CHAPTER XVI

“HAVE YE E’ER HEARD OF GALLANT LIKE YOUNG LOCHINVAR?”

The longer days and greater cold had come. But with the cold was interspersed here and there a day on which there was a vague far-off hint of spring in the air, and the lover of nature who went up on the short Northern road or over into New Jersey to get the full flavor of his Sunday rest came back with reports of swelling twigs and the first note of the bluebird; for it was late February.

Although the doctors would not give better reasons for hope than their more cheerful manner, there was a growing feeling in the Graham household that Gwen was going to escape her hard doom, and it was on one of those illusive days when the atmosphere seems full of light that Doctor Amberton definitely authorized rejoicing by telling them, when he came down from Gwen’s room, that the bandages could be removed from her eyes in a week, and that they would be restored to enjoy the spring sunshine.

Mr. Graham shook the doctor’s hand hard, speechless with the joy of this tidings, while his wife fell sobbing on Jan’s neck, and Viva tumbled down in a burst of emotion such as silent children sometimes give way to, and hugged the andirons, kissing their polished tops and clinging to them hysterically.

Gladys, Sydney, and Jack were not there to hear the good news, but Viva ran to call them, and they were not less stirred by the blessed certainty of Gwen’s escape than were the others; indeed Jack turned so white on being told that his angry hand had not blinded his sister after all that his mother sprang to put her arm around him, thinking that he was fainting.

Who was to take the good news to Gwen, and how was she to be told? Gladys wanted the entire family to go up in a body and rejoice with her, but Mrs. Graham would not permit this, and Mr. Graham suggested that he and her mother went up together to bring comfort to the girl in whom they had always felt so much pride, but who had become very dear in these hard six weeks of courageously borne suffering.

Jan whispered something in her aunt’s ear, and Mrs. Graham hesitated. After a moment she said: “I believe it would be the very thing!” and turning to the others added: “Jan suggests that we let Jack go up, quite alone, and tell Gwen that he and she have escaped the awful consequences of his fit of rage. She says he can tell her that he took her eyes from her, and now he has come to give them back again. It is a pretty idea. Shall we carry it out?”

“Yes,” said Sydney decidedly, and “Ye--es,” voted Gladys doubtfully. But Mr. Graham settled the question by saying: “Go up-stairs to your sister, Ivan, my man, and tell her that you are bringing her back her sight--that Doctor Amberton has said that she is safe, and we are coming up in half an hour to try to tell her how thankful we are.”

Jack turned pale, then red; he was not sure whether he liked the errand or not. He was afraid, and it seemed to him very solemn and difficult to go to Gwen on such an embassy. He sat down to think it over on the stairs, and as he thought it rushed over him how Gwen was lying there, not knowing that she was not to be blind; how all this time she had patiently awaited this day, knowing it might never come, and worst of all how his hand had been the one to smite her. A sob rose in his throat and he scrambled to his feet. Yes, it was good that they had let him tell her that she was safe, and he must not lose another moment in doing it. He fell up the stairs, and as he opened Gwen’s door she sprang up in bed, feeling instantly the excitement with which he was quivering as his hand touched the knob.

“What is it, Jack!” she said quickly.

“Oh, Gwen, ain’t it just great?” gasped Jack. “The doctor’s gone and they sent me up to bring you your eyes, they said, because I took them away. My, but we’re glad!”

Gwen clutched the arm impetuously thrown around her. “Jack, is it true?” she whispered.

“True! Doctor Amberton said so! You’re to have the bandages off in a week--you’re not going to be blind, not one bit!” said Jack, choking.

Gwen fell back, burying her face in the pillows. If ever there was a sincere “Thank God!” it was the one that filled the poor child’s heart, but could not pass beyond the happy sobs rising in her throat.

Jack was frightened. “Have I killed you this time, Gwen?” he asked faintly.

