CHAPTER XV.

_THE YOUNG PEOPLE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER AT LAST._

If that there be one scene in life wherefrom Evil is absent, it is pure early love.

Adele's languor increased with the summer. The heat, which had grown intense in and about London, the fatigues of the season, the anxiety about Arthur and their mutual friend Mrs. Grey,--all these worked upon a constitution in which the seeds of delicacy were deeply rooted.

Mrs. Churchill began to be anxious, and to cast about for some suitable method of giving her daughter change of air. Nothing presented itself for the moment. It was too early for Scarborough or Whitby; only plebeians frequented Brighton in July; against the Continent, Switzerland, Germany or the Italian lakes Adele protested loudly, and the good Mrs. Churchill felt a certain sinking of heart at the prospect of putting the breadth of the Channel between herself and England during the London season. The little gossip of society, the _projets de mariage_, the whispers of political complications, the scandals of high life were dear to Mrs. Churchill's soul. And at this special time, when the air was rife with rumor, it would have been irritating, to say the least of it, to go out into the blank of an existence from which the _Morning Post_ and _Court Journal_ would of necessity be excluded. But none of these things could alter the fact. Adele was pining in the great city; she wanted change of air.

Indecision and anxiety are not improving to the temper. The good-natured Mrs. Churchill became sharp and irritable. She was annoyed with Adele for being ill, and with Fate for not delaying her illness by a few weeks, when London could be left without a pang, and the bracing climate of Scarborough would have been open to them; she was angry with Arthur for his new independence and mysterious course of conduct, and especially with that absurd Mrs. Grey, who seemed, by means of her romantic story and inexplicable power of fascination, to be at the root of all the inconvenience. The worst of it was that this internal effervescence could be allowed very little external vent, for Arthur and Mrs. Grey were out of reach, and the doctors, several of whom had been consulted, had given express orders that Adele should be kept as quiet as possible. Of course it was idle to rave against Fate, for Fate is calm and impersonal, and only bruises the breasts of the tumultuous. The servants were the only sufferers, but they took their mistress's ill-temper with great equanimity, knowing their personal comforts would not be one jot diminished, and that this storm would pass as others had passed before it. But Mrs. Churchill could not always keep her annoyance from her daughter, and on one of these hot days her feelings became quite too much for her.

Adele was on the sofa again, deeply engrossed in one of her pet volumes with the calf-skin binding. Her mother had been wandering about from one position to another in the vain effort to cool herself; she had tried at least a dozen different fans, she had bathed her face and hands again and again in eau-de-cologne, she had read a little and worked a little, had taken up the paper and thrown it down again, had sighed and fumed and bustled till her state was really pitiable.

"Adele," she cried at last, "for Goodness' sake put down that book. Whatever the doctor may say about your not being crossed, I'm quite sure--and so I told him only yesterday--that so much reading is very bad for the mind, especially in hot weather. Why, _I_ can't even get through the paper; and you look as pale as a ghost. Oh," wringing her hands in desperation, "if I only knew what to do with you!"

"Only don't excite yourself, mamma," said Adele languidly.

"Excite myself? That is not a very dutiful way of addressing your mother, Adele, especially when what you call my excitement is solely on your account."

"I know it, mamma dear," said Adele gently, putting down the obnoxious volume. "Forgive me if I annoyed you, but really I wish so much that you would cease being anxious about me. I shall be better as soon as ever the weather is a little cooler."

"And how long may we suppose that will be?" Mrs. Churchill panted, and began again agitating desperately the latest fan, a feathered one. "I tell you what it is, if this goes on I shall shut up the house and leave London altogether."

She spoke defiantly, as if London would be greatly the sufferer by such a step.

Adele shook her head: "You would certainly not like it, dear. No: I'll tell you what to do. You must get Mary Churchill to stay with you here. It will be pleasant for her to see a little of London, and you know Aunt Mary will be charmed. Send me away somewhere for a fortnight. I have a kind of longing for the sea." The young girl closed her eyes. "I can imagine it, mamma, always so fresh and beautiful--Lord Byron's 'deep and dark blue ocean.' How nice it would be after the tiresome, dusty streets and squares! I shall get better there directly; I feel it."

