Part 17

Teddie cleared his throat. "No, no," he assured the dying man, "we will take it and use it. But, I say, uncle, hang the money," he burst out. "Don't talk like this. You have got years to live yet. You get well and let us all go on in the good old way. Why, mother and Hazel were saying how they hoped you would spend Christmas with us, and we--they--think an awful lot of you. Don't go and die yet."

A gleam of pure and genuine happiness passed over the face on the pillow. He was not to die, then, quite unmourned; and as for this warm-hearted boy and his little pet, Hazel, and his niece Helen, for the matter of that, he could believe that they would rather keep the crusty old relative among them than be possessed of his money, incredible as it seemed.

"I should like to see Helen," he said suddenly, and he looked wistfully at his young nephew. "Do you think she could come?"

"I have already telegraphed to her," Teddie replied; "she could be here by about five o'clock, I think."

At about that time Helen arrived, eager to be of use, if only to help to comfort the last hours of the poor life that was slipping away. She sat by his bed and talked softly to him in her gentle, affectionate way, careful not to agitate or excite him, keeping all painful subjects from his thoughts. Once, despite her endeavours, he began to blame himself, and Helen was infinitely touched at the yearning and distress his eyes expressed, at the bitterness his words evinced, for the long years of estrangement from her and her children.

"Do not blame yourself too much," she said tenderly. "I, too, was wrong. I ought to have pushed my way into your heart and forced you to love me, instead of allowing you to shut me out. My only excuse, dear uncle, lies in the fact that I was poor and you were rich, and I shrank from the possible construction that might have been put upon my behaviour by others, had I seemed to force my friendship upon you. Now I see that such shrinking was morbid and selfish. So, dear uncle, don't be troubled any more. We understand each other now, and freely do we forgive one another. Is it not so?"

He made no answer, but feebly returned the pressure of her hand.

"All is well with you," she murmured presently, as she noted the weary droop of his eyelids. "All is well and happy. We all love you. Think only of that--we all love you, we all love you."

She murmured the words again and again. They seemed to soothe the dying man, as a lullaby might soothe a little child, who had awakened, distressed, from a bad dream. His eyes closed, a tranquil expression spread over his worn features, and he sank into sleep, still grasping his niece's hand.

From this childlike slumber he passed gradually, peacefully, into that sleep, the beatific happiness of whose dreams was already stamped upon the face, smoothing away all troubled lines, leaving a slight, strange smile upon the lips.

Thus the troublous life, that had somehow missed happiness, passed away to the keeping of Him who understands all things, so fully, so widely, so comprehensively, that in His eyes there remains but little to forgive: for such is the Divine Compassion.

*CHAPTER XXI*

Hazel was standing before the mirror in her room, thoughtfully fastening her riding habit. "It is _beginning_ to get shabby," she reflected; "but as he says I am never to wear anything but brown for riding, there is no purpose in having another made for the sake of change: dark green, for instance. I wonder whether he would find a name for me in dark green. Let me see: in brown I am Wych-hazel; in my scarlet coat I am Witch; and in my white dresses I am just Hazel--in rather a special voice, of course," she reminded herself, blushing. "But dark green----"

"What name would you give me if I had a dark green dress?" she asked, a while later, as she and Paul Charteris brought their horses from a brisk canter to a walk.

"Moss Rose, of course," he answered, without hesitation. "I am so glad that Uncle Percival insisted that no one should wear mourning for him. I should not like to see you in black, child. It would look tragic, and I don't know what I could call you."

"Won't Teddie find it funny going back to college, after being a clerk so long?" Hazel said, laughing.

Paul agreed. "When are you going to call me Paul?" he asked of a sudden. "I am longing to hear you."

Hazel looked dubious. "Some people never do," she answered, desirous of showing him she was not peculiar. "We once knew a man named John Dalrymple, and his wife called him Mr. Dalrymple, and when she was very friendly, just Dalrymple, but never John."

"Then suppose you begin by calling me Charteris," he suggested.

"Perhaps I don't feel friendly enough," she returned mischievously. "Shall I go ahead here, or will you?"

