‘That’s the question,’ said Ethel. ‘It never goes out, yet is to be met everywhere, just over-persuaded at the last moment. Now Flora, you will see, will think it absolutely improper to ask her; and she will be greatly disappointed not to have the chance of refusing, and then yielding at the last minute.’
‘Flora must have her,’ said Harry.
‘I trust not,’ said Blanche, shrinking.
‘Flora will not ask her,’ said Tom, ‘but she will be there.’
‘And will dance with me,’ said Harry.
‘No, with Richard,’ said Tom.
‘What!’ said Richard, looking up at the sound of his name. All laughed, but were ashamed to explain, and were relieved that their father rang the bell.
‘At that unhappy skein still, Mary?’ said Mrs. Ernescliffe, as the good nights were passing. ‘What a horrid state it is in!’
‘I shall do it in time,’ said Mary, ‘when there is nothing to distract my attention. I only hope I shall not hurt it for you.’
‘Chuck it into the fire at once; it is not worth the trouble,’ said Hector.
Each had a word of advice, but Mary held her purpose, and persevered till all had left the room except Richard, who quietly took the crimson tangle on his wrists, turned and twisted, opened passages for the winder, and by the magic of his dexterous hands, had found the clue to the maze, so that all was proceeding well, though slowly, when the study door opened, and Harry’s voice was heard in a last good night to his father. Mary’s eyes looked wistful, and one misdirection of her winder tightened an obdurate loop once more.
‘Run after Harry,’ said Richard, taking possession of the ivory. ‘Good night; I can always do these things best alone. I had rather—yes, really—good night:’ and his kiss had the elder brother’s authority of dismissal.
His Maimouna was too glad and grateful for more than a summary ‘Thank you,’ and flew up-stairs in time to find Harry turning, baffled, from her empty room. ‘What, only just done that interminable yarn?’ he said.
‘Richard is doing it. I could not help letting him, this first evening of you.’
‘Good old Richard! he is not a bit altered since I first went to sea, when I was so proud of that,’ said Harry, taking up his midshipman’s dirk, which formed a trophy on Mary’s mantelshelf.
‘Are we altered since you went last?’ said Mary.
‘The younger ones, of course. I was in hopes that Aubrey would have been more like old June, but he’ll never be so much of a fellow.’
‘He is a very dear good boy,’ said Mary, warmly.
‘Of course he is,’ said Harry, ‘but, somehow, he will always have a woman-bred way about him. Can’t be helped, of course; but what a pair of swells Tom and Blanche are come out!’ and he laughed good-naturedly.
‘Is not Blanche a beautiful dear darling?’ cried Mary, eagerly. ‘It is so nice to have her. They could not come at first because of the infection, and then because of the rifle corps, and now it is delicious to have all at home.’
‘Well, Molly, I’m glad it wasn’t you that have married. Mind, you mustn’t marry till I do.’
And Harry was really glad that Mary’s laugh was perfectly ‘fancy free,’ as she answered, ‘I’m sure I hope not, but I won’t promise, because that might be unreasonable, you know.’
‘Oh, you prudent, provident Polly! But,’ added Harry, recalled to a sense of time by a clock striking eleven, ‘I came to bring you something, Mary. You shall have it, if you will give me another.’
Mary recognized, with some difficulty, a Prayer-Book with limp covers that Margaret had given him after his first voyage. Not only was it worn by seven years’ use, but it was soiled and stained with dark brownish red, and a straight round hole perforated it from cover to cover.
‘Is it too bad to keep?’ said Harry. ‘Let me just cut out my name in Margaret’s hand, and the verse of the 107th Psalm; luckily the ball missed that.’
‘The ball?’ said Mary, beginning to understand.
‘Yes. Every one of those circles that you see cut out there, was in here,’ said Harry, laying his hand over his chest, ‘before the ball, which I have given to my father.’
‘O, Harry!’ was all Mary could say, pointing to her own name in a pencil scrawl on the fly-leaf.
‘Yes, I set that down because I could not speak to tell what was to be done with it, when we didn’t know that that book had really been the saving of my life. That hair’s-breadth deviation of the bullet made all the difference.’
Mary was kissing the blood-stained book, and sobbing.
‘Why, Mary, what is there to cry for? It is all over now, I tell you. I am as well as man would wish, and there’s no more about it but to thank God, and try to deserve His goodness.’
‘Yes, yes, I know, Harry; but to think how little we knew, or thought, or felt—going on in our own way when you were in such danger and suffering!’
‘Wasn’t I very glad you were going on in your own way!’ said Harry. ‘Why, Mary, it was that which did it—it has been always that thought of you at the Minster every day, that kept me to reading the Psalms, and so having the book about me. And did not it do one good to lie and think of the snug room, and my father’s spectacles, and all as usual? When they used to lay me on the deck of the Dexter at night, because I could not breathe below, I used to watch old Orion, who was my great friend in the Loyalty Isles, and wish the heathen name had not stuck to the old fellow, he always seemed so like the Christian warrior, climbing up with his shield before him and his. A home like this is a shield to a man in more ways than one, Mary. Hollo, was that the street door?’
‘Yes; Ritchie going home. Fancy his being at the silk all this time! I am so sorry!’
