"Harmony of colour, and sequence of effect. A constant succession of flowers, a.s.sorted as to size, and forming agreeable contrasts to their neighbours. No red and magentas next door to each other in _my_ garden, thank you! Order in disorder, and every season well represented!"

"I see," said Rob gravely. "It's an admirable idea, Mariquita, admirable! We'll set to work at once. By means of digging up everything that is in the beds at present, working diligently, and waiting until you are old and grey-headed, there is no reason why you should not attain your ambition in the course of the next twenty years!"

But Peggy had no intention of waiting twenty years, or twenty months either. Immediate effect was what she demanded, and she said as much to Rob, and repeated the words with much emphasis, backing into a bed as she spoke, and trampling some cherished seedlings to pieces with her sharp little heels, whereupon Rob hastily called her attention in an opposite direction, and promised meekly to further her desire.

Not for worlds would she have acknowledged the fact to another, but as Peggy stood this afternoon surveying the empty beds before her, sundry p.r.i.c.kings of conscience began to rise, lest perchance she had been too hasty in her decision to have naught to say to bedding-out plants.

Something must be done, and that quickly, or she trembled to think what her friends and relatives would have to say upon the subject of the "finest garden in the county." With a vision of a prophetess she saw before her paths of green sward arched with roses, a lily garden, sweet and cool, and fragrant harmonies of colour ma.s.sed against the trees; but these were in the future, and in the present there were only empty beds, with little sprigs of green peering up here and there through the dry caked soil.

"At least I can dig up the beds and get rid of the weeds, and then perhaps for this summer only we might take refuge in geraniums and begonias. Just for one summer, till something else will grow." She sighed, and set to work with her spade, giving it a push into the ground with her foot in professional style, and pausing to gasp and straighten her back between every second or third attempt. Astonishing what hard work it was, and how hot one got all of a sudden! Peggy gathered the weeds together, moralised darkly on their number, and set to work on the surrounding beds, digging so vigorously that in an hour's time she felt as if a week in bed would be barely sufficient to recoup her exhausted energies. Too weary to cross to a seat, she was holding on to her spade, and slowly straightening her back, when she became conscious that the foreman had approached from the house, and was regarding her with curious eyes.

"There's two pieces short of that there paper for the drawing-room," he announced. "I thought fourteen pieces would ha' done it; but it's been a mistake, it seems. 'Ave to get it made, I suppose, to finish the corner."

"Oh, how dreadfully, dreadfully tiresome! We will have to wait weeks and weeks before we can get it, and it will keep everything back."

Peggy wrung her tired hands and looked the image of despair.

"You said that you were sure fourteen pieces would be enough; and we told you at the time to be careful, as it had to be made!"

"Ay, it do seem a pity, don't it? They rarely ever gets it the same shade a second time," the man replied blandly. Then he jerked his thumb towards the flower-beds, and put a deprecatory question: "Didn't you like them, then? Wasn't they your fancy?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. Was what my fancy?"

"Those 'ere things as they put in yesterday. I thought, maybe, they was something special, from the care they took about 'em." He gave an explanatory kick with his foot to the weeds piled up on the gravel path, and there was a pause of two whole minutes before a weak little voice inquired faintly:

"Who took such care? Who put them in? I don't understand."

"The young master up at The Larches and one of his gardeners. They was here for a good two hours. We wondered to see you scratching them up.

Joe says to me, he says, 'Go down and tell her,' he says. 'Oh,' I says, 'she knows what she's about!' I says. 'She's not the sort to do a trick like that,' I says."

Peggy's lips positively ached with the effort of twisting them into a smile.

"That was very kind of you," she said. "It would be a silly trick, would it not? Do you think you could boil the kettle for me now? I feel badly in need of some tea."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Rob received Peggy's confession of her latest gardening exploit with a roar of good-natured laughter. She had been afraid lest he might be angry, or--what would have been even worse--superior and forbearing; but he was neither the one nor the other. Such a genuine, Peggy-Pickle trick, he declared, was worth taking some trouble to enjoy, and went far towards consoling him for the advent of a fashionable young lady in the place of his mischievous little friend. His generosity was not sufficient, however, to prevent him from enlarging on the exceeding beauty of the seedlings which had been so ruthlessly disturbed, and Peggy listened in an agony to a string of names wherein syllables ran riot. _Salpiglossis_! Alas, alas! she had not the faintest idea what the flower was like, but the name was exquisite, all-satisfying. It rolled off her tongue with sonorous effect. To speak of it alone would have been joy. She looked so meek and wretched that Rob nerved himself to fresh efforts, and wrought miracles on her behalf, so that if by any chance she admired a plant in The Larches' garden, that plant was transplanted bodily to Yew Hedge, and smiled a welcome to her on her next approach.

