Some one was talking at the other end of the room in a quiet, level tone, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. It was surely--surely not Mrs Asplin herself?

"Thank you! It is kinder to tell me the truth; but the time is shorter than I expected. I should like to ask one more question. Shall I be doing my husband a wrong in keeping this from him? Could he do anything to prolong my life? I am most anxious not to throw this shadow over our home; but if he could help in any way, it would, of course, be my duty to spare him the pain of knowing afterwards that more might have been done."

"He could do nothing except shield you from exertion, and that you can do for yourself. I should say, on the whole, that it would be better for you, even physically speaking, to secure the cheerfulness of surrounding that would come from ignorance, than to be continually reminded of yourself by the anxiety of your family. Remember always that you are your own best doctor! I have told you the worst, and now I may add that I have known people in as precarious a condition as yourself live twice, and even three times the time specified by their doctors. You know what is needful--a peaceful life without excitement; fresh air, rest, and, above all things, the specific which our Quaker friends have named for us, '_The quiet mind_.'"

His voice dropped to a softened cadence as he spoke those last words, and the tears started in the listener's eyes.

"Yes--yes! I know. I'll remember that. Thank you, thank you for all your kindness!"

The eyes of doctor and patient met in a long, steady glance, which had in it a light, as of recognition. They were friends indeed, though they met for the first time to-day; for they were bound together by the closest of ties, in that they both served and trusted a common Master!

In that moment, when as it seemed she stood upon the brink of death, Mrs Asplin's mind travelled with lightning speed over the years which had pa.s.sed since she first gave herself and her concerns into the hands of her Saviour, and trusted Him to care for her in this world and the next. Had He ever failed her? A thousand times, no! Sickness, anxiety, even death itself, had visited her home, but the peace which was Christ's parting gift to His disciples had dwelt in her heart, and He Himself had never seemed so near as when trouble fell, and for a time hid the sun in the skies. If she had known beforehand that she was to lose her first-born darling, to spend long years in painful anxiety about her husband's health, and to see her children's future crippled for lack of means to give them the best opportunities, her heart would have sunk with fear, and she would have declared the trial too great for her strength; yet He had enabled her to bear them all, and with each fresh trial had given a fresh revelation of His mercy. She had submitted to His will, weeping, it may be, but without bitterness or rebellion, and the reward had come in the serene peacefulness which possessed her soul. Christ had done all this for her, and now in this latest trial she looked to Him to support and comfort to the end.

"Thank you, doctor," she murmured once more; and a moment later Peggy and Mrs Asplin were in the pa.s.sage, following the old butler towards the door. It seemed years and years since they had paced it last, but nothing had changed. The man let them pa.s.s out without a glance in their direction, as though it were the most commonplace thing in the world for people to receive a death-warrant in the course of half an hour's visit. The pavement outside was flooded with sunshine, carriages were driving to and fro; two men walking along together broke into a peal of laughter as they pa.s.sed; a newsboy shouted out some item of popular interest. n.o.body knew, n.o.body cared! The great, noisy, cruel world jostled on its way as if such things as death and parting had no meaning in its ears. Peggy's young heart swelled with bitterness. She dared not speak to Mrs Asplin, dared not trust her own voice, but she drew the thin hand through her arm, and gripped it with pa.s.sionate fervour. They walked on in silence the length of the block, then stopped instinctively, and exchanged a long, earnest look. Mrs Asplin's eyes were shining with a deep inward glow, the colour had come back to her cheeks, her expression was calm and peaceful.

"Peggy, child!" she exclaimed softly; "you are so white! This has been a strain for you, dearie. You must have lunch at once."

Even at this supreme moment of her life her first thought was for others, not herself!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

The pre-occupation of Peggy's manner during the next week was easily attributed to the responsibility of superintending the settling down in the new house. From morning until night she was rushing about from one worker to another, planning, instructing, superintending, and when night came she crawled into bed, a weary, sore-footed little mortal, to fall asleep before her head well touched the pillow. The revelation of Mrs Asplin's danger lay like a shadow across her path, but beyond a few brief words in the train, the subject had never been mentioned between them after leaving the doctor's study.

"I hope I have not been selfish, Peggy, in taking you with me to-day,"

Mrs Asplin had then said anxiously. "I can only tell you that you have helped me greatly, and thank you with all my heart for your sympathy.