Gwen turned back again and caught him in her arms. “Killed me! My darling old Jack, you have made me feel as though I should never die! I believe I have been dead all these horrible weeks since New Year’s.”

“They’re all coming up in a little while to tell you how glad they are--they’re all down in the back parlor nearly out of their minds, they’re so glad,” said Jack, much relieved to find Gwen unharmed.

“Call Hummie, Jack, and then go tell them to come on--I can’t wait,” said Gwen.

Before Hummie had recovered from the joy of Gwen’s reprieve sufficiently to make her fine, as Gwen had intended to be made, the trooping of the entire family up the stairs fell on her happy ears. She knelt in the bed in her long crimson wrapper, and held out her arms speechlessly for a universal embrace.

Sydney, Gladys, and Jan held back, feeling that Gwen’s father and mother had the first right to her, but Viva and Jerry threw themselves into the outstretched arms, as Mr. Graham and his wife clasped Gwen at the same moment. There was a confused scrimmage of hugging and kissing, and Mr. Graham recognized Gwen’s linen bandage and Jerry’s lace collar, mixed with Viva’s hair, while Mrs. Graham rained tears and kisses on her husband’s cuff. But it did not matter. In a moment Gladys and Jan were added to the joyous confusion, and there was such an utter abandonment of happiness, and such oblivion to anything but the blessed fact that Gwen’s precious eyes were safe that Gwen realized for the first time how dear she was to all these throbbing hearts, and how hard must have been the past six weeks to them as well as to her, in which they were bravely trying to keep their own grief out of sight while they helped her bear her burden.

“When can I really have my eyes?” asked Gwen, when some of the excitement had spent itself.

“You may take off the bandages in a week, but your eyes must be used with the greatest care, and very little, all summer. Then by fall Doctor Amberton thinks they will be perfectly strong,” said Mrs. Graham. “And now, children, go your ways, for Gwen and I are going to rest quite by ourselves for a little while.”

Gladys and Jan left the room, arms around each other’s waists, in the most loving girl fashion, and Mr. Graham followed behind them, smiling, well pleased at the sight, and remembering how positively Gladys had declared that she “would not go about with a Wild West Show” when he had announced Jan’s coming. “Little Miss Lochinvar has won us all,” he thought, realizing what a happy thing her coming had been for his own children.

“I wonder, Jan,” Gladys was saying as they went toward Jan’s room, “I wonder if mamma wouldn’t let us ask some of our friends for a celebration on the day Gwen tries her eyes for the first time? She needn’t see them long enough to get tired, but it would be rather nice to get together everybody she likes to look at when she looks for the first time for so long.”

“It would be ever so nice,” said Jan heartily. “If Aunt Tina will let us--if she doesn’t think it would hurt Gwen.”

At the self-same moment Gwen was saying: “Mamma, it is Miss Lochinvar’s birthday on the 1st of March. Don’t you think I might use my eyes for the first time on that day, and have a little surprise party for her? I wouldn’t have to stay in the room longer than was safe, but I’d like to get the girls together to keep Jan’s birthday properly. She’s done more for me than you can guess; I couldn’t repay her if I tried forever. And look at Gladys and Sydney! And how much sweeter Jerry is! And she hasn’t any more notion of how nice she is than--than----”

“Than a bright little wild rose along the roadside knows how sweet and cheering it is,” finished her mother for her, as Gwen hesitated for a simile. “It is only that she is good, really good, unselfish, unaffected, sincere. She has done a great deal for us all, Gwen. It is a curious thing to see how one little girl can diffuse happiness, and make her sweetness contagious only by unconsciously showing how lovely such a true little woman can be. I mean to write your Aunt Jennie and beg her to let Jan go with us to the seashore this summer and stay on for another winter in New York; I have a hope of getting her gradually to make this her home, and her visits to Crescendo.”