Mrs. Churchill sighed impatiently: "One would think to hear you, Adele, that a young lady could live at the seaside by herself, without any protection. Pray, little Miss Wisdom, how am I to send you to this sea which you describe so romantically? I do believe those poetry-books are at the root of all the mischief. I wish they were all drowned in that same blue ocean. Blue, indeed! _I_ never see it anything but a dirty gray. I suppose I want the fine poetic insight. And instead of helping me you have started another difficulty. I promised your aunt Mary to show your cousin a little of the world this season; of course it would have been pleasanter for you to have gone out together; you are such different styles that it might have been very safely done. I must say it is extremely tiresome to have all one's plans upset. I wouldn't mind so much if I could see any way out of all this, but really and truly I was never so utterly at sea in my life."

"Write to Aunt Mary," said Adele cheerfully, "and leave me to manage the rest."

"Leave you, indeed! I might as well leave a baby. I know your unpractical schemes of old. Dear me! I wish I could think of some feasible plan."

"Only don't fret yourself, dear," said Adele, kissing her mother affectionately; "and listen! is that not Arthur's knock? I dare say he can help us."

"_Very_ likely!" said Mrs. Churchill in a manner that was meant to be splendidly satirical. "However," she continued, "I must dress now, but I shall come down again before I go out; and remember, Adele, if I find he has excited your mind by any of his absurd romances, I shall forbid him the house at once."

Adele's eyes twinkled pleasantly at this awful threat. She knew her mother too well to have even the faintest fear of its fulfilment.

When Arthur came in she saw in a moment that he was changed. The languid, quasi-sentimental look had gone from his face, his step was brisk and vigorous, he held himself erect; he even seemed to his cousin's partial eyes to have grown since she saw him last. For the moment as she gazed she trembled. It was all over, then. He had come to tell her of success; but, reproving herself for the selfishness of the thought, she held out her hand with a smile: "The sea-air has done you good, Arthur; you look a different person."

He looked down upon her kindly: "I think I am better, Adele, and in more ways than one; but, my poor little cousin, I can't return the compliment; you look as pale as a ghost. What in the world has Aunt Ellen been doing with you?"

Adele flushed painfully, for she was impatient to know what his experience had been: "Please don't mind my looks, Arthur. Remember I am curious. Be kind to me, dear," she smiled faintly; "keep me no longer in suspense. Your eyes tell me something has been done."

Arthur sat down, and took one of her hands in his: "What do you read in them, Adele?"

She looked away, shading her face with her hand: "That you have something to live for at last--that she, the woman whom you love--and I believe she is worthy of your love"--it was bravely said, though there was a certain rebellious rising in the poor little throat; she paused a moment to choke it down, then continued very calmly--"that Margaret has chosen you for her protector, that you are already busy planning to restore her to happiness."

Arthur smiled again, then stooped over his cousin's sofa: "Why do you look away, Adele? If I should say that all this is true, that you are the most penetrating little lady in the world, would you not be glad, seeing that I have only obeyed you?"

"Don't, Arthur, don't," was the stifled answer, for he was struggling with the hand which hid her averted face, and tears were in her eyes, tyrannous exponents of a secret she would have died rather than reveal. Arthur might have descanted with reason on the capriciousness of woman's character, but he did not; he only smiled very tenderly, and drew the tear-stained face to a surer shelter as he told in a few earnest, manly words of the experiences of the last few days, and of the task he had set himself.

"Adele," he whispered in conclusion, "I am cured. When I left you my brain was full of mad ideas. _She_ showed me their folly, and now I can admire her, I can honor her, I can even love her, as a brother might, with the purest desire for her happiness, which I still earnestly hope to restore by giving her back her husband. For myself, my dream has changed. Listen, Adele, dear. Look up at me once: my present hope is this--to strive by every means in my power to make myself worthy of the gentlest, the most womanly, the noblest--"

She read the rest in his eyes, and with a smile that irradiated her face till it was absolutely beautiful she looked up and put her finger on his lips: "Hush, dear, hush! say no more; you make me ashamed of myself, I have been so impatient and foolish. But, Arthur, I am happy now, _so_ happy!"

She rested her head on the sofa and looked up at him, her blue eyes shining and her cheeks glowing with soft excitement; a little smile of contentment was playing about her lips, her golden hair fell back from her forehead in rippling waves; she was fairer than ever before, for nothing is so beautifying as happiness, especially to women of Adele's type.

Her cousin felt it. He looked at her with a smile. "Do you know, Adele," he said gently, "I never thought you beautiful before, but you _are_ beautiful. What is it that is new to me in your face, little cousin?"

