Where the Brook and River Meet

Front matter

WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET "As sweet and simple as a daisy." — Chap, I. Where the Brook and River Meet BV y_ NF.LLIE HELLIS author of ' little king davie,' etc. . . Highest beauty Lies in doing simplest duty.' EonOon : WELLS GARDNER, DARTON, & CO., 3 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C., And 44 VICTORIA STREET, WESTMINSTER, S.W. Zo 1bcc to wbose gentle influence tbis book ts owing CONTENTS CHAP. pAGE I. IN SILK ATTIRE ' I II. MARJORIE'S CHILDHOOD III. LASSIE AND LAD 1 3 IV. FROM OVER THE SEA 2 V. a lover's quarrel 31 VI. MR. HULDANE 38 VII. IN HER NEW HOME 49 VIII. A MORNING DRIVE . . . . . . 57 IX. DR. GLENISTER 65 X. MARJORIE AS NURSE 73 XI. A GUEST AT " THE LAURELS " 84 XII. "WHEN THE WARMER WEATHER COMES " . . " . 93 XIII. AN AWAKENING IOO XIV. THORA'S DISCOVERT I08 XV. CONFIDENCES 1 20 XVI.

A PREMATURE DISCLOSURE 1 27 XVII. ON THE CLIFFS BT MOONLIGHT 1 36 j' XVIII. A FRUITLESS APPEAL 1 43 XIX. "IS LIFE SO PLEASANT TO YOU, STEENIE?" . . I55 XX. BITTER AND SWEET 1 64 XXI. A MORNING WALK 17 1 XXII. A PROMISE AND WHAT CAME OF IT . . . . I S4 xxiii. "now, dear, tell me all" 191 v CONTENTS VI CHAP. PAGE XXIV. WAITING 2°3 XXV. "SO HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP " . . -213 XXVI. A DELICATE MISSION 221 XXVII. IN HONOUR BOUND 233 XXVIII. A SLEEP OF LIFE 242 XXIX. HIS WEDDING MORN ....... 25O XXX. AT HOME AGAIN 259 XXXI. IN THE PARISH ROOMS 27O XXXII. WHEN THE VIOLETS WERE IN BLOOM .... 276 XXXIII. " MY LOVE ! MY LOVE ! " 2S8 WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET

Chapter I In Silk Attire

" Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet ! Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse ! " — Longfellow. MARJORIE, Marjorie, in spite of your dress, which I thought would make a queen of you, you look just as you always do, as sweet and simple as a daisy." " Do I please you the less for that, Mr. Frank ? ' "What if I say yes?" " I should take the liberty of disbelieving you." " He is only teasing, Marjorie," said Miss Ferguson, as she entered the drawing-room. "Now, stand away from the table, so that I may have a full view of you." " Aunt Millie, she's tiptoeing ! " exclaimed the young man. " She's exactly five feet one and three-quarters, and she is trying to deceive us with a make-believe couple of inches."

"You couldn't have paid me a greater compliment," A said Marjorie, laughing, "for I'm standing flat on my heels." "I beg to contradict that statement. I saw your slippers as you came downstairs, and noticed they were of the newest fashion." " If they were, I shouldn't be able to dance five minutes together," she retorted, " and I've made up my mind to enjoy myself to-night. You're wrong again, you see, sir." " You ladies," said Frank, " are all alike, except where age and experience," with a mocking bow to Aunt Millie, " have made you wiser. You rail against the fashion. So ungraceful ! So ruinous to health ! So detrimental to the free and natural growth of the body ! And then out you go for a day's shopping, and you spend hour after hour in passing from shop to shop, never resting content till you have found 'the latest thing' in bonnets, gloves, and boots, and the thousand and one etceteras that go to make up a lady's wardrobe."