Later on, dearie, we will have a talk together, and I will tell you what is in my mind; but first of all I must fight my own battles, and gain the prize of which the doctor spoke. '_The quiet mind_,' Peg! When that comes, it will take away the sting!"

That was all, nor through the weeks that followed did ever a word or a look in the presence of her family betray the dread that lay at Mrs Asplin's heart. Peggy, running in and out of the vicarage, would always find a smile awaiting, and a cheery word of greeting. At first she felt awkward and constrained, but by degrees the first painfulness of the impression wore away, and with the natural hopefulness of youth it seemed that the doctor must have taken an unnecessarily gloomy view of the case, since a patient in so precarious a condition could surely not be so bright, so cheery, so interested in the affairs of others! On her first few visits to the vicarage, the girl had felt that it would be sacrilege to smile or jest as of yore, but it was impossible to keep up this att.i.tude when Mrs Asplin herself sparkled into mischief and led the bursts of laughter. That dreadful half-hour grew more and more unreal, until at times it seemed a veritable dream.

A fortnight after the removal into Yew Hedge, a letter arrived from Mrs Rollo, inviting Peggy to come up to town on a two or three days' visit, to attend some festivities, and enjoy her brother's society. Arthur had not been able to leave town during the last few weeks, and the desire to see more of him, and to be able to help him if possible, were powerful inducements in his sister's mind. She anxiously considered if by any possibility the household could exist deprived of her important services, and slowly accepted the a.s.surance that it could! The furniture had been arranged, pictures hung and re-hung, and what remained to be done in the way of blind-fitting, curtain-hanging, and the like, could surely be managed without the a.s.sistance of a master mind. She was sorry to leave the dear, new home, but three days would quickly pa.s.s, while, apart from the joy of seeing Arthur, it would be delightful to get to know something more about that baffling personage, Miss Eunice Rollo.

Eunice was at the station to meet her visitor, all propriety and polite condolence on the fatigue of the journey; and Peggy, never to be outdone in grandeur of diction, replied in Mariquita fashion, so that an elaborate conversation all about nothing was carried on throughout the drive home. Mrs Rollo was out, Arthur busy in the study, and three long hours loomed ahead before it would be time to prepare for dinner.

"This is dreadful! We seem to be beginning all over again, from the very first moment we met!" sighed Peggy to herself. "What on earth can I talk about next? If I could only make her laugh, we should get on better, but I can't be funny to order. At the present moment I have not a joke in my composition, and it's getting serious, for we have exhausted the weather and the miseries of removing into a new house, and the health of every single person we know. There's nothing for it but books! I'll turn her on to books, and dispute everything she says, and that ought to keep us going for an hour at least." She cleared her throat, and was just beginning an insinuating, "Have you read--" when she met an earnest look from the grey eyes, and Eunice said miserably:

"I know what you are thinking! I saw you looking at the clock. You don't know how to pa.s.s the time, or what to say next. I'm dreadfully sorry to be so stupid, but the more I want to talk, the more dumb I become. I can't describe the sensation, but perhaps you have felt it for yourself. Do tell me! Do you know what it is like to be shy? Did you ever feel it?"

Peggy cudgelled her brains, unwilling to admit that any human experience was beyond her ken, but no! not one single instance of the kind could she remember. She had felt lonely at times, silent and unsociable, but never shy! She shook her head.

"No--never! I love meeting strangers. It is like opening a new book.

You can never tell what good friends you may become. When I meet some one for the first time, I look into her eyes, and say to myself--'What is she? Why is she? What does she think? Right away down at the bottom of her heart, what is she like? Do we belong to each other at all, or is there no single point where we can meet?' It is so interesting! I a.s.sure you I drove through the City the other day in an omnibus, and discovered an affinity on the opposite seat! We just looked at each other, and a sort of flash pa.s.sed from her eyes to mine, and I said to myself, 'Oh, I _do_ like you!' and I knew as well as possible that she was thinking the same of me. We never spoke, and may never meet again, but we _were_ friends all the same, and when I went away I said in my heart, 'Good-bye, dear, good luck! So pleased to have met you!' At other times I've seen people--Gr-r-r!" she hitched her shoulders to her ears and spread out her hands in disgust, "quite respectable and ordinary-looking creatures, but there! I wouldn't touch them with the end of my umbrella!"

Eunice regarded her with pensive envy.

"Oh dear, I wish I felt like that! It would be like a book, as you say.

I love reading, but I always think real life is so different."