“You won’t succeed, mamma,” said Gwen, shaking her head dolefully. “I’d give anything in the world to keep Jan every minute of my life, but she’s too fond of home for that. She truly doesn’t think there’s anything to do in New York--she said so once, and then was afraid she’d hurt my feelings. Nothing to do here, but lots that is interesting in that little Crescendo of hers--only think!” And Gwen laughed.

“Well, at the worst, her father and mother must let her spend part of each year with us, now that they have taught us to depend upon her,” said Mrs. Graham. “However, we need not settle that now. About your party: Yes, I think it can be done, and I should like to honor Jan by celebrating her birthday. On the first? That is eight days off. Very well; we’ll have the party. And now rest, my darling Gwen. You can’t dream how glad your mother is to know you are to look upon her again so soon!”

“I’m not precisely sorry, mamma,” said Gwen, seizing the hand put out to her, and returning with interest the kiss given her. What a beautiful world it was! and how soft and warm was the atmosphere becoming of the big house which even Gwen had sometimes found chilling!

Mrs. Graham almost betrayed herself by a laugh as Jan and Gladys unfolded to her their plan for a surprise party so nearly identical with Gwen’s, except that they had not fixed a definite date, and had a different end in view in holding it. But she composed her eyes and lips to the necessary seriousness, approved their plans as she had Gwen’s, and set about the preparations for both parties. It is not difficult to prepare for two parties at the same time when both are practically one. The pair of conspirators kept their secret from the one conspirator, and Mrs. Graham conspired with both. The same guests were selected by both camps, except that Sydney was called in to Gwen’s aid, and asked the boys and girls with whom Jan had played the tennis match, and whom his sisters did not know.

March 1st fell on Saturday--any one who is interested to know can easily discover from that fact the year in which the party was given--and that made it easy to get the guests together early, without regard to school. It was better, for Gwen’s sake, to make it an afternoon party, “quite like little children,” as Gladys remarked with a slight tendency to dissatisfaction.

Viva and Jerry found this a most desirable feature of the celebration; they were ready in spotless white long before the appointed hour. Too long before; for Jerry was discovered sitting demurely close to the butler’s pantry door in the dining-room, very quiet and correct, but with a long streak of chocolate on each cheek, beyond the reach of her tongue, which had made the lips stainless, and a great smudge of chocolate and cream filling on the front of her dainty tucked guimpe, the cause of which Susan correctly traced to the loss of six little round chocolate-iced cakes from the pantry.

When the guests began arriving Jan and Gladys were much puzzled by being called upon to welcome several whom they had not invited, and whom they had difficulty in receiving as though they had done so. But Jan was delighted to see again her opponent who had given her such a hard fight for victory in the tennis contest, and when she had sufficiently recovered from her surprise at seeing her hailed Molly Van Buren rapturously.

Gwen sent for Jan to come to her when all the guests had arrived, and Jan ran across the hall to her cousin’s room. She found Gwen dressed in silvery-blue, looking paler for her long confinement, and at least a quarter of a head taller--Gwen was decidedly up to the modern standard of girls’ height.

“Do you know why mamma asked all these girls and boys here to-day, Miss Lochinvar?” asked Gwen.

“I should think I did! Gladys and I planned it as a surprise to you--it’s to celebrate your recovery!” laughed Jan.

“It’s nothing of the sort!” cried Gwen. “It’s mamma’s secret and mine, and it’s to celebrate your birthday.”

“Were you plotting a party, too? Did you remember it was my birthday?” cried Jan. “Well, of all things! What a memory you have, Gwen! I haven’t mentioned my birthday but once, ever so long ago, when you asked me when it came. And to think that Aunt Tina never said a word!”

“Nor to me either,” Gwen laughingly protested. “Mamma must have been having rather a pleasant time all by herself, fooling all three of us. Well, it’s all the nicer. Now, what made me send for you was that I want to give you your first birthday present, and let you take these linens off my eyes--I believe you’re such an unselfish old darling that you’d rather do it than have millions left you.”

