My Lady Caprice

Our wanderings had led by devious paths, and now, as luck would have it, we found ourselves beneath “the blasted oak.”

We sat down very solemnly side by side, and for a long time there was silence.

“It’s fine to make ‘tyrants tremble,’ isn’t it Uncle Dick?” said the Imp at last.

“Assuredly.” I nodded.

“But I should have liked to kiss Auntie Lisbeth good-bye first, an’ Dorothy, an’ Louise - “

“What do you mean, my Imp?”

“Oh, you know, Uncle Dick! “My roof henceforth shall be the broad expanse.’ I’m going to fight giants an’ - an’ all sorts of cads, you know. An’ then, if ever I get to Persia an’ do find the wonderful lamp, I can wish everything all right again, an’ we should all be ‘happy ever after’ - you an’ Auntie Lisbeth an’ Dorothy an’ me; an’ we could live in a palace with slaves. Oh, it would be fine!”

“Yes, it’s an excellent idea, Imp, but on the whole slightly risky, because it’s just possible that you might never find the lamp; besides, you’ll have to stop here, after all, because, you see, I’m going away myself.”

“Then let’s go away together, Uncle Dick, do!”

“Impossible, my Imp; who will look after your Auntie Lisbeth and Dorothy and Louise?”

“I forgot that,” he answered ruefully.

“And they need a deal of taking care of,” I added.

“‘Fraid they do,” he nodded; “but there’s Peter,” he suggested, brightening.

“Peter certainly knows how to look after horses, but that is not quite the same. Lend me your trusty sword.”

He rose, and drawing it from his belt handed it to me with a flourish.

“You remember in the old times, Imp, when knights rode out to battle, it was customary for them when they made a solemn promise to kiss the cross-hilt of their swords, just to show they meant to keep it. So now I ask you to go back to your Auntie Lisbeth, to take care of her, to shield and guard her from all things evil, and never to forget that you are her loyal and true knight; and now kiss your sword in token, will you?” and I passed back the weapon.

“Yes,” he answered, with glistening eyes, “I will, on my honour, so help me Sam!” and he kissed the sword.

“Good!” I exclaimed; “thank you, Imp.”

“But are you really going away?” he inquired, looking at me with a troubled face.

“Yes!”

“Must you go?”

“Yes.”

“Will you promise to come back some day - soon?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“On your honour?”

“On my honour!” I repeated, and in my turn I obediently kissed his extended sword-hilt.

“Are you going to-night, Uncle Dick?”

“I start very early in the morning, so you see we had better say ‘good-bye’ now, my Imp.”

“Oh!” he said, and stared away down the river. Now, in the button-hole of my coat there hung a fading rosebud which Lisbeth had given me two days ago, and acting on impulse, I took it out.

“Imp,” I said, “when you get back, I want you to give this to your Auntie Lisbeth and say - er - never mind, just give it to her, will you?”

“Yes, Uncle Dick,” he said, taking it from me, but keeping his face turned away.

“And now good-bye, Imp!”

“Good-bye!” he answered, still without looking at me.

“Won’t you shake hands?”

He thrust out a grimy little palm, and as I clasped it I saw a big tear roll down his cheek.

“You’ll come back soon - very soon - Uncle Dick?”

“Yes, I’ll come back, my Imp.”

“So - help you - Sam?”

“So help me Sam!”

And thus it was we parted, the Imp and I, beneath the “blasted oak,” and I know my heart was strangely heavy as I turned away and left him.

After I had gone some distance I paused to look back. He still stood where I had left him, but his face was hidden in his arms as he leaned sobbing against the twisted trunk of the great tree.

All the way to the ‘Three Jolly Anglers’ and during the rest of the evening the thought of the little desolate figure haunted me, so much so that, having sent away my dinner untasted, I took pen and ink and wrote him a letter, enclosing with it my penknife, which I had often seen him regard with “the eye of desire,” despite the blade he had broken upon a certain memorable occasion. This done, I became possessed of a determination to send some message to Lisbeth also - just a few brief words which should yet reveal to her something of the thoughts I bore her ere I passed ut of her life forever.

For over an hour I sat there, chewing the stem of my useless pipe and racking my bran, but the “few brief words” obstinately refused to come. Nine o’clock chimed mournfully from the Norman tower of the church hard by, yet still my pen was idle and the paper before me blank; also I became conscious of a tapping somewhere close at hand, now stopping, now beginning again, whose wearisome iteration so irritated my fractious nerves that I flung down my pen and rose.

