CHAPTER XXVIII.

BRIGHTER DAYS.

Two years have sped quickly, and it is once more a warm, lovely day in June. The French windows of the Rookery sitting-room are wide open, letting in the still, summer air, and Mrs. Merivale and Honor, both with their work, are seated just inside, so as to get full benefit of any little fitful breeze which may spring up, without exposing themselves to the glare of the sunlit garden.

Yes, two years have flown since Doris left home to go abroad with her aunt, and her mother and sister are talking over a letter which they have received from her that morning, and which, with two others, is lying in the former's lap.

Honor is a little taller than when we last saw her, though not much; but her figure has filled out, making her look more womanly, though still small and slight altogether. She has still the same quaint little oval face, and the same steadfast, earnest look in her soft brown eyes; but, with the exception of the two little straight lines between her brows, the anxious, care-worn look has gone from it, and in its place there is a happy, contented expression, which her mother looks upon with thankfulness. The two years have also changed Mrs. Merivale, though not perhaps so much in appearance as character.

She has to a great extent lost that fretful nervousness and selfishness which, before her husband's death, and, indeed, for some time after, had seemed to be growing upon her. Though still feeble in health her disposition has grown more cheerful, and she has become more self-reliant than of old. Honor has unconsciously taken to consulting her more in the management of their household affairs, and although she still takes all the active part upon herself, she often finds her mother's advice of great value now.

To such matters as banging doors, creaking boots, loud voices, &c., which used formerly to "jar" upon her nerves, she has become almost impervious, whilst to be "completely prostrated" is a calamity of rare occurrence, excepting on occasions of real and genuine nervous headaches.

The two years have been quiet, uneventful ones enough to the inhabitants of Edendale. The most exciting thing that has taken place, perhaps, being the sudden and unexpected death, while in Africa somewhere, of Sir Charles Ferrars of Ferrars Court. But as he had never lived at the Court for long together, and latterly not at all, his death was not an event to stir the sympathies of the surrounding neighbourhood greatly. Of course every one said, "How very sad--so sudden, you know!" and then they began to speculate as to what the heir would be like, and whether he would take possession soon, &c. &c. But in a few days the whole affair was forgotten; and as no heir arrived on the scene to satisfy their curiosity, they soon forgot that there was one to speculate about.

Dr. John Sinclair is constantly to be seen at the Rookery; indeed, he has fallen into the habit of going there, at one hour or another, almost every day.

With the first really hot weather of the year before, Daisy's health had flagged rather alarmingly, and the young doctor began to fear that her illness of the previous spring had left a permanent mark upon her. Thus had he become a constant visitor in order to watch the child closely.

At the present time Daisy is, for her, in comparatively robust health, but every one knows how difficult it is to get out of any habit once taken to, whether it be good or bad, and young Dr. Sinclair is to be seen at the Rookery almost as frequently as ever, although there is now no special need for looking after his little patient from a medical point of view.

Dick, now a strapping lad of fifteen, has pleased the Rev. Mr. Bolton beyond measure during the two years he has been with him, and the good old vicar does not know which to be most delighted with--his beautiful voice, or the industry and perseverance which he has displayed regarding his own studies.

Molly's pupils have so increased in number that she has for some time past been making a nice steady little income, and she has even felt justified in affording herself some finishing lessons from a good master.

Mrs. Horton, always ready to do the girls any kind service now that their mother cannot go about with them, and more especially since their aunt left England, has taken both Honor and Molly up to London for a few weeks' visit at different times; and the former also, considering that it would be money well spent, has given herself the benefit of a little "brushing up," as she calls it, in her art. Both the girls, therefore, are able to take a better stand in their teaching (for Honor has pupils now in addition to her own painting), and Molly often finds herself correcting, encouraging, or remonstrating, as the case may be, with girls a good deal older than herself; for her fame as a musicianly teacher has spread far and wide, and she has as many grown-up girls as pupils, who are anxious to keep up their practice, as younger ones. Molly has three of the Hallam children now, and a fourth is nearly ready to begin, Indeed, were it feasible, Mrs. Hallam would like to include the baby still in arms in her list of pupils, so anxious is she that they shall all commence early enough and get all the benefit they can from what she is constantly quoting to her friends as "first-class teaching, my dear."

