As the summer wore on the weather became exceedingly hot and oppressive, and Greta, who had taken a small house at Eastbourne for July and August, insisted on carrying off Olivia and Dot for the first month.

"It would be doing me the greatest kindness," she said almost tearfully as she gave the invitation, "for how could I enjoy anything alone? Dr. Luttrell has promised to run down from Saturday to Monday, and perhaps we could even induce him to stay longer, and it would do Dot so much good." And it was this last consideration that had the greatest weight with Olivia.

"But oh, Marcus! how am I to leave you?" she began in rather a dismal voice. But Marcus soon proved to her that he was only too willing to part with her.

"My good child," he said, "the idea of your hesitating for a moment. Miss Williams is behaving like a brick, and she had planned it all beforehand, too. Do you suppose she would have taken a house, if she had not meant you and Dot to go too?"

"But, Marcus," she pleaded, "I do not really need the change; you only said yourself the other day that I had never looked so well."

"Yes, and Eastbourne will enable you to keep well," he returned, cheerfully. "Think of a month of sea breezes; does not your maternal heart swell at the idea of Dot in a big sun-bonnet, stumping over the beach with her spade and bucket? Why, you and Miss Williams will be as happy as the day is long."

"Oh, no; not without you, Marcus," returned Olivia, tenderly. "Do you think any enjoyment would be perfect without my husband?" But as Marcus quietly reasoned with her, she yielded at last with a good grace.

"I could not well refuse, Aunt Madge, could I?" she said to her usual confidante, "when Greta wanted me so; and then it will do baby so much good. Marcus declares that Martha will manage all right, and that he will not be dull; and he has promised to spend a whole week with us if he can. And really, it is so very, very kind of Greta, and she is so happy about our coming."

"You are a wise woman, Livy," replied Aunt Madge. "And I am proud of you, and so is Marcus, for we both of us know you are making a brave effort. Deb shall give Martha a helping hand, now and then, when I can spare her. And Marcus has promised to have a cup of tea and chat with me sometimes on his way home from the Models. By-the-bye, when do Mr. Gaythorne and Mr. Alwyn return?" But Olivia could not answer this question.

Galvaston House would not be ready for them until the end of July. She knew that in his last letter to Marcus, Alwyn had spoken of their going on to Scarborough. He had given a good account of his father, he was less feeble and walked better; but Bournemouth was too relaxing, and they both felt the need of more bracing air.

"I shall keep him away until September, unless he turns restless," he had finished, and Marcus had strongly commended this.

Greta sometimes heard from Alwyn. He wrote to her from time to time, and she would read his letters to Olivia.

The house that she had taken at Eastbourne was charmingly situated. From the windows they had a view of the sea, and Beachy Head in the distance. Marcus took them down and settled them in, and after the first few days Olivia got over her homesickness and thoroughly enjoyed her life.

In the mornings they were always on the beach with Dot, either reading or working, or watching the happy groups of children.

In the afternoons and evenings they either drove or walked over the downs. Greta, who was resolved to spare no expense, had hired a pretty little victoria for the month.

When Marcus came down for his promised week, he spent most of his time boating, and one or two days they went out in a sailing-boat and carried their luncheon with them. Both Greta and Olive proved themselves good sailors.

Greta had entreated her friend to prolong her visit, but Olivia would not hear of this.

"Martha had been left long enough," she said, decidedly, and she could not remain away from Marcus any longer. And Marcus was too glad to get his bright companion back to say a dissenting word.

"Oh, Aunt Madge, I have had such a splendid time," were Olivia's first words when she went round to Mayfield Villas on the morning after her return. "Greta has been such a dear, she has thoroughly spoilt me; but the loveliest time of all was the week Marcus spent with us."

"You look the very essence of a sunbeam, Livy," returned Mrs. Broderick, with an admiring look; "but what a nut-brown mayde you have become. Well, was Marcus pleased to get his wife and child back?" And then Olivia smiled happily, for only she knew how she had been missed.

Dr. Bevan left town early in August and Dr. Luttrell took up his position as locum tenens, and in spite of the emptiness of London found plenty of work.

Sometimes, as Olivia walked in the direction of Brunswick Place with Dot toddling beside her, the victoria with its bay horses would pass her. How Olivia would dimple with amusement as Marcus gravely lifted his hat to her.

Ever after a victoria with bay horses figured in Olivia's chateaux d'espagne.

Greta complained bitterly of her dullness when her friends had left. "Eastbourne has lost its charms," she wrote, "and the crowds of people on the Parade only make me feel more lonely. If it were not for fear of Dr. Luttrell, I should come back to Brunswick Place at once, but I dare not run the gauntlet of his sarcasms.

"My one amusement is making smocks for Dot. I have finished the pale blue one and it looks lovely, and now I have begun a cream-coloured one; in spite of your stuck-up pride, Olive, you cannot prevent me from working for my darling Dot."

This reproachful sentence was the outcome of a hot argument.

Greta had tried in her affectionate way to lavish gifts upon her friend, but Olivia had steadily refused to allow this.

"No, Greta," she had said, "you do far too much for me already. I have been treated like a princess for a whole month, but I will not have presents heaped on me. Even poor people have their feelings, you know, and rich people must respect them." But this dignified speech made no impression on Greta.

"You may call it proper pride," she said, contemptuously, "but I call it selfishness, for you are just depriving me of my greatest pleasure. Well, if you choose to be stiff and obstinate you must have your way, but you cannot hinder me from finishing those smocks." And Olivia, who was full of admiration for Greta's exquisite smocking, announced graciously that the smocks were to be the exception.

"I was obliged to put my foot down, Marcus," she said afterwards, "or she would have bought everything I admired. Perhaps I am proud, but no one but my husband or Aunt Madge shall buy my frocks." And as Olivia said this she held up her head, and looked so dignified and handsome that Marcus refrained from teasing her. Evidently such pride was no fault in his eyes, and it was certain that he very much enjoyed choosing his wife's gowns.

Greta was the first to return. The Gaythornes stayed away until the middle of September.

When Alwyn paid his first visit, Olivia was rejoiced to see the improvement in him. He had gained weight and flesh, and looked very handsome; but Marcus was less satisfied with Mr. Gaythorne.

"He is an old man before his time," he observed. "I am afraid he will never throw off his invalid habits now. He can just potter about in the sunshine and amuse himself with his flowers and museum, but he will never be capable of work again. The least effort to concentrate his thoughts for more than a few minutes seems to irritate his brain. Nothing pleases him better than to creep up to the grand new studio and watch Alwyn at his work.

"'I shall be proud of him yet,' he said that to me yesterday, and if you had seen his face, Livy, when he said it!"



CHAPTER XX.

"SOMEBODY'S CRUTCH."

"Of all the paths that lead to a woman's love Pity's the straightest."—Beaumont and Fletcher.

One afternoon in October Olivia sat at her work in the front parlour. She was expecting Greta to join her, and more than once she had looked at the clock on the mantelpiece as though wondering at her lateness.

The folding-doors were open; the young couple had taken advantage of their improved circumstances to add to their scanty stock of furniture. The dining-table and mahogany chairs bought second-hand in Dr. Luttrell's bachelor days and the small, ugly chiffonier had been moved into the smaller and duller back room, and the front parlour had been transformed into a dainty sitting-room. Greta's skilful fingers and good taste had been placed at her friend's service. To gratify Marcus's love of comfort two really handsome saddle-back chairs were beside the fireplace, and a little round table occupied the centre of the room. A second-hand writing-table with drawers had been picked up in the city as a great bargain and appropriated for Marcus's use. Over it hung the sketch of Dot and the kitten, long ago presented by the grateful artist. The pretty blue carpet and curtains gave an air of finish.

By Marcus's desire the folding-doors were always kept open, and Olivia no longer felt herself stifled for want of air. This afternoon the little sitting-room looked at its best. A bowl of dark-red cactus dahlias stood on the table, an offering from Alwyn, and a magnificent Lilium auratum, a gift from Greta, blocked up the dining-room window.

When the door-bell rang Olivia laid down her work with a pleased smile, and the next moment Greta entered the room.

"How late you are, you naughty girl," she said, kissing her affectionately. "I have been sewing for the last hour."

"Yes, I know; something unforeseen detained me," and then Greta dropped her eyes in sudden embarrassment and blushed. "Oh, Olive dear, can you guess what I have to tell you this afternoon?" and then Olivia looked at her steadily.

"Do you mean," she began, anxiously—but Greta, blushing still more rosily, interrupted her, "Yes, I do mean it; and, Olive, dear friend, truest of friends, you must congratulate me, for I am so happy."

