Betty Trevor Part 20

"G.o.d bless you, my dear, for all your kindness! May it be meted out to you a hundred times over in your hour of need. A Governesses' Home-- Alice Beveridge! And Terence Digby living in the lap of luxury! Well, well! Twenty years, my dear, since we last met--I was over forty, but she was a mere girl. A beautiful girl,--I never saw her equal, and the years have not touched her. I should have known her anywhere. She is marvellously unchanged!"

Betty gazed at him dumbly, and there came to her at that moment, for the first time in her life, a realisation of the deep, abiding love which sees beneath the surface, and knows neither change nor time. She had no inclination to laugh at the old man's blindness; rather she felt towards him reverence and admiration. Happy Miss Beveridge! To one loyal heart at least she would remain always young, always beautiful. Happy Terence Digby, who had kept his ideal untouched!

When Betty retraced her steps to the drawing-room a few minutes later, another surprise was in waiting, for behold, Miss Beveridge sobbing, with her hands over her face, while Mrs Trevor patted her tenderly on the shoulder. She looked across the room and shook her head at her young daughter.

"Go away, Betty dear, please! Leave us alone," she said gently, and Betty tottered across the hall and collapsed in a heap on the nearest chair, positively faint with excitement. The first real romance with which she had come in contact,--and behold! The leading characters were General Digby and Miss Beveridge! Wonders would never cease!

The next afternoon the General appeared once more, and had a long _tete- a-tete_ with Mrs Trevor.

"I am sorry to be such a trouble to you, madam, but you have no one to blame but yourself, for you have been so patient and forbearing with me during the last six months, that I feel as if there were no limits to your kindness. I went to that Governesses' Home to-day--for that matter I pa.s.sed it half a dozen times, but I could not screw up my courage to do any more. The look of the place daunted me, to begin with. To think of Alice Beveridge shut up there! Besides, I'm a soldier; my life has been spent among men; I haven't the pluck to face a houseful of women.

Be a good angel, and let us meet here once more! I was too much overcome yesterday to know what I was saying, but something must be done, and done quickly. I can't go on living as I am, and think of her working for her living. Of course, you know what it all means. You are a woman, and women are quick enough at guessing these things. I never cared for another woman. I was a middle-aged man when we met, and it went very hard with me when she said Number 1 was not a boy, to forget at the sight of the next pretty face. I have tried to make the best of things, but it's been lonely work. I went abroad immediately after she refused me, and heard no more about her. She was visiting a common friend when we met. I knew nothing of her family, so we simply pa.s.sed out of each other's lives. I always thought of her as happily married years ago; it never dawned upon me that there could have been any misunderstanding, but yesterday when we met there was something in her face, her manner-- She seemed almost as much agitated as I was myself.

I may be a conceited old idiot, but it seemed to me as if she _had_ cared after all,--as if there had been some mistake! Women talk to each other more openly than we do. If she told you anything about it, I think you ought to let me know. I have waited a long time!"

There was a pathos in the sound of those last few words which went straight to Mrs Trevor's heart, and she answered as frankly as he had spoken.

"Yes, indeed, it has been a hard time for you both. Miss Beveridge quite broke down after you left last night, and I gathered from what she said that at the time of your proposal she was taken by surprise, and felt nervous and uncertain of herself, as girls often do. It was only after you had sailed, and she was at home again, that she realised what a blank your absence made, and knew that she had loved you all the time.

She hoped you might write, or see her on your return."

"But she had not the courage to write herself, and acknowledge her mistake? Well, well! Women have their own code of honour, I suppose, but it would have been a gracious act. I remembered her always, but it did not seem to me the straight thing to force myself on a girl half my age, who had already refused me once, and so we have gone on misunderstanding all these years. Then I suppose trouble began? Her people were not rich, but she had a comfortable home, so far as I knew."

"The parents died, and she was obliged to earn her own living. She has been teaching music in London for the last fifteen years."