The Mr. Talboys look if anything younger than they did a couple of years back. They have residing in the stables of the Rosery a pretty, knowing-looking pony rejoicing in the name of Puck, the pet and property of Miss Margaret Merivale. At the time previously spoken of, when little Daisy had drooped so with the heat of the summer, and Dr. Sinclair had been racking his brains to think what could be done to revive the feeble strength, which at times seemed ready to ebb away altogether, a bright idea struck him one day. Riding!--the very thing. But how in the world could such a thing be managed? Although the Merivales were in a very different position now to that which they were in when they first came to the village, they were not, he was sure, well enough off to buy and keep a pony.

"Now, if only she could ride Jack," thought the doctor to himself, "he would, I know, be as gentle as a lamb with a child upon his back. But, bless me! his back would be far too broad for little Daisy! Besides, who would there be to ride with her? I don't think Jack would care to consent to a leading rein at his age!"

But nevertheless the doctor goes on thinking and thinking (for during the long time he has now attended the child she has become very dear to him), until he suddenly becomes possessed of a still brighter idea. He will go to the Mr. Talboys and talk it over with them.

One would certainly have thought, from the almost childish delight which the generous old men expressed at this brilliant idea of their young friend's, that it was one which would benefit themselves greatly. But so indeed it was, for they could know no higher privilege than to do good to others.

"My _dear_ Dr. John," they had both cried, "you could not have done us a greater kindness than by coming to consult us about this capital plan of yours. I think," continues Mr. Ned, "I may with truth say that Brother Ben and myself have been worrying as to what could be done to pick up the child's strength as much as you have, my dear boy, and we _know_ how it has troubled you, do we not, brother?"

And so there had been no rest for anybody until a desirable animal had been found and purchased. The old gentlemen were somewhat particular in making their choice, and a trifle difficult to please. Of course it was to be pretty. Not too tall, nor too small. Neither too old nor too young. It was to be a thoroughly respectable pony, and reliable as to temper; but while wishing it to possess a "spice of spirit," as they expressed it, it was to be steady and sober-minded at heart! It must be confessed that to find all these excellent qualities possessed by one ordinary pony was rather difficult, and, perhaps, more than ought to have been expected. But the brothers did not want an ordinary pony! On the contrary they had made up their minds to have an extraordinary one; and it is to be feared that more than one horse-dealer lost his temper when, having trotted out his best ponies before the two exacting old gentlemen, who stood watching their paces with heads on one side, it turned out that not one of them came up to their ideas of what a pony _ought_ to be.

Indeed one man was overheard to say to his ostler (taking it for granted that the Mr. Talboys were deaf as well as old) that he "should think the old gents had better get one made to order!" which caused Mr. Ned to wish him "good-morning."

At length, however, a desirable pony was found, and having been presented to Daisy in due form, was installed in the comfortable stable at the Rosery.

There being no one at home who could take out Daisy for her airings on Puck--for the doctor said _walking_ would be of no use; she must have a good canter every day--the young man begged that he might be allowed to take her under his charge. He could give her a good run, he said, every day, when going his distant rounds on Jack, and the Rosery lying between his own house and the Rookery, he could always call for Puck on his way for Daisy.

This arrangement met with the little girl's entire approval, in fact she very soon confided to her dear Doctor John that there was _no one_ else she would have trusted herself to in her first attempts at riding.

Ere long, however, the young doctor had made a very fair little horsewoman of Daisy, and the pair were constantly to be seen cantering over the country together, with Rufus, the doctor's red setter, and Vic (who condescended to be friendly under the circumstances) at their heels.