"You take my breath away, Greta. Are you and Alwyn actually engaged?"

"Yes, dear, we settled it this afternoon; but, of course—of course, I have known for weeks what he meant and wished. He has gone round now to tell his father, and will be here presently. Dear Olive, why are you so silent? Are you not glad about this?"

"I am glad that anything should make you happy," returned Olivia, gently. "And you know how deeply interested I am in your and Alwyn's welfare. But forgive me, Greta, if I ask one question. Are you sure, are you perfectly sure, that this step will be for your happiness——"

Then Greta looked at her in surprise, and there was a reproachful expression in her grey eyes.

"Sure! when I have loved him all these months. My dear Olive, what can you mean? Alwyn is the only man I could ever marry."

"Oh, how it relieves me to hear you say that Dear Greta, I am so fond of you both. Alwyn is charming; but until you said that I was afraid to congratulate you. You know my views on this subject, dear. Do you remember how we talked on the beach at Eastbourne? I am afraid that more than once I made you a little sad; but I was thinking of this. I knew then in my own mind that Alwyn had begun to care for you, and I wanted you to have plenty of time for consideration."

"Oh, yes; you made your meaning clear to me even then," returned Greta, smiling; "but, indeed, no consideration was necessary. When Alwyn came to me and said quite simply that he loved me and wanted me to be his wife, I just put my hand in his without a word. It almost shocked me to see his gratitude. He kept saying over and over again that he was not worthy of me; that he knew he had done nothing to win my respect, and I should not be able to look up to him. Oh, Olive, he quite broke down when he said this, but I soon comforted him. 'I only remember two things,' I said to him,—'that you love me, and that you need me.' And after that we understood each other."

"Dearest Greta. Aunt Madge was right when she told me that you were born into the world to be somebody's crutch."

"Did she say that?" and Greta's eyes had a dreamy look in them; "but I tell Alwyn that I mean to lean on him. Indeed, Olive, you must not undervalue him. Alwyn is stronger than you think. He has repented truly and deeply of all his boyish mistakes, and those who love him should utterly and for ever wipe out the record of his past. See how devotedly his father loves him; his forgiveness was absolute."

"Dear, you need not say any more;" and Olivia embraced her with tears in her eyes. "I can only wish you all the happiness you deserve."

"In that case my happiness would be little enough; but, of course, I know what you mean. And, Olive, for the first time in my life I can say with truth that I have found my vocation. It will be such a privilege to be allowed to take care of Alwyn; he is far from strong, and he will need care for a long time. I wonder if you know the feeling I have about that? With Dr. Luttrell you cannot have had it. You have never been anxious about him; and then he has always taken care of you. But I shall always have to think for Alwyn."

"Oh, you are right there!"

"We shall think for each other," she went on, fearing that she had admitted too much. "And there is one thing of which I am certain that I shall have every right to be proud of him. Do you know what his father says? that he has genius, unmistakable genius, and he is no mean judge. 'Mark my words, he will be an R.A. yet;' he only said that to me a few days ago."

"Marcus thinks the same; but, Greta, there is one thing: if you marry Alwyn, you will have to take his father too; you can never separate them."

"Those were Alwyn's very words," returned Greta, with a soft flush which made her look years younger; "but, indeed, I love him already for Alwyn's sake, and because he is so good to him. Oh, Olive dear, if you knew the joy it will be to me to have someone for whom I can care again. I do not want my life to be too easy or free from responsibility; but I do want it to be real, actual life. Mrs. Broderick and I were only talking about it yesterday. She says what single women miss in their lives is some absorbing interest; a work that shall fill up all the crannies."

"Oh, Aunt Madge is very strong on that point. I remember, before I knew Marcus, that we had wonderful talks on this subject. She used to be so fond of quoting Carmen Sylva's speech, 'A woman does not become a mother, she is a mother from her birth. A woman's family satisfies her vocation, but does not create it.' And she used to tell me to mother my pupils. 'You must love them hard,' she would say, 'and live their young lives as well as your own;' but, thank God, we can always find objects for our love. I should make you laugh, Greta, if I told you how I mapped out my future as an old maid; but I am quite sure I should have made a good one."

Just then the door-bell rang, and Alwyn entered; he looked eager and excited.

"Well, has she told you?" were his first words, as Olivia met him with outstretched hands; and then, as she warmly congratulated him, his eyes glowed with feeling. "I have not deserved such a prize, have I, Mrs. Luttrell? but Greta has promised to make the best of me. Will you forgive me if I take her away for a little? My father is most impatient to welcome his new daughter, and he will only excite himself if we keep him waiting."

"Go with him, Greta, dear," returned Olivia; "Mr. Alwyn will bring you back to us." And then Greta rose at once, though she looked a little shy.

As Olivia stood at the door watching them as they crossed the road, Marcus came up Harbut Street.

"Where are those two going?" he asked, curiously. "I thought Miss Williams was to spend the evening with us." Then Olivia linked her arm in his and drew him into the passage.

"Oh, do come in, Marcus," she said, breathlessly. "I cannot talk at the street-door, and I have such a lot to tell you." Then Marcus put down his hat and drew off his gloves with exasperating slowness.

"We have been married nearly three years," he said, flecking the dust off his coat-collar, "but I never remember the day when, as you so elegantly express it, you had not a 'lot to tell me.'"

"Yes, but something has really happened," she returned, ignoring this provoking speech.

"Oh, indeed," was the cool answer; "so they have settled it at last, have they? Well, I have changed my opinion lately. Gaythorne may not be quite up to the mark, but he will make a good husband. I suppose he is taking her across for the parental blessing?" And then Olivia admitted that this was the case.

"I am so glad that you really do not mind," she said, in a relieved tone; "but I fancied you would not approve. You almost said as much one day."

"Oh, even great intellects change their opinions sometimes," returned Marcus, dryly; "Sir Robert Peel and Gladstone, for example. And then most people know their own business best. Perhaps if you were to cross-examine me severely I might own that Alwyn Gaythorne is not the man I should have selected for your interesting friend, but as she has chosen him, she is evidently of another opinion, and this is one thing in his favour, he is thoroughly in love with her, and really, take him all in all, he is not a bad fellow," and Olivia, who understood her husband perfectly, was quite content with this opinion.

When Marcus went upstairs to wash his hands, whistling the air of "My old Dutch," she knew he was quite as much excited as she was.

When Greta came back she looked a little flushed and agitated, and, at a sign from Alwyn, Olivia took her upstairs.

"What is it, dear?" she said, gently, as Greta shed a few tears; "was not Mr. Gaythorne nice to you?"

"Nice?" repeated Greta, with a little sob; "he was as dear as possible. If I had been Olive he could not have been more gentle. I tell Alwyn that I shall be quite spoiled between them, but somehow as he talked to me I could not help thinking of poor father and of my mother. How happy mother would have been, for she was always so fond of Alwyn."

"Yes; dear, I understand."

"Yes, and Alwyn understands, too. He told me so just now. He said that though this was the happiest day of his life, he could not help missing his mother and Olive. Olivia, do you know that Mr. Gaythorne means us to live with him? I was just a little bit frightened when I heard that, and I am afraid Alwyn saw it, for he spoke about it afterwards."

"Does he wish it himself?" Olivia was careful to reserve her own opinion. Both she and Marcus had their own views on this subject.

"I do not know what he really wishes, and it was too soon to discuss things, but he did say that he thought that his father ought not to be left alone, and, of course, he is right, and it is for him to decide," and then she gave an embarrassed little laugh.

"Mr. Gaythorne was very good to me, but you know what an autocrat he is. He wants it to be soon, very soon. Oh, he quite took my breath away, and I could see Alwyn was sorry for me. He thinks it is the impatience of the disease and that we must humour him a little. Alwyn was so beautifully gentle with him and so considerate for me, but he saw how overwhelmed I was."

"Yes, one wants quiet at first to realise one's happiness," returned Olivia, sympathetically. "Now I am going to make the tea, and you shall join us when you like."

But when she got downstairs she found Alwyn alone. He was pacing up and down as though he were anxious.

"Where is Marcus?" she asked at once.

"Oh, someone wanted him at No. 25, Sligo Street. I was to tell you that," and then, with a change of tone, "I hope my father did not really upset Greta."

"Oh, no; she was only a little overwhelmed."

"No wonder! You know what my father is, Mrs. Luttrell. He never will wait for anything. If a thing is to be done it must be done at once. Only yesterday I was laughing at him, and telling him he would have made an excellent slave-driver. He is immensely pleased and excited, and he treated Greta as though she were a princess. He has fine manners, you will allow that, but the dear girl looked dreadfully shy and embarrassed. And then, to put her at her ease, he wanted her to promise that she would marry me as soon as possible. It was no use trying to hush him, for he would have his say. I got her away at last by pretending you would be waiting tea for us. Oh, here she comes," and his face brightened as he hurried to his fiancee's side. Greta had recovered her tranquillity, and when Marcus entered she received his congratulations as happily as possible.

