"My darlings," said Mrs. Force, "I thought you were in the schoolroom, busy with Miss Meeke in dressing dolls for the Sunday school Christmas tree."

"So we were, mamma, but Dr. Ingle came, and we all went down into the drawing room to see him," replied Elva.

"He always does cry for her--I mean inquire for Miss Meeke--and she always goes down to see him, and makes us go down with her. And he doesn't like it at all, and neither do we. Why, the other evening, when he came just after tea, when you had a headache and Odalite was sitting with you, and we were in the drawing room with Miss Meeke, after a little while, he said:

"'Do you not think that it is very unhealthy for children to sit up so late?'

"And she laughed and said:

"'Their regular bedtime is nine o'clock. It is not yet seven.'

"And it is always so. He always looks at us as if he was saying to himself:

"'Two is company, Four is trumpery.'

"But this time, thank goodness, we happened to hear Le's voice in the hall, and we skedaddled--I mean we left the drawing room and came in here, mamma, dear," said Wynnette.

"What did Ingle talk about, or find to talk about, while you two were hanging around him like a wet blanket?" inquired Le, who often amused himself at Wynnette's expense.

"Oh, not much. He couldn't make love to Nat right before our four looking eyes--I mean he couldn't pay his addresses to Miss Meeke in our presence.

Neither could he talk to Nat about old Col. Notley's gout, or old Mrs.

Gouph's dropsy, like he does to mamma--I mean he could not discuss medical science with Miss Meeke as he might with a matronly lady. And so there wasn't much to talk about," said Wynnette.

"Oh, don't you remember, he said that Col. Anglesea had gone?" inquired Elva.

"Gone!" echoed Le and Mrs. Force, in one voice.

"Oh, yes!" replied Wynnette. "The horrid beat has made tracks--vamoosed the ranche--absquatulated--that is to say, Col Anglesea, H.E.I.C.S., and all the rest of it, has taken his final departure."

"Thank Heaven!" earnestly breathed Mrs. Force. "But is it certain, Wynnette?" she almost immediately inquired.

"I think so. Dr. Ingle met him, in traveling dress, at the railway station, when he took a through ticket to Washington, and said that he was en route for New York, and meant to sail on the _Scotia_ for Liverpool next Sat.u.r.day. His trumpery was to be sent after him by to-night's express."

"Thank Heaven!" again fervently breathed Elfrida Force.

"What's all that you're talking about over there?" inquired the lady from the mines, rising from her seat on the sofa and unceremoniously joining the group around her hostess. "What's up now? I heard the name of my fine scamp mentioned just now! Has anything happened to him? Has he broken his neck, eh?"

"Oh, no!" sighed Wynnette, in a tone of regret; "he has not broken his neck. Fate reserves that for the hangman to do! He has only left the neighborhood to return to England. But let us hope that the ship may be lost! I'm sure his presence on board will be enough to raise the demon and sink the ship!"

"Oh, Wynnette! Don't say such dreadfully wicked things! You don't mean them at all, you know you don't! Consider how many good people would be drowned if the ship should sink! And how many people would grieve all their lives after them!" said little Elva.

"Well, I'll take that back again! I know I do talk too much with my mouth--I mean speak without mature consideration," said Wynnette.

"So my scamp has gone back to England, has he? I wonder if he will try to marry a dook's darter? Or a markiss' widder? He's got cheek enough for anything! I declare, I ought to follow him up, to keep him out of mischief! I mean, of course, out of doing other folks mischief! I don't care a snap of my finger how much mischief he does himself! The more, the better, sez I! But I ought to go for him to prevent him from preying upon other people! And I would, too, if I had money enough! 'Pon my word, I'm a great mind to go to New York and try to get a place as stewardess on one of the ocean steamers, so as to go after him! I'll think of it, anyway."

The conversation was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of Miss Meeke, followed by Dr. Ingle.

There was a pretty flush on the usually pale cheeks of the young governess, and some little embarra.s.sment in her manner, which was almost unnoticed, however, in the cordial greeting that was given to the young physician by all the family and guests in the room, and with all of whom he was acquainted, excepting only the lady from the California mines, to whom Mrs. Force duly presented him, and by whom he was received with gushing welcome.

"Sit right down here on the sofa by me, doctor! I dare say you have heard a deal of reports about me, and now I'm gwine to tell you the truth about myself, so that you can get it pure and fresh from first quarters!"

And, having found a new auditor, the lady from Wild Cats' began the story of her life, and talked on until the dinner was announced. That stopped her.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

LE AND HIS "UNCLE"

"Come into the library with me, my dear boy, I want to have a private talk with you," said Mr. Force, some hours later in the afternoon, as he led the way into his little sanctum in the rear of the hall.

The guests had all left the house. Miss Sibby had ridden off on her mule; the young doctor had ambled away on his cob, and Roland had set out to walk to Forest Rest.

But when we say the guests had all gone, we except, of course, the permanent visitor, the lively lady from California. She was still in the house, and likely to continue there.

"Le, my dear boy," said Mr. Force, as soon as the two were seated in the library, "I want you to give me your word of honor that you will never send a challenge, or accept a challenge, to fight a duel as long as you live."

"Uncle Abel, I give you my word of honor, with all my heart and soul in it, that I never will," earnestly and solemnly replied the young man.

"Thank you, my boy, thank you! Give me your hand on it! There, you are my own dear lad again!"

"Uncle Abel, you must think very badly of me for my madness and folly."

"No, I do not, Le. No, I do not, dear lad. I know that your wrongs and your temptations were almost more than the spirit of man could bear, especially the spirit of a young man; and I thank the Heavenly Father that you have been saved from sin and delivered from danger!" gravely replied Abel Force, reverently bowing his head.

"Uncle, I wish to make a full confession to you now--to open my soul to you, as if you were my father--as, in reality, you always have been in care and affection."

"Go on, dear lad. You can say nothing, I am sure, that I shall not be glad to hear."

"Well, then, Uncle Abel, I must tell you that after I had sent that challenge to Col. Anglesea I went home to Greenbushes and pa.s.sed the most miserable night I ever spent in my whole life."

"I do not doubt it, lad."

"Heaven knows that it was not from cowardice----"

"Who ever accused, or dreamed of accusing, any Force of cowardice? We have no experimental knowledge of the meaning of that word," said Abel Force.

"No, we have not. It was not the thought of death, then, for I could meet death or deal death in the cause of duty. No; it was the foreshadowing of a great remorse. It began with the feeling that I could not, dared not, pray last night."

"Dear lad! But you can pray to-night, Le?"

"Yes; I can pray and give thanks to-night."

"And now you are my own dear son again, Le."

"Oh, Uncle Abel, if I might, indeed, be your son again! If I might be reinstated in the position, the happiness, I once enjoyed in my relations, present and prospective, with you and your family!"