here.'
The first greeting was left exclusively to Lady Martindale. When John's attention was again at liberty, Violet was standing by her husband, saying, with a sweet smile of playful complaint, 'And you have shown him all the children and I was not there!'
'Never mind. They will show off much better with you, you jealous woman. What does John think to hear you scolding?'
'Has he seen all the children?' said Lady Martindale, taking up the note. 'Oh! what is Mr. Fotheringham doing with Helen and Annie? It is very dangerous!'
And Lady Martindale hastened to watch over the little girls, who, of course, were anything but grateful for her care, while Violet was asking John about his voyage, and inquiring after the interests he had left in Barbuda.
The first sight of her was a shock. The fragile roses that had dwelt on his imagination had faded away, and she was now, indeed, a beautiful woman,--but not the creature of smiles and tears whom he remembered. The pensive expression, the stamp of anxiety, and the traces of long-continued over-exertion, were visible enough to prove to him that his fears had been fulfilled, and that she had suffered too deeply ever to return to what she had once been.
Yet never had John so enjoyed an arrival, nor felt so thoroughly at home, as when his father had joined them, full of quiet and heartfelt gladness. Stiffness and formality seemed to have vanished with the state rooms; and there was no longer the circle on company terms, for Lady Martindale herself was almost easy, and Theodora's words, though few, were devoid of the sullen dignity of old times. Violet's timidity, too, was gone, and the agitated wistful glances she used to steal towards her husband, had now become looks of perfect, confiding, yet fostering affection. John saw her appealed to, consulted, and put forward as important to each and all of the family party, as if every one of them depended on her as he had been wont to do, while she still looked as retiring as ever, and taken up by watching that the children behaved well.
The occupation of the evening was the looking over plans for the new house. Lord Martindale had them all ready, and John soon perceived that his father's wishes were that he should prefer those which most nearly reproduced the original building, pulled down to please Mrs. Nesbit. Lady Martindale had surprised them by making from memory a beautiful sketch of the former house; and her husband, to whom each line produced a fresh hoard of reminiscences, was almost disappointed that John's recollection did not go back far enough to recognize the likeness, though he was obliged to confess that not a wall of it was standing when he was two years old.
The general vote was, of course, that Old Martindale should be renewed,--and it was to be begun--when?
'When ways and means are found,' said Lord Martindale. 'We must talk over that another time, John.'
John, as he bade Theodora good night, murmured thanks for the safety of all the properties which he had been surprised to find in the room prepared for him. Her eyes were liquid as she faltered her answer.
'O, John, it was such a pleasure! How much you have to forgive! How right you were, and how wrong I was!'
'Hush! not now,' said John, kindly.
'Yes, now, I cannot look at you till I have said it. I have felt the truth of every word you said, and I beg your pardon for all that has passed.'
He pressed her hand in answer, saying, 'It was my fault. But all is well now, and you know how I rejoice.'
'Everything is everybody's fault,' said Percy, joining him; 'but we must not stop to battle the point, or Mr. Hugh Martindale's housekeeper will be irate. Good night, Theodora.'
Percy and John were quartered at the Vicarage, and walked thither, at first in silence, till the former said, 'Well, what do you think of it?'
'The best coming home I ever had, and the most surprising. I have seen so much that is unexpected, that I don't know how to realize it.'
'Heartsease,' was Percy's brief reply.
'Violet? You don't mean it!'
'The history of these years is this,' said Percy, making an emphatic mark on the gravel with his stick. 'Every one else has acted, more or less, idiotically. She has gone about softening, healing, guarding, stirring up the saving part of each one's disposition. If, as she avers, you and Helen formed her, you gave a blessing to all of us.'
'How can this be? No one has spoken of her power.'
'It is too feminine to be recognized. When you talk to the others you will see I am right. I will speak for myself. I verily believe that but for her I should have been by this time an unbearable disappointed misanthrope.'
'A likely subject,' said John, laughing.
'You cannot estimate the shock our rupture gave me, nor tell how I tried to say 'don't care,' and never saw my savage spite till her gentle rebuke showed it to me. Her rectitude and unselfishness kept up my faith in woman, and saved me from souring and hardening. On the other hand, her firmness won Theodora's respect, her softness, her affection. She led where I drove, acted the sun where I acted Boreas; and it is she who has restored us to each other.'
'Highly as I esteemed Violet, I little thought to hear this! My father wrote that he regretted Theodora's having been left to one so little capable of controlling her.'
'Lord Martindale is a very good man, but he has no more discrimination of character than my old cat!' cried Percy. 'I beg your pardon, John, but the fact was patent. Mrs. Martindale is the only person who has ever been a match for Theodora. She conquered her, made her proud to submit, and then handed her over to the lawful authorities. If Lord Martindale has an unrivalled daughter, he ought to know whom to thank for it.'
'I hope he appreciates Violet.'
'In a sort he does. He fully appreciates her in her primary vocation, as who would not, who had watched her last winter, and who sees what she has made her husband.'
'Then you are satisfied about Arthur?'
'Better than I ever thought to be.'
'And, Percy, what is this that he tells me of your having rescued him at your own expense?'
'Has he told you all that?' exclaimed Percy.
'He wished me to know it in case of his death.'
'I could not help it, John,' said Percy, in apology. 'If you had seen her and her babies, and had to leave him in that condition on her hands, you would have seen there was nothing for it but to throw a sop to the hounds, so that at least they might leave him to die in peace.'
'It saved him! But why did you object to my father's hearing of it?'
'Because I knew he would dislike any sense of obligation, and that he could not conveniently pay it off. Besides, we had to keep Arthur's mouth shut out of consideration for the blood-vessel, so I told him to let it rest till you should come. I fancy we have all been watching for you as a sort of 'Deus ex Machina' to clear up the last act of the drama, though how you are to do so, I cannot conceive.'
The next day was Sunday, almost the first truly homelike Sunday of John's life. Not only was there the churchgoing among friends and kindred after long separation, but the whole family walked thither together, as John had never known them do before; and with his mother on his arm, his little godson holding Lord Martindale's hand, Helen skipping between her father and mother, Theodora gentle and subdued, it seemed as if now, for the first time, they had become a household of the same mind.
It was one of the most brilliant days of summer--a cloudless sky of deep blue sunshine, in which the trees seemed to bask, and the air, though too fresh to be sultry, disposing to inaction. After the second service, there was a lingering on the lawn, and desultory talk about the contrast to the West Indian Sundays, and the black woolly- headed congregation responding and singing so heartily, and so uncontrollably gay and merry.
At length, when Johnnie and Helen, who had an insatiable appetite for picaninny stories, had been summoned to supper, John and Violet found that the rest of their companions had dispersed, and that they were alone.
'I told you that Fanshawe came home with me,' said John. 'The new arrangements have increased his income;' then, as Violet looked up eagerly and hopefully,--'he made me a confidence, at which I see you guess.'
'I only hope mamma will not be anxious about the climate. I must tell her how well it has agreed with you.'
'I am glad that you think there are hopes for him. It has been a long attachment, but he thought it wrong to engage her affections while he had no prospect of being able to marry.'
'It is what we guessed!' said Violet. 'Dear Annette! If he is what I remember him, she must be happy.'