The noise seemed to come from the vicinity of the window. Crossing to it, therefore, I flung the casement suddenly open, and found myself staring into a round face, in which were set two very round eyes and a button of a nose, the whole surmounted by a shock of red hair.

“‘Allo, Mr. Uncle Dick!”

It needed but this and a second glance at the round face to assure me that it pertained to Ben, the gardener’s boy.

“What, my noble Benjamin?” I exclaimed.

“No, it’s me!” answered the redoubtable Ben. “‘E said I was to give you this an’ tell you, ‘Life an’ death!’” As he spoke he held out a roll of paper tied about the middle with a boot lace; which done, the round head grinned, nodded, and disappeared from my ken. Unwinding the boot lace, I spread out the paper and read the following words, scrawled in pencil:

Hi the to the Blasted Oke and all will be forgiven. Come back to your luving frends and bigones shall be bigones. Look to the hole in the trunk there of. Sined, ROBIN, Outlaw and Knight.

P.S. I mean where i hid her stockings - you no.

I stood for some time with this truly mysterious document in my hand, in two minds what to do about it; if I went, the chances were that I should run against the Imp, and there would be a second leave-taking, which in my present mood I had small taste for. On the other hand, there was a possibility that something might have transpired which I should do well to know.

And yet what more could transpire? Lisbeth had made her choice, my dream was over, to-morrow I should return to London - and there was an end of it all; still -

In this pitiful state of vacillation I remained for some time, but in the end curiosity and a fugitive hope gained the day, and taking my cap, I sallied forth.

It was, as Stevenson would say, “a wonderful night of stars,” and the air was full of their soft, quivering light, for the moon was late and had not risen as yet. As I stepped from the inn door, somebody in the tap-room struck up “Tom Bowling” in a rough but not unmusical voice; and the plaintive melody seemed somehow to become part of the night.

Truly, my feet trod a path of “faerie,” carpeted with soft mosses, a path winding along beside a river of shadows on whose dark tide stars were floating. I walked slowly, breathing the fragrance of the night and watching the great, silver moon creeping slowly up the spangled sky. So I presently came to the “blasted oak.” The hole in the trunk needed little searching for. I remembered it well enough, and thrusting in my hand, drew out a folded paper. Holding this close to my eyes, I managed with no little difficulty to decipher this message:

Don’t go unkel dick bekors Auntie lisbeth wants you and i want you to. I heard her say so to herself in the libree and she was crying to, and didn’t see me there but i was. And she said 0 Dick i want you so, out loud bekors she didn’t no I was there. And i no she was crying bekors i saw the tiers. And this is true on my onner so help me sam. Sined, Yore true frend and Knight, REGINALD AUGUSTUS.

A revulsion of feeling swept over me as I read. Ah! if only I could believe she had said such words - my beautiful, proud Lisbeth.

Alas! dear Imp, how was it possible to believe you? And because I knew it could not possibly be true, and because I would have given my life to know that it was true, I began to read the note all over again.

Suddenly I started and looked round; surely that was a sob! But the moon’s level rays served only to show the utter loneliness about me. It was imagination, of course, and yet it had sounded very real.

And she said, “0 Dick, I want you so!”

The river lapped softly against the bank, and somewhere above my head the leaves rustled dismally.

“Dear little Imp, if it were only true!”

Once again the sound came to me, low and restrained, but a sob unmistakably.

On the other side of the giant tree I beheld a figure half sitting, half lying. The shadow was deep here, but as I stooped the kindly moon sent down a shaft of silver light, and I saw a lovely, startled face, with great, tear-dimmed eyes.

“Lisbeth!” I exclaimed; then, prompted by a sudden thought, I glanced hastily around.

“I am alone,” she said, interpreting my thought aright.

“But - here - and - and at such an hour!” I stammered foolishly. She seemed to be upon her feet in one movement, fronting me with flashing eyes.

“I came to look for the Imp. I found this on his pillow. Perhaps you will explain?” and she handed me a crumpled paper.

DEAR AUNTIE LISBATH: (I read) Unkel dick is going away bekors he is in luv with you and you are angry with the Blasted oke, where I hid yore stokkings if you want to kiss me and be kind to me again, come to me bekors I want someboddie to be nice to me now he is gone. yore luving sorry IMP.

P.S. He said he would like to hang himself in his sword-belt to the arm of yonder tree and hurl himself from yon topmost pinnakel, so I no he is in luv with you.