Olivia went over to Galvaston House the next day.

Mr. Gaythorne was evidently expecting her.

"Well," he said, holding her hand, "I suppose you have come to congratulate me on my new daughter. I tell Alwyn he is a lucky dog. A sweet girl and three thousand a year. Not that either he or I care about the money,—there will be plenty for Alwyn, plenty. I was telling them both last night," he went on, "that there must be no delay and nonsense. In my state of health any procrastination would be foolish. I want to see him with a good wife. Crampton is all very well, but a wife will understand him better. The house will hold us all. With the exception of the library and my own bedroom, it will all belong to them. Alwyn can refurnish the drawing-room, if he likes; and there is that little room on the first floor, opening into the conservatory, that would make a charming morning-room for Greta. He can have carte blanche to do what he likes, and she and Crampton will manage the house between them, so what is the use of waiting?"

And as Olivia noted the old man's feverish excitement she could not help thinking that a short engagement would be best, and when Alwyn walked with her to Mayfield Villas she told him so.

"I quite agree with you," was his answer. "Dr. Luttrell and I had a talk over things last night, but I do not mean Greta to be bothered with plans and preparations until she has had a few days' quiet You do not know her as well as I do, Mrs. Luttrell. Greta is so unselfish, so absolutely self-less, that she will do anything for the good of those she loves. In the old days she always yielded her wishes to Olive, and she is just as ready to do so now," and, as Alwyn said this with his bright, winning smile, Olivia was not quite so sure, after all, that Greta had made a mistake.



CHAPTER XXI.

SUNSHINE AND CLOUDS.

"A friend who is both intelligent and well-affected is the most valuable of all possessions."—Herodotus.

About a fortnight after this eventful afternoon, Olivia received a note from Greta begging her to bring her work and to spend a few hours with her. The invitation was a pressing one. "Please do not disappoint me," she wrote, "for I want to talk to you so much. I think I can promise that we shall have no interruption. Alwyn is going up to town for the afternoon, and will not pay his usual call." And then Olivia, who had planned to have tea with Aunt Madge, put off her visit until another day, and sent a verbal message of acceptance.

It was one of those late October days, when a touch of frost in the air gives a hint of the approaching winter, and the bright little fire in Greta's pretty morning-room was very welcome.

Greta was sitting at her embroidery frame as usual. Her deep mourning was relieved by the little knot of white chrysanthemums and red leaves that she wore, and her fair, serious face looked bright and animated. "Dear Olive, it was so good of you to come," she said, as she ensconced her guest in a big easy-chair. "I suppose you guessed that I wanted you particularly," and Olivia nodded.

"I could hardly sleep thinking about it all. Olive, we have settled the day. Mr. Gaythorne gave Alwyn no peace, and so he was obliged to speak to me. He said it was very soon to ask me, and that he would willingly have given me more time, but that in his father's state of health any delay would only harass him, so I said that I would be ready by the middle of December. I hope you do not think I am wrong?"

"No, indeed. I think you are very wise."

"Alwyn was so grateful," went on Greta; "he knew my objection to a winter wedding; but, as he says, it will be so nice to begin the new year together; and, after all, what do these outward things matter? At first I thought I would be married in my travelling-dress, and go straight away from the church; and then I remembered how Alwyn once said that brides ought always to wear white, that it was symbolical and poetical, and that you agreed with him."

"Marcus thought just the same!" returned Olivia; "and though I was in mourning for dear mother, Aunt Madge bought me a lovely white cashmere. Alas! I have never worn it since, but sometimes I take it out and look at it. I remember how pleased Marcus was with it. Shall you wear silk or satin, Greta?" and then Greta owned that she had already decided on a rich ivory-coloured silk.

"But we will not discuss my trousseau just yet," she observed, blushing. "There is plenty of time for that. I shall have seven weeks for my preparations. I want to tell you about yesterday, Olive. You know I had promised to have luncheon at Galvaston House, and that Alwyn was to fetch me, but before we left this house it was all settled, and after luncheon Alwyn told his father. The dear old man was so pleased; he made Alwyn bring down his mother's trinkets, a pearl necklace and some diamond stars, and such splendid rings that he had given her, and he told Alwyn that they were all for me; you know I never cared much for jewelry, but Alwyn will always want me to be well dressed, so I shall have to be smart. I think I liked best a little cross set with diamonds, that Olive used to wear; he gave me that, too."

"How pleased Alwyn must have been."

"Yes, and, of course, I was pleased, too; and then Mr. Gaythorne made Alwyn take me over the house. What a handsome house it is, Olive! I like it ever so much better than Brunswick Place. I had no idea it was so large, but Mr. Gaythorne said that Italian palaces had spoilt him, and that he must always have plenty of space. There is a room on the first floor opening into the conservatory that will make a charming morning-room, and then the studio is so lovely. Alwyn has been buying such beautiful things, and there is to be a corner fitted up for my use, where my embroidery frame can stand. I shall so love to watch him work; but oh, Olive, is it not absurd? Mr. Gaythorne talks of refurnishing the drawing-room, but it is not the least necessary. I want you to convince him of this, and to beg him not to spend money so needlessly. I have so many nice things of my own; all this beautiful china and those inlaid Japanese cabinets. A new carpet and a little fresh cretonne is all that is needed. And I know Alwyn agrees with me."

"Very well, then, we must bring Mr. Gaythorne to reason."

"I took Mrs. Crampton into confidence," went on Greta, "when she showed me the kitchen and store-rooms. What a nice creature she is, and how admirably she manages! There is to be another maid kept, so I asked if I might bring Merton; she has been with us so many years that I should dislike to part with her, and Alwyn has promised to speak to his father."

Olivia listened and approved; there was no mistaking Greta's happiness; she looked on the bright side of everything, and would allow of no drawbacks. When Olivia ventured to hint that Mr. Gaythorne might be trying at times, Greta only smiled and said, "That was very likely, only Alwyn managed him so beautifully, and she hoped in time to do the same. I know that he dislikes visitors," she went on, "but, as you and Dr. Luttrell are exceptions, I do not so much mind, and I shall be quite happy with Alwyn."

"Oh, no doubt," returned Olivia, in her quick, decided way; "but you must remember, Greta dear, that we owe a duty to our fellow-creatures, and you must not allow Mr. Gaythorne to carry his misanthropical views too far. There is no need for him to be troubled with visitors; he is far too ailing for much fatigue and exertion; but surely you and Alwyn can entertain your friends in your own rooms," and, though Greta hesitated and looked rather alarmed at the idea of opposing her formidable father-in-law-elect, she was soon brought to acknowledge that society would be good for Alwyn.

"There is no hurry, we can be quiet this first winter," she said; "but, of course, if people call upon me, I shall return their visits, but we cannot settle beforehand. I shall first wait and see what Alwyn wishes, and you must own, Olive, that I have not led a gay life here."

"By-the-bye," observed Olivia, suddenly, "what have you decided to do with this house and furniture?" but Greta had evidently not taken these matters into consideration.

"All the best things will go to Galvaston House, I suppose," she replied, looking round her, "but most of the furniture is old-fashioned and not up-to-date. I suppose people would call it handsome, and, of course, the oak in the dining-room is in thoroughly good taste. I must talk to Alwyn about it; perhaps it might be let furnished. Dear father used to say selling furniture was such a mistake,—one never got the full value."

"I remember how grand I thought it the first day I called," returned Olivia, smiling. "The drawing-room with that beautiful conservatory opening out of it, and the plush curtains, and those luxurious couches made me feel so shabby. But I suppose the drawing-room at Galvaston House is still better. The glass door opening on the garden is so pleasant, and those Venetian cabinets and that carved settle are really beautiful."

"Yes, and it would be such a pity to modernise the room. Besides, what does one want with a drawing-room at all? I am sure I never enter mine. I shall live in the morning-room and the studio, and I suppose in the evenings we shall be in the library. Ah, you are laughing, because I have thought it all out in this matter-of-fact way, but I assure you I hardly slept last night." And then by mutual consent they began on the mysteries of the trousseau, and they had not half finished when Olivia looked at the clock and declared that she had stayed too long.

"The world goes up and the world goes down and the sunshine follows the rain," says the old song, and human life is certainly made up of passing clouds and gleams of sunshine.