"It would be a pity to disturb such a good opinion of your own knowledge of the subject," said Miss Ferguson, smiling. "But," she added, "the brougham must not be kept waiting any longer. Wrap her up well, Frank, it is cold to-night." " But, Auntie," said Marjorie, in quite an anxious voice, "you do like me in my dress, don't you ? It cost such a lot of money, that I should be sorry if I did not look nice." " Isn't she a dreadful girl, Aunt Millie ? " Frank inter rupted. " She is always fishing for compliments. Don't encourage so lamentable a propensity." "Be quiet, you silly boy, and let your elders and superiors speak for themselves!" and Marjorie adminis tered a playful, but very gentle, blow to the fingers that were busy with the fastenings of her fur-lined cloak. "It becomes you admirably," Miss Ferguson replied.

"I have never seen you look better. With regard to the expense, as the dress is my gift, it is not very polite of you to mention it. But, indeed," she concluded hastily, "you must go. Good-bye, both of you, and don't forget to call for Connie." Frank and Marjorie chatted merrily as the carriage Miss Ferguson had hired for their convenience rolled along over the frosty road. They had often been out together before, but the new relation that existed between them gave the present occasion a charm and freshness as novel as they were delightful. "You will need plenty of patience to-night, Marjorie," Frank remarked presently. " What do you mean ? " "You know it is considered proper to cougratulate newly-engaged people, and to have to listen to much of that sort of thing must be decidedly trying.

As you are more to be congratulated than I, you will come in for the larger share." "But how am I to reply? Why didn't you tell me before ? " cried Marjorie, too much dismayed at the pro spect before her to retaliate upon her lover's self-com placent insinuation. "You'll know what to say when the time comes. Trust a girl for that." "I assure you, I am often at a loss for words in far less difficult cases." "Ah! that's because you are unlike other girls, Margie." Giving an answering pressure to the hand that clasped hers, Marjorie looked up with a happy smile to meet the glance so fondly bent upon her. " That is what puzzles me," she said in a minute ot two. "I am so quiet — not a bit brilliant or clever — that I often wonder what you find in me to like so much." There was no time to reply, for at this moment the carriage stopped, and hastily jumping out, Frank was about to knock at the door before which they had drawn up, when suddenly he turned and came back to Marjorie.

"It just occurs to me," he said mischievously, as he put his head in at the window, "that if you are really anxious to do the correct thing in connection with the congratulatory business to-night, you had better ask Connie about it. As she has been engaged twice, she must be well up in the subject." Watchful ears had evidently been listening for the sound of wheels, for before Frank could again reach the door it was thrown open, and the light in the hall revealed the figure of a girl dressed in pale pink. She made a pretty picture as she stood framed in the door way with the lamp shining down upon her. "I thought you were never coming," she exclaimed impatiently. " I've been waiting this half-hour." " I'm so sorry, Connie," and Frank hurriedly shook hands with her. " I had no idea we were so late as that.

How do you do, Mr. Ferguson ? " This was addressed to a tall middle-aged gentleman who had appeared behind the young lady, and who looked at Frank with a merry twinkle in his eye. "Quite well, thank you," he replied. "Won't you and Marjorie come in ? " " No, thanks ; Connie says we have kept her waiting half-an-hour as it is." " Don't heed her," said Mr. Ferguson. " She's always putting the clock on. I'll just step out then and speak to Marjorie. Well, you puss," he said to her, "what is this I hear about you ? " A blush and a smile were her answer. " And without so much as saying ' by your leave ' to your guardian ! Don't you know, young woman," Mr. Ferguson continued, "that in the eyes of the law you belong to me ? " "And don't you know, papa," said Connie, "that you are depriving me of my first waltz with Bertie Clive ?

" "I beg your pardon, my dear, I am sure. Mind you bring Connie safely home, Frank. Good-night, Marjorie. A happy evening to you all." So saying he closed the door, and the carriage rolled rapidly on once more. Seated side by side the cousins, for such was the relationship between Connie and Marjorie, presented a striking contrast. Connie, the elder by three years, was tall and dark, with a rich complexion and well developed figure. Her hair, a mystery of close lying curls, plaits, and coils, was arranged in a fashion that suited her well-shaped head. A pair of roguish brown eyes flashed and sparkled with excitement and animation, while a pretty mouth and small even teeth lent additional charms to her bright attractive face. Marjorie, on the contrary, was barely of middle height, though her slight slender form made her look taller.

