"Perfectly. The Church has been a true mother to me. But--you are of the Faith, are you not?"

"I hope so, although there are slight differences between our Churches; slight, but rendered greater than they need be," answered Lilian, gently.

"Ah, I thought you belonged to us. Some day, perhaps, you may be vouchsafed more light--you and he. And now, you say he has another name--not Lidwell. What is it?"

"His real name is Arthur Claverton. I never heard of the other name until--the time I told you of."

"Whatever his real name is, its owner has always been in my prayers.

Now I shall add yours. What is it?"

Lilian told her.

"It is a pretty name, and suits you well. And you--you are worthy of him, and will make him happy. G.o.d keep you both!"

"Ah, Sister, you have, indeed, come among us as an angel unawares!"

exclaimed Lilian. "But a few days sooner, and so many days of frightful anguish might have been spared us."

"I rejoice that I have been the poor means of restoring your happiness--_his_ happiness. Still it may be that even those few days of suffering to which you refer, are for some wise purpose--for the good of you both. And now tell me something more about him; I can think of him with a clear conscience, for I have found my vocation. I could even meet him again, but it is better not; and by to-morrow at this time, I shall be far away. And you--you will tell him that I obeyed his last injunction, will you not? He will, perhaps, like to know that."

Lilian fervently promised to do this. She would even have suggested a meeting between them; but, apart from the other's vocation, she was in ignorance as to how the rule of her order bore upon a matter of the kind, and was shy to urge it. And the two women sat and talked long and earnestly of him whose presence should make the life of one, and whose memory had protected and hallowed that of the other, until the sound of Annie Payne's voice in the next room, in converse with a stranger, reminded them that time was flying rather rapidly, for it was nearly evening.

The stranger was a nun from the convent, who had come to look after the invalid and to see her safe home--a cheery, bright-mannered Irishwoman, who was profuse in her appreciation of the care they had taken of her colleague. Then they took their leave.

"You have brought perfect peace to one in this house, at any rate, Sister," said Lilian, as she bade her charge farewell.

"Peace be upon all within it--and especially upon you," murmured the other, tenderly returning her embrace. And Lilian, too happy for words, stood watching them depart homewards. All was clear and bright before her now, and how unexpectedly it had all come about!

But surprises were not at an end for that day. While the two ladies were still talking over their late guest, the tri-weekly newspaper was left at the door, and in it a telegraphic slip containing the tidings of Truscott's death. Just a bare statement of the fact that he had been shot by the Kafirs, and would be buried that day. No details of any kind.

Lilian was thunderstruck. All the agony which he had inflicted on her there in that very room; the cruel voice gloating over her fears while vowing vengeance on him she loved; the brutal words decreeing their separation, as fiend-like he mocked at her despair; all rose up before her now. Then she shuddered, for was she not perilously near rejoicing over a fellow-creature's death?

"It's very shocking, isn't it?" she said, in awestruck tones.

"Yes, dear, it is. But in war-time, you know, we must expect these dreadful things to happen. Oh dear--oh dear--but I wish it was all over and we were at peace again. Shall we ever be? And now there's George must needs go racketing off to the front, and--" She stopped in dire confusion, remembering the cause of her spouse's speedy departure. But Lilian's arms were around her neck.

"Dear Annie. It was very good and n.o.ble of him to go, and I for one owe him a debt which I can never repay."

"Not a bit of it, Lilian," was the cheery reply, though the speaker did half turn away her head to conceal a tear. "Don't you think anything of the sort. The rascal would have gone anyhow, for he was tired of staying quietly at home. You remember what he said the other day when he didn't know I was by. He only made a pretext of poor Arthur's predicament, for you'll see that now he's got him out of it he won't come back--no, not for the next two months."

"Indeed!" said a third voice, making them both start as if they had been shot.

A man stood in the doorway, contemplating them with a satirical grin.

"Goodness gracious!" cried Annie, with a little shriek. "Why, it's George himself."

"Well, and what if it is?" retorted that worthy, quizzically, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe against the door-post. "Mayn't a fellow walk into his own house, or rather into old Sievers'--infernal old skinflint that he is--hasn't had that chimney put right yet!" And thus, characteristically, George Payne effected his return to the bosom of his family as if he had never left that desirable ark.

"Oh, George, how I maligned you!" cried his wife, penitently. "I made sure you wouldn't be back for a couple of months at least. Once up there I thought you'd stay, and go getting yourself a.s.segaied most likely."

"Sorry to disappoint you, my dear. But, the fact is, Johnny Kafir's beginning to have about enough, and is skulking away in the Perie; when he hasn't surrendered already, as is the case up Queenstown way.

