Part 61 (1/2)

But this letter was much shorter than Calabressa's, though it was friendly enough.

”My Dear Mr. Brand,” it ran,--”I am glad to hear that you acted with so much prompt.i.tude that your preparations for departure are nearly complete. You are soldier-like. I have less scruples, therefore, in asking you to be so kind as to give me up to-morrow evening from half-past nine onward, for the consideration of a very serious order that has been transmitted to us from the Council. You will perceive that this claims precedence over any of our local arrangements; and as it may even involve the abandonment of your voyage to America, it will be advisable to give it immediate consideration. I trust the hour of half-past nine will not interfere with any engagement.

”Your colleague and friend, Ferdinand Lind.”

This was all that an ordinary reader would have seen in the letter; but Brand observed also, down at the left-hand corner, a small mark in green color. That tiny arrow, with the two dots--the whole almost invisible--changed the letter from an invitation into a command. It signified ”On business of the Council.”

He laid down the letter, and said lightly to Natalie,

”Now I have some news for you. I may not have to go to America after all.”

”You are not going to America?” she said, in a bewildered way. ”Oh, if it were possible--if it were possible!” she murmured, ”I would say I was too happy. G.o.d is too good to me--to have them both given back to me in one day--both of them in one day--”

”Natalie,” said he, gently, ”it is only a possibility, you know.”

”But it is possible!” she said; and there was a quick, strange, happy light in her face. ”It _is_ possible, is it not?”

Then she glanced at her mother; and her face, that had been somewhat pale, was pale no longer; the blood mounted to her forehead; her eyes were downcast.

”It would please you, would it not?” she said, somewhat formally and in a low and timid voice. The mother, un.o.bserved, smiled.

”Oh yes,” he said, cheerfully. ”But even if I go to America, expect your mother and you to be arriving at Sandy Hook; and what then? In a couple of years--it is not a long time--I should have a small steamer there to meet you, and we could sail up the bay together.”

Luncheon over, they went to the window, and greatly admired the view of the gardens below and the wide river beyond; and they went round the room examining the water-colors, and bits of embroidery, and knickknacks brought from many lands, and they were much interested in one or two portraits. Altogether they were charmed with the place, though the elder lady said, in her pretty, careful French, that it was clear no woman's hand was about, otherwise there would have been white curtains at the windows besides those heavy straight folds of red. Brand said he preferred to have plenty of light in the room; and, in fact, at this moment the sunlight was painting squares of beautiful color on the faded old Turkey-carpet. All this time Natalie had shown much reserve.

When the mother and daughter were in the cab together going to Edgware Road--George Brand was off by himself to Brompton--the mother said,

”Natalushka, why was your manner so changed to Mr. Brand, after you heard he might not be going to America?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, and her eyes were lowered.

”You see, mother,” she said, with some embarra.s.sment, ”when one is in great trouble and difficulty--and when you wish to show sympathy--then, perhaps, you speak too plainly. You do not think of choosing very prudent words; your heart speaks for you; and one may say things that a girl should not be too ready to confess. That is when there is great trouble, and you are grieved for some one. But--but--when the trouble goes away--when it is all likely to come right--one remembers--”

The explanation was rather stammering and confused.

”But at least, mother,” she added, with her eyes still downcast, ”at least I can be frank with you. There is no harm in my telling you that I love you.”

The mother pressed the hand that she held in hers.

”And if you tell me often enough, Natalushka, perhaps I shall begin to believe you.”

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

A NEW HOME.

George Brand set out house-hunting with two exceptional circ.u.mstances in his favor: he knew precisely what he wanted, and he was prepared to pay for it. Moreover, he undertook the task willingly and cheerfully. It was something to do. It would fill in a portion of that period of suspense.

It would prevent his hara.s.sing himself with speculations as to his own future--speculations which were obviously useless until he should learn what was required of him by the Council.

But none the less was he doomed to the house-hunter's inevitable disappointment. He found, in the course of his devious wanderings through all sorts of out-of-the way thoroughfares within a certain radius from Brompton Church, that the houses which came nearest to his ideal cottage in a walled garden were either too far away from Hyde Park, or they were not to be let, or they were to be let unfurnished.