Janet's Love and Service Part 41

Lilias' eyes sparkled as she looked at her cousin, but he did not catch her look.

"My dear," continued Mrs Roxbury, "I have news for you, but perhaps it is no news to you. Ah! he has found her."

Mr Elias Green was at the moment, making his bow to Graeme.

"There was no truth in the rumour, about him and little Miss Grove. Mr Green has more sense. Your friend is fortunate, Lilias."

Lilias looked at her aunt in astonishment, but nothing more could be said, for there were more arrivals, and her attention was claimed.

"Aunt Roxbury does not know what she is talking about," said she, to her cousin, as he led her away. "The idea of Mr Green's daring to lift his eyes to Graeme Elliott. She would not look at him."

"Mr Green is a great man in his own circle, I can a.s.sure you," said Mr Ruthven. "Miss Elliott will be thought fortunate by people generally."

"Do you think so? You know very little about her, if you think that,"

said Lilias, impatiently.

"I know Mr Green better than most people do, and I respect him--and he is very rich--"

"Oh! don't talk folly," cried Lilias. "I have no patience with people who think, because a man is rich--. But you don't know Graeme, cousin Allan--I thought--"

They were very near Graeme by this time. She turned at the moment, and greeted them frankly enough, as far as any one could see. She noticed the cloud on Lilias' face, and asked her if she was quite well; she expressed pleasure at the return of Mr Ruthven too, but she did not meet his eye, though he told her he had seen her brother Norman at a station by the way, and detained her to give her a message that he had sent. He had schooled himself well, if he was really as unmoved by the words of Mrs Roxbury and Lilias, as to his cousin he appeared to be.

But he was not a man who let his thoughts write themselves on his face, and she might easily be deceived. It was not a pleasant moment, it was a very bitter moment indeed, to him, when with a smile to them, Graeme placed her hand on the willing arm of Mr Green, and walked away "like a queen," he said to himself, but to his cousin he said--

"My friend will be a very happy man, and _your_ friend may be happy too, let us hope."

But Lilias never answered a word. She followed them, with her eyes, till they disappeared through the door that led to the room beyond; and then she said only,--

"I have made a great mistake."

Had she made a mistake or had he? A mistake never to be undone, never outlived--a mistake for Graeme, for himself, perhaps for Lilias too. It was not a thought to be borne, and he put it from him sternly, saying it could not have been otherwise--nothing could be changed now; and he was very gentle and tender with his little cousin that night and afterwards, saying to himself that she, at least, should have no cause to grieve in the future, if his loving care for her could avail.

About this time Will was threatened with a serious illness. It did not prove so serious as they at first feared, but it was long and tedious, and gave his eldest sister an excuse for denying herself to many who called, and accounted for her pale looks to those whom she was obliged to see. In the silence of her brother's sick-room, Graeme looked a great sorrow in the face. In other circ.u.mstances, with the necessity laid upon her to deceive others, she might for a time have deceived herself; for the knowledge that one's love has been given unsought, is too bitter to be accepted willingly. But the misery of those long silent nights made plain to her what the first sharp pang had failed to teach her.

In the first agony of her self-scorn, she saw herself without excuse.

She was hard and bitter to herself. She might have known, she thought, how it was with Allan and his cousin. During all those years in which she had been a stranger to them both, they had loved each other; and now, with no thought of her, they loved each other still. It was natural that it should be so, and right. What was she, to think to come between them with her love?

She was very bitter to herself and unjust in her first misery, but her feeling changed. Her heart rebelled against her own verdict. She had not acted an unmaidenly part in the matter. She had never thought of harm coming to her, or to anyone, out of the pleasant intercourse of these months--the renewal of their old friendship. If she had sinned against Lilias, it had been unconsciously. She had never thought of these things in those days.

If she had only known him sooner, she thought, or not so soon, or not at all! How should she ever be able to see them again in the old unrestrained way? How should she be able to live a life changed and empty of all pleasure?

Then she grew bitter again, and called herself hard names for her folly, in thinking that a change in one thing must change all her life. Would not the pa.s.sing away of this vain dream leave her as rich in the love of brothers and sister, as ever? Hitherto their love had sufficed for her happiness, and it should still suffice. The world need not be changed to her, because she had wished for one thing that she could not have.

She could be freed from no duty, absolved from no obligation because of this pain; it was a part of her life, which she must accept and make the best of, as she did of all other things that came upon her.

As she sat one night thinking over the past and the future, wearily enough, but without the power to withdraw her mind from what was sad in them, there suddenly came back to her one of Janet's short, sharp speeches, spoken in answer to a declaration half vexed, half mirthful, made by her in the days when the mild Mr Foster had aspired to be more to her than a friend.

"My dear," she had said, "bide till your time comes. You are but a woman like the lave, and you maun thole the brunt of what life may bring. Love! Ay will you, and that without leave asked or given. And if you get love for love, you'll thank G.o.d humbly for one of his best gifts; and if you do not well, He can bring you through without it, as He has done many a one before. But never think you can escape your fate, and make the best of it when it comes."

"And so my fate has found me," murmured Graeme to herself. "This is part of my life, and I must make the best of it. Well, he can bring me through, as Janet said."

"Graeme," said Will suddenly, "what are you thinking about?"

Graeme started painfully. She had quite forgotten Will. Those bright, wakeful eyes of his had been on her many a time when she thought he was asleep.

"What were you thinking about? You smiled first, then you sighed."

"Did I? Well, I was not aware that I was either smiling or sighing. I was thinking about Janet, and about something that she said to me once."

She rose and arranged the pillows, stooping down to kiss her brother as she did so, and then she said sadly,--

"I am afraid you are not much better to-night, Will."

"Yes; I think I am better. My head is clearer. I have been watching your face, Graeme, and thinking how weary and ill you look."

"I am tired, Will, but not ill." Graeme did not like the idea of her face having been watched, but she spoke cheerfully.

"I have been a great trouble to you," said Will.

"Yes, indeed! a dreadful trouble. I hope you are not going to try my patience much longer."

"I don't know. I hope not, for your sake." And then in a little Will added, "Do you know, Graeme, I am beginning to be glad of this illness after all."

Graeme laughed.

"Well, if you are glad of it, I will try and bear it patiently a little longer. I daresay we are taking the very best means to prolong it chattering at this unreasonable hour."

"I am not sleepy," said Will, "and I am not restless either. I think I am really better, and it will do me good to have a little talk; but you are tired."

"I am tired, but I am not sleepy. Besides, if you are really better, I can sleep for a week, if I like. So, if it be a pleasure to you, speak on."

"What was it that Janet said that made you sigh so drearily just now?"

asked Will.

Graeme would have liked the conversation to take any other turn rather than that, but she said, gently,--

"I think my smile must have been for what Janet said. I am sure I laughed heartily enough when she said it to me so long ago. I suppose I sighed to think that what she said has come true."

"What was it, Graeme?"

"Oh! I can hardly tell you--something about the changes that come to us as we grow older, and how vain it is to think we can avoid our fate."

"Our fate?" repeated Will.

"Oh, yes! I mean there are troubles--and pleasures, too, that we can't foresee--that take us at unawares, and we have just to make the best of them when they come."

"I don't think I quite understand you, Graeme."

"No, I daresay not; and it is not absolutely necessary that you should,--in the connection. But I am sure a great many pleasant things that we did not expect, have happened to us since we came here."

"And was it thinking of these pleasant things that made you sigh?" asked Will.