She shook her head: "I can't tell, dear, unless perhaps it may be that never in all my life have I been so _very_, very happy."

By which answer it will be seen that Adele was but a novice in the ways of the world. She was not afraid, now she knew her love was returned, of letting its fullness be seen.

Let him love her little or much, that he loved her was enough. From the moment that was known she could not help letting him see she was his without reserve.

And Arthur's was not a nature to abuse such confidence "She trusts me fully. She shall never regret it," he said to himself. The consciousness of love and confidence unreservedly given is ennobling to some natures. His cousin's simple trust was a new rock of strength to the young man.

He stooped and kissed the young girl's ruddy lips, and there went from her warm, glowing life and love a thrill of something reciprocal through his being. He loved her, not with the first unreasoning love of the boy throwing his wilful soul into a dream that has come he knows not how--that is beautiful, fascinating, enthralling, he knows not why--but with a riper, better feeling, for those weeks' experience had served to form the young man's character, and it may be that for the time he was even in advance of his years.

He loved his cousin for herself, with a love founded on the sure basis of unwavering respect. He had seen her as she was, and he admired her with all his soul for her beautiful unselfishness. Besides, _she_ loved him with a force of loving that only a few weeks before would have been utterly incomprehensible to him. Arthur's suffering had taught him something, and he was able to understand his cousin.

After the mutual revelation they chatted together pleasantly, formed plans by the thousand for Arthur's guidance in the difficult task that was before him and for Adele's demeanor in his absence. They were as happy as two birds in a nest, for Arthur was at rest in his heart and in his conscience, and in the light of her own happiness and pride Adele could not even be distressed at the indefinite separation before them. For with the sanguine nature of youth she could not bring herself to believe it would be long.

But as they talked the glow faded from her face. She was still weak, and the glad excitement that had lent so soft a bloom to her cheek for a time was itself exhausting.

Arthur was alarmed as he looked at her, she was so pale and fragile. This friend, whose affection he had almost despised, was becoming infinitely dear to him, and with a sudden pang he thought that perhaps this delicacy might mean more than they had imagined.

"Adele," he said in a startled tone, leaning over her sofa and gazing anxiously into her eyes, "you must keep nothing from me; remember I am to be your husband. Tell me the whole truth, or I shall go away from you with a haunting fear. Is anything seriously wrong with you? Does the doctor seem alarmed?"

She smiled a glad smile. It was sweet to be so cared for.

"In all honesty I believe not, dear. All I want is change of air. You see I am weak," she sighed, "and all these people coming and going tire me. Oh, Arthur, if you knew how I long for the sea sometimes! It is like a kind of home-sickness. I feel as if I should be well at once if I could only hear the waves. Don't you know--that nice, fresh, restful sound?"

"I can't conceive why Aunt Ellen keeps you here," said Arthur with the indignant impatience of youth. A few days before he had not been so boundlessly considerate for his cousin himself. But human nature is ever the same. We would wish all our neighbors to view the landscape from our own standpoint; indeed, we are sometimes highly incensed if they persist in looking at it from theirs.

"Poor mamma!" said Adele, "she is quite put out and puzzled about me. You see, she never likes to leave London at this time; and then she promised to have Cousin Mary here, and there is so much going on."

"But why need _she_ go?" persisted Arthur. "Now, if she would only agree to the arrangement, and if you could stand the journey, I would willingly see you as far as Middlethorpe. Mrs. Grey has plenty of spare room, she would be delighted to see you, and old Martha is travelling there to-day, so that you would be well taken care of; then later in the year Aunt Ellen could pick you up on her way to Scarborough."

Adele shook her head: "_I_ should like it very much, but I fear mamma won't. She will call it one of our unpractical schemes."

"But that's all nonsense," said Arthur impatiently; "she must either take you away herself or let some one else do it, and surely I am as fit a person as any one to decide on what is fitting for my future wife."

Adele laughed out merrily then, for as the last words were spoken in a tone of indescribable importance, the door opened and Mrs. Churchill appeared, radiant with smiles and good-humor. She had caught the latter part of Arthur's sentence, and its decisive tenor set her mind completely at rest. Evidently these ridiculous young people had at last settled matters to their own satisfaction and hers.