“Oh, blessed Imp!”

“And now where is he?” she demanded.

“Lisbeth, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know! Then why are you here?”

For answer I held out the letter I had found, and watched while she read the words I could not believe.

Her hat was off, and the moon made wonderful lights in the coils of her black hair. She was wearing an indoor gown of some thin material that clung, boldly revealing the gracious lines of her supple figure, and in the magic of the moon she seemed some young goddess of the woods - tall and fair and strong, yet infinitely womanly.

Now as she finished reading she turned suddenly away, yet not before I had seen the tell-tale colour glowing in her cheeks - a slow wave which surged over her from brow to chin, and chin to the round, white column of her throat.

And she said, “0 Dick, I want you so!” I read aloud.

“Oh,” Lisbeth murmured.

“Lisbeth, is it true?”

She stood with her face averted, twisting the letter in her fingers.

“Lisbeth!” I said, and took a step nearer. Still she did not speak, but her hands came out to me with a swift, passionate gesture, and her eyes looked into mine; and surely none were ever more sweet, with the new shyness in their depths and the tears glistening on their lashes.

And in that moment Doubt and Fear were swallowed up in a great joy, and I forgot all things save that Lisbeth was before me and that I loved her. The moon, risen now, had made a broad path of silver across the shadowy river to our very feet, and I remembered how the Imp had once told me that it was there for the moon fairies to come down by when they bring us happy dreams. Surely, the air was full of moon fairies to-night.

“0 Imp, thrice blessed Imp!”

“But - but Selwyn?” I groaned at last.

“Well?”

“If you love him - “

“But I don’t!”

“But if you are to marry him - “

“But I’m not! I was going to tell you so in the orchard yesterday, but you gave me no chance; you preferred to guess, and, of course, guessed wrong altogether. I knew it made you wretched, and I was glad of it and meant to keep you so a long, long time; but when I looked up and saw you standing there so very, very miserable, Dick, I couldn’t keep it up any longer, because I was so dreadfully wretched myself, you know.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“That depends, Dick.”

“On what?”

Lisbeth stooped, and picking up her hat, began to put it on.

“Depends on what?” I repeated.

Her hat was on now, but for a while she did not answer, her eyes upon the “fairy path.” When at last she spoke her voice was very low and tender.

“‘Not far from the village of Down, in Kent, there is a house,’” she began, “‘a very old ho use, with pointed gables and pannelled chambers, but empty to-night and desolate.’ You see I remember it all,” she broke off.

“Yes, you remember it all,” I repeated, wondering.

“Dick - I - I want you to - take me there. I’ve thought of it all so often. Take me there, Dick.”

“Lisbeth, do you mean it?”

“It has been the dream of my life for a long time now - to work for you there, to take care of you, Dick - you need such a deal, such a great deal of taking care of - to walk with you in the old rose garden; but I’m a beggar now, you know, though I sha’n’t mind a bit if - if you want me, Dick.”

“Want you!” I cried, and with the words I drew her close and kissed her. Now, from somewhere in the tree above came a sudden crack and mighty snapping of twigs.

“All right, Uncle Dick!” cried a voice; “it’s only the branch. Don’t worry.”

“Imp!” I exclaimed.

“I’m coming, Uncle Dick,” he answered, and with much exertion and heavy breathing he presently emerged into view and squirmed himself safely to earth. For a moment he stood looking from one to the other of us, then he turned to Lisbeth.

“Won’t you forgive me, too, Auntie Lisbeth, please?” he said.

“Forgive you!” she cried, and falling on her knees, gathered him in her arms.

“I’m glad I didn’t go to Persia, after all, Uncle Dick,” he said over her shoulder.

“Persia!” repeated Lisbeth, wonderingly.

“Oh, yes; you were so angry with Uncle Dick an’ me - so frightfull’ angry, you know, that I was going to try to find the ‘wonderful lamp’ so I could wish everything all right again an’ all of us ‘live happy ever after’; but the blasted oak did just as well, an’ was nicer, somehow, wasn’t it?”

“Infinitely nicer,” I answered.

“An’ you will never be angry with Uncle Dick or me any more, will you, auntie - that is, not frightfull’ angry, you know?”

“Never any more, dear.”

“On your honour?”

“On my honour!”

“So help you Sam?”

“So help me Sam!” she repeated, smiling, but there were tears in her voice.

Very gravely the Imp drew his “trusty sword,” which she, following his instructions, obediently kissed.