They had entered upon a bit of woodland, through which a bridle track led to the open country beyond. It was a somewhat dangerous path to traverse on horseback, save in the full light of day: for here and there a far-stretching tree would reach out a powerful limb, as though to stay the rider's further progress; and, as if angered at the prudence of the low-ducking horseman, would make a desperate endeavour to clutch at his hat. It successful in this attempt, the trophy would be flung to the ground in malicious glee, causing a considerable amount of trouble to the hapless owner; there being nothing for it but to rein up, dismount, and retrace the distance already passed over to recover the ill-used headgear.

Under foot the way was smooth enough, well beaten, and, to-day, frost-bound; so that no distraction offered itself to divert the mind from close attention to these dangers overhead.

It was a lovely scene. Dew and frost had combined to set a sparkling filigree upon patches of bracken, whilst in the less-sheltered spots whole groups of trees stood as if carved in white glistening coral, the knots and articulations of each massive trunk, shapely branch, and twig clearly defined against a sky of such steely blue, that the scarlet of the holly berries was rendered doubly vivid in compliment, and the shining dark blue-green of the holly leaves looked almost cruel in the strength and sharpness of their stiff outline--the hard, even curves between the tiny spikes seeming only to serve to strengthen the merciless little weapons, as though Nature, in her vein of architect, was aware of the support lying within the arch-like fashion of shape, and revelled in the knowledge. Upon the ground dead leaf-drifts in masses shimmered white and hard-caked together; hollow hazel-nuts and dry alder cones lay stiff and stark; touchwood abounded--all wreckage of the passing year, most beautiful in death, keeping life in whatsoever it covered, giving warmth and protection to delicate root and bulb, to grey lichen and green mosses; whilst the dead brake fern helped to nurse next year's glory of bracken--all jealously guarding the priceless treasures locked within the earth, showing that death is not vain.

Rest in life was upon all things; beautiful in itself and in the promise it gave forth. For oh, the transcendent loveliness of a few months later, when Nature should arise from her long, long beauty-sleep, warm-flushed, star-eyed, instinct with tender vigour, to bathe in dew and sun baths!

Hazel gazed upon the undergrowth with reflecting knowledge. It was one of her delights to separate with the eye, briar and bramble, whortleberry and woodrush, from out the delicious tangle it exhibited, to paint and fashion it all in spring colours and shapes of scarlet bells and purple berries.

Now and again Paul looked round at the girl, smiling to himself at her abstracted face and mien. Twice he called to her to beware of a treacherous branch, and Hazel obediently ducked. He was about to do so on a third occasion, when that befell which, terrible as it appeared to Hazel, left Paul thankful in that the seeming mischance wrought him nothing but good, and bid him enter into his man's heritage: a woman's love--to taste of its fulness. For, in an unguarded moment, when stress of emotion had unlocked the close-fastened child-heart, there was no time to secure it again before Paul had entered and taken full possession.

At the moment of turning in the saddle to call Hazel's attention to the third and last limb along the track, that threatened danger, his horse had sighted a wheel-barrow--left by some woodsman beside the pathway--before it stood revealed to his master; and, swerving, with a sudden leap plunged forward, dashing his rider against the low-hanging bough that, with nice calculation, he had given himself ample time to avoid, had not the unforeseen so altered the measured pace that the riders had adopted.

Struck full in the chest, Paul's progress was effectually stayed, the startled animal swept from under him, and the next moment he was stretched his length upon the ground.

With a low cry of dismay, so soon as she could check her horse's wild curvetting, before, indeed, bringing him to a stand, Hazel slipped from her saddle and, speeding to the spot, knelt beside Paul's inanimate form. In an agony of tender solicitude she raised his head, that her arm might pillow it. The ground was slightly stained with blood from a small scalp wound and, in most unwonted sort--for the girl was ever prone to look at all ills in their best and most hopeful aspect--Hazel was under the appalling conviction that her lover was dead.