While Alwyn superintended the decorations of the new rooms at Galvaston House, and brought his artistic taste to bear on every petty detail for the use of his lady-love, and while Greta busied herself over her trousseau, Dr. Luttrell was engaged from morning to night among his patients.

With the damp, foggy days of November had come the dreaded epidemic, influenza. All the doctors were overworked, and more than one of them succumbed to the malady,—amongst them Dr. Bevan.

Marcus, who had been devoting himself to his poor patients, suddenly found the charge of a large practice thrown on him, and had scarcely time to take his meals. For a few days Dr. Bevan was extremely ill, and even when a short change had recruited his health it was evident that he would never be able to do the same amount of work again.

"He has been overworking himself for years," Mrs. Bevan said to Marcus, with tears in her eyes; "but he would never spare himself, and now Dr. Randolph says that this utter breakdown is the result. Oh, it is all very well for him to say that it is better to wear out than rust out, but if a man has a wife and children he has no right to risk his life in this way. It might not hurt a younger man to rise from his bed night after night in the depths of winter, but for my husband it is simply suicidal. When he gets well he must and shall have a partner. What is the use of waiting until Wilfred is ready to come into the practice," for Wilfred Bevan, the eldest son, was at that time walking the hospitals. And here Mrs. Bevan, with her comely face looking quite worn and aged with anxiety, hurried away to sit with her husband.

Olivia had her own private anxieties. Those long solitary days were very trying to her, but she never dared be long absent from home lest she should miss one of Marcus's flying visits. His meals were taken at any odd hour, but if he came in for a minute on his morning round there was always a cup of good soup ready for him, or later in the day some hot coffee. But perhaps the best cordial to the tired, harassed doctor was the sight of his wife's bright face. He would drink the soup, snatch up his little daughter for a kiss and go back to his work refreshed, but even to him the strain was excessive.

Olivia, who was unwilling to damp Greta's cheerfulness, would pour out her troubles to her Aunt Madge, and Mrs. Broderick would listen with her usual sympathy.

"I hope it is not wicked of me, Aunt Madge," she would say, "but I do feel so worried and anxious. Marcus declares he is quite well, but he is so tired every night that he can hardly drag himself to bed, and when morning comes he is not a bit rested. I think Dr. Bevan's illness has made me nervous, for I am always dreading that Marcus will break down too."

"Women need lot of faith, don't they, Livy? Doctors' wives as well as soldiers' wives, but I am not sure that you need fear for Marcus. He is really strong, and at his age a little hard work will not hurt him. He has his laurels to gather, you must remember that. 'It is an ill wind that blows no one any good.'" But Olivia, who was tired and depressed, was not so ready to be comforted.

"I would rather go on being poor than see my poor boy work so hard," she said, mournfully. "But it is not only that, Aunt Madge. Marcus is very tender-hearted, and it makes him so unhappy when he loses a patient. Of course I know why he looked so dull last night, that poor young fellow Basil Greenwood is dead."

"Yes, I know; Dr. Randolph was called in," returned Mrs. Broderick; "but a hundred physicians could not have saved him, the fever ran too high."

"He was only eighteen and his poor mother doated on him, and now she is ill too. They called Marcus up last night; he did not get back till nearly five, but I had the fire lighted and some hot cocoa ready for him. Marcus scolded me; he is always so afraid of my knocking up, but I know he was glad of the cocoa. I tell Greta that I cannot be much with her just now. I am so afraid of missing him when he comes in, and of course she understands, but it is a little hard for her, poor child."

"Greta is very good," returned Aunt Madge. "She makes the best of things. By-the-bye, what is this I hear of a grand new dress for the wedding?" And then Olivia did brighten up a little.

Greta had begged in the most loving way that Olivia's dress and bonnet for the occasion should be her gift, and the dark heliotrope silk and dainty bonnet to match were at that moment in Greta's wardrobe.

"I tell Greta that it is far too handsome," replied Olivia, "and that Marcus will object to my being so smart, but she only laughs at me. There is such a lovely cape to go with it, but somehow, in spite of Greta's kindness, I shall not enjoy it one bit, unless Marcus has time to go with me."

"Oh, he will make time; don't be so lugubrious, Livy. You are just out of heart about things, but we must have cloudy days some time. Don't you remember what Longfellow says?

"'Nothing that is can pause or stay, The moon will wax, the moon will wane, The mist and cloud will turn to rain, The rain to mist and cloud again, To-morrow be to-day.'"

"Yes, and November fogs will pass too. Well, dear Aunt Madge, I must go, and as usual you have cheered me up. What should I do without you, I wonder."

"I am glad you find the old log useful," returned Mrs. Broderick, "so come and grumble as often as you like. Greta is coming to tea with me to-morrow, and Mr. Alwyn has promised to fetch her. Why don't you come too, and you shall have a real Scotch tea, bannocks and scones and seed cake," but Olivia shook her head at this tempting invitation. "Marcus had asked her to go round to the model lodging houses," she said, "to see two families in trouble. And then it was that poor boy's funeral." And then Mrs. Broderick said no more.

"Poor Livy," she said to herself, as she lay alone in the twilight, "one may make light of her little troubles, but they are real to her. And I do not wonder that she worries over Marcus. Dr. Randolph was only speaking of him this morning. He told me what a splendid worker he was.

"'Bevan may be thankful to have got hold of such a man,' those were his very words. 'But he must be prudent and not burn the candle at both ends as Bevan did. "The foul fiend" has got hold of Harris now, he is Dr. Mordaunt's partner, and was married a few weeks ago. Apollyon, as we call it at our house, does not spare doctors,' but I hope, I really do hope, that Livy has not heard this."



CHAPTER XXII.

"YOU MUST NOT LOSE HEART."

"Cherish those that love you; that if ye love, ye may be loved again."—Moschus.

When Greta woke on her wedding morning, she was greeted by the pale wintry sunshine. The weather was unusually mild for December, the sky blue and cloudless, and only the bare blackness of the trees and their stripped branches testified that winter had come.

"Happy the bride that the sun shines on," says the old proverb, and as Olivia repeated the saying, she felt her old cheerfulness and buoyancy return. Marcus had promised to meet them at the church, and to return with them to Brunswick Place, and her finery would not be thrown away.

It would be of course a very quiet wedding, the only guests would be the lawyer, Mr. Treherne, an old family friend, who had undertaken to give the bride away, and Alwyn's best man, a young artist.

As soon as the young couple had partaken of refreshment and Greta had changed her dress, they were to drive round to Galvaston House on their way to the station. The brief fortnight's honeymoon was to be spent at St. Leonards. Mr. Gaythorne had begged that they would not go very far away, and Alwyn had been reluctant to leave his father for a longer time.

Olivia had promised to spend the remainder of the day with Mr. Gaythorne, and, if possible, Marcus was to join them in the evening, but she had another visit to pay on her way to Brunswick Place, so when the brougham came round she drove over in solitary state to Maybrick Villas.

Mrs. Broderick regarded her niece with satisfied eyes. "Why, Livy," she said, admiringly, "I have not seen you look so well since your own wedding-day. Fine feathers make fine birds. You are quite a striking-looking woman. Marcus will be proud of his wife."

"You must not make me vain," returned Olivia, blushing. She was as pleased as a child with her beautiful dress. "Look what Alwyn has given me," and she exhibited a pair of delicate gold bangles. "You cannot think how smart I feel, for that pretty brooch that Marcus gave me the day before we were married was my sole piece of jewelry."

Mrs. Broderick smiled. "I am not much richer than you in that respect, Livy. I never would let Fergus spend his money on trinkets. I told him I was far too ugly, and that I preferred books. There are only two handsome rings to come to you, Livy, when I am gone," but Olivia frowned at this speech. She never could endure to think of anything happening to Aunt Madge.

Marcus was at the church door to meet her, and there was unmistakable approval in his eyes as they stood together for a moment in the porch. And as they walked up the empty church together each was thinking of the day three years ago when they had plighted their troth in this very church.

Greta made a sweet-looking bride, there was a chastened gravity on her fair face, but no tremor as she repeated the solemn responses, but Alwyn was painfully nervous, and looked so pale, that Olivia feared more than once he was ill.

He looked more like himself when the service was over, but that he realised his responsibilities intensely was evident from the few words he said to Olivia while Greta was changing her dress.

"I have not deserved all this, have I, Mrs. Luttrell?" he said, in his impulsive way. "I feel as though coals of fire were heaped upon me. Fancy a sweet girl like Greta consenting to link her lot with mine. How am I to live up to it? but she believes in me, and God bless her. I will try not to disappoint her," and there were tears in the young man's eyes as he said this.