The gardener pointed out the folly of moving plants in bloom, and prophesied failure; but no failure came, for plants have their likes and dislikes, like other living creatures, and there is no doubt that they are more amiably disposed to some people than to others. If another man had been rash enough to disturb their flowering, they would have sulked for the rest of the season, and made him suffer for his boldness; but no plant ever sulked at Robert Darcy. He had simply to lay it down in any spot he liked, and, behold, it grew and flourished! His fingers seemed to possess the power to impart health and strength, and, thanks to his care, Peggy soon felt safe from ridicule, at least on the score of her garden, and could devote herself with an easy mind to the work indoors.

She experienced the usual string of aggravations which are known to every one moving into a new house; tradesmen took twice the allotted time to fulfil an order, and eventually sent home the wrong article; patterns selected were invariably "out of stock"; escapes of gas made it necessary to deface newly decorated walls; and effects which were intended to be triumphs of artistic beauty, turned out snares and disappointments. From the lofty frame of mind which aims at nothing short of perfection, Peggy subsided by degrees into that resigned melancholy in which the exhausted strugglers feel that "anything will do," if only, by chance, a house may be made fit to live in.

It was on the occasion of a final visit to town, two days before the removal, that Mrs Asplin surprised Peggy by expressing a desire to bear her company.

"I have several things to do, and I should like to go when I can have your help," she said; and the vicar's face instantly a.s.sumed an expression of the profoundest dejection. He knew that his wife's expeditions into town invariably demanded toll in the shape of a nervous headache the next day, and hastened to raise his usual note of protest.

Why need she go? Could she not send her order by post, or could not Peggy buy what was wanted? Why tire herself needlessly, when she had no strength to spare? She knew very well--"How unwell I shall be!"

concluded his wife for him with a laugh. "Really and truly, Austin dear, I want to do something this time that no one else can do for me.

I'll promise to be careful, and drive about all the time, and get a good lunch."

"Penny omnibuses, and tea and scones! I know your days in town. Ah, well, a wilful woman must have her way! If you have made up your mind to go, it's no use arguing; but I don't know what it can be you need so badly. We seem to have everything we need."

"Blessed, blessed, ignorance of man!" cried Peggy, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "It's all very well for you, sir, who can never wear anything but a black coat and hat, but consider the fascinations of summer fashions to poor defenceless women! Mrs Asplin and I want to look at the shops, and groan in chorus over all the distracting fripperies which we want so badly, and can't afford. We pretend we have weighty business; but that is the true explanation, isn't it, dear?"

"Oh yes--I love shop windows!" replied Mrs Asplin vaguely. She had wandered to the window, and stood looking out on to the garden, with her back turned to her companions. Peggy would have followed, but, on her approach, the other walked quickly forward and began stooping over the flower-beds, and snipping off the withered blossoms. For some reason it was evident that she did not wish to be followed, and Peggy felt an uneasy pang at the sight of her flushed, exhausted face. During her lengthened visit to the vicarage she had become more and more conscious of the lack of strength shown by the dear mistress of the house. Her spirit was as cheery as ever, but she no longer raced up and down in her old impetuous manner, but rather spent half her time resting on the sofa, with the busy hands lying idly on her lap.

She did not like to make any protest, since Mrs Asplin's mind was evidently set on going to town, but she privately registered a determination to charter a hansom by the hour, and see that the shopping expedition was conducted in the most luxurious manner possible.

It did not seem as if there was much to be done after all, for Peggy's business being concluded, her companion invested in a yard of ribbon, and some Berlin wool, and then p.r.o.nounced her shopping finished.

"But there is something else I have to do, dear," she explained, catching the girl's glance of amazement. "The real reason why I came up to-day was to see a doctor. I did not wish to distress them at home, but I've not been feeling well, Peg; I have not been well for a long time. I have made an appointment with a doctor in Harley Street, and if you will go with me I'll be very grateful. I am not nervous, but--but it feels a little bit lonesome to go alone!"

She turned her face towards the girl and smiled at her, with sweet, tired eyes, and Peggy's heart gave a sickening throb of apprehension.

She put out her hand and slid it lovingly through the other's arm.

"Of course I'll go, and proud that you ask me! Poor darling! so that is the way you do your shop-staring! It is just like you to allow yourself to be blamed, rather than give pain or anxiety. I thought you were looking ill, and am so glad you have made up your mind to consult a first-rate man. He will find out what is the matter, and put you right again in no time."