"Treason in the camp!" she said, gayly, repulsing her nephew's offered hand. "No, no, sir; before I have anything whatever to say to you I must hear the burden of your complaint, and understand from your own lips _what_ is fitting for your future wife."

"Mamma!" "Aunt Ellen!" Adele and Arthur were covered with confusion in a moment.

"Blushing, too!" said that lady unpityingly. "Come, Master Arthur, your confusion is becoming, and Adele's blushes particularly charming, but _I_ am not answered. What are your lordship's commands? for I suppose they must be obeyed."

"Must they, Aunt Ellen? _tant mieux_," answered the young man lightly; "then I shall lay them upon you without delay. This young lady"--he took one of Adele's hands and held it in his--"my future wife, as you observe, is looking wretchedly ill and worn; she requires change of air at once."

Mrs. Churchill's face clouded: "Easily stated, my dear nephew; the difficulty is at the present moment to give it to her."

"The difficulty can easily be overcome, Aunt Ellen, if you will only have confidence in my judgment. You have heard something about Mrs. Grey--"

"And quite enough, Arthur; pray don't begin upon _that_ old story."

"But I must, indeed, Aunt Ellen, if you are to understand what I want. Mrs. Grey has been good enough to put all her affairs in my hands. I have learned from her that the separation between herself and her husband was brought about by a misunderstanding which she has been allowed no opportunity of explaining. _My_ business now is to find out her husband and make him understand the true state of affairs."

"All very well," broke in Mrs. Churchill impatiently; "and I'm glad to hear she had the good taste and honesty to let you know at least that her husband is living. But, pray, what has this to do with Adele?"

"Patience for one moment, Aunt Ellen. I only trouble you with all these details that you may know my scheme for my cousin is not so unpractical as it may seem. Mrs. Grey, I am firmly convinced, is an honorable, high-minded lady, or else indeed I could not wish to entrust her, even for one day, with the keeping of any one so near and dear to me as Adele must be under any circumstances; for (_please_ let me go on for one more moment) my scheme is this: Mrs. Grey has a charming little house on the Yorkshire coast; the air is splendid, the neighborhood is quiet."

Mrs. Churchill could not help smiling: "_Don't_ take a leaf out of _Murray_, Arthur."

But the young man continued seriously: "She will be delighted to receive Adele for a time. If you agree to this, I can take her to Middlethorpe before I go abroad, and you, on your way to Scarborough in the autumn, can bring her on with you. Old Martha will be there, for I sent her on to-day with some jewelry belonging to Mrs. Grey which I have reclaimed from her lawyer. You know Martha will look after Adele's comfort as well as you could. Come now, Aunt Ellen, is this such a very unpractical scheme?"

"Perhaps not, since your Mrs. Grey has turned out to be a respectable matron after all; but what warrant have we that her story is true?"

"Mamma!" began Adele indignantly, but Arthur stopped her:

"My moral conviction of her truth is enough for me, Aunt Ellen, and for Adele; I believe it would be for you if you had once seen her. But for your satisfaction I can tell you that her story has been rather strangely confirmed. I went to see Golding about it this morning, for I wished to set him on the track of Mrs. Grey's child, who, I should tell you, was mysteriously stolen away from her about a week ago. He knows Mrs. Grey's solicitor, and had heard from him all the leading points of the story."

Mrs. Churchill sighed: "Ah, well! I hope no harm will come of it. I must say it's a queer state of affairs altogether, but as far as I can see it seems the best plan. Adele is certainly old enough to take care of herself, and Mrs. Grey could scarcely have any ulterior design in asking her to stay at the house. Then old Mrs. Foster being there is a great thing; she is a most trustworthy person. I suppose it will be necessary for me to write to Mrs. Grey, but how am I to put it? Is she supposed to have sent an invitation by you?"

Adele's eyes were glistening with delight at this happy termination. "Never mind about that, mamma," she said gayly. "I will write a little note to Margaret to prepare her for my coming, and, let me see, if you like, Arthur, I can start the day after to-morrow."

"My dear child, how impetuous you are!"

"The day after to-morrow, Aunt Ellen," said Arthur decisively; "that will give me to-morrow for further inquiries in town, the day after for our journey, then on the day following, if at all possible, I shall start for the Continent."

"Well, well," said Aunt Ellen, good-humoredly, "you young people have taken the law into your own hands, so all I have to do is to submit." And thus the matter was arranged to the mutual satisfaction of the cousins.