"Good-bye, Olive darling," whispered Greta, as she put her arms affectionately round her friend. "I am glad that we are not to be long away, the dear new home will be quite ready for us," and then she took her husband's arm and the little group of friends watched them as they drove away.

When Olive went to Mr. Gaythorne an hour later she found him looking pleased and excited. "Alwyn is a happy man," he said, "he has got a good wife. Greta has tact as well as heart. She will let him have his own way whenever it is possible, and he will not find out that he is guided. That is what Alwyn's nature needs. I have found that out by bitter experience." And the old man sighed heavily. In spite of his contentment the memory of the past was still painful, and both he and Alwyn would carry their scars to their dying day.

"I am sure you will love Greta dearly," Olivia observed. "She is a little shy and quiet until she gets used to people, but she is so wonderfully gentle."

"Yes, and she was my little Olive's friend. I shall never forget that, but as I told you just now, I have two daughters," and then he laid his hand on Olivia's with one of his rare gestures of affection. "My dear, Alwyn and I were talking last night. I told him that he must be master here, and that he must put his wife in her proper place at once. I shall want little during the few months or years that remain to me. Just my quiet rooms and my children's affection and the society of the one or two friends that remain to me. But Alwyn needs more. He loves society, and to be a successful artist he must mix with his fellow-workers, and rub against other minds. He must go into the world and see and be seen."

"I think you are right," returned Olivia, slowly; she was secretly very much surprised by this speech. She had no idea how much he had brooded over this question.

"Yes," he returned, a little sadly, "I have learnt my lesson at last. Those young lives must not be overshadowed by a sick man's whims. My son must never be able to say again that his father's house was like a jail, and that he felt cramped in body and mind. Sooner than that," with a trace of the old excitement in his manner, "I would rather my weary bones were laid in the earth."

"Dear Mr. Gaythorne," in a soothing voice, "Alwyn loves you far too well ever to say or think such a thing."

"I hope so—I trust so, but I would rather not put his patience to the proof. My boy must be happy, or I can know no peace. 'If you will bring your wife here and stay with your old father I will never interfere with either of you,' that is what I said to him. 'You may turn the house out of window if you like, so that you leave me my two quiet rooms;' but he only laughed in my face. 'We will see about that,' was all he answered, but I shall prove to him that I meant what I said."

"Greta will not care for gaiety this winter. You must remember that she has been used to a very quiet life."

"That is for her and Alwyn to decide," returned Mr. Gaythorne. "Ah, Mrs. Luttrell, my dear, what it will be to me to hear a woman's step about the house again. It will be like music in my ears;" and then he leant back in his chair as though he were exhausted and asked Olivia to read to him.

Later in the evening, as she walked back with Marcus, she told him of this conversation, and then she added,—

"He will be very good to Greta, I am sure of that; his voice softened so when he spoke of her. She is a link with the past, you see. But, Marcus, as he talked he looked so old and broken that I cannot help fearing that they will not have him with them for long."

"Probably not. I have hinted this more than once to Alwyn, and though he always turns it off, I think he understands me. It was his own proposition that they should only be a fortnight away. Now I have two or three patients to see, so you must not wait up for me;" and tired as he was Marcus walked off briskly, whilst Olivia lingered on the doorstep for a moment to look at the stars shining in the dark wintry sky. Alwyn had begged her, as a special favour to him, to pay a daily visit to Galvaston House, so for the next three or four days she found it impossible to go round to Maybrick Villas.

Mr. Gaythorne took her visits as a matter of course. There was always something he wanted to discuss with her. Some fresh arrangement for his daughter-in-law's comfort. One day he consulted her about a brougham that he intended to buy as a surprise.

"I shall get Dr. Luttrell to choose it," he said; "and there is a man I know at Medhurst who will pick me up a pair of chestnuts. My son's wife is a rich woman, and ought to have a pair for her carriage. There is some good stabling to be got just by, and Dr. Luttrell knows a capital coachman who has been thrown out of place by his master's death. In the spring she might have a victoria, but a brougham will be more serviceable at this season of the year when Alwyn takes her to theatres and concerts." And though Olivia smiled, she could not but own that the brougham would be a boon to Greta.

"Then we will see about it at once," he returned, eagerly. "Would you ask your husband to call to-morrow morning if he can spare the time?" And as Olivia took her leave she promised to give the message.

To her surprise she found Marcus reading by the fire; he looked up at her a little gravely as she entered.

"You are rather late, are you not, Livy?" he said, laying down his paper. "Martha brought me some tea, but I waited to speak to you. I shall have to go out again directly."

"Let me give you Mr. Gaythorne's message first. He wants you to go round and speak to him tomorrow morning about a new brougham for Greta. How delighted she and Alwyn will be. Greta is not strong and does not care for walking much in the winter, and she catches cold so easily."

"It is just what Alwyn wished for her. Yes, I will try to run across to-morrow morning, but I have a long day's work before me. Olive, darling, I have rather bad news for you," and here he put his arm round her. "Aunt Madge is ill."

Olivia turned very pale. "Marcus, how did you know? Has Deb sent a message? I hope—oh, I do hope, it is not influenza."

"I fear it is," returned Marcus, reluctantly. "I met Randolph, and he stopped and told me. He was just going there for the second time. He wants to send a nurse in, but Deb was so against it that he did not venture to insist; but I am afraid she is very ill, Livy."

"I must go round at once. Marcus, do you think you can spare me? Martha is very careful; she will look after Dot. But you know"—and here there were hot, smarting tears in Olivia's eyes—"you know what Aunt Madge is to me. I cannot leave her to Deb."

Marcus sighed; he could not bear his wife to run the risk, and yet how could he be selfish enough to deprive Mrs. Broderick of the comfort of having her with her? He knew their deep affection for each other. Aunt Madge was her second mother; few aunts were so fondly beloved.

"I hate you to go, dearest," he said, "and yet I cannot deny that Randolph is very anxious about her. It is the prostration he fears; the fever has been so high these two days."

"She has been ill two whole days, and Deb has never sent for me," and Olivia sobbed in a heart-broken manner.

"My dear girl, you must not lose heart in this way," and Marcus stroked her hair tenderly. "Let me tell you exactly how it was. I went round with Randolph and waited while he paid his visit. Deb came out to speak to me; she is an obstinate, incorrigible, cross-grained old woman, and I told her so. Oh, I spoke my mind to her. She cannot deny that she has been up for three nights, and yet the mention of a nurse throws her into tantrums. 'I have always nursed my mistress, and as long as I can drag about she shall have no strangers to harass her dear soul,' she said, defiantly. Now what are you to do with a woman like that? I asked her why she had not let us know," he went on, "and she confessed that Aunt Madge had made her promise not to send. So you see Deb was not to blame for that."

"No, I see;" and then Olivia looked up in her husband's face pleadingly. "Marcus, dear, you will not forbid my sitting up with Aunt Madge tonight. Deb will not mind me; she knows how Aunt Madge will love to have me. I will be very careful, and do just as you tell me; but I must! I must be with her!" and then very reluctantly Marcus gave his permission.

Martha was interviewed and Dot kissed in her cot, and then Olivia told Marcus she was ready; and they walked to Maybrick Villas almost in silence.

Olivia's heart was too full for speech. If Aunt Madge died, she told herself, the world would never be the same to her again; some of the warmth and the light and the joy of life would have faded out of it. "She is one of my few treasures," she thought. "Marcus and dear baby come first, of course, but Aunt Madge has taken mother's place. All these years she has helped me so with her wise, loving counsel and sympathy."

"While there is life there is hope, Livy," observed Marcus, gently; and his hand touched hers in the darkness.

"Dr. Randolph does not own himself beaten by any means. Do what you can to help Deb, for she is just worn out, the foolish, faithful creature;" and his voice changing, "do not forget me or Dot, and for our sakes take care of yourself," and with these words he opened the little gate and left her to go in alone.



CHAPTER XXIII.

"I HAVE COME TO STAY."

"The dear Lord's best interpreters Are humble human souls; The gospel of a life Is more than books or scrolls."—Whittier.

"Deb, I have come to stay," were Olivia's first words, as the woman met her on the top of the stairs; but Deborah's only answer was to lift her hands in dumb protest and lead the way into the kitchen.

Deb's strong, hard-featured face was haggard and drawn with fatigue and anxiety, and she looked more gaunt and angular than ever: her reddened, swollen eyelids told their own tale.

"I am come to stay," repeated Olivia, firmly; but Deborah only shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the fireplace.

