A happy woman
with the dead upon this earth?"
"Personally I don't believe God wishes us to do so, but may I tell
you what has been a tremendous comfort to me? A few years ago I lost
a very dear school friend. She and I were friends for many years, in
fact we wrote to each other every day. She married and went to India,
but we never stopped writing to each other. She helped me in spiritual
things more than any one else on earth. She died suddenly in India from
fever, and a blank came into my life. I found myself longing to tell
her things. And at last, I seemed to realize that it could not be wrong
when I was praying, to ask that God Himself, if He saw fit, would give
her a message from me, or let her know what I was so anxious she should
know. It is so perfectly easy for Him, is it not? And He loves to have
us pour out our hearts before Him. It must be the better way, rather
than resort to spiritualism as so many do. That, we know from the
Bible, is directly opposed to God's will. If, as we believe, our loved
ones are in God's keeping, surely we can ask Him to speak to them about
anything that we feel they would like to know. I feel that if it is
good for them to know it, they will be told, and if not, we must rest
content with God's will in the matter."
"That's very interesting," said May, thoughtfully; then she added—
"You always give me food for thought when we talk together. Now let me
give you an idea of mine. I should like to go and live in a settlement
in the East End for a short time. I should learn a good deal there—be
helped myself, and perhaps be able to help others."
"I think it would be splendid for you, but I should like you to get
into the right kind of settlement. Some of them are so much more
helpful than others. Don't plunge in anywhere, will you? Let us make
inquiries together first."
"Yes. I will not be in a hurry. You see, Sara, I am not like you. I
don't think I am sympathetic enough to have any personal influence
amongst people in my own class. I'm not very fond of girls, you know. I
like visiting the poor. I have always done it, and it comes natural to
me."
Sara did not tell her friend that she would find the London poor rather
different to her father's country tenants. She knew that she must buy
her experience, but as they parted that night for bed, Sara put both
her hands on her shoulders, and said tenderly—
"Dear May, I shall go to sleep very happy to-night. Doesn't it make
life fuller and deeper to you?"
"Very much," said May, gravely. "You know I'm not a demonstrative
person, Sara, but I understand as I never understood before how it is
you are such a persistently happy person. And I can never thank you
enough for having shared your wonderful secret with me."
CHAPTER IX
A DAY OF SUNSHINE
MAY soon found a settlement in which she promptly established herself.
She came to see Sara as often as she could. Once when she arrived
early in the afternoon, she found Sara out. So she betook herself
to the nursery. Little Oliver dearly loved a romp with her, and May
always had a bewitching way with children. She was in the midst of a
game with him, when the door opened and Arnold appeared. He looked his
astonishment.
"I came up here to find Sara. I've had tickets for a private view of
pictures in Bond Street, and thought she would like to come with me.
The artist is a friend of mine."
"She is out," said May, putting her hands up to her hair which Oliver
had loosened in his play. "I was very disappointed to find her gone, so
I came up here and Oliver is consoling me."
"Would you like to come instead?"
His tone was eager.
May looked at him and considered.
"How long will it take? I have only two hours off. I must be back at
half-past five."
"Come along. We can do it."
And off they went together, and when Sara came home, she was amused,
and rather pleased to hear it. It was not the last time that Arnold
took May about town. He gradually lapsed into a very happy comradeship
with her. And May accepted his attentions, but apparently took them as
she had taken her cousin's, and thought nothing of them.
In August, Sara took Oliver again to the farm; and there they stayed
for a couple of months.
May was at the Hall for a part of the time; and it was a very enjoyable
time to all. Nellie Peel was a great deal with Sara. She was much
softer and sweeter in manner, and was full of the little one who was to
arrive two months later.
Sara heard very often from Mrs. Laird. She seemed happy and well. True
was the delight of her heart. Sara wondered sometimes whether Graham
would ever want anything else in his life than he had at present. He as
well as his mother was devoted to his little stepdaughter.
Sara returned to town in the autumn, and May went back to her work. The
winter passed quietly and happily.
Then one bright afternoon in April, Graham suddenly appeared upon the
scene again. Sara was just going out when he was announced.
She welcomed him with her usual happy ease.
"Now I am not going to keep you in this lovely day," he said at once.
"Have you an engagement?"
"No, I was simply going out for the good of my health," said Sara.
"Then may I come with you?"
She assented, and after a little discussion, Graham hailed a taxi, and
they drove off to Kensington Gardens. Then they got out and walked.
The fresh green budding trees and the bright spring flowers were
always a keen delight to Sara, but to-day they seemed to be especially
exhilarating. She was hearing all the Dalby news.
"I have found a house at last," said Graham. "It has only just become
vacant. A Colonel Dewar has been living in it. He commands the
district, and his time is up, and his successor, an unmarried man, is
going to live in barracks."
"Do tell me what it is like. Is it in the country?"