“And now,” cried he, “we are all happy again, aren’t we?”

“More happy than I ever hoped or dreamed to be,” answered Lisbeth, still upon her knees; “and oh, Imp - dear little Imp, come and kiss me.”

VIII

THE LAND OF HEART’S DELIGHT

Surely there never was and never could be such another morning as this! Ever since the first peep of dawn a blackbird had been singing to me from the fragrant syringa-bush that blossomed just beneath my window. Each morning I had wakened to the joyous melody of his golden song. But to-day the order was reversed. I had sat there at my open casement, breathing the sweet purity of the morning, watching the eastern sky turn slowly from pearl-grey to saffron and from saffron to deepest crimson, until at last the new-risen sun had filled all the world with his glory. And then this blackbird of mine had begun - very hoarse at first, trying a note now and then in a tentative sort of fashion, as though still drowsy and not quite sure of himself, but little by little his notes had grown longer, richer, mellower, until here he was pouring out his soul in an ecstasy.

Ah! surely there never was, there never could be, such another morning as this!

Out of the green twilight of the woods a gentle wind was blowing, laden with the scent of earth and hidden flowers. Dewdrops twinkled in the grass and hung glistening from every leaf and twig, and beyond all was the sheen of the murmurous river.

The blackbird was in full song now, and by degrees others joined in - thrush, and lark, and linnet, with the humbler voices of the farmyard - until the sunny air was vibrant with the chorus.

Presently a man in a sleeved waistcoat crossed the paddock, whistling lustily, and from somewhere below there rose a merry clatter of plates and dishes; and thus the old inn, which had seen so many mornings, woke up to yet another. But there never was, there never could be, just such another morning as this was!

And in a little while, having dressed with more than usual care, I went downstairs to find my breakfast awaiting me in the “Sanded Parlour,” having ordered it for this early hour the night previously - ham and eggs and fragrant coffee, what mortal could wish for more?

And while I ate, waited on by the rosy-cheeked chambermaid, in came Master Amos Baggett, mine host, to pass the time of day, and likewise to assure me that my baggage should catch the early train; who when I rose, my meal at an end, paused to wipe his honest hand quite needlessly upon his snowy apron ere he wished me “Good-bye.”

So having duly remembered the aforesaid rosy-cheeked chambermaid, the obsequious “Boots” and the grinning ostler, I sallied forth into the sunshine, and crossing the green, where stood the battered sign-post, I came to a flight of rough steps, at the foot of which my boat was moored. In I stepped, cast loose the painter, and shipping the sculls, shot out into the stream.

No, there never was, there never could be, just such another morning as this, for to-day I was to marry Lisbeth, and every stroke of the oar carried me nearer to her and happiness. Gaily the alders bent and nodded to me; joyfully the birds piped and sang; merrily the water laughed and chattered against my prow as I rowed through the golden morning.

Long before the hour appointed I reached the water-stairs at Fane Court, and tying my skiff, lighted my pipe and watched the smoke rise slowly into the still air while I tried “to possess my soul in patience.” Sitting thus, I dreamed many a fair dream of the new life that was to be, and made many resolutions, as a man should upon his wedding morn.

And at last came Lisbeth herself, swiftly, lightly, as fair and sweet and fresh as the morning, who yet paused a while to lean upon the balustrade and look down at me beneath the brim of her hat. Up I rose and stretched out my hands to her, but she still stood there, and I saw her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shy and tender. So once more we stood upon the old water-stairs, she on the top stair, I on the lower; and again I saw the little foot beneath her skirt come slowly towards me and hesitate. “Dick,” she said, “you know that Aunt Agatha has cut me off - disinherited me altogether - you have had time to think it all over?”

“Yes.”

“And you are quite - quite sure?”

“Quite! I think I have been so all my life.”

“I’m penniless now, Dick, a beggar, with nothing in the world but the clothes I wear.”

“Yes,” I said, catching her hands in mine, “my beggar-maid; the loveliest, noblest, sweetest that ever stooped to bestow her love on man.

“Dick, how glorious everything is this morning - the earth, the sky, and the river!”

“It is our wedding morning!” said I.

“Our wedding day,” she repeated in a whisper.

“And there never was just such a morning as this,” said I.

“But, Dick, all days cannot be as this - there must come clouds and storm sometimes, and - and - O Dick! are you sure that you will never, never regret - “

“I love you, Lisbeth, in the shadow as well as the sunshine - love you ever and always.” And so, the little foot hesitating no longer, Lisbeth came down to me.

