'Poor dear!' exclaimed nurse, sounding her tongue on the roof of her mouth. 'She'll never abear it without her papa. Wait for him, I should say. But bless me, Miss Mary, to see you go on like that, when Master Harry is come back such a bonny man!'
'I'm better now,' said Mary, with an effort. 'Oh, Harry! speak to me again.'
'But Margaret!' said Ethel, while the brother was holding Mary in his embrace, and she lay tremulous with the new ecstasy upon his breast-- 'but Margaret. Nurse, you must go up, or she will suspect. I'll come when I can; speak quietly. Oh! poor Margaret! If Richard would but come in!'
Ethel walked up and down the room, divided between a tumult of joy, grief, dread, and perplexity. At that moment a little voice said at the door, 'Please, Margaret wants Harry to come up directly.'
They looked one upon another in consternation. They had never thought of the child, who, of course, had flown up at once with the tidings.
'Go up, Miss Ethel,' said nurse.
'Oh! nurse, I can't be the first. Come, Harry, come.'
Hand-in-hand, they silently ascended the stairs, and Ethel pushed open the door. Margaret was on her couch, her whole form and face in one throb of expectation.
She looked into Harry's face--the eagerness flitted like sunshine on the hillside, before a cloud, and, without a word, she held out her arms.
He threw himself on his knees, and her fingers were clasped among his thick curls, while his frame heaved with suppressed sobs, 'Oh, if he could only have come back to you.'
'Thank God,' she said; then slightly pushing him back, she lay holding his hand in one of hers, and resting the other on his shoulder, and gazing in silence into his face. Each was still--she was gathering strength--he dreaded word or look.
'Tell me how and where;' she said at last.
'It was in the Loyalty Isles; it was fever--the exertions for us. His head was lying here,' and he pointed to his own breast. 'He sent his love to you--he bade me tell you there would be meeting by and by, in the haven where he would be. --I laid his head in the grave-- under the great palm--I said some of the prayers--there are Christians round it.'
He said this in short disconnected phrases, often pausing to gather voice, but forced to resume, by her inquiring looks and pressure of his hand.
She asked no more. 'Kiss me,' she said, and when he had done so, 'Thank you, go down, please, all of you. You have brought great relief. Thank you. But I can't talk yet. You shall tell me the rest by and by.'
She sent them all away, even Ethel, who would have lingered.
'Go to him, dearest. Let me be alone. Don't be uneasy. This is peace--but go.'
Ethel found Mary and Harry interlaced into one moving figure, and Harry greedily asking for his father and Norman, as if famishing for the sight of them. He wanted to set out to seek the former in the town, but his movements were too uncertain, and the girls clung to the newly-found, as if they could not trust him away from them. They wandered about, speaking, all three at random, without power of attending to the answers. It was enough to see him, and touch him; they could not yet care where he had been.
Dr. May was in the midst of them ere they were aware. One look, and he flung his arms round his son, but, suddenly letting him go, he hurst away, and banged his study door. Harry would have followed.
'No, don't,' said Ethel; then, seeing him disappointed, she came nearer, and murmured, ''He entered into his chamber and--''
Harry silenced her with another embrace, but their father was with them again, to verify that he had really seen his boy, and ask, alas! whether Alan were with Margaret. The brief sad answer sent him to see how it was with her. She would not let him stay; she said it was infinite comfort, and joy was coming, but she would rather be still, and not come down till evening.
Perhaps others would fain have been still, could they have borne an instant's deprivation of the sight of their dear sailor, while greetings came thickly on him. The children burst in, having heard a report in the town, and Dr. Spencer waited at the door for the confirmation; but when Ethel would have flown out to him, he waved his hand, shut the door, and hurried away, as if a word to her would have been an intrusion.
The brothers had been summoned by a headlong apparition of Will Adams in Cocksmoor school, shouting that Master Harry was come home; and Norman's long legs out-speeding Richard, had brought him back, flushed, and too happy for one word, while, 'Well, Harry,' was Richard's utmost, and his care for Margaret seemed to overpower everything else, as he went up, and was not so soon sent away.
