Part 97 (1/2)
”Perfectly. The Church has been a true mother to me. But--you are of the Faith, are you not?”
”I hope so, although there are slight differences between our Churches; slight, but rendered greater than they need be,” answered Lilian, gently.
”Ah, I thought you belonged to us. Some day, perhaps, you may be vouchsafed more light--you and he. And now, you say he has another name--not Lidwell. What is it?”
”His real name is Arthur Claverton. I never heard of the other name until--the time I told you of.”
”Whatever his real name is, its owner has always been in my prayers.
Now I shall add yours. What is it?”
Lilian told her.
”It is a pretty name, and suits you well. And you--you are worthy of him, and will make him happy. G.o.d keep you both!”
”Ah, Sister, you have, indeed, come among us as an angel unawares!”
exclaimed Lilian. ”But a few days sooner, and so many days of frightful anguish might have been spared us.”
”I rejoice that I have been the poor means of restoring your happiness--_his_ happiness. Still it may be that even those few days of suffering to which you refer, are for some wise purpose--for the good of you both. And now tell me something more about him; I can think of him with a clear conscience, for I have found my vocation. I could even meet him again, but it is better not; and by to-morrow at this time, I shall be far away. And you--you will tell him that I obeyed his last injunction, will you not? He will, perhaps, like to know that.”
Lilian fervently promised to do this. She would even have suggested a meeting between them; but, apart from the other's vocation, she was in ignorance as to how the rule of her order bore upon a matter of the kind, and was shy to urge it. And the two women sat and talked long and earnestly of him whose presence should make the life of one, and whose memory had protected and hallowed that of the other, until the sound of Annie Payne's voice in the next room, in converse with a stranger, reminded them that time was flying rather rapidly, for it was nearly evening.
The stranger was a nun from the convent, who had come to look after the invalid and to see her safe home--a cheery, bright-mannered Irishwoman, who was profuse in her appreciation of the care they had taken of her colleague. Then they took their leave.
”You have brought perfect peace to one in this house, at any rate, Sister,” said Lilian, as she bade her charge farewell.
”Peace be upon all within it--and especially upon you,” murmured the other, tenderly returning her embrace. And Lilian, too happy for words, stood watching them depart homewards. All was clear and bright before her now, and how unexpectedly it had all come about!
But surprises were not at an end for that day. While the two ladies were still talking over their late guest, the tri-weekly newspaper was left at the door, and in it a telegraphic slip containing the tidings of Truscott's death. Just a bare statement of the fact that he had been shot by the Kafirs, and would be buried that day. No details of any kind.
Lilian was thunderstruck. All the agony which he had inflicted on her there in that very room; the cruel voice gloating over her fears while vowing vengeance on him she loved; the brutal words decreeing their separation, as fiend-like he mocked at her despair; all rose up before her now. Then she shuddered, for was she not perilously near rejoicing over a fellow-creature's death?
”It's very shocking, isn't it?” she said, in awestruck tones.
”Yes, dear, it is. But in war-time, you know, we must expect these dreadful things to happen. Oh dear--oh dear--but I wish it was all over and we were at peace again. Shall we ever be? And now there's George must needs go racketing off to the front, and--” She stopped in dire confusion, remembering the cause of her spouse's speedy departure. But Lilian's arms were around her neck.
”Dear Annie. It was very good and n.o.ble of him to go, and I for one owe him a debt which I can never repay.”
”Not a bit of it, Lilian,” was the cheery reply, though the speaker did half turn away her head to conceal a tear. ”Don't you think anything of the sort. The rascal would have gone anyhow, for he was tired of staying quietly at home. You remember what he said the other day when he didn't know I was by. He only made a pretext of poor Arthur's predicament, for you'll see that now he's got him out of it he won't come back--no, not for the next two months.”
”Indeed!” said a third voice, making them both start as if they had been shot.
A man stood in the doorway, contemplating them with a satirical grin.
”Goodness gracious!” cried Annie, with a little shriek. ”Why, it's George himself.”
”Well, and what if it is?” retorted that worthy, quizzically, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe against the door-post. ”Mayn't a fellow walk into his own house, or rather into old Sievers'--infernal old skinflint that he is--hasn't had that chimney put right yet!” And thus, characteristically, George Payne effected his return to the bosom of his family as if he had never left that desirable ark.
”Oh, George, how I maligned you!” cried his wife, penitently. ”I made sure you wouldn't be back for a couple of months at least. Once up there I thought you'd stay, and go getting yourself a.s.segaied most likely.”
”Sorry to disappoint you, my dear. But, the fact is, Johnny Kafir's beginning to have about enough, and is skulking away in the Perie; when he hasn't surrendered already, as is the case up Queenstown way.