"Yes, close to the moor, but in a sheltered hollow, about a mile and
a half away from Jack Fleming. It is not exactly a pretty-looking
house. My mother says it is not. I never know what women do consider
attractive, but it has a delightful garden, and is enclosed with old
red brick walls, which are for the most part covered with fruit trees."
"That sounds delicious. What does True say to it?"
"She's in the seventh heaven of delight. She has planned out all the
rooms. Of course she has chosen one for you. She thinks the size of the
house no disadvantage, because she says the more rooms we have, the
more of our friends we can have to stay with us. The list of True's
friends grows alarmingly! And they are a cosmopolitan crew, from
dustmen and crossing sweepers to shopmen and policemen, and there isn't
a soul with whom we come in contact that True doesn't know. She has
their family histories at her finger ends!"
"Dear little True! Now describe the house."
"I have brought you a snapshot. It is a square red brick house covered
with creepers in the summer. I saw it for the first time in the autumn,
and the sun blinds were down over the windows, and I took a snapshot of
it then."
"Shall we sit down here? It is so warm."
They took a seat in a very secluded part of the gardens. Only happy
children's voices could be heard in the distance, and a far-away rumble
of traffic that might be the distant roar of the ocean waves. As they
sat there, the trees hid all houses, all disfiguring chimney pots, and
the birds were singing ecstatically in the branches.
"We might be miles out of London," said Sara. "What a boon these
gardens are! Now may I see your snapshot? Oh, what a sweet old family
house! I should have lost my heart to it. It looks so truly comfortable
and cheerful."
Then Graham wasted no more time.
"I have my house, Sara, but unless you become its mistress, it will be
an empty house to me. I am venturing to speak to you again. Will you
give me a kind answer this time?"
Sara did not look up. She understood now why the gardens had seemed so
full of sunshine to-day. And she knew that this moment was going to be
the most exquisite one of her life.
She just put her hand over his, and said—
"I feel I would do anything to make you happy."
He held her hand tightly, and Sara could feel the throbbing of his
pulses.
"Then you are going to give yourself to me for good and all? Look up.
Let me see your dear eyes."
And as Sara raised her head, she saw that Graham's stern face was
illumined with radiance.
"I can hardly believe my good fortune," he said. "You know my heart
has always been yours from the first day I saw you. I told Eva that.
I would not let her marry me under false pretences. At that time, I
felt you would never relent, that our paths would be apart all our
lives. But later, when in God's infinite goodness, He brought me to the
knowledge of Himself, I began to wonder whether in time I would speak
to you again. And your God is my God now, Sara. There will be nothing
between our spirits, and we shall have all eternity together."
And then Sara's soft grey eyes suddenly filled with tears.
"Oh, Graham, I had a hard time after I had sent you away. I can hardly
believe the long waiting time is over. It seems too good to be true. I
have had to stand aside, outside your life—when my heart and soul was
in it."
Much more they said, and then slowly they retraced their steps home.
Sara found that her brother had just come in, so she made Graham
accompany her to his smoking-room and they gave him their news
together. He was not surprised.
"I knew I shouldn't keep her long when you arrived upon the scene last
spring. I only wonder you've taken so long to speak."
But Sara knew that it was in honour of Eva's memory that Graham had
waited more than a year to come and claim her.
He surprised her by his impatience now.
"Why should we not get a special licence and be quietly married in town
within the next few days? There is nothing to wait for. We know each
other through and through. We have lived in the same house together for
over a year!"
"I cannot do that," said Sara. "What is to become of my small nephew?
You do not realize that I shall be leaving my brother in a very awkward
position. Some women might not feel they could leave him. But I place
you and your wants before him. And I think that he will not be left
alone for very long. But there are many arrangements that I must make!"
"Then will you do this? I have business that will keep me in town till
the end of the week. Will you come back with me to Dalby for a short
visit? Just to see the house, and give me an idea how you would like
it decorated and furnished. It is to be your home. You have a right to
advise and help me in making it beautiful for you. It will be such joy
to my mother to have you with her again as a visitor."
"I think I might do that," said Sara, slowly, but light sprang into her
eyes as she spoke. She knew what a joy such a visit would be to her.
Then she added—
"That is, if I can leave Arnold happy and comfortable without me.
I have the baby to think of, you know, but his nurse is a very
responsible steady person, and would manage perfectly without me for a
week or two."
Arnold was quite willing to spare his sister.
And so it came to pass that three days afterwards, Sara was journeying
up North with Graham. She wondered sometimes if she were dreaming. Her
happiness almost felt unreal in its intensity. Graham had not written
telling his mother that she was returning. It was Mrs. Laird's birthday
the following day, and he and Sara had planned her visit as a surprise.
He and Sara had a compartment to themselves. And they had so much to
say to one another that Sara was quite sorry when the journey was over.
When they reached Dalby, Graham was told that his car was waiting for
him. They went outside the station, and there found True sitting up in