"You won't need to stay long, Miss Olive," she said, in a choked voice—at moments of excitement it was still "Miss Olive" with Deb—"she is failing fast, dear soul; the fever's gone and left her as weak as a new-born babe. I always said my mistress was only fit to be among the angels!" and Deb gave an expressive sniff as she filled her kettle. Olivia felt a dull pain at her heart at this speech, but she would not let herself give way. Deborah, as she knew, always took a gloomy view of her mistress's illnesses.

"Dr. Randolph is coming again to-night," she observed; "my husband told me so;" but Olivia's hand shook as she took off her hat and jacket.

"Yes, Miss Olive, the doctor is coming again, and that speaks for itself, to my mind. I knew what it was four days ago, for she was taken ill the very night after you drove round to see her, but I dare not let you know. 'We won't tell Mrs. Luttrell, or she will be anxious, and will insist on coming to nurse me. Promise me that you will not send to Galvaston Terrace, Deb;' and what was a poor servant to do? I suppose if Dr. Luttrell has sent you you will have to stop, but I won't give up nursing my mistress even to you, Miss Olive," and Deb sniffed defiantly. "There, you may go in while I warm her milk, but she will not take any notice of you. She is too weak to speak."

The folding-doors were open, and the little sitting-room, with its cheery fire, had a cosy aspect, the sick-room was dimly lighted. As Olivia bent over the invalid her heart contracted with anguish. Could only four days have wrought such deadly havoc?

Aunt Madge's face looked pinched and sunken, and so changed that Olivia could hardly recognise it, but, as she hung over her in speechless grief, the heavy eyelids unclosed, and something like a smile passed over the features. "My little Livy" was all she whispered, but it was the old caressing tone.

When Dr. Randolph paid his last visit Olivia begged him to use his influence with Deborah. "She has been up three nights and is utterly worn out," she went on. "I want her to let me watch while she has a good sleep on that couch. I would promise to wake her if I saw the least change. Indeed, I know something of nursing, Dr. Randolph. I was with my dear mother when she died, and I will carry out all your instructions."

"Well, you heard what I said to Mrs. Higgins," returned Dr. Randolph, "that everything depends on frequent nourishment. The fever is down, but there is a state of collapse that makes me uneasy. Mrs. Broderick has a good constitution or she would not have got through her last illness, so I still hope we may pull her through;" but Dr. Randolph's voice was not sanguine as he said this. "Now I will go and have a talk with Mrs. Higgins. I shall tell her that unless she does as she is told to-night I shall bring round a nurse with me to-morrow. I think that will fetch her," and Dr. Randolph was right. Possibly Deb felt herself on the verge of breaking down, for she consented at last to lie down on her mistress's couch for an hour or two, but it was midnight before Olivia found herself in sole charge.

There was very little to be done except to give medicine and nourishment at stated intervals and to make up the two fires as noiselessly as possible, but Olivia felt her responsibilities too acutely to be overcome by drowsiness, though Deborah lay hour after hour in the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion.

Olivia's thoughts went back to her childhood as she sat there. A hundred instances of Aunt Madge's affection and devotion recurred to her. She remembered how the sprightly young aunt used to run up to the nursery with some new toy or gaily-dressed doll that she had purchased out of her scanty savings, for Aunt Madge had been a daily governess, too. She could recall the Sunday afternoons when she sat in her lap and the beautiful voice sang to her or told her stories,—Joseph and his brethren and Daniel in the lions' den,—or on other days dear old fairy stories such as children love. She had been her bridesmaid, too, and had grown very fond of the honest, sturdy Scotchman whom his wife so tenderly idealised.

"Uncle Fergus was a good, kind man," she thought, "but he was not all that Aunt Madge imagined him. Most people would not have called him interesting, but he was devoted to her. What a bright creature she was until little Malcolm died. That was the first of her troubles. What a happy home theirs had been, but it was Aunt Madge who had been the heart of the house, who had organised and planned. Uncle Fergus had never originated anything.

"And she loved him as dearly as I love Marcus," she went on. "And yet when she lost him there was not a murmuring word.

"'I thought it was too good to last,' she once said to me, 'but my widow's cruse will never be empty. I have the sweetest memories, and by-and-by I shall have my treasures again. Do you know I often pray, Livy, that I may not long so much to die? God's will, not mine, even in this.'

"Oh, Aunt Madge, dear Aunt Madge, I cannot spare you yet," murmured Olivia more than once that night, for it is hard for human affection to rid itself of selfishness.

When Olivia brought Deb a cup of tea at seven o'clock, the good creature seemed quite shocked. "To think I have slept all these hours," she said, in a dazed voice.

"Miss Olive, why did you not wake me long ago? You are fit to drop, and what will Dr. Luttrell say?" but Olivia shook her head with a faint smile.

"I will lie down now and get a nap. Deb, I am sure she is no worse; she has taken all Dr. Randolph ordered, and though she has not spoken, she seemed to me a shade less exhausted;" but, though Deb would not endorse this, Olivia felt certain that she was right.

She was sitting at her late breakfast, when Marcus called to see how they had spent the night. And her account evidently relieved him. He waited to hear Dr. Randolph's opinion. Olivia came back to him as soon as possible.

"Oh, Marcus," she said, the tears rushing to her eyes, "Dr. Randolph says that the exhaustion is not quite so great, and he owned frankly that he was afraid last night how he should find her this morning. We are to go on just the same. Everything depends on frequent nourishment; he thinks the heart is a little stronger, but she must not be moved at all. 'We must see what nature and rest will do,' he said to me; 'do not relax your efforts, we are not out of the woods yet.' He is coming again about four."

"Yes, I should not be surprised if she weathered it after all," returned Marcus; "she must have a tough constitution to have gone through all she has. Yesterday I certainly felt anxious, and so did Randolph. We both feared sudden collapse. I worried myself for a long time because I had not offered to sit up with you, Livy, but I have been up two nights already this week, and one has one's work to do;" but Olivia looked quite shocked at this.

"My dear boy, how could you think of such a thing? It would have made me more miserable than I was already; besides, there would have been no room for you, this is such a tiny place. Oh, how I wish Aunt Madge could move into better lodgings; her bedroom is far too small, and that wardrobe quite fills it up. By-the-bye, Marcus, I wish you would tell me what I had better do. May I come home for an hour or two and see baby?"

"I don't know that there would be any risk," he replied, slowly; "you cannot give influenza unless you have it yourself; but, all the same, I would keep away from Dot. She is perfectly well, and sat up in her high-chair pouring out imaginary tea in her wooden set while I had my breakfast, and Martha begged me to tell you 'that the butcher had called, and she had ordered a steak for master, and would make a rice-pudding for Miss Baby.'"

"Very well, then, I will stay; but, Marcus, I shall see you again this evening, shall I not?" and Marcus returned in an emphatic voice that he certainly intended to keep an eye on her.

"I won't have you getting into mischief and knocking yourself up," he remarked, severely. "So be a wise woman, or you will have to reckon with me!"

There was plenty to do that morning, putting things tidy in the sick-room and straightening the sitting-room. In the course of the day some choice flowers came from Galvaston House with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments, and at tea-time Marcus dropped in unexpectedly, and they had a cosy half-hour together in Deb's spotless little kitchen; to her surprise he told Olivia that Dot was at Galvaston House.

"Mrs. Crampton begged to have her, and Mr. Gaythorne thought it would be a good plan, so she fetched her this afternoon. I hope I have done right, Livy;" and Marcus spoke in an apologetic tone, as though he felt that he had trenched on the mother's prerogative; "but, you see, I am so much out, and Martha is so busy, that I thought that we should both be less anxious to know that Mrs. Crampton was looking after her," and Olivia agreed to this.

Olivia had already arranged to take the earlier part of the night in the sick-room, and when Dr. Randolph had paid his evening visit, Deb took possession of the couch again. Olivia had promised faithfully to wake her at three o'clock.

A long afternoon nap had refreshed Olivia, and a few hopeful words from the doctor had cheered her immensely. A little after midnight she was sitting down by the bedside with some knitting to keep her awake, when a movement from the bed made her look up. Aunt Madge's eyes were fixed on her; there was a strange solemnity and deep sadness in their expression, and as Olivia rose hastily and bent over her with a tender inquiry, the feeble voice whispered:

"Don't fret any more, Livy, the Master does not need me yet—not yet," and then scarcely audibly, "I shall not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord," and then it seemed to Olivia that the weary eyelids closed in sleep again.

When her turn for rest came, Olivia felt almost too agitated to sleep; the sad yearning in the sunken eyes haunted her; too well she knew that the fresh gift of life would only be an additional cross laid on the weary shoulders. What was life to Aunt Madge now but suffering and deprivation, a daily stumbling among shadows, as she had once called it.