The letters mentioned at the beginning of this chapter are, besides the one from Doris, from Lady Woodhouse and Mr. Lancelot Ferrars, the latter containing a formal proposal of marriage for Doris.

The two have been thrown together a great deal abroad, and Lady Woodhouse has smiled with grim approval whenever the young fellow has appeared, quite by accident as it were, at the same place in which they are staying.

"Your uncle and Mr. Ferrars seem to have taken quite a fancy to each other lately," judicially remarked Aunt Sophia, with a little, almost imperceptible sniff, which always accompanied any attempt at acting on her part.

"You see, Doris, it must be lonely work for a man to be travelling by himself; though, of course, Mr. Ferrars has his profession as an artist to attend to. But your uncle has only you and me to talk to, so I am very glad Mr. Ferrars seeks his society for that reason; for people may say what they like, child, but men do like talking to each other when they get the chance better than to us women. I suppose they think they have more brains than we," with a slight toss of her head, "though all I can say is that if they have, they don't always know how to use them."

So, although Lady Woodhouse saw plainly that this constant visitor was becoming attached to her niece, she prided herself immensely on her diplomacy and tact in not allowing the girl to get what she called any nonsensical ideas into her head, at any rate for the present.

She has written to her sister now on the subject in high spirits, and though certain parts of the letter are for Mrs. Merivale's own private perusal only, she is reading out most of it to Honor.

"Doris seems genuinely fond of the young man now," writes Lady Woodhouse. "At first, I tell you candidly, I thought I would have some trouble with her, for she seemed to have a fixed idea in her silly head that by making some great match she might retrieve the fortunes of the whole family. She told me plainly one day that she would see plenty of people during the two years that she was travelling about, and that if she got a good chance she would certainly take it. But all this, I am bound to acknowledge, was before Mr. Ferrars began to pay her any attention. As ill luck would have it, however, a wretched little elderly French count, with false teeth and dyed hair and moustache, began to pay her attention also just at the same time (Doris is certainly a pretty girl, Mary), and for a little while I shook in my shoes; for common report set him down as being enormously rich. Well, I saw at last that the child was getting worried over it all. So was Mr. Ferrars, naturally. And so one fine day I gave my lady a talking to. 'You can do as you like,' I said, 'subject to your mother, of course, but don't say afterwards you were not warned. You can accept this made-up old fop with his million of francs (mind _francs_, not pounds) and be a miserable woman for the rest of your life if you like. On the other hand here is a young, good-looking fellow who is sincerely attached to you, and though he may have only his few hundreds, he is not the man to take a wife unless he can keep her comfortably.' I think my words came just at the right time. Anyhow, it all came right; and when Doris came to me and told me she would rather be the wife of Lancelot Ferrars with only one hundred a year than marry the richest duke in the world, I knew, my dear Mary, that the child's heart was in the right place after all. I can congratulate you heartily, for young Ferrars is one of the nicest young men I know, and will be just the right sort of husband for Doris. Then, of course, his good position--"

"Good position!" echo both Dick (who has just entered the room) and Honor, pricking up their ears.

"Position as a painter," remarks Mrs. Merivale, folding up her letter with dignity. "That is all I need read to you. The rest is all upon business matters."

"Then we may expect to see Mr. Ferrars some time this week, I suppose," says Honor presently. For in his short courteous note he has begged leave to call on Mrs. Merivale, previous to his departure for some distant part of the world where he has some important business to transact.

"I do hope he will let us know beforehand," says Honor, already tormenting herself as to culinary matters, "or else he will be quite certain to choose a day when we have nothing but cold mutton for dinner--and none too much of that, very likely."

"Hooray!" shouts Dick, tossing up his cap. "Fancy little Doris being engaged! Good gracious! the house won't hold her when she comes back!"

"She seems to be very happy," says Honor, who is reading her sister's letter for about the sixth time. "She little thought what would come of her adventure in the wood that day. Dear little Doris, I hope she has a happy life before her."