The General groaned.

"I know! I know! Dragging about in all weathers, to earn a few shillings for hearing wretched brats strumming five-finger exercises.

Beg pardon, ma'am--I should not have said that to you! You have children of your own."

"But I do not in the least envy their music-mistress!" cried Mrs Trevor, smiling. "It is a hard, hard life, especially when it is a case of going back to an Inst.i.tution instead of a home. It is young Mrs Vanburgh, Betty's friend, to whom you are really indebted for this meeting. It was her idea to welcome lonely gentlewomen to her home, and Miss Beveridge happened to be her first visitor."

"G.o.d bless her!" said the General reverently. He sat in silence for some minutes, gazing dreamily before him, a puzzled look on the red face. At last--"Now there's the question of the future to consider!" he said anxiously. "I'm getting old--sixty-four next birthday, precious near the allotted span of life, but she is twenty years younger--she may have a long life before her still. It would break my heart to let her go on working, but she'd be too proud to take money from me, unless-- unless-- Mrs Trevor, you are a sensible woman! I can trust you to give me a candid answer. Would you consider me a madman if I asked the girl a second time to marry me, old as I am, gouty as I am? Is it too late, or can you imagine it possible that she might still care to take me in hand?"

He looked across the room as he spoke with a pathetic eagerness in his glance, and Mrs Trevor's answering smile was full of tenderness.

"Indeed I can! I should not think you a madman at all, General, for I am old enough to know that the heart does not age with the body, and that the happiness which comes late in life is sometimes the sweetest of all. You are a hale man still, in spite of your gout, and with a wife to care for you, you might renew your youth. I hope and believe that all will go well this time, but let me advise you not to be in too great a hurry. Twenty years is a long time, and you and Miss Beveridge have led such very different lives that you may find that there is little sympathy left between you. It is only a 'may,' but I do think you would do well to see more of each other before speaking of anything so serious as marriage. You shall have plenty of opportunity of seeing each other, I promise you that! I will invite Miss Beveridge to spend as much of her time with us as is possible, and you shall be left alone to renew your acquaintance, and learn to know each other afresh. That will be the wisest plan, will it not?"

"Um--um!" grunted the General vaguely. He frowned and looked crestfallen, for he retained enough of his youthful impetuosity to make anything like delay distinctly a trial. "Perhaps you are right, though I cannot believe that any number of years could change my feelings.

Alice is--Alice! The one woman in the world I ever loved. That's the beginning and the end of the matter, but perhaps for her sake I should not be hasty. Mustn't frighten her again, poor girl! That's arranged, then, ma'am--you let us meet in your house, and if we live, we'll try to pay you back for your goodness, and I'll wait--two or three weeks. You wouldn't wish me to wait longer than two or three weeks?" He put up his hand and raked his grey locks into a fierce, upstanding crest, while a curious embarra.s.sment flashed across his face. "A married man? Terence Digby married! There's only one thing I'm afraid of--Johnson! What will Johnson say to a woman in possession?"

Mrs Trevor laughed, but could give no reply, and presently the General took himself off, and left her to write an invitation for the next week- end to his old love, which was accepted in a grateful little note by return of post.

For three nights running did the General dine at Dr Trevor's table, while Miss Beveridge sat beside him, with pathetic little bows of lace pinned in the front of her shabby black silk, which somehow looked shabbier than ever for the attempt at decoration. At the beginning of the meal she was just Miss Beveridge, stiff, silent, colourless; but as time pa.s.sed by and she talked to the General, and the General talked to her, attending to her little wants as if they were of all things in the world the most important, fussing about a draught that might possibly distress her, and violently kicking his opposite neighbour in his endeavours to provide her with a footstool, gradually, gradually the Miss Beveridge of the music-lessons and the Governesses' Home disappeared from sight, and there appeared in her place an absolutely different woman, with a sweet smiling face, out of which the lines seemed to have been miraculously smoothed away, while a delicate colour in her cheeks gave to the once grey face something of the fragile beauty of an old pastel.