"And so much better! It's _true_," cried Peggy ardently, "and the other is pretence. I think it's a glorious thing to live, and just most marvellously and wonderfully interesting. Why, think of it--every day is a mystery. You make your plans in the morning, but you know nothing of what may happen before night! People sigh and moan over the uncertainty of life, but that is ungrateful, for there are happy surprises as well as sad, and all sorts of pleasant things cropping up which one never expects. And it ought to go on growing more and more beautiful as we grow older, and can appreciate and understand."

"Yes," sighed Eunice softly. "Oh yes, and so it will--for you, Peggy, at least, for you have the gift of happiness. I feel things too, but I can't express my feelings. I want to act, and I hang back trembling until some one else steps forward. I try to speak, and my lips won't move. You don't know how dreadful it is to feel as if two iron bands were placed round your mouth and would not _let_ you speak!"

Peggy laughed in conscience-stricken fashion.

"I--don't!" she cried comically, and her eyebrows went up in a peak. "I have a pretty considerable fluency of language, as an American cousin would say, and the worst of it is, I speak first and think afterwards!

Your iron bands remind me of the man in the dear old fairy-tale who was under the spell of a wicked magician, and had iron straps bound round his heart. There was only one way in which they could be broken, and no one knew what it was, but one day a peasant woman took pity on his sufferings and tried to nurse him, and snap! one of the bands broke off and fell to the ground. Another time a little child brought him some food, and snap again! another disappeared. Last of all the beautiful princess chose him for her husband before all her rich suitors, and dropped two things upon his cheek--a kiss and a tear, and at that all the other bands broke at once, and he was free. Perhaps that story really meant that the man was shy and reserved, as you are, Eunice, and could never show his real self until he found friends to love and understand. I am not going to shed tears over you, my dear, but may I kiss you, please? You only shook hands when we met at the station."

Eunice rose up swiftly and knelt down at Peggy's feet. Her face was lifted to receive the offered kiss, and the flush upon her cheeks, the smile on her lips revealed such unexpected possibilities of beauty as filled the other with admiration. The features, were daintily irregular, the skin fine and delicate as a child's, the hair rolled back in a soft, smoke-like ripple. The two girls looked at one another long and steadily, until at last Eunice said falteringly:

"What do you see in _my_ eyes, Peggy?" and Peggy answered promptly:

"I see a friend! Please let me go on seeing her. While I'm here, Eunice, give the carpet a rest and look at me instead. You can't deny that I'm better worth seeing."

"Oh, you are, especially when you pull faces!" responded Eunice unexpectedly. "Peggy, some day, when there is nothing else to do and you are not tired, will you imitate people for me again? Will you?

Will you do Hector Darcy and Miss Asplin and your father when he is angry? I have never laughed as much in my life as when you imitated the National Gallery pictures, and Mr Saville says that these are even funnier. It must be delightful to be able to mimic people, if you are sure they won't think it unkind."

"Oh, but I invariably do it before them, and they don't mind a bit. It amuses them intensely, and it's such a joke to see their faces. They wear such a funny, sheepish, found-out sort of expression. Certainly, I'll give you a _seance_ whenever you like. How would it be if I began by imitating Miss Rollo and the iron bands, welcoming a young friend from the country?"

Eunice gasped and fell back in her chair; whereupon, taking silence for consent, Peggy placed her cup on the table, and crossed to the end of the room, where she went through a life-like pantomime of the scene which had happened on the station platform an hour before. The bows, the hand-shakes, the strained smiles of greeting were all repeated, and two chairs being drawn together to represent a carriage, Miss Peggy seated herself on the nearer of the two, and went through so word- perfect a repet.i.tion of the real dialogue as left her hearer speechless with consternation. Eunice heard her own voice bleat forth feeble inanities, saw her lips twist in the characteristic manner which she _felt_ to be so true, listened to Mariquita's gracious responses, and saw, (what she had not seen before), the wide yawns of weariness which Peggy averted her head to enjoy. The tremulous movement of her body grew more and more p.r.o.nounced, until presently the tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she was swaying in her chair in silent convulsions of laughter. To see her laugh sent Peggy into responsive peals of merriment; to hear Peggy laugh heightened Eunice's amus.e.m.e.nt; so there they sat, gasping, shaking, no sooner recovering some degree of composure than a recurring chuckle would send them off into a condition more helpless than the last.

