Far above rubies (Vol. 3 of 3)

It was near morning; but before that new time, full of hope, and joy, and promise, dawned upon her life, there came a period of blessed unconsciousness, during which Heather Dudley lay ignorant of all passing events.

How Arthur came back from the valley of the shadow—how the management of their affairs was taken by stronger and abler hands than any which had hitherto touched them—how everything was made right with Mr. Lukin, and gossip silenced, and ill-nature refuted, she did not know until the long fever was over—until, seated again beside one of the windows of that pleasant drawing-room at Berrie Down, she could have fancied the events I have tried in this story to chronicle were all parts and portions of some unpleasant dream—of some weary attack of delirium.

For they were once more in the old house which Mr. Croft had purchased when it was for sale, and the management of which he had offered through his agent first to Arthur, and then to Alick.

“And, had I known who my real master was,” said that young gentleman, “I never would have accepted the post.”

“Are you sorry you were ignorant?” asked Mr. Croft, with a smile, glancing towards Heather.

“No—oh, no!” was the quick reply; for every one now knew, that when Mr. Croft appeared so opportunely in Silk Street, he was coming to tell Mrs. Dudley of his wife’s death—coming to say, that if Bessie would only accept him, he would make reparation—he would prove his repentance.

There was not a relation he had in the world who opposed his decision—not one who, hearing the full details of that sad story, urged a word against the girl whom he desired, after a due interval, to make his wife.

All the reluctance was with Bessie—all the difficulty he experienced lay in her disinclination to speak to him, or listen to his suit.

“Her child,” she said to Heather, “would be looked down on.” Her child who, now chattering his first intelligible sentences, ran through the gardens at Berrie Down, making that sound of young life about the place which is always so pleasant to hear.

But there was hope for the suitor, nevertheless. In due time, Heather promised to take up his cause.

“I will talk to her when I get strong,” she said to Mr. Croft; and with that assurance he rested satisfied.

As for Mrs. Poole Seymour, she was quite enthusiastic about the affair.

“My dear,” she declared, “you must not be cruel. You ought to be the first to forgive him, since it was your pretty face led him so far astray; and as for your child—the estate is not entailed—what matter? besides, Mr. Stewart is so rich, and has taken to you so immensely!”

Which was true. Mr. Stewart was delighted with Bessie, and perhaps even more delighted with her child—a fine, sturdy young fellow, who, riding on Nep, encountered Mr. Stewart one day in Berrie Down.

“What is your name, my little man?” asked the bachelor, stopping him and his nurse, Priscilla.

“Mamma says, I’m a young Turk,” was the answer. “What’s yours?”

“Oh! I’m an old Turk!” replied Mr. Stewart; whereupon the child burst out laughing; and, striking Nep with his heels, the dog broke into a sling-trot and bore Master Douglas off to Berrie Down.

“He only told you the truth, sir,” said Priscilla, before she started off in pursuit; “he’s an awful young Turk.”

In due time, Mr. Stewart reached the Hollow, where he found Lord Kemms, who was decidedly smitten by Agnes; and they all spent the evening talking quietly together while the sun sank into the west, and bathed the whole country lying exposed to his beams in a glory of crimson and purple and gold.

“I have brought you a little present, Heather,” Mr. Stewart said, drawing near the sofa she occupied. “It is the custom for godfathers to give their godchildren little presents occasionally, and I fear I have been somewhat neglectful of you. Open it when I am gone,” and he slipped a parcel into her hand.

But Heather, with a pretty wilfulness, opened it at once, and drawing out the parchments it contained, found them to be the title-deeds of Berrie Down.

“Yours, my dear,” said Mr. Stewart, “to have and to hold for ever.”

“Arthur, Arthur!” she cried; and Arthur, look still white and worn, came towards his wife, who put the papers into his hand, saying, “See, love, what Mr. Stewart has given me!”

“Only remember, Mr. Dudley, we must have no speculating; you must keep it intact for your son,” remarked Mr. Stewart, in answer to which Arthur took his wife’s hand in his, murmuring, “So help me God!”

Before the sun quite set, Heather drew a shawl round her, and, leaving the pleasant company, passed out on to the lawn, and wandered away towards the Hollow.

“She is thinking of Lally,” Alick whispered to Arthur; and Arthur, following his wife, prayed and begged of her not to grieve for the child that was no more.

“Heather,” he said, humbly, “I have been but a poor husband to you; but I will try in the future, to be ‘better to you than many children.’ Do not fret, love, do not fret.”

But Heather was not fretting. She felt now that her darling was where she could see continually the face of “Our Father which is in Heaven.”

By Edmund Yates, Author of “The Forlorn Hope,” “Kissing the Rod,” etc. Reprinted from “All the Year Round.” 3 vols.

By Mrs. E. Lynn Linton, Author of “Lizzie Lorton of Greyrigg,” etc. 3 vols.

By Percy Fitzgerald, Author of “The Second Mrs. Tillotson,” etc. 3 vols.

By Edmund Yates, Author of “Black Sheep,” “Kissing the Rod,” etc. 3 vols.

By Joseph Hatton, Author of “Bitter Sweets,” etc. 3 vols.

By J. A. Maitland. 2 vols.

3 vols.

By Annie Thomas, Author of “Denis Donne,” “Sir Victor’s Choice,” etc. 3 vols.