CHAPTER XXII

A NEW LEASE OF LIFE

When Rosalie awoke next morning, it was in a comfortable modern bedroom, furnished with regard to health, and a conception of beauty thrown in.

For the first time truly in her life and experience she awoke with a light heart, and such unusual brightness of spirits that she seemed at last, for the time at least, to have realised the pleasure and joy of simply being alive. The tired sickness of the night before had entirely vanished.

The sky overhead was blue and bright, the air cold. Nothing could have been more promising for a new entry into an old world.

Brightcoat, who had spent the night on the marble washing-stand, now took recreation in the basin of water Rosalie poured for him, whilst she, being less cold-blooded, as it were, was nothing loath to accept the warm water that was brought for her.

But this part of the day’s programme being finished, Rosalie turned disconsolately to her dress.

“It’s so shabby and short,” said she.

“Well, look amongst your luggage,” said Brightcoat, who was engaged in jumping for further recreation over all the articles on the washstand.

“My luggage,” said she, looking towards the little hand-bag. “It can’t be in there.”

“No harm in looking,” said the frog, and jumped clean over the water-jug, and then sat as still as if jumping were the last thing it would ever think of doing.

Rosalie laughed, and then opened the bag and looked.

There was packed into that little leather hand-bag everything to make a perfect though not extravagant outfit. A coat and skirt that no fashionable tailor would be ashamed to turn out, a pretty, simple dress for household wear, the evening dress which she had worn the other night, slippers, gloves, and all accessories. Last but not least, there was a little box of jewellery in perfect taste and finish.

“Oh, Brightcoat, look, look!” she cried, as one after the other she drew out those new delights. “Who can have done it? I don’t think it could have been the Governor. I’m sure he never bothered much about one’s clothes.”

And then the frog’s voice fell to a reverent whisper, so it almost seemed.

“I once saw the Governor’s wife pack a Christmas box for a little boy a long way off at school, and it was quite miraculous.”

“Was he her son?”

“Oh, no! At least, not exactly her son. But she was very fond of him. She forgot nothing, and sent it in such little room that no one thought she was sending anything much at all.”

“You have seen her, then?”

“Yes, I’ve seen her; and never anything more absolutely beautiful. It was she who put her tender, gentle hand upon me when first I came all dead and dull and stunned from Lucifram, and by her radiating brightness changed my poor coat to brilliancy. But have you turned out all the contents of your bag?”

“Yes. No. Here are two letters. One for me and one to Sir—John—Crokerly. Who’s he, I wonder?”

“The man who lives here,” said the frog, who was primitive, and believed in calling men men, and women women, with no thought of discourtesy, but from lack of education in those matters.

“The gentleman,” said Rosalie. “He’s sure to be a gentleman if he has a title. But how do you know his name?”

“Well, I heard someone speak of the—the lady last night as Miss Crokerly, and they said something about Sir John. And putting two and two together, I’ve come to the conclusion it is he who lives here.”

“How strange!”

“Stranger things have happened. Have you read your letter?”

“No,” and she broke open the envelope. At first she read it seriously, then burst out laughing.

“What is it?” asked Brightcoat eagerly, who, having long ago got over the seriousness of vanity, could enjoy a joke.

“Oh, this letter! It’s been written in a kind of rhyme, and I’m sure I don’t know what it means. It seems utter nonsense.”

“If it’s not very private, and you read it aloud, I might be able to help you,” the frog replied courteously.

“Well, listen. There is no address. It begins:

“‘The road of Life Is the path to my wife. Its struggles and turmoils ended— Horses so white they dazzle the sun, A car of dazzling glory spun, Driver all fearless of peril. From depth to height the race is run, The equipage right royal. The meet a queen come decked as a queen In shining garments past satin, With pearl-sewn tears to laughter changed And heart-blood drops to jewels. A thousand colours of rainbow light The trophies of many a hard-won fight, Before pale faith was lost in sight And eyes cease weeping on trial. A driver find, A purse well lined, A gate and road all open. And horses six, To avoid the Styx, Yet climb the invisible mountain.’

There now, Brightcoat, what do you think of that? Can you fathom it? I think it’s a very charming puzzle.”

“Who do you think wrote it?”

“Why, the Governor! And out of compliment to his wife I feel bound somehow or other to—to endeavour to accomplish the task set me.”

“Horses so white they dazzle the sun, and six of them,” said Brightcoat thoughtfully. “Do you think you’ll ever manage it?”

“I don’t know. But there’s no harm in trying.” And she laughed again, and was most becomingly dressed in no time.

Then together, the frog taking its accustomed place upon her shoulder, they descended the staircase.

In the hall Miss Crokerly and her brother stood talking, he in a thick overcoat ready for going out.

Rosalie approached and handed her letter to him, which he received kindly, though with some surprise.

“I found it in my bag,” said she, “and had no idea it was there. I think you are Sir John?”

“Yes.”

After he had read the letter enclosed, he handed it to his sister. She read it with evident interest, then returned it to him, and holding out her hand to the new-comer, said:

“We’re very pleased to receive you, Rosalie. And as long as you care to stay with us you will be welcome, apart from any considerations except those of friendship.”

“I’m afraid I’m too poor to accept your hospitality for a longer time than it takes me to find work.”

“Poor? The letter to my brother is from the wealthiest banker of our acquaintance, the safest and surest. And his statement proves you anything but poor.”

Then Rosalie remembered the jewels she had found, and remained silent. She had prized them very much and loved them, and now she understood their value, in one of those flashes of perception that occasionally comes to all of us.

After that Sir John went away, and Miss Crokerly led the way into the dining-room, where breakfast was laid for Rosalie only, as the others had long since had theirs.

And that day passed away as healthily and normally as Rosalie could wish, and a morning’s shopping was quite a pleasant recreation to her, and in fact the first of its kind she had ever indulged in in her life.

For to be dumb is a great drawback, as most of us can understand, and curtails most pleasures, little or big.

And then for tea some very interesting people dropped in, or so Rosalie found them, and altogether the weary, dead, dull, lonely level of life seemed to have vanished.