Lowering his head again, she opened his coat and waistcoat and placed a little, trembling hand upon his heart, but could detect no motion. She bent her cheek near his mouth, but the cold air permitted no warm breath to penetrate to her senses. In wild grief the poor girl called frantically upon his name.

"Paul, Paul," she cried; "Oh, Paul, darling old fellow! I am saying it now, but you can't hear me! I am kissing you, Paul, but you can't feel it! You are dead--dead--and can never know that at last your Wych-hazel was able to tell you how she loved you!"

And, with a piteous little moan, the stricken child sank down beside him, and with her head upon his breast, one arm flung appealingly about his neck, she mercifully lost consciousness.

Paul, who was but momentarily stunned, heard her without at once being able to rouse himself from the stupor into which the fall had thrown him. In dreamy delight he drank in the words that fell upon his ears, even while he could not comprehend their full import. He felt two tremulous kisses upon his cheek; but it was not till her voice fell silent and he felt her weight against him, that he realised she had fainted.

Then necessity came to his aid. With a desperate effort he shook himself free from the torpor of mind and body, and succeeded in collecting his wandering senses. Placing his arm about the unconscious girl, he raised himself to a sitting posture, and proceeded to chafe the hand that his movement had caused to slip from his neck to his breast, whilst in his turn he called her name, beseeching her to open her eyes. And presently Hazel, with a little fluttering sigh, obeyed his agonised appeal, and, opening her eyes, looked up into his face, while Paul talked softly and watched consciousness returning to their depths.

Lying there, placid and content as a little child, the memory of what had happened of a sudden flooded her mind. Paul was smiling quietly upon her, and, strangest of all, was looking quite his usual self! The fearful dread her heart had held, rendered her speechless for a moment, wrapped in silent thanksgiving.

Then she drew away from him and rose to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" she asked. "Do you think you can move up and down, however slowly, while I look for your horse? You must not freeze, you know."

Paul had risen also, and, pacing backward and forward, declared himself quite unhurt and well able to search for his truant steed.

Hazel's horse was in the near neighbourhood, restlessly moving from place to place; nor was the other far to seek. The animal had been but momentarily startled: his panic having quickly subsided, he could now be heard whinnying at a short distance from the scene of the misadventure. In a few minutes Paul had secured both bridles, and at Hazel's suggestion they retraced on foot the woodland pathway, after she had trundled the cause of the mischief--the woodsman's wheelbarrow--deeper into the wood, lest some other hapless rider should meet with like calamity.

As she grew more and more assured that Paul was really none the worse, a very agony of shyness seized upon Hazel. What had she confessed in those moments, when unspeakable desolation had fallen upon her soul? And how much had Paul heard and understood? She took occasion to glance furtively at him, as they two rode slowly homeward, side by side. It was generally to find him regarding herself with a new happiness in every line of his countenance and added light to his eyes, such as greatly disquieted her.

Arrived at Hazelhurst, Hazel acquainted her mother with the circumstances of the accident. After dressing the slight hurt with the aid of her daughter, Helen insisted upon rest and refreshment before Paul should be allowed to depart for home, despite the shortness of the distance between the two houses.

So that dark was falling when he bade his kind hostess farewell, and Hazel accompanied him to the door.

Emboldened by the dimness of the fading light, she crept close up to him, bending her head that he should not study her face.

"You--you knew what I thought?" she asked, trembling a little.

"Yes, poor child," he answered tenderly, stroking the soft hair.

She guessed by his half-soothing, half-bantering tone, that he divined her thoughts. Creeping yet closer, she placed her two hands upon his breast. His own closed over them.

"You--you heard?" she whispered, her eyes downcast.

Then he had pity upon her.

"Hazel," he said earnestly, "I heard you say you loved me, and I heard you call my name. But it was not till you fainted that I was able to rouse myself."

He might have added he could yet feel the two timid kisses that had fallen upon his cheek, but he was merciful.

A silence fell between them. Hazel was wrestling with her shyness. She must know.

In desperation she raised her head and looked quickly into his face. Her lips parted, but it was a quick blush that asked the question.

"And that too, little love," he murmured.

FINIS