CHAPTER IX.

TEARS.

Alice Raynor was sitting in a small parlour at Mrs. Preen's, dedicated to herself and the children's studies, busily employed in correcting exercises. The afternoon sun shone upon the room, and she had drawn the table into the shade. Her head and hands were given to their work, but her deeper thoughts were far away: for there existed not a minute in the day that the anxiety caused by her uncertain prospects was not more or less present to her mind. She knew nothing of the new hopes relative to Eagles' Nest. In truth, those hopes, both to Mrs. Raynor and Edina, seemed almost too wonderful to be real; and as yet they refrained from giving them to Alice.

The corrections did not take very long, and then Alice laid down the pen and sat thinking. She felt hot and weary, and wished it was nearer tea-time. The old days at Eagles' Nest came into her thoughts. They very often did so: and the contrast they presented to these later ones always made her sad.

A slight tap at the door, and a gentleman entered: William Stane. Alice blushed through her hot cheeks when she saw who it was, and brushed the tears from her eyes. But not before he had seen them.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Raynor. Mrs. Preen is out, I hear."

"Yes, she is out with the two little girls."

"I am sorry. I have brought up some admission tickets for the Botanical flower-show: they were only given me this morning. Do you think Mrs. Preen will be back soon?"

"Not in time to use the tickets. They have gone to an afternoon-tea at Richmond."

"What a pity! It is the rose show. I--suppose you could not go with me?" added Mr. Stane in some hesitation.

"Oh dear, no," replied Alice, glancing at him in astonishment. "Thank you very much."

"Mrs. Preen would not like it, you think?"

"I am sure she would not. You forget that I am only the governess."

Down sat Mr. Stane on the other side the table, and began fingering absently one of the exercise-books, looking occasionally at Alice while he did so.

"What were you crying about?" he suddenly asked.

Alice was taken aback. "I--I don't think I was quite crying."

"You were very near it. What was the matter?"

"I am very sorry to have to leave," she truthfully answered. "Mrs. Preen is about to stay for a time in Devonshire, as perhaps you know, and the little girls are to go to school. So I am no longer wanted here."

"I should consider that a subject for laughter instead of tears. You will be spared work."

"Ah, you don't know," cried Alice, her tone one of pain. "If I do not work here, I must elsewhere. And the next place I get may be harder than this."

"And you were crying at the anticipation?"

"No. I was crying at the thought of perhaps not being able speedily to find another situation. I--suppose," she timidly added, "you do not happen to know of any situation vacant, Mr. Stane?"

"Why, yes, I believe I do. And I think you will be just the right person to fill it."

Her blue eyes brightened, her whole face lighted up with eagerness.

"Oh, if you can only obtain it for me! I shall be so thankful, for mamma's sake."

"But it is not as a governess."

"Not as a governess! What then?"

"As a housekeeper."

"Oh dear!" cried Alice in dismay. "I don't know very much about housekeeping. People would not think me old enough."

"And as a wife."

She did not understand him. He was rising from his seat to approach her, a smile on his face. Alice sat looking at him with parted lips.

"As _my_ wife, Alice," he said, bending low. "Oh, my dear, surely our foolish estrangement may end! I have been wishing it for some time past. I am tired of chambers, and want to set up a home for myself. I want a wife in it. Alice, if you will be that wife, well: otherwise I shall probably remain as I am for ever."

Ah, there could be no longer any doubt: he was in earnest. His tender tones, his beseeching eyes, the warm clasp of his hands, told her all the happy truth--his love was her own still. She burst into tears of emotion, and William Stane kissed them away.

"You don't despise me because I have been a governess?" she sobbed.

"My darling, I only love you the better for it. And shall prize you more."

He sat down by her side and quietly told her all. That for a considerable period after their parting, he had steeled his heart against her, and done his best to drive her from it. He thought he had succeeded. He believed he should have succeeded but for meeting her again at Mrs. Preen's. That showed him that she was just as dear to him as ever. Still he strove against his love; but he continued his visits to the Preens, who were old friends of his and each time, that he chanced to see Alice, served to convince him more and more that he could not part with her. He was about to tell his father that he had made up his mind to marry Miss Raynor, when Sir Philip died, and then he did not speak to Alice quite immediately. All this he explained to her.

"And but for your coming into this house, Alice, and my opportunities of seeing you in it, we should in all human probability have remained estranged throughout life. So, you see that I would not have had you not become a governess for the world."

She smiled through her tears. "It was not in that light I spoke."

"I am aware of it. But you are more fitted to make a good wife now, after your experiences and your trials, than you would have been in the old prosperous days at Eagles' Nest. I shall be especially glad for one thing--that when you are mine I shall have a right to ease your mother's straits and difficulties. She has deemed me very hard-hearted, I dare say: but I have often and often thought of her, and wished I had a plea for calling on and helping her."

His intention showed a good heart. But William Stane and Alice were both ignorant of one great fact--that Mrs. Raynor no longer needed help. She would shortly be back again at Eagles' Nest, all her struggles with poverty over.

The hot sun still streamed into the little room, but Alice wondered what had become of its oppression, what of her own weariness. The day and all things with it, without and within, had changed to Elysium.

Frank Raynor attended the funeral of old Mrs. Bell. He chose to do so: and Rosaline felt the respect warmly, and thanked him for it. He would have been just as well pleased not to have Mr. Blase Pellet for his companion mourner: but it had to be. On his return home from the cemetery, Frank's way led him through West Street, and he called in just to see Rosaline, who had been too disturbed in health, too depressed in spirits, to attend herself. Not one minute had he been there when Mr. Blase Pellet also came in. On the third day from that, Rosaline was to sail for New Zealand.

