A Young Mutineer Part 30

The day was a perfect one, very warm and summery for the time of year, and the young people all agreed that it was by no means too early in the season to enjoy themselves even in this _al fresco_ fas.h.i.+on.

They were to end with tea at the "Star and Garter," and they all started off now for this day's pleasure in the highest spirits.

Hilda was quite young enough to enjoy such a proceeding immensely. As s.p.a.ce divided her from her little home in Philippa Terrace her spirits rose, and now, if Judy had only been by her side, she would have felt perfectly happy.

By the time they reached Richmond Park all trace of tears and sorrow had left her charming face, and she was one of the brightest and gayest of the company.

No one could make herself more useful than Hilda, and when her husband appeared on the scene, he was a good deal astonished to see her flying lightly about, ordering and directing the arrangements of the picnic dinner. Her gay laughter floated to his ears on the summer breeze, her cheeks were bright, her eyes s.h.i.+ning. In short, she looked like that charming Hilda who had won his heart in the old Rectory garden not a year ago.

Hilda was busily helping to concoct a salmon mayonnaise, when, raising her eyes, she met her husband's gaze. He smiled back at her a look of approval and love, and her heart rose considerably.

There were other people present besides Jasper who thought Mrs. Quentyns a very beautiful young woman. There were others waiting to show her the most polite and gracious attentions, and these facts considerably enhanced her value in her husband's eyes. In short, he began to fall in love with his wife over again, and Judy for the time being was forgotten by this pair.

The day pa.s.sed all too quickly, and at last the moment arrived when the little party must turn their steps homeward.

"You must both come home and have supper with us," said Lady Malvern to her nephew and his wife. "Oh, yes, I shall take no denial; and now, Jasper, will you drive Cynthia and her sister back to town? I mean Hilda to accompany me."

Jasper was all smiles and good-humor. He was willing to accede to any arrangement which could add to the pleasures of the day, and Hilda, in whose heart a faint hope had lingered that she and her husband might have gone home together, followed Lady Malvern to her carriage with a little sigh. The whole party was soon driving home. Lady Malvern and Hilda had a small victoria to themselves. As soon as ever they left the rest of the party, the older woman turned and gave a full glance at the girl by her side.

"Hilda," she said suddenly, "you look better than you did this morning."

"Oh, I feel better," she replied. "You have done me lots of good," she continued, raising her eyes with an affectionate light in them to Lady Malvern's kind face.

"I am delighted to have helped you, my love," replied the elder lady; "and now, Hilda, I want to say something. You have been married very little over three months. It is a very common illusion with girls to imagine that married life is a time of perpetual bliss."

Hilda opened her lips to say something, but Lady Malvern interrupted.

"My dear," she said, "you must hear me out. Married life is not a bed of roses, and the first year which a young couple spend together is generally the hardest of all."

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Quentyns. "Why the first year?"

"Because, my dear, the glamour is gradually being removed. The girl is finding that the hero whom she married is a right good fellow, but still that he is human; that he has his faults and his aggravations; that he needs to be humored and consulted and petted, and to have his smallnesses--yes, my dear, mark the word, his smallnesses--attended to.

The husband is making similar discoveries with regard to the lovely angel whom he took to his arms. She, too, is mortal--affectionate, of course, and sweet and womanly, and ten thousand times better than a real angel would be to him, but still with her faults, her tempers, and her fads. The young couple discover these things in each other during the first two or three months of married life. All their future happiness depends on how they both act, under the influence of these discoveries.

They have got to learn that, though they are made one by the priest, they are both of them distinct individualities. If they are to be happy together, they must both give and take. I know a married couple who are now the happiest, prosiest, most attached old pair in the world, who went through no end of storms during their first eventful year. But they learned a lesson and profited by it. The wife does not now think her husband the greatest hero that ever set foot on this earth, and the husband does not call his wife an angel; but I think, if their love were a.n.a.lyzed, it would be found greater, deeper, and more tender than that early glamour which was love, but was not equal to the love tried by fire which comes later in life. Now, my dear, you will forgive my little lecture. If you had need of it, ponder my words; if not, forgive an old woman for worrying you. Hilda, what a sweet, pretty little house you have! I always knew that my nephew Jasper had good taste. I am so truly glad that you have the same."

While Lady Malvern was speaking, Hilda pulled down her veil, and struggled hard to keep the tears from her brown eyes. She could not quite manage this, however, and Lady Malvern, giving her a half-glance, saw that her eyelashes were wet.

She did not add any more in words, but she made up her mind to help the young girl by every means in her power.