Her complexion was fair and generally pale, except when, as now, a special circumstance gave a rosy tint to her delicate oval cheeks. Her hair, of a warm ruddy brown, waved back naturally from her forehead. She wore it in a loose low-lying knot, its luxuriance being its only ornament. But in her eyes lay her greatest claim to beauty. They were of that peculiar shade of grey which seems at times to turn to violet, and under great emotion to become almost black. A way she had of glancing up shyly from under their long lashes made her face very childlike in its expression, and at first sight conveyed the idea that she was younger than her eighteen years. Yet until that evening perhaps no one — except those to whom she was most dear, and whose opinion there fore passed for nothing — had ever called Marjorie Doyne pretty.

But now, under an indefinable influence she had never felt before, her natural shyness, which often forced her to be silent, and sometimes appear ill at ease, was lost in a quiet self-possession and gentle dignity. Ad miring eyes were turned upon the graceful figure in the simple, white silk dress, and more than one young man of Frank's acquaintance told him he was to be envied as an extremely lucky fellow. Yes, he was a "lucky fellow." It seemed to him he had not fully realised his good fortune until that night. "You have had a pleasant time, dear!" he said when, having left Connie at her own door, he took the vacant seat by Marjorie's side. " Yes, very, but " "But what?" "I should have been just as happy spending one of our quiet evenings at home," she said. "I should have had you entirely to myself then, and Aunt Millie would have had me.

There couldn't be a pleasanter state of things." "You expect me to believe that?" " Of course I do." "Well, it's highly flattering to myself, so I won't find fault with your taste. Nevertheless," he added, " I know what is good for you, and henceforth you must accept every invitation you receive." "I must, must I?" "Yes. For the future you will have no will of your own. But, Marjorie, you can trust me to do only what will be for your good and happiness ? " Her look was answer enough. Frank, as he met it, again experienced an overwhelming sense of his own good fortune. "How sweet and gentle she is!" he thought. "I wouldn't bring a tear into those loving eyes of hers for the wealth of all the Indies." And he meant it — then. Miriam, an old and valued servant of Miss Ferguson's, was sitting up for the young people.

She had taken care that the fire should be burning brightly in Marjorie's room, and now followed her in to assist her in undress ing. But she had to wait while Marjorie stepped softly through another door into the adjoining apartment. " Are you awake, Auntie ? " she said, in a low voice. "Yes, dear." " That is very wrong of you. You should have been asleep hours ago." "I intended to sit up for you," Miss Ferguson said, "but I had a headache, and Miriam persuaded me to come to bed." " I am so sorry. I hope it is not very bad." " A few hours' sleep will doubtless cure it. You have enjoyed yourself, Marjorie ? " " Yes, very much. The Clives were there, and- " You can tell me to-morrow. Get to bed now as quickly as you can. Good-night, my darling." In the darkness an outstretched hand drew down the girl's face, and a loving kiss was impressed on the soft warm cheek.

"Please be very careful how you take off my dress," said Marjorie, as Miriam came forward to help her. "It will have to serve me on many more occasions, and I want it to look fresh and clean as long as possible." Always anxious to please Marjorie, to whom she was much attached, Miriam's fingers went deftly to work among the delicate lace and flowers. The latter, though drooping and faded, were still precious to their owner as her lover's gift ; and Marjorie herself superintended the folding up and putting away of her pretty white silk gown. In after years it seemed to her that with this act she also put away all her old lightness and childishness of heart. For from that night dawned a new life — the life that, sooner or later, comes to all of us, when we wake to the knowledge that not one of us is exempt from trial and responsibility, and that care and sorrow are not mere abstract ideas, but real and painful facts.

