The Girls of St. Olave's Part 25

He was there taking a photo of the little dead boy, for he loved him, Miss, and--and--him and me, we've made it up, Miss Denys! We've always loved each other all along."

The visit to Mrs. Richardson was over, and Denys and Pattie were once more on their homeward way, hurrying along the crowded streets and threading their way in and out of the bustling crowds, with no thought in their minds but of an accomplished task and a great anxiety not to lose their train.

They took little heed of the pa.s.sers-by, but their eyes were both attracted at the same moment by a very tall, fine-looking young fellow who was coming towards them with a big, bouncing baby swung high upon his shoulder; even at a good distance they made a conspicuous couple as they came down the street.

"There's Jim Adams," said Denys and Pattie in the same breath.

Jim was walking very slowly, occasionally glancing down at the ground, but the people about him were too many to reveal at what he looked.

Whether he caught sight of Denys and Pattie, and could not face speaking to them, or whether he never even saw them, Denys could not tell, but as they neared him, he stopped suddenly and looked into a shop window, showing the baby something that made it shout and crow with delight; but in one instant Denys forgot everything else in the world, but the strangeness of another sight that met her eyes.

She stood stock still in the centre of the pavement, gazing at a figure that was coming towards her.

The figure of a little, little girl, walking alone among the crowd, yet not of it. A little girl with brown, fluffy curls, turning to gold at the roots, crowned by a big white sailor hat with a black ribbon round it--a little girl dressed in a short black frock with a kilt and a sailor jacket; a little girl so like--ah! how many children had she seen lately so like little Maud! Then the child's blue eyes met hers, and, with a scream, Denys had sprung forward, and Maud--little lost Maud--was in her arms.

When Denys began once more to realise anything beyond the pressure of her arms round their lost treasure, she became conscious that a little crowd had gathered, and that Pattie was hurriedly explaining what had happened, and there was pity and sympathy in the listening faces around, so that Denys thought wonderingly how kind the world was.

"A cab!" she said, and she lifted her head as if she were but just awakened from a long and horrible dream. Oh! how glad she was to have Pattie with her!

With Maud still clasped in her arms, she and Pattie got into the cab, and as it rumbled off to the station, the little crowd that had gathered, thinned away and scattered, and Jim Adams and his baby went with it.

Jim had been to the Nursery to fetch the two children. It was upon little Maud, running beside him, that he had constantly glanced down.

When he stopped to look into the shop window she had not observed it, but had trotted on among the crowd, and he, turning to see what had become of her, had seen the meeting between her and Denys. Thinking simply that the child knew Denys and loved her, as Harry did, he had drawn near to claim her, and had heard Pattie's hurried explanation, and hearing it, he had drawn further and further to the edge of the crowd.

But Maud had been too far from him, for any of the pa.s.sing crowd to suspect that she belonged to him. He saw that in a moment, and he waited calmly in the background till Denys and Pattie and the child had driven away.

He understood it all, if no one else did.

So that was Jane's vengeance! That was what Jane could do!

The sooner he and Jane and the baby were out of Mixham the better!

What was there to stay for? He hated the whole place. Perhaps he might begin again somewhere else.

He would try, and he would--yes, he would--ask G.o.d to help him this time. Tom said that was the only way to keep straight, to ask for G.o.d's strength.

And Tom and Pattie had made it up that very day, in Jane's own kitchen!

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE SUN SHINES OUT.

As Reggie opened the gate of St. Olave's and glanced up at the familiar ivy-encircled windows, he felt as if a dream that he had often seen before, had come again to him, and that he should only wake to find himself back in the dull little sitting-room in Scotland, trying to find an uneasy rest on the horsehair sofa.

Mrs. Brougham was sitting in the bow-window; she always sat there nowadays, and there was reality enough in her pale, weary face. Almost the first smile that had lightened it since Maud had disappeared, came to it when she saw Reggie.

"Oh, Reggie!" she exclaimed.

Reggie came to the open window and leaned on the sill.

"Well, mother," he said, lifting up his face to kiss her. He had always called her mother and kissed her, since the days when he had worn knickers and been Gertrude's chum. "Well, mother, aren't you surprised to see me?"

"Very," she said, "is it your holidays?"

Reggie nodded. "I only heard yesterday about Maud," he said gently.

"There's nothing fresh--no news, I suppose?"

"Nothing," said Mrs. Brougham, hopelessly.

She felt somehow comforted by Reggie's coming. He was so like one of themselves, so old a friend that there was nothing to explain, no need for excusing words, no fear that his sympathy would make the sorrow wake again.

Reggie felt it too. He stood there quite silent for a minute, still holding her hand; then he said,

"If you knew where Gertrude would be this afternoon, I could go and meet her. She'll be so surprised to see me."

"Yes," answered Mrs. Brougham mechanically. She knew far, far more of those stories about Gertrude, than Gertrude ever guessed. Even in those early summer days of the picnics and tennis parties that had filled all Gertrude's mind, Conway and Willie had confided to their mother that they wished Gertrude would not be quite so _pleasant_. She sighed a little as she looked into Reggie's bright, open face. Girls did not always know true gold when they saw it. Then she remembered that Reggie had asked her a question.

"Oh, yes," she said hastily, "I was forgetting. Come in, Reggie; she is at home this afternoon. Denys had to go to Mixham, and I persuaded her to take Pattie with her--I am so nervous now," she added pathetically, "and Gertrude has been busy in the kitchen all the afternoon, but she's done now, and I believe she went to the drawing-room to study."

"I'll go round the garden way and disturb her," said Reggie, with a laugh.

He thought as he went round the garden that "Gertrude busy in the kitchen all the afternoon," had an odd sound.

Gertrude had not begun to study. She sat in a deep armchair, her books unopened on her lap, looking out upon the sunny garden, and brooding drearily over the past, wondering sadly whether, if Maud were never, never found, she could ever feel happy again! And if happiness did come to her, and Maud had not come back, how terrible that would be, for it would mean that she had forgotten Maud, forgotten her wrong-doing; that she had become again the self-loving, self-centred being that had lost Maud!

As Reggie's figure crossed the gra.s.s she sprang up, and her books fell with a clatter to the ground.

"Oh, Reggie!" she said, just as her mother had done.

"Yes," said Reggie, "I've come! I only heard yesterday."

A flood of colour swept over Gertrude's face, but the room was shaded, and she hoped Reggie would not see. What must he think of the story he had only heard yesterday! She had wished that he might know about it.

Now she felt as if he were the only one in the world, from whom she would gladly have hidden it.

"Sit down," she said; "all the others are out, except mother."

"I've seen her," he said quietly.

There was a pause. There seemed nothing to say, absolutely nothing!

Nothing that could be said, at least.

At last Reggie broke the silence.