They who sin for love aren't so bad, sir, as they who sin for money. I never heard worse of Tyrrel Rawdon than that he loved a poor woman instead of a rich woman--and married her. Those that have gone before us into the next life, I should think are good friends together; and I wouldn't wonder if we might even make them happier there if we conclude to forget all old wrongs and live together here--as Rawdons ought to live--like one family.""I am of your opinion, John Thomas," said the Squire, rising, and as he did so he looked at the Judge, who immediately indorsed the proposal. One after the other rose with sweet and strong assent, until there was only Tyrrel Rawdon's voice lacking.
But when all had spoken he rose also, and said:
"I am Tyrrel Rawdon's direct descendant, and I speak for him when I say to-day, `Make room for me among my kindred!' He that loves much may be forgiven much."Then the housekeeper was called, and they went slowly, with soft words, up to the third story of the house. And the room unused for a century was flung wide open; the shutters were unbarred, and the sunshine flooded it; and there amid his fishing tackle, guns, and whips, and faded ballads upon the wall, and books of wood lore and botany, and dress suits of velvet and satin, and hunting suits of scarlet--all faded and falling to pieces--stood the picture of Tyrrel Rawdon, with its face turned to the wall. The Squire made a motion to his descendant, and the young American tenderly turned it to the light.
There was no decay on those painted lineaments.
The almost boyish face, with its loving eyes and laughing mouth, was still twenty-four years old; and with a look of pride and affection the Squire lifted the picture and placed it in the hands of the Tyrrel Rawdon of the day.
The hanging of the picture in its old place was a silent and tender little ceremony, and after it the party separated. Mrs. Rawdon went with Ruth to rest a little. She said "she had a headache," and she also wanted a good womanly talk over the affair. The Squire, Judge Rawdon, Mr. Nicholas Rawdon, and John Thomas returned to the dining-room to drink a bottle of such mild Madeira as can only now be found in the cellars of old county magnates, and Ethel and Tyrrel Rawdon strolled into the garden. There had not been in either mind any intention of leaving the party, but as they passed through the hall Tyrrel saw Ethel's garden hat and white parasol lying on a table, and, impelled by some sudden and unreasoned instinct, he offered them to her. Not a word of request was spoken; it was the eager, passionate command of his eyes she obeyed. And for a few minutes they were speechless, then so intensely conscious that words stumbled and were lame, and they managed only syllables at a time. But he took her hand, and they came by sunny alleys of boxwood to a great plane tree, bearing at wondrous height a mighty wealth of branches. A bank of soft, green turf encircled its roots, and they sat down in the trembling shadows. It was in the midst of the herb garden; beds of mint and thyme, rosemary and marjoram, basil, lavender, and other fragrant plants were around, and close at hand a little city of straw skeps peopled by golden brown bees; From these skeps came a delicious aroma of riced flowers and virgin wax. It was a new Garden of Eden, in which life was sweet as perfume and pure as prayer. Nothing stirred the green, sunny afternoon but the murmur of the bees, and the sleepy twittering of the birds in the plane branches. An inexpressible peace swept like the breath of heaven through the odorous places. They sat down sighing for very happiness.
The silence became too eloquent. At length it was almost unendurable, and Ethel said softly:
"How still it is!"
Tyrrel looked at her steadily with beaming eyes. Then he took from his pocket a little purse of woven gold and opal-tinted beads, and held it in his open hand for her to see, watching the bright blush that spread over her face, and the faint, glad smile that parted her lips.
"You understand?"
"Yes. It is mine."
"It was yours. It is now mine."
"How did you get it?"
"I bought it from the old man you gave it to.""Oh! Then you know him? How is that?"
"The hotel people sent a porter home with him lest he should be robbed. Next day I made inquiries, and this porter told me where he lived. I went there and bought this purse from him. I knew some day it would bring me to you. I have carried it over my heart ever since.""So you noticed me?"
"I saw you all the time I was singing. I have never forgotten you since that hour."
"What made you sing?"
"Compassion, fate, an urgent impulse; perhaps, indeed, your piteous face--I saw it first.""Really?"
"I saw it first. I saw it all the time I was singing. When you dropped this purse my soul met yours in a moment's greeting. It was a promise. I knew I should meet you again.
I have loved you ever since. I wanted to tell you so the hour we met. It has been hard to keep my secret so long.""It was my secret also."
"I love you beyond all words. My life is in your hands. You can make me the gladdest of mortals. You can send me away forever.""Oh, no, I could not! I could not do that!" The rest escapes words; but thus it was that on this day of days these two came by God's grace to each other.
For all things come by fate to flower, At their unconquerable hour.
And the very atmosphere of such bliss is diffusive; it seemed as if all the living creatures around understood. In the thick, green branches the birds began to twitter the secret, and certainly the wise, wise bees knew also, in some occult way, of the love and joy that had just been revealed. A wonderful humming and buzzing filled the hives, and the air vibrated with the movement of wings. Some influence more swift and secret than the birds of the air carried the matter further, for it finally reached Royal, the Squire's favorite collie, who came sauntering down the alley, pushed his nose twice under Ethel's elbow, and then with a significant look backward, advised the lovers to follow him to the house.