Chapter II Marjorie's Childhood

" The poor weak child will need her : Oh, who can dare complain, When God sends a new duty To comfort each new pain ! " — Adelaide Procter. MARJORIE had been left motherless when she was barely two years old. Her father, who had dearly loved his beautiful young wife, was so heartbroken at his sudden and unexpected loss, that it was feared his health would completely break down. Life seemed to have no interest, and only the baby prattle of his little daughter, and her pretty coaxing ways, had power to rouse him from the apathetic state into which he was fast sinking. His friends became alarmed, and a position under government being offered him in Australia, they strenuously urged him to accept it. For a time he would not, for his child's sake, be persuaded. But the repeated assurances of his wife's parents (he himself was an only child ; he had lost both father and mother, and had no near relative) that the little Marjorie might be left in their care, finally induced him to accept the post.

Then, to his surprise, he found that the prospect opened to him was not without attrac tion, and hastily concluding his arrangements, he set sail for Sydney, not to return for many years. In her new home — a village rectory in one of the midio MARJORIE'S CHILDHOOD land counties — Marjorie won all hearts. She was the pet and plaything of her grandparents, while her own mother could not have shown her greater tenderness and devotion than did her Aunt Millie. Indeed, to Millicent Ferguson the charge of the little girl was a cause of deep thankful ness. The death of her only and dearly loved sister had left a void which the child alone could fill, for between herself and Marjorie's mother there had been a difference of ten years, and the affection that the elder had delighted to lavish upon the younger had always been of a protecting and motherly nature.

Two years passed, and then came another change. Within a month or two Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson followed each other to the grave. In reply to the letter which informed Mr. Doyne of these circumstances, he wrote telling his sister-in-law that he was on the eve of marriage. As soon, he said, as the event had taken place, he would make arrangements for Marjorie's out ward passage, for now that her grandparents were dead he could no longer think of burdening her with the care of his child. Nor was there, he added, the least necessity, as the step he was about to take would obviate the diffi culty that had hitherto made it almost impossible for Marjorie to be sent to him. But Miss Ferguson begged so earnestly that she might be allowed to keep the child " for, at any rate, a few more years," and dwelt so touchingly on her own loneliness, and her dependence, on the little one's love, that Mr. Doyne could not refuse her desire.

" I acknowledge," he owned, "that your claim is greater than mine." He only requested that Marjorie might receive as good an education as possible, saying he should remit a certain sum yearly to help defray the expense. Of such an arrangement, however, Miss Ferguson would MARJORIE'S CHILDHOOD 11 not hear. She had, she told him, an income more than sufficient for her own wants ; besides which, Marjorie was already possessed of independent means. Her grand father had left her a legacy of three thousand pounds, the interest of which, until she became of age, was to be used for the child's maintenance and education in the manner considered most advisable by her two guardians, her Uncle James and her Aunt Millicent. There was, therefore, no need of additional help from Mr. Doyne. Thus it was settled, and in a year or so Miss Ferguson left the village, where till now she had lived all her life, and made her home in London.

She did this partly on Marjorie's, and partly on her own account. She wished to be near her only brother, a solicitor with a good practice in the City, who lived in a pleasant suburb of the West End, and she was very anxious that her niece should have the best of educational advantages. With her seven cousins within an easy walking distance of her aunt's house, Marjorie had no lack of suitable com panionship. Of these the eldest, Connie, was her favourite. Shy and retiring in disposition as she herself was, she found encouragement and support in her bolder and more brilliant playfellow. Again, a first lesson with a new master or mistress was always an ordeal to Marjorie. But if her cousin were with her the experience was not half so trying. "Do your best, and don't bother about it. They can't eat you," Connie would say.

Though the advice was oddly expressed, it meant much, and Marjorie was sure to take heart, and prosit by the counsel. And the girls carried on many studies together, for notwithstanding Connie's seniority and quicker percep tion, Marjorie was so persevering, and so bent upon searching into and thoroughly understanding every matter MARJORIES CHILDHOOD 12 taken in hand, that in the end she not only equalled her cousin, but generally attained to a more accurate grasp of the subject. Of this, however, Marjorie herself was unconscious, and, with a sigh, she would often wish that she were " as quick and as clever as Connie."