They drove on rapidly. The horses were fresh, and they were getting over the ground with great rapidity, when a quickly approaching train startled one of the horses. At the same time a man on a bicycle darted round the corner, and before he could help himself, knocked against the carriage. The double shock was enough for the affrighted horses. They plunged, reared, and became unmanageable, and the next moment the little victoria was overturned, and Lady Malvern and Mrs. Quentyns were flung with some violence on the pavement. Lady Malvern was not severely hurt, and she sprang almost immediately to her feet, but the fright and fall had stunned Hilda, who lay white and still on the ground without any attempt at movement. The usual crowd of course collected, and it was on this scene that Quentyns, in high good-humor, and forgetting for the time being that there was a crumpled rose-leaf in the world, suddenly came with some more of the picnic party. As a matter of course, they all drew up. Quentyns was driving a high dog-cart. He sprang to the ground and ran into the midst of the crowd. Then for the first time he realized what had happened. His young wife, looking as if she were dead, was lying in Lady Malvern's arms. Lady Malvern was seated on a doorstep.

Some men were hastily coming forward with a shutter.

"My G.o.d!" exclaimed Quentyns; "is she dead?"

"No, my dear boy, no--only stunned," said Lady Malvern. "Here, take her into your own arms, Jasper. You are stronger than I. Let her see your face first when she opens her eyes. No medicine will be so reviving as that."

Here a woman came up and spoke to Lady Malvern.

"I shall be only too pleased to have the young lady brought into my house, madam," she said. "A very good doctor lives just round the corner, and he can be summoned at once."

"Yes, yes; send for him immediately," said Quentyns.

He strode into the house with his light burden. Hilda was laid upon a sofa, and in a few moments the doctor arrived. He felt her all over and said that no bones were broken, and that no severe injury of any kind had occurred, but both fall and shock had been very severe. He counseled her being left undisturbed in her present condition until the morning.

"Then I will go home," said Lady Malvern. "You will look after her yourself, Jasper?"

"Need you ask?" he replied. He followed his aunt to the door as he spoke.

"Hilda had a narrow escape of her life," said Lady Malvern, looking full at her nephew as she spoke. "How sudden and awful it all was! There were we chatting together, and thinking no more of danger than if such a thing did not exist, when all in an instant came that awful bolt from the blue. I shall never forget the swinging of the carriage and the way the horses looked when they plunged and kicked about, or the white piteous face of your sweet little Hilda, who would not scream nor show any outward sign of terror. I thought it was all over with both of us--I did really, Jasper. I cannot tell you how thankful we ought to be that things are no worse."

"You are sure then that Hilda is not in danger?" queried the young man in a tremulous voice.

"No, no; what did you hear the doctor say, you silly boy? Perhaps the best thing that could have happened to Hilda was this accident, dreadful as it was for the moment. Perhaps--well, Jasper, I think you must know what I mean."

"Has Hilda been talking about me?" asked Jasper, a wave of red mounting to his brow.

"Talking about you?" replied his aunt, now thoroughly angry; "only in the way that Hilda can talk of those whom she loves best on earth.

Jasper, you are the luckiest man in the world, and if you don't contrive to make that sweet child the happiest woman, I for one will have nothing to do with you again."

"No fear, no fear, if she loves me in that way," murmured Jasper.

He turned abruptly on his heel and went back to the room where his wife lay. He was a very proud, reserved man, and even in moments of the deepest agitation would scarcely reveal his real sentiments. But that moment, when he had looked at his wife's white face and had thought that she was dead, had shaken his whole nature to its very depths. He made a discovery then that nothing in all the world was of any real value to him compared with Hilda's love.

"I have acted like a brute to her," he murmured. "Rivers was right.

She's too good for me--she's fifty times too good for me. My G.o.d, how white she looks as she lies there! Suppose the doctor is wrong. Why doesn't she speak or move? Why do they make so little of this continued unconsciousness? I think I'll go for some further advice. Oh, my darling, my darling, if you are dead, if your sweet life has been taken, I shall never forgive myself--never!"

But just then there was a faint stir of the heavily fringed lids which lay against Hilda's white cheeks. The next moment the sweet brown eyes were opened wide, and Hilda looked into her husband's face.

"What has happened?" she asked drowsily. "I don't remember anything.

Where are we?"

"Together, Hilda," he replied; "together. Does anything else really matter?"

"Oh, no, no!" she said, with a catch in her voice.

Next day Mrs. Quentyns was so far convalescent as to be able to return to the little house in Philippa Terrace. Jasper, of course, accompanied her. They had found a good deal to say to each other, between the moment when she had opened her eyes the night before and now. Both had some things to confess--both had some words of forgiveness to crave from the other. So complete now had been the interchange of soul and of love between this pair that it seemed impossible that anything could ever separate such warm hearts again.

"And it has been all Judy's doing," said Jasper as they sat that evening in the little drawing room.

"What do you mean?" asked his wife.

"Why," he answered, "if Judy had not brought matters to a crisis by going away, we might have drifted further and further apart. But now we must have her back again, Hilda. She has fulfilled her mission, dear little soul, and now she must have her reward."

"No," said Hilda, in a firm voice. "Judy shall have her reward, but not by coming back. She did right to go. I could never, never have sent her away, but she did right to go."

"Do you mean to tell me, Hilda, that you could be perfectly happy to live without her?"