For fifteen years she had fought a hand-to-hand battle with want; a lonely battle, with no one to care or to comfort, and now it was meat, and drink, and health, and sunshine, to find herself of a sudden the most precious object on earth to one faithful heart! Although the General had given a promise not to be too precipitate in his wooing, it was easy to prophesy how things would end; but before the "two or three weeks" had come to an end, another event happened of such supreme importance to the Trevor household as to put in the background every other subject, interesting and romantic though it might be.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

TRYING DAYS.

One May afternoon Miles came home with the news that, through the influence of an engineering friend, he had been offered a post in connection with a new railway which the ever-increasing mining industry in Mexico had rendered necessary. The salary proposed was a handsome one for so young a man. He owed the offer entirely to Mr Owen's good offices, and would be required to sail as soon as his outfit could be got together.

Dr Trevor rejoiced in his son's success, and warmly congratulated him on having had so short a time to wait for an opening. He took a man's view of life, and felt that it was time that Miles faced the world on his own account; but the youth faded out of the mother's face as she sat in her corner and listened to the conversation.

"Luck!" They called it luck that Miles, her darling, should be sent to the other side of the world, to a wild, dare-devil country, the very name of which conjured up a dozen thrilling tales of adventure. "A five years' appointment!" The words rang like a knell in her ears!

Of course, she had known all along that a separation must come, but she had hoped against hope that an opening might be found somewhere within the borders of the United Kingdom, when she would still be able to feel within reach in case of need. Now it was indeed good-bye, since it must at best be a matter of years before she could hope for another meeting.

Oh, this stirring up of the nest, how it tears the mother's heart!

Mrs Trevor looked across the room to where Miles stood, almost as tall and broad as the doctor himself, and her thoughts flew back to the time when he was a little curly-headed boy who vowed he would never leave his mother. "I won't never get married," he had announced one day. "You shall be my wife. You are daddy's wife, and I don't see why you shouldn't be wife to both your darlin's!" Another day--"I'll stay with you all my life, and when you're a nold, nold woman I'll wheel you about in a Barf chair." Later on had come the time when the first dawning of future responsibility began to weigh on the childish mind--"I can't sink how I can ever make pennies like daddy does! I can't write proper letters like grown-ups do, only the printed ones!" he had sighed, and she had bidden him be a good boy and do his best for the day, leaving the future in G.o.d's hand. "G.o.d will give you your work!" she had told him; and how she and his father had rejoiced together when his absorption in a box of tools, and his ingenuity therewith, had pointed out a congenial career. She had prayed and trusted for guidance in bringing up this dear son, and that being so, she must now believe that the offered post was the right thing, and that the distant land was just the very spot of all others where G.o.d wished him to be.

When Miles turned to his mother, she had a smile in readiness for him, and if it were rather tremulous, it was none the less sweet. She would not allow herself to break down, but threw herself heart and soul into a study of the Stores' list, which could not be delayed another day, seeing that it was suggested that Miles should sail in a week's time. A week! Only one week! Was it really possible that the following day was the last Sunday which would see a united family circle round the table?

Every female member of the household shed tears on their pillows that evening, and Betty was convinced that she had lain awake all night long, because she had actually heard the clock strike one. Mrs Trevor's vigil was real, not imaginary, and she was thankful when it was time to get up, and get ready for that quiet early service at church which would be her best preparation for the week. Her hard-worked husband was sleeping soundly, and she would not waken him, but a feeling of unusual sadness and loneliness oppressed her as she made her way through the silent house. She had depended so much on her big strong boy, had grown into the habit of consulting him on many matters, in which, by helping her, he could save his father trouble. That was all over now. She must learn to do without Miles' aid! And then suddenly from behind the dining-room door a big figure stepped forward to meet her, and Miles'

voice said, in half-shamefaced tones--

"I thought--I'd come too! I thought we'd go together!"

