it was a very happy week. the weather was all that could be desired for a seaside holiday,—bright yet not glaring, warm but not hot. the hotel was everything that was luxurious and comfortable, and, last and best of all, cynthia kept bright and happy, and was better—not worse—for the visits of her old friends.
every morning betty accompanied miles up to the villa, leaving mr gerard and jill busy playing tennis, roving about on the shore, or engaged in that other engrossing occupation of throwing stones. for the first day or two she made excuses, and strolled away to join mrs alliot, but it soon became apparent to her quick senses that neither that lady nor, strangely enough, miles himself encouraged these well-meant excursions. so for the rest of the time she sat in the shelter by cynthia’s couch, and joined frankly in the conversation. sometimes miles would be silent for almost the whole morning, listening while the two friends talked together as girls will—a pretty, innocent, sweet-hearted chatter of home and friends and books and dresses, and “do you remember,” and “oh, just suppose,” which unconsciously revealed the character of both.
absorbed as he was in cynthia and all that belonged to her, miles was more than once arrested by betty herself, and asked himself if it could be true or only imagination that she had gained immensely in beauty, softness, and general charm since his return five weeks ago. there was an expression on her face in these last days which transfigured the old betty into something a hundred times sweeter and more attractive. happiness enveloped her as an atmosphere,—an almost tremulous happiness, as of one fearful of her own joy. miles felt assured that cynthia noticed this new development as he did himself, as he saw the grey eyes rest on her friend’s face with a tender wistfulness of gaze, and heard the fluttering sigh with which she turned aside.
never again had cynthia breathed a word of complaint for her own limitations. after that first involuntary outburst she had carefully steered clear of the subject of self, and thrown herself heart and soul into her companion’s interest. it was only when the last day of the short visit had been reached that she alluded to her own plans.
“we are ordered to leave franton. it is very hot and oppressive in july and august, and the doctors want us to go to some high mountain resort in switzerland. we shall move on by easy stages as soon as possible—possibly next week. it is quite uncertain what we shall do for the autumn and winter; we may possibly move on to the engadine. in any case i’m afraid it is unlikely that we shall return to england. will there be any chance of seeing you when we return in spring, miles?”
and then betty received a shock, for miles replied quietly—
“i shall be back in mexico long before then. i don’t think i shall take more than three months’ holiday this time. one gets tired of loafing after a busy life. i shall want to get back to work.”
“miles, how can you!” cried his sister shrilly. “three months! in another seven weeks—it’s impossible! we have hardly had time to realise that you are home. we made sure that you would be with us till after christmas at least. three months’ holiday after all these years! oh, miles, you can’t mean it!”
“i came home to see you all, betty, and to satisfy myself that you were well; when that’s done there’s no more excuse for lazying. i am entitled to a year’s rest, if i like to take it; but if i go back now i shall be nine months nearer my next visit; and if the mine does all that we expect, i shall be back sooner than you imagine. three years—even two—may see me home again, and then—things may be changed—it may be easier to stay—!”
he kept his eyes lowered as he spoke, but betty understood. perhaps cynthia did too, for her pale cheeks flushed, and she made not a word of comment.
when miles rose a few minutes later, she said “good-bye” to him in exactly the same words which she had used six years before—
“good-bye, miles. i won’t forget!”
and miles crushed her little hands in his, and walked silently away.
at the gate mrs alliot was awaiting him, as on the morning of his first visit. she looked wistfully at the stern, white face, then laid her hand on his arm, and said in a tremulous voice—
“mr trevor—i—i want to thank you! you have been very brave and kind. don’t think i have not understood—mothers always understand—but for cynthia’s sake i was obliged to be selfish. it might have undone all she has gained, to have had any great excitement or agitation. she is very young yet—only twenty-two—and she looks upon you as a friend of her school-days. it was better for every reason that your relations should remain unchanged.”
then miles faced her, a tall imposing figure drawn to his full height, with shoulders squared and flashing eyes.
“for the present, yes! i have respected your wishes, and put my own hopes on one side. now i am going back to work like ten men rather than one. if things go as we expect—as we have a right to expect—in a few years’ time i shall be able to live where i please, to choose my home where it best suits myself—and others. if i live, mrs alliot, i shall be home again in a few years’ time, and then i warn you that nothing and nobody shall keep me apart from cynthia if she will be my wife. if she has recovered—well! if she is ill—i will take care of her! i have served for her six years already. i will serve six more if needs be, but i shall claim her in the end!”
“and if it is god’s will that she lives and loves you, i will give her to you gladly. you are a good man, miles. god bless you! all good go with you!” said mrs alliot warmly.
then they shook hands and parted. for how long? it was impossible to say. before miles lay the far country, danger by land and sea, a hard, adventurous life; before cynthia years of what at the best must be a slow, difficult convalescence, with the ever-present danger of a relapse into her old condition. only god knew, who holds the issue of time. their greatest stronghold lay in their confidence in him.
that evening betty sat beside will gerard on the sloping beach, and watched the sun set in a silence tinged with melancholy. miles’ announcement of a speedy return to america had planted a dart in her heart which was not solely on his own account; for if he went, would not his partner go too, leaving her to a life of such blank emptiness as was terrifying to contemplate? all day long the thought had haunted her; she had longed yet dreaded to speak on the subject, and now that evening was here, she felt it impossible to face the long hours of the night without some certain knowledge.
a few minutes before, miles had taken jill for a walk along the sands; in a short time they would return, and the opportunity for quiet conversation would be over. betty turned slowly, to meet her companion’s deep-set eyes fixed intently on her face. he had fallen into a habit of watching her in this earnest manner, and was often able to divine her thoughts even before she spoke.