Oh, never again could there be such another morning as this!

“Ahoy!”

I looked round with a start, and there, his cap cocked rakishly over one eye, his “murderous cutlass” at his hip and his arms folded across his chest, stood “Scarlet Sam, the Terror of the South Seas.”

“Imp!” cried Lisbeth.

“Avast!” cried he in lusty tones; “whereaway ?”

I glanced helplessly at Lisbeth and she at me.

“Whereaway, shipmate?” he bel1owed in nautical fashion, but before I could find a suitable answer Dorothy made her appearance with the fluffy kitten “Louise” cuddled under her arm as usual.

“How do you do?” she said demurely; “it’s awfully nice to get up so early, isn’t it? We heard auntie creeping about on tippity-toes, you know, so we came, too. Reginald said she was pretending to be burglars, but I think she’s going ‘paddling.’ Are you, auntie ?”

“No, dear; not this morning,” answered Lisbeth, shaking her head.

“Then you are going for a row in Uncle Dick’s boat. How fine!”

“An’ you’ll take us with you, won’t you, Uncle Dick?” cried the Imp eagerly. “We’ll be pirates. I’ll be ‘Scarlet Sam,’ an’ you can be ‘Timothy Bone, the bo’sun,’ like you were last time.

“Impossible, my Imp,” I said firmly. He looked at me incredulously for a moment, then, seeing I meant it, his lip began to quiver.

“I didn’t think “T-Timothy B-Bone’ would ever desert me,” he said, and turned away.

“Oh, auntie!” exclaimed Dorothy, “won’t you take us?”

“Dear - not this morning.”

“Are you going far, then, Uncle Dick ?”

“Yes, very far,” I answered, glancing uneasily from the Imp’s drooping figure to Lisbeth,

“I wonder where ?”

“Oh - well - er - down the rivers” I stammered, quite at a loss.

“Y-e-s, but where ?” persisted Dorothy.

“Well. to - er - to - “

“To the ‘Land of Heart’s Delight,’” Lisbeth put in, “and you may come with us, after all, if Uncle Dick will take you,”

“To be sure he will, if your auntie wishes it,” I cried, “so step aboard, my hearties, and lively!” In a moment the Imp’s hand was in mine, and he was smiling up at me with wet lashes.

“I knew ‘Timothy Bone’ could never be a - a ‘mutinous rogue,’” he said, and turned to aid Dorothy aboard with the air of an admiral on his flagship.

And now, all being ready, he unhitched the painter, or, as he said, “slipped our cable,” and we glided out into midstream.

“A ship,” he said thoughtfully, “always has a name. What shall we call this one? Last time we were ‘pirates’ and she was the Black Death - “

“Never mind last time, Imp,” I broke in; “to-day she is the Joyful Hope.”

“That doesn’t sound very ‘pirate-y,’ somehow,” he responded with a disparaging shake of the head, “but I s’pose it will have to do.

And so, upon that summer morning, the good ship Joyful Hope set sail for the “Land of the Heart’s Delight,” and surely no vessel of her size ever carried quite such a cargo of happiness before or since.

And once again “Scarlet Sam” stamped upon the “quarterdeck” and roared orders anent “lee shrouds” and “weather braces,” with divers injunctions concerning the “helm,” while his eyes rolled and he flourished his ‘murderous cutlass” as he had done upon a certain other memorable occasion. Never, never again could there be just such another morning as this - for two of us at least.

On we went, past rush and sedge and weeping willow, by roaring weir and cavernous lock, into the shadow of grim stone bridges and out again into the sunshine, past shady woods and green uplands until at length we “cast anchor” before a flight of steps leading up to a particularly worn stone gateway surmounted by a crumbling stone cross.

“Why,” exclaimed the Imp, staring, “this is a church!”

“Imp,” I nodded, “I believe it is?”

“But to-day isn’t Sunday, you know,” he remonstrated, seeing it was our intention to land.

“Never mind that, Imp; ‘the better the deed, the better the day, you know.’”

On we went, Dorothy with the fluffy Louise beneath her arm and the Imp with cutlass swinging at his belt, while Lisbeth and I brought up the rear, and as we went she slipped her hand into mine. In the porch we came upon an aged woman busy with a broom and a very large duster, who, catching sight of Dorothy’s kitten and the Imp’s “murderous weapon,” dropped first the duster and then the broom, and stood staring in open-mouthed astonishment.