Jan’s color went and came; no one had ever known--hardly she herself--what a grief the prospect of Gwen’s great sorrow had been to her. And now this little ceremony moved her proportionately. Her hands trembled as she unfastened the strings holding Gwen’s long eclipse of her eyes, and the linen bandages slipped down, and were gone--gone, thank Heaven, forever! “I’m truly glad to see you, blessed Miss Lochinvar,” said Gwen as she gazed lovingly at the tearful face of her cousin, the first she had seen for seven dreary weeks. “Come, now; let me go with you. Steady me, Jan--the light and walking by sight seems queer to me.”

Jan steadied Gwen with her arm around her waist, and felt her tremble, but she knew that it was with joy. Then, with Gwen’s hand resting on her shoulder, Jan led her triumphantly down to the parlor. All her school friends clustered around her, and for a few moments Gwen held court. Then Sydney came into the middle of the room, and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a surprise party. Gwen is surprised that Gladys and Jan have a party, and they are surprised that Gwen has one. So you are the party and they are the surprise--which isn’t the usual way of having surprise parties. Gladys and Jan’s party is to celebrate Gwen’s recovery. Gwen’s party is because it is Jan’s birthday. So you can consider yourself celebrating which you prefer--for myself I’m celebrating both with all my might. When our cousin came on we called her ‘Miss Lochinvar,’ because she ‘came out of the West,’ and now we think we were sort of prophets, because the name fits her in lots of ways--chiefly because no one ‘e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar.’ There never was such an all-round trump of a girl as our cousin Janet Howe, alias Miss Lochinvar. We couldn’t find a picture of that hero, Jan,” he added, turning to poor Jan, who looked ready to sink through the floor from embarrassment. “But we wanted to give you a picture, because you like them so much, and so you could have something to remember this day by at home if ever you go back--and don’t you dare to try going! So we got you this copy of Rembrandt’s Polish Rider; it was the nearest we could come to young Lochinvar.” Sydney then gave place to Jack, who proudly bore the picture to Jan, remarking briefly: “Here, Jan. I made the verse.”

Jan received the large picture timidly, but suddenly she laughed, for on its wrapping she read this verse of Jack’s:

Jan: From Ivan And the Clan.

Gwen’s gift was a small, but exquisite, old Italian lamp. “Because you were my light in darkness,” she whispered, and Jan choked.

Gladys had characteristically chosen a ring, a slender circle of turquoise, for her gift. “I want you to wear something to remind you of me every minute,” she said.

Viva and Jerry had been included with Jack in the gift of the picture, but Mrs. Graham gave Jan all the Waverley novels, bound in soft morocco, and her uncle’s gift was a check for fifty dollars, to do with as she pleased, and which Jan looked at with wildly joyous visions of what it would purchase for the young folk in Crescendo.

Gwen tired soon, and went away for a while to rest before supper while the others had games and dancing. She reappeared for a short time to take her place beside Jan at the head of the table, and be waited on like one of a pair of queen bees, plied with honey, instead of waiting on her guests, as she would have done at any ordinary party.

But, as the guests agreed when they departed early, it was not an ordinary party in any sense, and Jan convulsed her hearers by declaring that it was nicer--more like a Crescendo party--than any she had seen in New York. “But,” she added, gloating over her treasures, “it would be queer if I hadn’t thought it nice.”

Mrs. Graham, remembering the magnitude of her orders at expensive caterers, smiled to herself at the notion of Jan’s birthday party and Gwen’s “thanksgiving party,” as Sydney called it, resembling the gaieties of Crescendo. But she understood that Jan had meant that it was more simple and childish than the early-old functions which she had seen since her arrival, and was well pleased.

“You’re all so good to me!” sighed Jan, as she kissed her uncle and aunt good night, with an extra hug for gratitude. “I can’t ever thank you!”

“Pshaw! It’s all because we never saw ‘gallant like young Lochinvar,’” said Sydney, who was standing by.