In the midst of one of these paroxysms the door opened, and Arthur stood upon the threshold transfixed with surprise. To see Peggy laughing was no uncommon circ.u.mstance, but it was a different matter where Miss Rollo was concerned. During the months which he had spent beneath her father's roof, Arthur had been sorry for the girl who was left to her own devices by her pre-occupied parents, and had thought how few pleasures she enjoyed, but had consoled himself by the reflection that she had little taste for the ordinary amus.e.m.e.nts of youth. Like a quiet little mouse she slipped in and out, never voluntarily opening a conversation, nor prolonging it a moment longer than was necessary. A struggling smile had seemed the height of merriment to which she could attain, so that to see the quivering shoulders and streaming eyes was indeed a revelation of the unexpected. Arthur's feelings were curiously contradictory at that moment. He was gratified at the tribute to his sister's fascination, and yet in some inexplicable manner conscious of a jarring note in his satisfaction. He himself had always been regarded as a sufficiently witty and interesting personage. How had it happened that he had failed where Peggy had succeeded?

When Eunice left the room to allow brother and sister to enjoy a confidential chat, the conversation soon drifted to the subject of her own personality.

"Why did you never tell me what a darling she was?" Peggy demanded. "I love her already, and I am going to love her a great deal more. She is just as sweet as can be, and here have you been living in this house for months, and never a word have you told me about her, except that there _was_ a daughter, and that she was twenty-two. It's not like you to be so unappreciative, my dear! Don't you think she deserves more attention than that?"

"I don't think I thought much about her in anyway," replied Arthur, with that air of masculine superiority which never failed to rouse his sister's ire. "She seems a nice quiet sort of girl."

Peggy sniffed contemptuously, and tossed her head in the air.

"Nice quiet girl indeed! Is that your verdict? She is ch-arming, my dear, that's what she is, and as for looks--Well, she may not be striking to the casual observer, but if you take the trouble to look at her face, it's like a beautiful old miniature. Did you _ever_ see anything like her eyelashes? They come half-way down her cheeks, and her eyes are the sweetest I have ever seen, except Mrs Asplin's."

"Eyes!" echoed Arthur vaguely. "Eyelashes! Really!--I'm afraid I have never noticed."

"Then please notice at once. It's time you did. Don't let me have a bat for a brother, if you please. Some people look so much at other people that they can't see the people who are staring them in the face!"

cried Miss Peggy elegantly, whereupon Arthur suddenly discovered that it was time to dress for dinner, and hurried her upstairs to her own room.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

On the night of Peggy's arrival in London, Eunice voluntarily made several remarks at the dinner-table; at breakfast next morning she took a distinct part in the conversation, and at lunch, meeting the roll of Peggy's eyes, she laughed aloud, nor seemed the least alarmed at the unexpected sound. Some one else was startled, however, and that was no less a person than her father himself, who stared over his spectacles with an expression which Peggy found it difficult to understand, for it was both grave and glad, troubled and gratified. She wondered if he approved of this unusual liveliness on the part of his quiet daughter, but her doubts were put to rest before many hours were over. She had dressed early for the garden-party to which she was invited in the afternoon, and was wandering up and down the drawing-room, coaxing on her gloves, and examining the different pictures and photographs on the walls, when Mr Rollo entered the room, and stood regarding her earnestly.

"I want to thank you, Miss Saville," he began at once, "for the good you have done my daughter. You have been with us only a few hours, but already I can trace a most happy effect. I have not seen her so bright and happy for many a long day. It has often pressed on my mind that the child suffered for the want of a companion of her own age, but it was difficult to find a remedy. Now, if by chance you were one of half-a- dozen daughters, we might have borrowed you from your parents, and kept you with us most of the year, but as it is, you are a ewe lamb, and I suppose no possible bribe--"

"Oh no! my price is above rubies!" cried Peggy, laughing; "but, Mr Rollo, I shall be delighted to visit Eunice from time to time, and I want her to come to me in return. I think we are going to be friends; I hope so, at least, for I have taken a desperate fancy to her, and I am rarely attracted by strangers!"

"She is a dear child, a good, unselfish child; but, alas, she has never been young! She needs rousing, and I think," said Mr Rollo, smiling, "I think you are the person to rouse her! I hope that you will see a great deal of each other in the future, in which case I shall owe a still larger debt of grat.i.tude to your family than I do at present. I realise my good fortune every day in having your brother's services at my command, for he is worth all the secretaries I have had before rolled into one."