Chapter III Lassie And Lad

" Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands ; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands." — Tenntson. WHEN Marjorie was fourteen her aunt's small household received another inmate. An old schoolfellow, a Mrs. Glenister, with whom Miss Ferguson had corresponded since they were girls together, and who now lived in the North of England, wrote asking her friend if she would kindly endeavour to find a home in a quiet family, for her son Frank, a youth of nineteen. She explained that he wished to matriculate at University College preparatory to beginning his medical studies at the hospital, and therefore, for a few years, he would be obliged to live in London. In reply, Miss Ferguson sent the young man a cordial invitation to spend a month or so with her. He would then, she said, have opportunity and leisure to make choice of a home for himself.

The offer was gratefully accepted, and Frank soon arrived. His easy, gentlemanly manners, his intelligence, and his energy of character, at once put him on good terms with Miss Ferguson. Further acquaintance con firmed her first opinion, and she would not allow him to be in any hurry to leave her. When, however, he had been several weeks under her roof, he declared he could no longer trespass on her kindness, and at the same time he told her of a proposal made by a fellow student to share rooms with him near the hospital. It was then Miss Ferguson gave expression to an idea that had lately occupied much of her attention. "What clo you think," she said, "of settling down here ? — I mean, will you make my house your home for as long as you remain in London ? " In his astonishment, in his desire to accept, and his natural unwillingness to seem encroaching on such good ness of heart, Frank quite lost his usual self-possession.

" But I — I oughtn't to allow it," he stammered. " Already my visit has been of an unconscionable length — I am a comparative stranger — I have no claim, and " "It would be a pleasure to me to have you," Miss Ferguson interrupted. "That is," she added, "if you can make yourself happy with such quiet people as Marjorie and myself." " There is no question about that," Frank rejoined emphatically. "Then I may consider the matter decided?" " But I never thought — I had no idea " he again stammered. " Of course you had not," said Miss Ferguson, smiling, " neither had I ; but I like you, and I shall be very glad if you will remain with us." " You are quite sure I shall not be in the way — that I shall not prove a nuisance to you ? " Frank asked eagerly. "If I tire of you I will tell you so. Until I do, you may rest assured you are a desired inmate of my house."

The ring of sincerity in her quiet words was not to be mistaken, and without further parley Frank gave her the grateful thanks she certainly deserved. Marjorie little thought how much she had to do in bringing about this arrangement. At the time of Frank's arrival her aunt was beginning to fear that the youno girl's natural sensitiveness and timidity were exerting an unwholesome influence, and she was rejoiced to see that in new and younger companionship her niece became a livelier, merrier maiden. From the first Frank and Marjorie had been excellent friends, but the latter soon discovered that if she would not be constantly defeated in their many arguments, and worsted in the gentle teasing to which she had to submit, she must rouse herself to meet retort with retort, and jest with jest. So Marjorie grew less shy and retiring, her voice gained a lighter tone, and soon peals of laughter generally told Miss Ferguson where the two young people might be found.

In a few months Frank seemed quite one of the family. Marjorie was his "sister"- — a part she was well content to act ; and not only was Miss Ferguson addressed as "Aunt Millie," but he delighted in rendering her those little services and courtesies which are especially graceful when offered by a young man to a middle-aged lady. Though he was, of course, far from being so dear to her as Marjorie, she had, nevertheless, both for his own and his mother's sake, a warm affection for him, and under her roof he was made to feel that he possessed all the privileges and comforts of home. Passing his examinations with honour, Frank Glenister was regarded at University College and Hospital as a most promising student. It was not because he had ability above the average that this opinion was gained, but because he entered heart and soul into whatever he took in hand, sparing no pains or trouble in order to gain the desired end, and the result, as Frank determined it should be, was always success.