And there in the dim old church, with the morning sun making a glory of the window above our heads, and with the birds for our choristers, the vows were exchanged and the blessing pronounced that gave Lisbeth and her future into my keeping; yet I think we were both conscious of those two small figures in the gloom of the great pew behind, who stared in round-eyed wonderment.

The register duly signed and all formalities over and done, we go out into the sunshine; and once more the aged woman, richer now by half a crown, is reduced to mute astonishment, so that speech is beyond her, when the Imp, lifting his feathered cap, politely wishes her “good-morning.”

Being come aboard the Joyful Hope, there ensued an awkward pause, during which Lisbeth looked at the children and I at her.

“We must take them back home,” she said at last.

“We shall miss our train, Lisbeth.”

“But,” and here she blushed most delightfully, “there is really no hurry; we can take a - a later one.”

“So be it,” I said, and laid our course accordingly.

For a time there was silence, during which the Imp, as if in momentary expectation of an attack by bloodthirsty foes, scowled about him, pistol in hand, keeping, as he said, “his weather eye lifting,” while Dorothy glanced from Lisbeth to me and back again with puzzled brows.

“I do believe you have been marrying each other!” she said suddenly. The Imp forgot all about his “weather eye” and stared aghast.

“‘Course not!” he cried at last. “Uncle Dick wouldn’t do such a thing, would you, Uncle Dick?”

“Imp I have - I do confess it.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed in a tone of deepest tragedy. “And you let him go and do it, Auntie Lisbeth?”

“He was so very, very persistent, Imp,” she sad, actually turning crimson beneath his reproachful eye.

“Don’t be too hard on us, Imp,” I pleaded.

“I s’pose it can’t he helped now,” he said, a little mollified, but frowning sternly, nevertheless.

“No,” I answered, with my eyes upon Lisbeth’s lovely, blushing face, “it certainly can’t be helped now,”

“And you’ll never do it again ?”

“Never again, Imp.”

“Then I forgive you, only why - why did you do it?”

“Well, you see, my Imp, I have an old house in the country, a very cosy old place, but it’s lonely, horribly lonely, to live by one’s self. I’ve wanted somebody to help me to live in it for a long time, but nobody wou1d you know, Imp. At last our Auntie Lisbeth has promised to take care of the house and me, to fill the desolate rooms with her voice and sweet presence and my empty life with her life. You can’t quite understand how much this means to me now, Imp, but you will some day, perhaps.”

“But are you going to take our Auntie Lisbeth away from us?” cried Dorothy.

“Yes, dear,” I answered, “but - “

“Oh, I don’t like that one bit!” exclaimed the Imp.

“But you shall come there and stay with us as often as you wish,” said Lisbeth.

“That would be perfectly beautiful!” cried Dorothy.

“Yes, but when?” inquired the Imp gloomily.

“Soon,” I answered.

“Very soon!” said Lisbeth.

“Will you promise to be ‘Timothy Bone, the bo’sun,’ an’ the ‘Black Knight,’ an’ ‘Little-John’ whenever I want you to - so help you Sam, Uncle Dick?”

“I will, Imp.”

“An’ make me a long sword with a - a ‘deadly point’ ?”

“Yes,” I nodded, “and show you some real ones, too.”

“Real ones?” he cried.

“Oh, yes, and armour as well; there’s lots of it in the old house, you know.”

“Let’s go now!” he cried, nearly upsetting the boat in his eagerness.

“Oh! 0 Dick!” cried Lisbeth at this moment, “Dick - there’s Aunt!”

“Aunt?” I repeated.

“Aunt Agatha, and she sees us; look!”

Turning my head, I beheld a most unexpected sight. Advancing directly upon us was the old boat, that identical, weather-beaten tub of a boat which Lisbeth and I had come so near ending our lives together, the which has already been told in these Chronicles. On the rowing-thwart sat Peter, the coachman, and in the stern-sheets, very grim and stiff in the back, her lorgnettes at her eyes, was Lady Warburton.

Escape was quite out of the question, and in half a dozen strokes of the oar we were alongside and close under the battery of the lorgnettes.

“Elizabeth,” she began in her most ponderous manner, ignoring my presence altogether, “Elizabeth, child, I blush for you.”

“Then, Aunt, please don’t,” cried Lisbeth; “I can do quite enough of that for myself. I’m always blushing lately,” and as if to prove her words she immediately proceeded to do so.