Brathwaite's men are all talking of coming back soon, and--"

"Pa, where's my Kafir a.s.segai?" cried Harry, bursting into the room.

"Eh, what--where's your--? In the bush, sonny. Never mind, though.

You shall have a stack of them soon, but not those that have been shied at me," replied Payne, pa.s.sing his hand over the curly head of his first-born. "That's how the rising generation welcomes its paternal ancestor returning from the wars--asks for scalps the first thing.

Well, Miss Lilian," he continued, in his bantering way, "I told you to keep your spirits up, and that all would come right, didn't I; and it about has. Come along, Annie; we'll leave her to make it lively for that chap who sends me on to prepare the way before him, and then doesn't give me half time to do it." Lilian followed his glance. A man was dismounting at the gate, in hot haste. She needed no second glance to a.s.sure her of his ident.i.ty.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

IN PEACE.

Surely we have stood upon this spot before.

But the drooping boughs of the old pear-tree afford no shade now to those two persons seated on the rustic bench beneath--being leafless.

For it is mid-winter; yet the sky is a glory of unclouded blue above the rolling landscape and dark forests, and the white and dazzling shroud upon the distant mountains.

Not only have we stood upon this spot before; but we have stood here-- though unseen--in company with these two identical persons. One of them now wears one arm in a sling, and looks like a man lately recovered from a desperate illness. We will draw near--still unseen--and hear what they are talking about.

"Now, Arthur, I declare I saw you shiver," exclaimed a bright, playful voice, which sounded very like that of Lilian Strange. "That won't do, sir--Didn't the doctor say you were to take enormous care of yourself for a long time to come--the English of which is that I am to do it for you--and I'm going to begin by b.u.t.toning up your overcoat, for it's anything but warm to-day, although the sun is so bright. That's done,"

continued she, with a joyous laugh. "Now for the letters."

"Bother the letters. They can slide."

"Can they? Business can slide, eh? And I'm sure one of them looked like a regular 'dun,' or a lawyer's letter at least, in its big, blue envelope. That won't do, my dear. You've got a termagant to deal with, I can tell you. Besides, when all's said and done, sir, they're _my_ letters, so out with them."

She dived her hand into the pocket of his overcoat, and produced two missives. The post had just arrived as they were starting for their stroll; but Lilian, reluctant to let in thoughts of the outside world upon this their first visit to all the dear old places, had deferred investigating the contents.

"Yours, are they?" said Claverton, when he had recovered from the shout of laughter which her idea of a "termagant" had evoked. "Let me set you right on that head. They're mine, now, at all events. What's yours is mine--what's mine's my own. Eh?"

"But, look--they're addressed to me. Look! 'Miss Strange,' 'Miss Lilian Strange,'" cried she, triumphantly, with her bright, witching laugh. "What do you say to that?"

"That young party has ceased to exist, I tell you; so, in the logical sequence of events, we ought to return those to the Dead Letter Office.

What do you say to that, Mrs Arthur Claverton?"

"This is from that dear Annie Payne," she went on, not heeding him, as she extracted a closely-written and crossed sheet from its cover.

"Wants a microscope to read. We haven't got one here--_ergo_, it can stand over," he rejoined. "Why, Lilian; what on earth's the matter?"

For she had opened the blue envelope last of all, and her face wore a very curious expression indeed, as she mastered its contents--a little surprise and a great deal of amus.e.m.e.nt. It was a lawyer's letter, even as she had conjectured, and it informed her, in dry, concise phraseology, that she was ent.i.tled to the sum of nine thousand pounds under the will of her distant cousin, "my late esteemed client, Mr Herbert Spalding," which bequest reverted to her, being forfeited by the present legatee, Mr Arthur Claverton, that gentleman having failed to observe the conditions under which he enjoyed the legacy, etcetera, etcetera. The writer begged to know her wishes in respect of this bequest, and remained her obedient servant, Robert Smythe.

Blank astonishment was the only feeling Claverton was sensible of as he sat staring at the bit of paper which she had put into his hand. He had written to the lawyer on the day of his marriage, as a matter of course, renouncing all further claim to the bequest, and sending in all the necessary papers; as nearly three years were wanting to the time when it should be his irrevocably; and had expected to hear nothing more about the matter, beyond a brief acknowledgment. It was a nuisance, of course, being docked of about half his means, but he had quite enough left to go on with; and weighed in the balance of recent events this one was a mere trifle. And, now, the legacy had simply reverted to his wife. But how the deuce had it come about--that was the question?

"Good G.o.d!" was all he could e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e.

"Don't be profane, sir," retorted Lilian, with such a merry peal of laughter. "Why don't you congratulate me on my good fortune?"