"And I say that it is a very cruel thing of her to sail at all," struck in Blase, when Frank chanced to make some remark about the voyage. "As my wife, she would----"

"Blase, you know the bargain," quietly interrupted Rosaline, turning her sad eyes upon him. "Not a word of that kind must ever be spoken by you to me again. I will not hear it, or bear it."

"I'm not going to speak of it; it's of no use speaking," grumbled Blase. "But a fellow who feels his life is blighted can't be wholly silent. And you might have been so happy at Trennach! You liked the place once."

"Are you going back to Trennach?" asked Frank in some surprise.

"Yes," said Blase. "I only came to London to be near her; and I shan't care to stay in it, once she is gone. Float, the druggist, has been wanting me for some time. I am to be his partner; and the whole concern will be mine after he has done with it."

"I wish you success, Blase;" said Frank heartily. "You can make a better thing of the business than old Float makes, if you will."

"I mean to," answered Blase.

"I will take this opportunity of saying just a word to you, Blase," again spoke up Rosaline, smoothing down the crape of her gown with one hand, in what looked like nervousness. "I have informed Mr. Raynor of the conversation I had with you the night my mother died, and that you are aware of the confession he and Mr. Pine alike hold."

Frank turned quickly to Blase. "You perceive now that you have been lying under a mistake from the first, with regard to me."

"I do," said Blase. "I am never ashamed to confess myself in the wrong, once I am convinced of it. But I should never have brought it against you, Mr. Frank Raynor; never; and that, I fancy, is what you have been fearing. In future, the less said about that past night the better. Better for all of us to try and forget it."

Frank nodded an emphatic acquiescence, and took up his hat to depart. Yes, indeed, better forget it. He should have to allude to it once again, for he meant to tell the full truth to Edina; and then he would put it from his mind.

He went home, wondering whether any urgent calls had been made upon him during this morning's absence; and was standing behind the counter, questioning Sam, when a sunburnt little gentleman walked in. Frank gazed at him in amazement: for it was Mr. Max Brown.

"How are you, Raynor?" cried the traveller, grasping Frank's hand cordially.

"My goodness!" exclaimed Frank. "Have you dropped from the moon?"

"I dropped last from the Southampton train. Got into port last night."

"All well?"

"_Very_ well. And my good old mother is not dead yet."

There was no mistaking the stress upon the first word: no mistaking the perfectly contented air that distinguished Mr. Max Brown's whole demeanour. Whatever cause might have detained him so long from his home and country, it did not appear to be an unpleasant one.

"There was a young lady in the case," he acknowledged, entering on his explanation with a smile on his bronzed face. "Lota Elmaine; old Elmaine the planter's only daughter. The old man would not let us be married: Lota was too young, he said; the marriage should not take place until she was in Europe. Will you believe it, Raynor, old Elmaine has kept me on like that all the blessed time I have been away, perpetually saying he was coming over here, and never coming! Never a month passed but he gave out he should sail the next."

"And so you stayed also!"

"I stayed also. I would not leave Lota to be snapped up by some covetous rascal in my absence. Truth to tell, I could not part with her on my own score."

"And where is Miss Lota Elmaine?"

"No longer in existence. She is Mrs. Max Brown.

"Then you have brought her over with you!"

"Poor Elmaine died a few months ago; and Lota had a touch of the native fever, which left her thin and prostrate: so I persuaded her to marry me off-hand that I might bring her here for a change. She is better already. The voyage has done her no end of good."

"Where is she?"

"At a private hotel in Westminster. We have taken up our quarters there for the time being."

"Until you can come here," assumed Frank. "I suppose you want me to clear out as soon as possible. My wife is ill----"

"I want you to stay for good, if you will," interrupted Mr. Brown. "The business is excellent, you know, better than when I left it. If you will take to it I shall make it quite easy for you."

"What are you going to do yourself?" questioned Frank.

"Nothing at present," said Mr. Max Brown. "Lota's relatives on the mother's side live in Wales, and she wants to go amongst them for a time. Perhaps I shall set up in practice there. Lota's fortune is more than enough for us, but I should be miserable with nothing to do. Will you take to this concern, Raynor?"

"I think not," replied Frank, shaking his head. "My wife does not like the neighbourhood."

"Neither would my wife like it. Well, there's no hurry; it is a good offer, and you can consider it. And, look here, Raynor: if you would like a day or two's holiday now, take it: you have been hard at work long enough. I will come down and attend for you. I should like to see my old patients again: though some of them were queer kind of people."

"Thank you," said Frank mechanically.

Thought after thought was passing through his mind. No, he would not stay here. He had no further motive for seeking obscurity, thank Heaven, and Daisy should be removed to a more congenial atmosphere. But--what could he do for means? He must be only an assistant yet, he supposed; but better luck might come in course of time.

And better luck, though Frank knew it not, was on his way to him even then.

What with one thing and another, that day seemed destined to be somewhat of an eventful day to Frank Raynor. In the evening a letter was delivered to him from Mr. George Atkinson, requesting him to go down to Eagles' Nest on the morrow, as he wished particularly to see him.

"What can he want with me?--unless he is about to appoint me Surgeon-in-Ordinary to his high and mighty self!" quoth Frank, lightly. "But I should like to go. I should like to see the old place again. _Can_ I go? Daisy is better. Max Brown has offered me a day or two's rest. Yes, I can. And drop Max a note now to say his patients will be waiting for him to-morrow morning."