Ambition, indeed, was one of his strongest character istics. Long before coming to London he had resolved there should be no middle course for him. He would be one of the very foremost in his profession. Fame, wealth, honour, all should be his, and his, too, while he could enjoy them in the early vigour and strength of his manhood. It was no easy attainment he had set before him. His father could not help him; his means were small, and he had other sons to educate. But that all depended on his own efforts only served in Frank's eyes to heighten the allurement of the end he had in view. " I am glad of it," he would think to himself. " In the future I shall look back and say, ' and I did it, I owe no man any thing. By my own determination and perseverance alone have I won renown, and achieved my purpose.' " This golden dream of the future was poured into the attentive, sympathetic ears of Marjorie, who, not a little proud of being made his confidante, listened with flushed cheeks and glistening eyes.

"It will all come true; I am sure it will," she would cry enthusiastically. " Only, Frank, you must take care of yourself. Auntie says you are studying far more now than you ought to do." "Work won't hurt me; I'm strong, and can stand any amount. Besides, I must do it. Marjorie, shan't you be glad when I've gone through the whole curriculum, and can begin on my own account ? " " Of course I shall. You will soon get rich then, I suppose ? " " I hope so." "And you'll have a lovely house most beautifully furnished, horses and carriages, and everything else that wealthy people have ? " "Yes, and I shall want a wife who must be in keepino with her surroundings." " Leave it to me, and she shall be. Let me see — she shall be dark and tall." " No, she must be fan- ; and I hate very tall women." " Be quiet and listen.

You know my taste is superior to yours." "Goon, then." " She shall be dark and tall — like Connie. You are tall, and in husband and wife there should be harmony in proportion as in all else. Besides, she ought to be stately and grand to move about in such a beautiful home as yours will be. I'll choose somebody exactly suitable." "Well, perhaps you shall when the time comes; but mind, I don't guarantee that I'll marry the lady." So they chatted and laughed, till one day the amusement afforded to Marjorie by the little joke that she should select Frank's wife received a sudden check. He, as usual, had been building castles in the air, and had reached that point in the visionary ladder — by no means the highest — when he had become " a great physician." "I'm afraid," said Marjorie, half in fun and half iu earnest, "you'll forget us then.

We shall be very poor folk in comparison. Nevertheless, I hope you will some times condescend to invite the companion of your youthful days to pay you a visit." "Nobody will be more welcome," Frank replied. "But," he continued, "don't talk about forgetting, and don't talk about visiting. I shall want you always." " So you say now." B "You judge me by yourself. Women, as everybody knows, are fickle." "That's a great compliment," cried Marjorie, in high glee. " You called me a chit of a child the other day." Frank laughed. "But seriously, Marjorie," he said, "I thought a sister always stuck to her brother." " She does till the brother marries, and doesn't need her any longer." "Then in that case it would be merely " But not completing his sentence, he said suddenly, " Marjorie, what a good thing it is you are only my sister by adoption."

A playful reply was on her lips ; but meeting his eyes, she saw in them what she had never seen before, and although she could not define it, it made her resolve never again to be beguiled into a conversation relating to her own or Frank's future. On all other subjects she would chat to him as gaily and as freely as before. But the strange new feeling of shyness was not to be put aside. It increased as the weeks went on, and Mar jorie had to own that the friendship, which for four years had been so pleasant to her, had lost its old charm. It vexed her that the relationship between herself and her companion should have become so changed, for changed it was, though when, or why, or how the difference had arisen, she neither knew nor understood. But though Marjorie did not understand, Miss Ferguson did.

She was a little startled at first to find that the predictions of her friends had come to pass, and that the two young people beneath her roof were " falling in love " with each other. She herself had laughed at the idea, saying Marjorie was but a child, and that long before thoughts of marriage could enter into Frank's mind he would have left them for another home. Yet the pro gress of events, though it showed she had been in error, was not displeasing to her. In all probability, she argued, Marjorie would eventually marry. She could not be so selfish as to think she could keep her always. Far better, then, to give her to a man she knew than to a stranger, and, as it seemed to her, she might confidently entrust her darling's happiness to Frank. Yet she spoke very seriously to him on this and on other points when, one Sunday afternoon, he took advantage of the oppor tunity afforded by Marjorie's absence to confess to Aunt Millie that he loved her niece.