“Elizabeth,” proceeded Lady Warburton, making great play with her lorgnettes, “your very shameless, ungrateful letter I received last night. This morning I arose at an objectionably early hour, travelled down in a draughty train, and here I am out on a damp and nasty river in a leaky boat, with my feet horribly wet, but determined to save you from an act which you may repent all your days.”

“Excuse me,” I said, bowing deeply, “but such heroic devotion cannot be sufficiently appreciated and admired. In Lisbeth’s name I beg to thank you; nevertheless

“Mr. Brent, I believe?” she said in a tone of faint surprise, as though noticing my presence for the first time.

“At your service, madam!” I answered with another bow.

“Then I must ask you to convey my ward back to Fane Court immediately; she and the children will accompany me to London at once.”

“My dear Lady Warburton,” I said, fronting the lorgnettes with really admirable fortitude, “it grieves me to deny you this request, but believe me, it is impossible!”

“Impossible!” she repeated.

“Quite!” I answered. “You here behold the good ship Joyful Hope, bound for the ‘Land of Heart’s Delight,’ and we aboard are all determined on our course.”

“‘An’ the wind blows fair, an’ our helm’s a-lee, so it’s heave, my mariners, all - O!’ ” cried the Imp in his nautical voice.

“Dear me!” ejaculated Lady Warburton, staring. “Elizabeth, be so obliging as to tell me what it all means. Why have you dragged these children from their beds to come philandering upon a horrid river at such an hour?”

“Excuse me, Aunt, but she didn’t drag us,” protested the Imp, bowing exactly as I had done a moment before.

“Oh, no, we came,” nodded Dorothy.

“An’ we’ve been getting married, you know,” said the Imp.

“And it was all very, very beautiful,” added Dorothy; “even Louise enjoyed it ever so much!” and she kissed the fluffy kitten.

“Married!” cried Lady Warburton in a tone of horror; “married!”

“They would do it, you know,” sighed the Imp.

“And quite right, too,” said Dorothy; “everybody always marries somebody, some time; it’s very fashionable at present. Mamma did and so shall I when I grow up, I suppose.”

“Goodness gracious, child!” exclaimed Lady Warburton.

“I s’pose you’re angry ‘bout it, Aunt,” pursued the Imp. “I was at first - just a weeny bit; but you see Uncle Dick has a wonderful house with swords an’ armour, but empty, an’ he wanted to keep somebody in it to see that everything was nice, I s’pose, an’ sing, you know, an’ take care of his life. Auntie Lisbeth can sing, an’ she wanted to go, so I forgave them.”

“Oh, indeed, Reginald?” said Lady Warburton in a rather queer voice, and I saw the corners of her high, thin nose quiver strangely.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’ am,” said Peter at this moment, touching his cap, “I don’t know much about boats, my line bein’ ‘osses, but I do think as this ‘ere boat is a-goin’ to sink.”

“Then row for the shore instantly,” said Lady Warburton firmly, “and should I never reach it alive” - here she brought her lorgnette to bear on Lisbeth - “I say if I do meet a watery grave this day, my epitaph shall be, ‘Drowned by the Ingratitude of a Niece.’

However, this gloomy tragedy being happily averted, and Lady Warburton safely landed, I, at a nod from Lisbeth, rowed to the bank likewise and we all disembarked together.

Now, as kind Fortune would have it, and Fortune was very kind that morning, the place where we stood was within a stone’s throw of The Three Jolly Anglers, and wafted to us on the warm, still air there came a wondrous fragrance, far sweeter and more alluring than the breath of roses or honeysuckle - the delightful aroma of frying bacon.

Lady Warburton faced us, her parasol tucked beneath her arm, looking very much like a military officer on parade.

“Dorothy and Reginald,” she said in a short, sharp voice of command, “bid good-bye to your Auntie Lisbeth and accompany me home at once.”

“No, no,” cried Lisbeth, with hands stretched out appealingly, “you will not leave us like this, Aunt - for the sake of the love I shall always bear you, and - and - “

“Elizabeth, I cared for you from your babyhood up. Ingratitude is my return. I watched you grow from child to woman. I planned out a future for you; you broke those plans. I might tell you that I am a lonely, disappointed old woman, who loved you much more than she thought, but I won’t!”

“Dear, dear Aunt Agatha, did you love me so much, and I never guessed; you wouldn’t let me, you see. Ah! do not think me ungrateful, but when a woman comes to marry she must choose for herself as I have done; and I am happy, dear, and proud of my choice - proud to have won the true love of a true man; only do not think I am ungrateful. And if this must be good-bye, do not let us part like this - for my sake and your sake and the sake of my - husband.”