There was no reserve and hesitation in Dr. Randolph's manner when he came out of the sick-room the next day.

"She has turned the corner now, but it was a narrow squeak," he said, rubbing his hands. "Now, all we have to do is to build up her strength. Your aunt is a wonderful woman, Mrs. Luttrell. I should not wonder if she is good for twenty years yet, but we must be careful still. I suppose you will be here for another day or two? Oh, that's all right," as Olivia gave a decided assent to this. "It would be a pity to knock Mrs. Higgins up. There are not many women like her; she is simply invaluable."

As the days went on the tension of anxiety was visibly relaxed. The invalid's progress was slow but sure. In another day or two Olivia was able to go home for an hour or two to have dinner with Marcus and give Martha directions; but while the night-work continued it was impossible for her to leave. And it was arranged that Dot was to remain at Galvaston House for the present.

Greta had written to beg for an extension of her visit. "She is such a darling, and I shall be so delighted to have her," she wrote. "She will not be at all in the way," and indeed Dot ruled royally over the household.

She and Mr. Gaythorne became great friends. "Great dada," as she called him, took a good deal of notice of the pretty, golden-haired child who played at his feet for hours, and Eros was devoted to her.

Alwyn's first work when he returned was to paint a large picture of Dot in her cream-coloured smock, hanging a withered garland round the neck of the blind hound.

"Friends" he called it.

Olivia was able to spend an hour or two at Galvaston House the day after the young couple returned.

She found them in the studio with Dot and Eros. Alwyn was looking well and handsome, and Greta's sweet face wore an expression of gentle content. She carried Olivia off at once to the morning-room to have a chat, as she said, looking archly at her husband. And though Alwyn professed to grumble at the desertion, he was too busy stretching his canvas for the new picture to resent it.

"Let me know when tea is ready," he called after them, and then they heard him whistling in his usual light-hearted fashion.

"I need not ask you if you are happy, Greta," were Olivia's first words, and then a charming blush crossed the young bride's face.

"No, indeed! Oh, Olive, he is so good to me; if you only knew how he studies all my wishes. It was like a dream yesterday coming to this beautiful home. And then Mr. Gaythorne's delight at getting his son back. Oh, it was so touching to see them together. Alwyn wants me to call him 'Father,'" she continued, shyly. "He says it will please him so, so I must try to do it. You know I always called my own father dad. Now tell me about dear Mrs. Broderick. Poor Olive, what a time you have had; and you are looking so pale and tired." And then Olive poured out her anxieties and past troubles into Greta's sympathising ears.

"She is very weak still," she finished. "Dr. Randolph thinks it will be some time before she will be able to leave her bed. I have found such a nice woman who will come in and help Deb, for of course I cannot leave Marcus any longer. I am to go home the day after to-morrow. Deb will sleep on the couch in the sitting-room. She will have to give nourishment every two hours, but Deb manages to sleep with one eye open, as I tell her. I am to go for a couple of hours every afternoon, that will allow her to have a little rest. Marcus thinks this will work excellently. Oh, how glad I shall be to be at home again and look after him!"

"You want looking after yourself, dear," returned Greta, affectionately. And then Alwyn came into the room with Dot on his shoulder, but she clamoured to go to her mammy.

"How do you think Mrs. Alwyn Gaythorne looks?" asked Alwyn, mischievously. "She does me credit, does she not? By-the-bye, Greta, do you think father will like us to have coffee with him in the library this afternoon?"

"I told Phoebe that we would have it up here; shall I go and ask him, Alwyn?"

"Do, love; the attention will please him, and I am sure Mrs. Luttrell will not mind." Then as Greta left the room, he turned to Olivia and said in a tone of deep feeling,—

"She looks well and happy, don't you think so? Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, every day I feel more what a treasure I have. She is an embodied sunbeam. I never knew anyone so gentle and yet so bright. How my father will love her when he knows her better." And then, as his wife's step sounded in the corridor, he sprang from his seat to open the door.



CHAPTER XXIV.

"NOT YET."

"But here I bring within my trembling hand, This will of mine, a thing that seemeth small, And Thou alone, O Lord, can understand, How when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all."—Anon.

It was some time before Aunt Madge could be lifted on to the couch in the sitting-room, and even then Deb declared that she was not the weight of a child of eight or nine.

"There is nothing of her, Miss Olive," she grumbled. "She is worn to such a shadow. Tire my arms, indeed—I could lift a heavier weight than that," and Deb gave one of her ominous sniffs, and went off to her kitchen to shed a few tears in private.

All those weeks Olivia had been unremitting in her attentions, and all other visits were interdicted; but the friends at Galvaston House showed their sympathy in every possible way. Mr. Gaythorne sent choice old wine and game, and Greta and Alwyn kept the invalid supplied with fruit and flowers. Mrs. Crampton made jellies and soups, the little larder at Mayfield Villas was filled to overflowing. Mrs. Broderick took it all gratefully, and gave her nurses no trouble. "I am under orders," she would say, with a pitiful attempt at her old drollery; but only Olivia, who loved and understood her, ever guessed at the sadness of those days of convalescence.

One evening, as they were together in the twilight, Olivia ventured to hint at this depression; she was waiting for Marcus to come and fetch her, for they were to dine at Galvaston House.

"Is it because you are too weak to feel cheerful, dear Aunt Madge?" she asked, tenderly; but Mrs. Broderick shook her head.

"It is because I am a coward," she returned, with a spirit of her old energy. "Ah, Livy, I am ashamed to tell you what a coward I have been; but I simply felt as though I could not face it. Let me explain myself; I feel strong enough to talk, and it may do me good. Dear child, dearest Livy," stroking her hand, "you have been such a comfort to me! Do you remember that night when I told you I was not going to die? Well, I had had a wonderful dream, a vision rather, for I shall always think it one. I thought that I was wandering in some strange place, some vast emptiness where there was nothing human but myself, and that I came suddenly to a wide arched portal that seemed to reach to the stars, and I said to myself, 'this is the Gate of Paradise.' As I stood on the threshold I could see a green space like a valley bathed in sunlight, and I even noticed the white starry flowers growing everywhere, and then I saw my dear Fergus, looking just as he did in life, only somehow with a grander and more peaceful look on his dear face, and he was leading our little Malcolm by the hand. I thought I kissed them both, and clung to them in a perfect ecstasy of joy, but Fergus looked at me in such a tender solemn way. 'Not yet, Madge,' he said, 'your work is not quite done yet; the Master has sent me to tell you so; be patient, true heart. When the time comes, Malcolm and I will be here.' And then I felt myself falling, and when I opened my eyes I saw you sitting there by the bedside."

"What a sweet dream, dearest!"

"Yes, I am beginning to feel the comfort of it now; but that night I felt as though my heart were broken to be so near and then to have to go back; but, Livy, I am trying to say it—'Thy will, not mine, be done.' God's will—not ours; surely our Father knows what is best for His poor child."

"And you are not unhappy?"

"Only a little sad and tired, but that will pass, it is passing now," and the old lovely smile came to her lips. "Don't you recollect what Keble says,—

"''Tis sweet as year by year we lose Friends out of sight, in faith to muse How grows in Paradise our store.'

"What are a few more years of loneliness when Fergus and I have eternity to spend together. There, I hear Marcus's knock; he will scold me for making you look sad."

But Aunt Madge was wrong, for once in his life Marcus was too preoccupied to notice the signs of agitation on his wife's face.

"What do you think, dear people," he said, brightly, when he had greeted the invalid. "Dr. Bevan and I have settled matters; he will have the deed of partnership drawn up at once. Nothing can be fairer or more liberal than his terms. I told him I had only half-a-dozen paying patients at present, but he said that I should soon have more. We have turned the corner, Livy, and my wife shall walk in silk attire yet," and Marcus flung back his head with a gesture of pride and importance.

"My dear laddie, I congratulate you with all my heart," returned Aunt Madge, affectionately, as she grasped his hands. "Livy looks quite dazed, and no wonder," and then a warm flush came to Olivia's cheek.

"Dear Marcus, I am so glad, so thankful," she whispered.

"Yes, but it will be uphill work at first," he returned, "and I shall have plenty to do. Bevan is not the man he was, Randolph does not seem satisfied about him; but he will pick up when the warm weather comes. Oh, by-the-bye, Livy, I have not told you half yet. Bevan insists on our moving at once; he wants me to take a good house, either in Brunswick Place or Montague Square, or one of those roads leading out of it; it is well that we have that nest egg, the five hundred pounds untouched, it will pay for the necessary furniture, and the first year's rent will be assured."

