“I think that is still an extravagant hope,” said Jermyn.
“We don’t sleep there yet!” said Geraldine.
“You are quite a lighthouse in our midst, Sir Godfrey,” said Mrs. Christy.
“We are getting to make ourselves look very foolish,” said Matthew. “We behave as if no one had meat and drink in his house but ourselves.”
“Well, there won’t be any need for anyone to have any soon,” said Griselda. “There may not be any to be had.”
“Well, well,” said Godfrey, “I don’t know that it is quite so much that we manage. But I am glad if we have made some little breaks for our friends. It seems to be a thing we can do. And we have a great deal done for us by them. Now let us disperse to the carriages. Mrs. Calkin, I must insist upon taking you.”
“Sir Godfrey,” said Dominic, speaking with serious insistence, “I must protest against again becoming a member of your party. I have too often inflicted the damper of my presence upon your spirited gatherings, and on this occasion I must ask your permission to decline.”
“No, no, Spong, don’t set that example,” said Godfrey.
Dominic stood aloof and as if in thought.
“If I am to be taken as setting an example, and therefore precluding others from exercising their power of choice, I cannot regard myself as a free agent,” he said, and stooped to enter a carriage.
“No, that is right, Spong. I knew you would make the right decision.”
“I believe Mr. Spong got into this carriage because I was in it,” said Camilla.
“Mrs. Bellamy, I am not so ungallant as to dispute such a suggestion.”
“It seems inconsistent of Sir Godfrey not to put us all up,” said Kate.
“Miss Dabis, we must not overreach,” said Dominic gravely.
Camilla leant back in laughter.
“Miss Dabis,” said Dominic, “I admit that my quickness was at fault. But I am sure we neither of us regret a blunder that gave us that peal of mirth.”
“Mr. Spong does not dare to use my name,” said Camilla; “he feels it is too temporary and precarious. He finds the whole question of my names is better passed over.”
“Well, well, here we are!” came in Godfrey’s voice from his carriage. “Here we are at our destined halting-place. I hope we shall none of us leave it until the hours are small.”
“We are in the current phrase to make a night of it,” said Dominic, as he emerged and stood to assist Camilla.
Buttermere was standing in the lighted doorway, and spoke to his master as he passed him.
“Dr. Dufferin is waiting to see you, Sir Godfrey. He did not know you were all out, and can come again to-morrow if you would prefer it.”
“No, no, I will see him. I will go and find out if he is in any quandary, if I can settle up anything for him,” said Godfrey, going with swinging arms to the library. “Into the drawing-room, all of you, and dispose yourselves at your ease. I hope you are that already; I think I may feel you are. Now, Antony, my boy, in what way can I serve you? Out with it, without any effort. You have done so many services to me and mine that I should be a curmudgeon indeed not to be eager to make a return. I am finding it a privilege to accede to many requests from my friends. It has been a consolation to me in my widower-hood; for that is what it seems to be coming to be. While I can do something for others, I count my days as not lost.”
“That is what I have come to speak about. It is not to be widowerhood, Haslam. It is good news I have for you, the very best. I have prepared you in a measure, but I doubt if you have dared to take my meaning. I have kept you from Harriet lately because she was better, not worse, because she was getting well. I have put off the truth to save her the risk of a pressed recovery, and to save you both the memory of meetings while she was not herself. When she did not know you, it was different. Now she will be herself as soon as she is used to being so. She has been asking for you all.”
“Doctor,” said Godfrey, taking a step backwards, “you lift up my heart. I have been a dreary and lifeless man these last months. The gaiety of my life, its apparent variety, has gone on over an inner deadness. If I can see my wife at times, I shall feel there is a weekly or daily goal, as it may be granted. And in my gratitude for what is given, I shall not overstep and ask too much.”
“It is better than that,” said Dufferin. “You may ask what you will. You may make up your mind for the best. Harriet has only to bridge the gulf of her illness, and return to her place.”
“No, no, Doctor,” said Godfrey. “We will not keep you to that. You must not promise more than the most. You will not raise our hopes to dash them; we know you too well. We do not ask impossibilities even of you. That would be a risk we must not take. We do not blame you for the inevitability of that; it is not indeed to be set to your account. We do not forget ourselves, to grasp at the completion of our own life at the cost of hers. I speak for my children and myself. We will leave her where she is, watched over, contented, safe.”
“She is none of those things any longer, and I could have no better news. It is well I should not be clear in a moment, but I may be clear now. Harriet can soon come home. She is herself.”
“Is she asking to come home? Has it come into her mind? Has she spoken of it?”
“It has come into her mind, as she is herself. She has not said much of it. She takes it as going as a matter of course, as it goes.”
“It does, Doctor, it does. That is how the matter stands. We take up our life again, our old life. We go forward into it, resolute, resigned, rejoicing from our hearts. I will go and break it to my children, announce to my guests and my children this- coming of joy. I will give you your due. I will say that our debt is to you and to no other. You will come with me and hear your success described to our common friends. I feel I cannot keep it from them another moment.”
“No, I will go home. You don’t need me. I shall see you next when I take you to Harriet.”
“My dear old friends,” said Godfrey, throwing open the drawing-room door, “rejoice with me! My time of sufferance is past! My wife is to be amongst us, fully restored! The moment has come suddenly. It was thought that the strength for patience would not be ours. My heart is full to overflowing; my words falter. I do not ask for your sympathy. I know it is mine.”
Godfrey’s children were in a group about him.
“Is it certain? Did Antony tell you?” said Griselda.
“Quite certain, my daughter. I would not raise your hopes to destroy them.”
“It must have been certain for some time, if it is so now,” said Matthew. “No doubt it has been certain. No doubt.”
“Did Antony tell you just now? Is it to be at once?” said Jermyn.
“It is to be at once, if Dufferin says it is to be at all,” said Matthew. “The end of it all has come. The whole thing is over.”
“Does Mother know about it?” said Gregory.
“My dear children,” said Godfrey, “there is one answer to all your questions. ‘Yes!’ The Chapter of your orphanhood is closed. Your faithfulness and your courage are to have their reward. Our friends will forgive our blundering words of shock. For our hearts can harp only upon one note. They will bid us God-speed upon the road that is opening out to us, the road that is old to us and new.”
“God-speed always goes with separation,” said Rachel. “We will leave at once. I am full of selfish gladness for myself, Godfrey. That does not sound a credit to me, but such a credit to Harriet that I sacrifice myself to her, and put myself in a light especially becoming at the moment. Percy, don’t say anything, if you cannot sacrifice yourself. Godfrey will understand that I have spoken for both.”