Lady Warburton had turned away, and there ensued a somewhat embarrassing pause.

“Elizabeth,” she said suddenly, “if I don’t mistake, somebody is frying bacon somewhere, and I’m ravenously hungry.”

“So am I,” cried the Imp.

“And so am I,” Dorothy chimed in.

“Then suppose we have breakfast,” I suggested, and in almost less time than it takes to tell I was leading the way across the green with Lady Warburton on my arm - actually leaning on my arm. It all happened so quickly that Heaven and Lisbeth alone know how she got there.

And now who so surprised to see us as honest Amos Baggett, ushering us with many bows and smiles into the Sanded Parlour, where breakfast was soon ready; and who so quick and dexterous in attending to our wants as the rosy-cheeked chambermaid?

And what a breakfast that was! Never had the antique andirons on the hearth, the pewter plates and dishes upon the walls, the brass-bound blunderbuss above the mantel seemed so bright and polished before, and surely never had they gleamed upon a merrier company. To be sure, the Imp’s remarks were somewhat few and far between, but that was simply on account of the blackberry jam.

“I suppose you are both ridiculously happy,” said Lady Warburton, eyeing us over her coffee cup.

“Most absurdly!” answered Lisbeth, blushing all in a moment.

“Preposterously!” I nodded.

“Of course!” said Lady Warburton, and setting down her cup, she sighed, while I wondered what memories her narrow life could hold.

“Uncle Dick,” said the Imp suddenly, “do you s’pose Scarlet Sam ever ate blackberry jam?”

“Undoubtedly, my Imp, when he could get it.” This appeared to greatly relieve his mind; for he took another helping.

But all things must have an end, alas!-even such a breakfast as this, and presently we were out in the sunshine again, standing beneath the weather-beaten sign whereon three faded fishermen fished with faded rods in a faded stream; while away down the road we could see Peter already approaching with the carriage.

“And now I suppose you are going?” said Lady Warburton.

“There is a train at half-past ten,” I answered.

“An’ we are going, too !” said Dorothy.

“Yes, we’re quite ready, Uncle Dick,” cried the Imp, thrusting his pistols into his belt.

“But you wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you, children?” asked Lady Warburton, and there was a certain wistfulness in her sharp face that seemed new to it.

“‘Course not,” sighed the Imp, “only - “

“We must stay and take care of her, Reginald,” nodded Dorothy decisively.

“Yes, I’ll take care of you, Aunt, with lance, battle-axe, an’ sword, by day an’ night,” said the Imp, “only - I should have liked to see Uncle Dick’s wonderful house, with the real swords an’ armour, in the Land of Heart’s Delight - some day, you know.”

“And so you shall,” cried Lady Warburton, and she actually stooped to kiss him, and then Dorothy, rather ‘pecky’ kisses, perhaps, but very genuine kisses notwithstanding.

“Richard,” she said, giving me her hand, “we shall come down to your wonderful house - all three of us next week, so be prepared - now be off - both of you.”

“Then you forgive me, Aunt?” asked Lisbeth, hesitating.

“Well, I don’t quite know yet, Lisbeth; but, my dear, I’ll tell you something I have never mentioned to a living soul but you; if I had acted forty years ago as you did to-day, I should have been a very different creature to the cross-grained old woman you think me. There - there’s a kiss, but as for forgiving you - that is quite another matter; I must have time to think it all over. Good-bye, my dear; and, Richard, fill her life with happiness, to make up for mine, if you can. Children, bid good-bye to your Auntie - and Uncle Dick!”

“You won’t forget the sword with the ‘deadly point,’ will you, Uncle Dick?”

“I won’t forget, my Imp!” Hereupon he tried to smile, but his trembling lips refused, and snatching his band from mine he turned away; as for Dorothy, she was sobbing into the fur of the fluffy kitten.

Then I helped Lisbeth aboard The Joyful Hope, loving her the more for the tears that gleamed beneath her long lashes, and ‘casting loose,’ we glided out into the stream.

There they stood, the two children, with the white-haired figure between them, Dorothy holding up the round-eyed “Louise” for a parting glimpse, and the Imp flourishing his cutlass, until a bend of the river hid them from view.

So Lisbeth and I sailed on together through the golden morning to “The Land of Heart’s Delight.”