"Yes, indeed," returned Olivia, in a low voice; she was awed and overwhelmed by this unexpected good fortune; but Marcus would not allow any more talking; his professional eyes had already noted the signs of weariness and exhaustion in the invalid.

"We must go now," he said, abruptly. "We will talk over details another time; it is no use giving Aunt Madge a bad night," and then Olivia rose reluctantly and put on her wraps.

"I shall come to-morrow afternoon and tell you everything," she said, and Mrs. Broderick nodded and smiled.

But as they slipped out into the wintry darkness and Olivia took her husband's arm, she said, with a little laugh,—

"I am so glad I have put on my wedding-dress to-night. I ought to be smart for such an occasion. This is our first dinner-party since we have been married."

"Then it won't be our last," returned Marcus, in a tone of conviction. "I wonder, Livy, whether we shall ever regret those cosy evenings in the dear little room at No. 1, Galvaston Terrace," but Olivia only sighed happily. She was too good a wife to regret anything that led to her husband's advancement. Very likely her cares and responsibilities would be doubled. She would have less of Marcus's society, and the world would have claims upon them. The long three years' honeymoon was over, but, thank God, something else was over too,—the dread of approaching poverty, the sadness of unproductive labour, of work done only for love's sake and without grudging.

The following afternoon Mrs. Broderick lay tranquilly in the pleasant fire-lit twilight, awaiting Olivia's promised visit.

A pine log was spluttering and diffusing tiny coloured sparks. Zoe lay curled up in a silken ball on the black bearskin rug, and Olivia's favourite low chair had been wheeled to the foot of the couch, the tea-things were on the table, and the brass trivet on the fender was suggestive of hot buttered scones.

"Oh, Aunt Madge, how cosy you look," were Olivia's first words. "May I take off my hat and jacket? I am going to stay a long time, and Marcus hopes to come round presently."

"Then we will wait tea for him," returned Aunt Madge, with something like her old briskness.

"Will you tell Deb not to bring in the kettle and scones until we ring? Come, this is like old times. It is months since Marcus had tea with me. Now draw up your chair, Livy, and begin your story, for you are just bursting with news," and, though Olivia laughed at this, she did not deny it.

"We had such a lovely time last night," she began. "Greta looked so pretty in her black evening dress at the top of the table. She wore the pearl necklace and Olive's diamond cross. She has such a beautiful white throat the pearls hardly showed against it Mr. Gaythorne came in to dinner and sat beside her, but he was very tired and left us directly after, and we all went up to Greta's morning-room and sat round the fire talking, just we four. It was so nice and cosy."

"I suppose Mr. Gaythorne was told the grand news?"

"Oh dear, yes. He and Alwyn were so keen about it. They drank the health of Dr. Bevan's new partner. Mr. Gaythorne proposed the toast himself. Just as we left the dining-room I noticed that Greta detained Alwyn, and they did not follow upstairs for quite a quarter of an hour, but of course Marcus and I took no notice. They both looked a little bit excited when they came in. Greta gave my arm a funny little squeeze, and Alwyn cleared his throat and looked at Marcus, and then said in such a serious voice that he had an important proposal to make to us. It was Greta's idea, but he heartily approved of it. The house at Brunswick Place was waiting for a tenant. Why should not Marcus take it? It was to be let furnished. They had decided on that already, so there would be no delay or fuss necessary. 'You might go in next week,' he finished. 'The rooms only need airing and warming.'"

"My dear Livy, what a splendid idea. Three cheers for Greta, I say."

"Yes, it was all Greta's thought; but oh, Aunt Madge, what a talk we had. First, the terms that Alwyn proposed were so absurdly low that Marcus got quite red and said in almost an annoyed tone—you know how proud he is—that he must decline living at other people's expense. He would pay a fair rent for the house or he would not have it at all. And then Alwyn patted him on the back and told him to keep calm, for no one wanted to insult him, and then they went on wrangling like two schoolboys. Marcus called Alwyn a stuck-up millionaire, and Alwyn retorted by telling him that he was as proud as a Highlander, and then Greta and I called them to order, but we were laughing so that we could hardly speak."

"How I should have loved to hear them. Marcus is so delicious when he gets on his high horse."

"Well, it was arranged at last to everybody's satisfaction, though Alwyn went on grumbling for a long time, and we are to move in next month. Marcus is to pay the full rent, and there is to be a fixed sum paid quarterly for the furniture, and at the end of two years it will be ours. They both thought this the best plan. You see, expenses will be heavy the first year, and we must not look for great profits. But there is every reasonable hope, as Marcus says, if he keeps his health, that in a year or two he may have a good practice. There is room for another doctor; even Dr. Randolph says so."

"Well, Livy dear, I can only congratulate you."

"Yes, indeed; Greta and I have been in Brunswick Place all the morning planning things. Oh, Aunt Madge, it is such a lovely house. The dining-room and drawing-room are such handsome rooms, and there is such a study for Marcus. It is too large for us, of course." And then Olivia stopped and her eyes grew very wistful.

"Aunt Madge, dear Aunt Madge, we want you and Deb to go with us. I have set my heart on it, darling, and Marcus wants it too. Don't get pale over it," as Mrs. Broderick gave a little gasp. "Listen to me a moment," and Olivia knelt by the couch and put her arms round her.

"There is Greta's morning-room on the first floor, it is such a large, cheerful room, with a bay-window overlooking the nice, old-fashioned garden, where you could lie and look out on the trees and flowers; here you see nothing but the four walls. Greta's bedroom is next to it; you would have that, too; it is a pleasant front room, very large and airy, and so nicely furnished, and my room would be just opposite. Deb could have the room just at the top of a short flight of stairs; it looks on the garden, too, and she could sit there and do her sewing. There are three or four other rooms besides attics, but they have not been used, so you can judge what a good house it is. Aunt Madge, do say you will come. It will make us so happy to know you are safe under our roof. Think what it would be to me to have you at hand in all my little difficulties. And you shall not be troubled; you shall live your old life, and Deb will have nothing to do but take care of you." But Aunt Madge made no answer, only a curiously sweet smite played round her lips.

"I should be no expense to you," she observed presently, in a reflective tone. "I might even be able to help a little. By-the-bye, Livy, how many servants do you propose to keep in this palatial mansion?"

"I am afraid we can only afford two good ones at present. That is my difficulty, Aunt Madge. What am I to do with Martha? She is certainly not eligible for a house-parlourmaid."

"Keep her as Dot's nurse, and I will pay her wages. Yes, I mean it, Livy. In a year or two with careful training that girl will be worth her weight in gold. She will be a second Deb to you in time. Oh, that is Marcus, and we have not finished."

"Well, are you coming to us, Aunt Madge?" were Marcus's first words as he entered the room. There was unmistakable eagerness in his tone. "If you do not want Livy to cry out her eyes with disappointment, and if I am to have a peaceful moment for the next six months, I entreat you to consent."

"Am I likely to refuse, Marcus?" But Aunt Madge's voice was not so clear as usual. "Don't you think that I shall love to have you and Livy caring for me? so it is 'yes,' and God bless you both." And a slow tear rolled down Aunt Madge's pale face.

Marcus and Olivia never repented that step. As the years went on and other children's voices were heard in the house at Brunswick Place, when three sturdy, boys climbed up on Dr. Luttrell's knees, and two small, brown-eyed girls toddled after mother, Aunt Madge's room was the heart and nucleus of the busy household.

There would come Marcus for a greeting word and a jest before he set off on his day's round, and there Olivia would betake herself for a rest and a chat. When her household tasks had been despatched, she seldom found Aunt Madge alone; Nigel or Hugh would have brought her their kites to mend, or to beg that Deb would make them new sails for their boat, and, of course, where Nigel went, fat, sturdy Ronald followed.

Or the twins would be playing with their Japanese babies on the carpet, or rolling over each other and Zoe (not the same Zoe, alas!) like kittens. But the most frequent visitor was Dot, dimpled and winsome as ever.

Olivia had verified Aunt Madge's words. She had grown a little stouter and more matronly, and had become a fine-looking woman, but the eyes were as frank and kindly as ever, and one only needed to look at her to find out that she was thoroughly in harmony with her environment.

And Madge Broderick was happy, although the years of her widowhood and banishment stretched out indefinitely.

"You will make an old woman yet," Dr. Randolph often told her, but she had ceased to wince when he said it as though a cold hand had struck her.

And year by year a deep peacefulness steals over the dear face, and the ring of cheerfulness in the full, mellow voice grows stronger. "I have two lovely homes, Livy," she would say. "One here with you and Marcus and the darling children, and one in the 'many mansions,' where Fergus and baby boy wait for me." And as she said this a radiant smile would light her features like sunshine.

THE END