which he declared gallantly that he was going to share with her.

”Half shall be settled on you and your children, Margaret,” he said, ”as soon as the lawyers can fix it up. You will be able to send your boys to Oxford, and give your girls dowries. By the by, how is my old favourite Ethel? And what is she doing?”

”She teaches physical culture in a large ladies' college in the West End. It is a good appointment. Her salary has been raised; it is now 130, with board and lodging.”

That did not seem much to the wealthy colonial, but he smiled. ”And how did she get the post?” he said. ”I remember in one of your letters you complained that her education had cost a lot, and that she was very unlucky about getting anything to do.”

[Sidenote: Uncle Max]

”Yes, it was so, Max. But she owed her success at last to the kindness of a friend of hers, who won this appointment, and then stepped aside for her to have it.”

”Grand!” cried Max Vernon heartily. ”What a good friend that was! It is a real pleasure to hear of such self-sacrifice in this hard, work-a-day world. I should like to know that young woman,” he continued. ”What is she doing now?”

”I don't know,” replied his sister. ”But here comes Ethel. She will tell you.”

Ethel had come over from the college on purpose to see her uncle, and was delighted to welcome him home. He was not more than ten years older than herself, there being more than that between him and her mother. His success in New Zealand was partly owing to his charming personality, which caused him to win the love of his first employer, who adopted him as his son and heir some six years before he died, leaving all his money to him. Ethel had pleasant memories of her uncle's kindness to her when a child.

When hearty greetings had been exchanged between the uncle and niece, Margaret Forrest said to her daughter: ”I have been telling your uncle about your friend Mary Oliver's giving up that appointment for you, and he wants to know where she is now, and what she is doing.”

”Ah, poor Mary!” said Ethel ruefully. ”I am really very troubled about her. Her sister and brother-in-law lost all their money through that recent bank failure, and Dr. Croft took it badly. His losses seemed to harden him. Declaring that he could not carry on his practice in the country without capital, he sold it and arranged to go to New Zealand, though his wife had fallen into ill-health and could not possibly accompany him. He went abroad, leaving her in London in wretched lodgings. Then Mary gave up her good situation as teacher of physical culture in a private school, and took a less remunerative appointment so that she might live with her poor sister, and look after her, especially at nights. I believe there is a lot of night nursing. It's awfully hard and wearing for Mary, but she does it all so willingly, I believe she positively enjoys it, though I cannot help being anxious lest her health should break down.”

”She must not be allowed to do double work like that,” said the colonial. ”No one can work by day and night as well without breaking down.”

”But what is she to do?” queried Ethel. ”She is obliged to earn money for their maintenance.”

”We might put a little in her way,” suggested Vernon.

Ethel shook her head. ”She is very sweet,” she said, ”but I fancy she would not like to accept money as a gift.”

Max Vernon a.s.sented. ”Exactly,” he said, ”I know the sort. But she could not object to take it if it were her right.”

Margaret Forrest smiled, scenting a romance. ”I will have her here to tea on her next half-holiday,” she said; ”then you will see her.”