Bessie's Fortune Part 61

OLD FRIENDS.

Over this letter Bessie had a good cry, with her face on Grey's shoulder and Grey's arms around her, and when he asked why she cried she said she did not know, only the world seemed a very dreary world with no one perfectly happy in it except themselves. But Bessie's tears in those days were like April showers, and she was soon as joyous and gay as ever, and entered heart and soul into the improvements and repairs which were to make Stoneleigh habitable for the Hon. John, who, greatly to their astonishment, came suddenly upon them one day when they were ankle deep in brick and mortar and lath and plaster, and all the other paraphernalia attendant upon repairing an old house.

Neil was away so much, he said, and he was so lonely in his lodgings, with no one to speak to but his landlady, that he had decided to come to Stoneleigh, though he did not mean to make the least trouble, or be at all in the way.

But a fine gentleman, unaccustomed to wait upon himself, is always in the way, and even Bessie's patience was taxed to its utmost during the weeks which followed. Fortunately for her, Grey knew what was needed better than she did herself, for while she would have torn down one day what had been done the day before, he moved more cautiously and judiciously, so that the work really progressed rapidly, and some time in March John McPherson took possession of the two rooms which had been expressly designed for him, and which, as they were fitted up and furnished with a reference to comfort rather than elegance, were exceedingly homelike and pleasant, and suited the London gentleman perfectly.

"Here I shall live and die, blessing you with my last breath," he said to Bessie, as he moved into his new quarters and seated himself in an arm-chair by a window which overlooked the park and the Menai Bridge not very far away.

He was very fond of Bessie, whom he always called "dear child," and once, when she stood by him, he put his arm about her and kissing her fondly said, "I wish you could have been my daughter; it would have been the making of Neil."

"No, no, oh, no, I couldn't, for there is Grey, whom I love a great deal the best," Bessie answered hurriedly, as she drew herself from him, half feeling as if a wrong had been done her husband by even a hint that she could ever have been the wife of another.

Some time in April the Jerrolds went to London and met Neil at the Grand Hotel, where he was staying a few days before leaving for India.

Owing to Grey's tact, the interview was tolerably free from embarra.s.sment, though in Neil's heart there was a wild tumult of conflicting emotions, as he stood with Bessie again face to face, and heard her well remembered voice.

How lovely she was in her young, happy wifehood, with the tired, care-worn look gone from her sweet face, where only the light of perfect joy and peace was s.h.i.+ning.

Grey, who, without being in the least a prig, was something of a connoisseur in the details of dress, had delighted to adorn his bride with everything which could enhance her beauty, and Bessie wore her plumage well, and there was a most striking contrast between the girl of fifteen, who, in her washed linen gown and faded ribbons, had once stood up in the park waving her handkerchief to Neil, and the young matron of twenty, who, clad in a faultless dinner dress, with diamonds in her ears and on her fingers, went forward to meet her cousin. And Neil recognized the difference, and felt himself growing both hot and cold by turns as he took the hand extended to him, and looked down upon the little lady, whom, but for her bright face and clear, innocent blue eyes, he would scarcely have known, so complete was the transformation. For a moment Neil felt as if he preferred the old linen, with its puffed sleeves and antiquated appearance, to the s.h.i.+mmer of the fawn-colored satin, with its facings of delicate blue, and the flush of the solitaires; but, as he watched her moving about the elegant rooms and discharging her duties as hostess just as kindly and thoughtfully as she had done at Stoneleigh, where the china was cracked and the silver was old, he said to himself, that the transformation was such as it should be, and that satins and diamonds, though out of place on little Bessie McPherson, of Stoneleigh, were fitting adornments for Mrs. Grey Jerrold, of Boston. He had called her Bessie, as of old, and the repeating the dear name to her, and seeing the quick, responsive smile and questioning glance he knew so well, nearly unmanned him, and raised within him such a tempest of love, and remorse, and regret for what he had lost, that it required all his fort.i.tude and will not to break down entirely, and to seem natural and at ease during the dinner, to which Grey had invited him, and which was served in the private parlor.

Half an hour or more after dinner a servant brought in a card with Jack Trevellian's name upon it, and in a moment Jack was with them, shaking hands cordially with both Grey and Bessie, and appearing as much at his ease as he did in the park when he first saw the latter and told her who the people were, while she, a shy country girl, looked on wonderingly and made her quaint remarks. She did not look like a country girl now, and Jack's eyes followed her admiringly as she moved around the room, with a faint flush on her cheeks and a very little shyness perceptible in her manner. Once, when standing near her, he put a hand on either shoulder, and looking down into her face said to her:

"Do you know, Mrs. Jerrold how nearly my heart was broken when I thought you were dead, and that for months the brightness of my life seemed blotted out. But it is all right now, and I am glad for you that you are Grey Jerrold's wife. You will be very happy with him."