“what is it?” he asked gently. “something is troubling you. won’t you tell me what it is?”
“it’s miles! he said this morning that he intended to take only three months’ holiday—that means to leave england in six or seven weeks from now. i can’t believe it. we counted on six months or more,—possibly even a year. do you think he seriously means to go?”
“i am sure he does, and i think he is right. if you want to be really kind, miss trevor, you won’t ask him to stay.”
betty’s lips trembled.
“oh, perhaps not, but it is hardest of all to feel that he wants to go; that with all our love and care we are so much outside his life that we can’t make him happy or satisfied. poor mother! it must be dreadful to bring up a child all those years, and to long and long for his return, and then see him in a hurry to rush away again, just because—oh, i know that you know the real reason—because of a girl of whom, after all, he has seen very little! it’s very hard!”
“yes, it is hard—but it is the natural course of events, and i am sure mrs trevor realises that miles is one of the best sons that it is possible for a woman to have. he doesn’t love you any the less because he feels the need of getting back to his work. a man must work if he has any trouble weighing upon him; it is the only safe way of letting off steam. fortunately there is plenty for him to do, and the chances are good for a speedy return.”
he paused, and betty turned her head aside, and gazed over the darkening sea.
“and—you?” she asked softly. “will you go too?”
“that depends.”
“on business?”
“partly. if things go on as well as they have started, the company will be floated in another month, and i shall be of more use at the other end than here. i have made no plans, however. there are other considerations which come even before business.”
he paused again, as if waiting to be questioned, but betty did not speak. the gentle break of the water was the only sound which broke the silence. afar off she could just distinguish the dark, retreating figures of miles and jill. she stared at them, at the sea, the sky, anywhere except at that pale, eager face which was watching her so intently.
“betty,” breathed a low voice by her side, “you know what i mean! you know that my going or staying depends upon yourself—that the happiness of my life is in your hands! are you going to be kind to me, betty? will you let me love you?”
she drew herself away from him with a cry of protest, almost startling in its suddenness.
“oh no, no! i cannot—i must not listen! it is quite impossible. please don’t say any more. i cannot listen to you!”
“but, betty,”—he put out his hand and took forcible possession of the little cold fingers—“i must speak. we must have this out, and be honest with each other. dear!—don’t think me presumptuous, but lately i have fancied that you did care a little bit for me, and were not perfectly indifferent whether i came or stayed. was i quite mistaken? can you look me in the eyes, betty, and say that i am no more to you than any other man?”
betty did not attempt to meet his eyes, and her disclaimer was transparently artificial.
“oh, of course you are miles’ friend, naturally it is different—but i can’t be engaged to anybody. it’s impossible. please, please believe that i know what i say!”
“not unless you tell me the reason why it is impossible. is there someone else, betty? someone whom you love better than me?”
“no—yes! i don’t know if i love him, but i have always felt as if i belonged to him, and must wait till he came back. you would think me mad if you knew the whole story. i sometimes think i am mad myself, but i feel as if i should be betraying a trust if i married another man.”
will gerard sat very still for a moment. then: “tell me about it!” he said hoarsely. “tell me! i ought to know. perhaps i shall understand.”
“i don’t understand myself,” said betty sadly. “i have tried not to care for you, but i do care in spite of trying. when i thought of you going away, my heart stood still, but the other thing has gone on so long; it has been part of my life, and even for your sake i can’t forget it. if i could be sure that he was well and happy, and had found someone else to love him, then to be your wife would be the greatest happiness in the world; but until i hear, i feel—bound! we only met once. that sounds mad enough, doesn’t it? and i know nothing of him but his christian name. it was an evening more than six years ago; we had been at a concert at the albert hall, and when we came out there was a black fog, and i lost miles, and met this man, who brought me home instead. he was in great trouble—i found it out from something he said—in such terrible trouble that he had lost all hope, and made up his mind to commit suicide. that was the first time that i had ever been brought face to face with real trouble, and it changed my whole life. think of it! i was coming back to my happy home from an afternoon’s pleasure, and he—was going to the river...”
will gerard had been sitting listening to her with his head buried in his hands, but at the sound of that last word he raised his face, and turned towards her with a sudden, passionate gesture.
“and you came to him like a good angel in the midst of the darkness—came to him without a face or a name,—just as a girl’s sweet voice bidding him take courage, and sending him out to a fresh battle! and all these years you have treasured him in your faithful heart, and waited for his return; and he has waited too, betty, and worked hard—worked for you with the thought of you before him! and now that he can repay his debts and look the world in the face once more, he comes to you for his reward. betty, betty, a man may have more names than one—is my face quite strange to you? have you never seen it before—in a half light like this, lit by a flickering flame? betty, look! what do you see?”
she gave a little gasp of incredulity—rapture—relief, and held out her hands towards him.
“ralph, ralph! it is you—you have come home!”
so the long dream was fulfilled, and the fairy prince threw off his disguise, and showed himself in the shape of the struggler who had bravely redeemed a past offence. in loving one, she could love both. past and present united in bestowing a perfect happiness. betty held ralph’s hands in her own, and looked deep into his eyes.