"Oh, Miles!" cried his mother, and could say no more, but her heart leapt with thankfulness for all that that action meant--for this sign that her boy was anxious to dedicate himself afresh to Christ's service at the beginning of his new life. She pa.s.sed her hand through his arm, and they went out of the house together, unconscious of the presence of a third figure which had looked down at them from an upper landing.

Betty had awakened to fresh tears, and, hearing her mother stirring, had hurried into her clothes, so as to accompany her to church; but in the very act of slipping downstairs Miles' voice had arrested her, and she had drawn back into the shadow. The Betty of a year ago would have continued her course unabashed; the Betty of to-day divined with a new humility that her presence would mar the sacredness of that last Communion of mother and son, and turned back quietly to her own room.

The days flew. The first mornings were spent at the Stores, choosing, ordering, and fitting; the afternoons in marking and packing the different possessions as they arrived. Then there were farewell visits to be paid, and to receive, and a score of letters and presents to acknowledge. Relations turned up trumps, and sent contributions towards the outfit in money and in kind; the General presented a handsome double-barrelled fowling-piece, which thrilled Miles with delight and his mother with horror. Miss Beveridge gave a "housewife" stocked with all sorts of mending materials--fancy Miles darning his own socks!--and Cynthia Alliot sent across a case containing one of the most perfect quarter-plate cameras that ever was seen.

"When this you see, Send snaps to me!"

was inscribed on the inner wrapping, which Miles quietly folded and put away in his pocket. He would not need the camera or any external aid to help him to remember his mentor of the golden hair and sweet grey eyes.

Cynthia came over very often those last few days, and diffused a little fun into the gathering gloom by const.i.tuting herself Miles' sewing- mistress, and sitting over him in sternest fashion while he fumbled clumsily at his task. Rumour had it that she even rapped his knuckles with the scissors when he took up half a dozen threads at once in his second darn; and even Mrs Trevor was obliged to laugh at her imitation of Miles' grimaces when trying to thread a needle. In the end Pam was made happy by being commissioned to thread dozens of needles with long black and white threads, and then stick them in a special needle-book, with their tails twisted neatly round and round.

As for Cynthia, she revelled in her position as instructress.

"I've suffered so much myself, that it is simply lovely to turn the tables on someone else," she announced. "I am going to see this business through in a proper and well-regulated fashion. Now that the technical course is finished, you are going to be put through a _viva voce_ examination. Sit down in front of the work-basket, and answer without any shuffling or trying to escape. Now then! Distinguish between a darning-needle and a bodkin." She nipped up Mrs Trevor's spectacles from a side-table, as she spoke, perched them on the end of her nose, and stared over them with an a.s.sumption of great severity.

Miles grinned complacently.

"Easy enough. One p.r.i.c.ks and the other doesn't."

"A very superficial reply! To what separate and distinctive duties would you apply the two?"

"Wouldn't apply them at all if I had my way," began the pupil daringly, but a flash of his mistress's eye recalled him promptly to order, and he added hastily, "One you use to darn things up with, and the other to drag strings through tunnel sort of businesses, and bring them out at the other side."

"No engineering terms, please! Your matter is correct, but the manner leaves much to be desired. Question number two is--Which thread would you use to affix (a) a shirt, (b) a boot, (c) a waistcoat b.u.t.ton?"

"The first that came handy," replied Miles recklessly, whereupon Pam squealed with dismay, and was for labelling all her needles forthwith, but Cynthia rapped sternly on the table, and would have each bobbin brought out in turn, and so carefully examined that its qualities could not easily be forgotten. Then, and only then, would she consent to pa.s.s on to the third question, which concerned itself with the vexed question of darning.

"Three, State clearly, and in sequence, the steps necessary for repairing a hole in the sole of your sock."

Miles shrugged his shoulders with a despairing gesture.