"Yes, yes, very happy," Bessie answered, and then, scarcely knowing why she did so, she asked him abruptly for Flossie, and where she was.

"At Trevellian Castle," Jack replied, taking his hands from her shoulders and stepping back from her. "She is there with her grandmother, a cantankerous old woman, who leads Flossie a sorry life, or would if she were not so light-hearted that trouble slips from her easily."

"No one could be happy with Mrs. Meredith," Bessie said, "She is so cross and unreasonable, and I pity poor Flossie, who is made for suns.h.i.+ne. I wish she would go to America with us. I should be so glad to have her, and I mean to write and ask her. Do you think she would like to go?"

"Ye-es--no--I don't know," Jack answered, thoughtfully, while it seemed to Bessie that a shadow pa.s.sed over his face, and he sat for a few moments in a brown study as if revolving something in his mind. Then rousing up he said he must leave them, as he was due at a party at the West End, and it was time he was making his toilet. "I shall be very glad to see you at Trevellian Castle," he said to Grey, "and if you will come I will treat Mistress Bessie to the biggest fox-hunt she ever saw.

I have no end of hounds and horses, and Flossie is an admirable horsewoman. Why, she can take the highest fence and clear the widest ditch in the county. Come and see her do it. Good-by."

The next day Bessie wrote to Flossie, urging her to go with her to her new home, and saying that she knew she would like America, and be very happy there.

A week later and Neil started for India. He said good-by, at the hotel, to his father, who had come from Wales to see him; but Grey and Bessie went with him to Southampton, where he was to embark. It was hard for Neil to seem cheerful and natural, but he succeeded very well until the last, when he said good-by to Bessie. Then he broke down entirely, and, taking her in his arms, cried over her as a mother cries over the child she is losing.

"You have always been my good angel, Bessie," he said, "and if I ever make anything of myself, it will all be owing to you. Good-by, and may G.o.d bless you and make you the happiest woman in the world, as you deserve to be. I may never see you again, and I may. If I succeed, and really think I am a man, and not a sneak as you have always known me, I shall come to you sometime, and show you that there was something in Neil McPherson besides selfishness and conceit. Good-by."

Releasing her, he turned to Grey, who, during this little scene, had considerately turned his back upon them, and stood looking from the window as unconcernedly as if no tall, handsome cousin were kissing his wife and crying over her. He had perfect faith in Bessie, and he pitied Neil, and when the latter offered him his hand he took it, and pressing it warmly, said:

"Good by, and G.o.d bless you. As long as I live you will have a friend in me. I think you will succeed in India, but if you fail, try America. You are sure to succeed there, if you only have the will, and I can help you some, perhaps. Good-by."

Neil made no answer, except to wring Grey's hand, and then he pa.s.sed out from the old life to the new, with a pretty equal chance for failure or success.

This was in April, and the latter part of May the Jerrolds sailed for America, but before they did so Bessie received a letter from Flossie, who was at her grandmother's home near Portrush, in Ireland, and who wrote as follows:

"DEAR BESSIE: I ought to have written you long ago, and thanked you for your kind invitation to go with you to your American home. I should have liked it of all things in the world, for to see America and know what it is like, has been the dream of my life. You knew it is the paradise of my countrymen, the land into which Pat and Bridget entered when Johnny Bull came out. For various reasons, however, I must decline your invitation, and I am going to tell you all about it, but the beginning and the end lie so far apart that I must go way back to the time when, owing to some mistake, Jack Trevellian thought you died in Rome, and, because he thought so, he made a hermit of himself and wandered off into the Tyrol and the Bavarian Alps, where n.o.body spoke English, and where all he knew of the civilized world was what he gleaned from German papers. n.o.body could communicate with him, for when he wrote to his steward, as he did sometimes, he never said where a letter could reach him, or where he was going next.

"At last, however, he concluded to go home, and got as far as Paris, where grandma and I happened to be staying. This was last August, and I was in the Rue de Rivoli one day, near Place Vendome, when, who should turn from a side street a few rods in advance of me but Jack himself, looking very rough and queer, with a long beard and a shocking hat. He did not see me, and was walking so fast that I had to run to overtake him, and even then I might not have captured him if I had not taken the handle of my umbrella and hooked it into his coat collar behind. This brought him to a stand-still and nearly threw him down. You ought to have seen the expression of his face, when he turned to see who was garroting him in broad daylight, for he thought it was that.

"'Flossie!' he exclaimed; 'what are you about, and what is this you have hitched to me?'

"You see the umbrella was still hooked to his coat collar and flopping itself open.

"'If you will stand still I will show you what it is,' I said, laughing till I cried at the comical appearance he presented, with the pa.s.sers-by looking on wonderingly.