Words were few downstairs. Blanche and Aubrey agreed that they thought people would have been much happier, but, in fact, the joy was oppressive from very newness. Ethel roamed about, she could not sit still without feeling giddy, in the strangeness of the revulsion. Her father sat, as if a word would break the blest illusion; and Harry stood before each of them in turn, as if about to speak, but turned his address into a sudden caress, or blow on the shoulder, and tried to laugh. Little Gertrude, not understanding; the confusion, had taken up her station under the table, and peeped out from beneath the cover.
There was more composure as they sat at dinner, and yet there was very little talking or eating. Afterwards Dr. May and Norman exultingly walked away, to show their Harry to Dr. Spencer and Mr. Wilmot; and Ethel would gladly have tried to calm herself, and recover the balance of her mind, by giving thanks where they were due; but she did not know what to do with her sisters. Blanche was wild, and Mary still in so shaky a state of excitement, that she went off into mad laughing, when Blanche discovered that they were in mourning for Harry.
Nothing would satisfy Blanche but breaking in on Margaret, and climbing to the top of the great wardrobe to disinter the coloured raiment, beseeching that each favourite might be at once put on, to do honour to Harry. Mary chimed in with her, in begging for the wedding merinos--would not Margaret wear her beautiful blue?
'No, my dear, I cannot,' said Margaret gently.
Mary looked at her and was again in a flood of tears, incoherently protesting, together with Ethel, that they would not change.
'No, dears,' said Margaret. 'I had rather you did so. You must not be unkind to Harry. He will not think I do not welcome him. I am only too glad that Richard would not let my impatience take away my right to wear this.'
Ethel knew that it was for life.
Mary could not check her tears, and would go on making heroic protests against leaving off her black, sobbing the more at each. Margaret's gentle caresses seemed to make her worse, and Ethel, afraid that Margaret's own composure would be overthrown, exclaimed, 'How can you be so silly? Come away!' and rather roughly pulled her out of the room, when she collapsed entirely at the top of the stairs, and sat crying helplessly.
'I can't think what's the use of Harry's coming home,' Gertrude was heard saying to Richard. 'It is very disagreeable;' whereat Mary relapsed into a giggle, and Ethel felt frantic.
'Richard! Richard! what is to be done with Mary? She can't help it, I believe, but this is not the way to treat the mercy that--'
'Mary had better go and lie down in her own room,' said Richard, tenderly and gravely.
'Oh, please! please!' began Mary, 'I shall not see him when he comes back!'
'If you can't behave properly when he does come,' said Richard, 'there is no use in being there.'
'Remember, Ritchie,' said Ethel, thinking him severe, 'she has not been well this long time.'
Mary began to plead, but, with his own pretty persuasive manner, he took her by the hand, and drew her into his room; and when he came down, after an interval, it was to check Blanche, who would have gone up to interrupt her with queries about the perpetual blue merino. He sat down with Blanche on the staircase window-seat, and did not let her go till he had gently talked her out of flighty spirits into the soberness of thankfulness.
Ethel, meanwhile, had still done nothing but stray about, long for loneliness, find herself too unsteady to finish her letters to Flora and Tom; and, while she tried to make Gertrude think Harry a pleasant acquisition, she hated her own wild heart, that could not rejoice, nor give thanks, aright.
By and by Mary came down, with her bonnet on, quite quiet now. 'I am going to church with Ritchie,' she said. Ethel caught at the notion, and it spread through the house. Dr May, who just then came in with his two sons, looked at Harry, saying, 'What do you think of it? Shall we go, my boy?' And Harry, as soon as he understood, declared that he should like nothing better. It seemed what they all needed, even Aubrey and Gertrude begged to come, and, when the solemn old minster was above their heads, and the hallowed stillness around them, the tightened sense of half-realised joy began to find relief in the chant of glory. The voices of the sanctuary, ever
