“Nor I,” said Colonel Keith, “it was the reason that I am glad you are here alone.”
“Oh, thank you! No one need ever know,” added Rachel.
“I fear my brother must see the accounts, as they have to be paid, but that need not be immediately.”
“Is there anything else that is dreadful?” said Rachel, looking at the remaining papers, as if they were a nest of adders. “I don’t like to take them home now, if they will grieve Alick.”
“You need not be afraid of that packet,” said the Colonel; “I see his father’s handwriting. They look like his letters from India.”
Rachel looked into one or two, and her face lighted up. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “this is enough to make up for all. This is his letter to tell about Alick’s wound. Oh how beautifully he speaks of him,” and Rachel, with no voice to read, handed the thin paper to her companion, that he might see the full commendation, that had been wrung from the reserved father’s heart by his son’s extremity.
“You must be prepared to hear that all is over,” wrote the father to his daughter; “in fact, I doubt whether he can live till morning, though Macvicar declares that nothing vital has been touched. Be it as it may, the boy has been in all respects, even more than I dared to wish, and the comfort he has been ever since he came out to me has been unspeakable. We must not grudge him such a soldier’s death after his joyous life. But for you, my poor girl, I could only wish the same for myself tomorrow. You will, at least, if you lose a brother’s care, have a memory of him, to which to live up. The thought of such a dead brother will be more to you than many a living one can ever be to a sister.”
Rachel’s heart beat high, and her eyes were full of tears of exultation. And the Colonel was well pleased to compensate for all the pain he had inflicted by giving her all the details he could recollect of her husband’s short campaign. They had become excellent friends over their mournful work, and were sorry to have their tête-à-tête interrupted when a message was brought that his Lordship was ready, if Mrs. Keith would be so good as to come into his sitting-room.
She wiped away the tears, and awestruck and grave, followed the Colonel; a great contrast to Lord Keith’s more frequent lady-visitor, as she silently received the polished greeting, its peculiar stateliness of courtesy, enhanced by the feeble state of the shattered old man, unable to rise from his pillowed chair, and his face deeply lined by suffering. He would not let her give him any account of her labours, nor refer any question to him, he only entreated that everything might be taken away, and that he might hear nothing about it. He spoke warmly of Alick’s kindness and attention, and showed much solicitude about his indisposition, and at last he inquired for Rachel’s “little charge,” hoping he was not clamorous or obnoxious to her, or to Mr. Clare’s household. Her eager description of his charms provoked a look of interest and a sad smile, followed by a request, that weather and doctor permitting, she would bring the child to be seen for a few minutes. The next day there was an appointment, at which both the Colonel and Alick were wanted, but on the following one, the carriage should be sent to bring her and the little one to Timber End.
The effect of this invitation amused Alick. The first thing he heard in the morning was a decided announcement from Rachel that she must go up to London to procure equipments for the baby to be presented in!
“You know I can’t go with you today.”
“Of course, but I must make him fit to be seen. You know he has been wearing little Una’s things all this time, and that will not do out of the nursery.”
“A superior woman ought to know that his Lordship will never find out what his son has on.”
“Then it is all the more reason that I should not let the poor dear little fellow go about wrapped up in somebody’s old shawl!”
“What will you do then—take your maid?”
“Certainly not. I can’t have him left.”
“Then take him with you?”
“What, Alick, a little unvaccinated baby! Where have you ever lived? I don’t see the least reason why I should not go alone.”
“You need not begin beating about the world yet, Rachel. How many times did you say you had been in London?”
“Three; once with my father when I was a child, once in the time of the Great Exhibition, and passing through it now with you. But anyone of common sense can manage.”
“If you will wait till five o’clock I will come with you,” said Alick, wearily.
“No, indeed, I had rather not go, than that you should, you are quite tired out enough at the end of the day.”
“Then do not go.”
“Alick, why will you have no proper feeling for that poor dear child!” said Rachel with tears in her eyes.
If he winced he did not show it. “My proper feeling takes the direction of my wife,” he said.
“You don’t really mean to forbid me to go,” she exclaimed.
“I don’t mean it, for I do so, unless you find someone to go with you.”
It was the first real collision that had taken place, but Alick’s quiet, almost languid tone had an absolute determination in it from the very absence of argument, and Rachel, though