"I do not think he liked it very well. No one likes to be made ridiculous; but we were soon walking together very amicably, and he was telling me where he had been, and that he was now on his way to Trevellian Castle.

"'I have not seen you, Flossie,' he said--and I wish you could have heard how sadly and low he spoke--'I have not seen you since Bessie died in Rome. You were with her, I believe?'

"'Bessie died in Rome!' I exclaimed. 'What do you mean? Bessie did not die in Rome. She is not dead at all. She has gone to America in the same s.h.i.+p with Grey Jerrold.'

"He stopped more suddenly than he did when I hooked him with the umbrella, and turning toward me, asked me if I was telling him the truth. Then we walked on as far as the Champs d'Elysees, where we sat down, and I told him everything which had happened at Rome, and after we left there, as far as I knew. But I doubt if he heard half I was saying. The only point he did seem to understand was that you were not dead, and that you had gone to America in the same s.h.i.+p with Mr. Jerrold. It was Neil who had told me that, and to him I referred Jack for any further information concerning you. But I do not think he stopped to get it, for he went straight through London to Trevellian Castle, where his presence was needed. And then, after a time he invited grandma and me to visit him there, because he was lonely without any ladies in the house. And we went, and I was perfectly happy; for, you know, it was once my home, and it is going to be--But wait till I tell you how Jack is changed, and how he used to go away by himself, and stay for hours alone, and come back with such a tired look on his face, and ask me to tell him again of Mr.

Jerrold's kindness to you in Rome. Grandma said he was in love with you, and I think so, too. But wait till I tell you how he came home from London after seeing you there as Mrs. Jerrold, and how he raved about your beauty, and grace, and elegance, and the lovely dress you wore the night he called, blue he said he believed it was, and he wanted me to have one like it, as if what became your lilies and roses would suit my black face and turned-up Irish nose. But men know nothing of color, or anything else, at least Jack does not, as you will see when I tell you, if I ever come to that.

"Well, it was like this: You were married to Mr. Jerrold, and now I am going to tell you how your letter came, and Jack brought it to me, and stood staring at me while I read it, and then he said:

"'She has asked you to go to America?'

"'Yes,' I answered, without looking up; and he continued:

"'And you are going?

"'I'd like to,' I said, 'I would rather go to America than to any other place in all the world.'

"'Rather than stay here with me?' he asked.

"Something in his voice made me look up, and then--and then--I do not believe I can tell you, except that I suddenly found out that I had been caring a great deal for Sir Jack Trevellian. Yes, a great deal; while he--well, I may as well tell you, for Sir Jack is not the man to say he loves a girl if he does not, and he told me he loved me, and wanted me for his wife; and I, well, I just covered up my face so he could not see it, and cried with all my might, I was so happy and glad.

"I know what transpired at Stoneleigh, and that I am not his first choice, but I am satisfied. How could he help loving you. I am sure I could not if I were a man, and so we are to be married in June, here, in grandma's house, where she brought me the minute she heard of the engagement.

"'It is highly improper for you to stay at Trevellian Castle a day, under the circ.u.mstances,' she said, as if Sir Jack, as my promised husband, had been suddenly transformed into a monster, who would work me harm.

"I wish you could come to the wedding, and so does Jack. He is here, and has been for a week, and when I finish this letter we are going out to sit upon the rocks and see the tide come in and the moon rise, and shall naturally sentimentalize a little, and he will tell me how much he loves me, and call me his Irish la.s.sie; he has done that a hundred times, but when he gets too spooney and demonstrative, I ask him if he loves me better than he did you, and that quiets him, for like your president, or king, George Somebody or other, he cannot tell a lie, and says:

"'Not better, perhaps, but differently, just as you are different from her. She is fair, you know, and you are dark--' and so I infer that his love for you was white, and his love for me black. '_Ah, bien; je suis contente_.'

"And now I _must_ close, for Jack has come in, hat in hand, and bids me hurry, as there is the funniest specimen of an American down on the Rocks that he ever saw. Her name is Mrs. Rossiter-Browne, and her daughter married an Irish lord who lives near Dublin. I have met so few Americans that I must really see this one. Jack says it is better than a play to hear her talk. So, good-by. From your loving FLOSSIE."

"P.S.--I have seen Mrs. Rossiter-Browne, who knows you, and Grey, and all his relations back to the flood. Is she a fair specimen of Americans? But of course not; even I know better than that. Mr.

Jerrold is not at all like her--neither, I fancy, are his people.

Mrs. Browne has recently arrived, and is to spend the summer with her daughter. Lady Hardy, who is not with her. She talks so funny, and her slang is so original, and her grammar so droll, that I find her charming, and if many of the Americans are like her, you are to be congratulated, as you can never lack variety. Once more, good-by, FLORENCE MEREDITH."