"He can't put new works into an old machine. Not even the cleverest doctor can do that. The springs are giving out, Peg, and I can only be repaired, not cured. I don't expect to be made well, but I want to keep going if possible, for the sake of Austin and the children. I have been intending to pay this visit for a year back, but I kept putting it off and off. I was afraid of what he might say."

"Nonsense! Afraid, indeed! He'll laugh at your fears, and give you a tonic which will make you perfectly well again."

Mrs Asplin smiled, and was silent. Twenty-one could not be expected to realise the weakness and pain which come as companions, and not as guests; the weakness which must grow greater instead of less; the pain which cannot be charmed away. It is not to be wished that it should, for youthful optimism has its own work to accomplish in the world; but it would tend to a better understanding between old and young, if the latter would remember that it is the lack of hope which makes the bitterest drop in the cup of age! To bear the weary ache, and know that it will grow worse; to feel one power after another slipping away, and to realise that it is for ever; to be lonely, and to see the loneliness closing in ever deeper and deeper. Ah, think of it, young impatient soul! Think of it and be tender, be loving! Spare not the sweet gift of sympathy. The time will come when you will long to have done still more.

Peggy held Mrs Asplin's hand in her own as they sat waiting together in the doctor's study, and kept her seat st.u.r.dily through the interview which followed. She felt instinctively that her presence was a support to her friend, and that the consciousness of her sympathy was a support during the trying ordeal. The doctor questioned, and the patient replied. He scanned her face with his practised eyes, felt her pulse, and produced a stethoscope from the table. Then for a time there was silence, while he knelt and listened, and listened again, and Peggy heard her own heart throb through the silence. He was an old man, with an expression full of that large tenderness which seems the birthmark of the true physician, and he lingered over his task, as if unwilling to face what lay beyond. At last he rose and laid the stethoscope carefully on the table, letting his fingers linger over the task. Peggy heard him catch his breath in a struggling sigh, and for a moment his eyes met her own, anxious and troubled.

"Well?" queried Mrs Asplin gently. "Well, tell me the verdict!"--and the doctor crossed the room again and seated himself by her side.

"My dear lady, you ask a hard question. It is difficult to say in a few words all that one thinks of a case. You are not strong; you need rest.

I will prescribe for you, and see you again later on, and meanwhile I should like to see your husband, if he could have a talk with me here.

There are certain rules which I should like you to observe, but we don't care to trouble patients with these matters. It is simpler and better to instruct their friends."

Mrs Asplin looked at him steadily, a smile lighting up her face.

"Ah, doctor, it won't do. You can't take me in at all!" she cried in her winsome Irish voice. "It's the truth I want, and no pretence. My husband believes that I am shop-gazing in Regent Street, and that's all he is going to hear about this visit. He is delicate himself, and puts an altogether exaggerated value on his old wife. Indeed, he'd worry us both to death if he knew I were ill. Don't be frightened to speak plainly. I am not a coward! I can bear the truth, whatever it may be.

It is the heart that is wrong?"

"Yes," he said, and looked at her with kindly eyes. There was an invincible fascination about Mrs Asplin which strangers were quick to acknowledge, and it was easy to see that admiration and respect combined to make his task exceptionally trying. "Yes, the heart is very weak.

It can never have been strong, I think, and you have not spared yourself. You are the kind of woman who has lived, in the fullest sense of the word; lived in every faculty--"

"Every single one, and I'm thankful for it! I've been so happy, so rich, so sheltered! Whatever happens now, I have been one of the most fortunate of women, and dare not complain. So tell me, please, what does it mean? To what must I look forward?"

"You must face the fact that you can no longer afford to live at full pressure. You must be content to let others work, and to look on quietly. I fear you must face increasing weakness and languor."

"And for--how long? My children are still young. I should like to see them settled. I should like to feel my husband had other homes open to him when he was left alone. If I am _very_ careful--for how long?"

Peggy closed her eyes with a feeling of suffocation. The pulses in her ears were beating like hammers, the floor seemed to rock to and fro beneath her feet, and the doctor's voice sounded from an immense distance.

"Perhaps three years. I don't think more. If you ask me for an honest opinion, I should say probably three years--"

Three years to live, and then--_death_. Three years longer in that happy home, and then good-bye to all who loved her. Three years! Three years! The words repeated themselves over and over in Peggy's brain as she sat motionless in her chair, staring at the opposite wall. Outside in the street an organ was grinding out a popular air, the front door opened and shut, and footsteps pa.s.sed along the hall, a little heathen idol upon the mantelpiece nodded his head at her in mocking fashion.