The Clever Woman of the Family [40]
and waste of feeling, while you are lying in your Indian grave, more mine than you can ever be living be as it may,--
"'Calm me, my God, and keep me calm While these hot breezes blow; Be like the night dew's cooling balm Upon earth's fevered brow. Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, Soft resting on Thy breast; Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm, And bid my spirit rest.'"
CHAPTER V
MILITARY SOCIETY.
"My trust Like a good parent did beget of him A falsehood in its contrary as great As my trust was, which had indeed no limit."--TEMPEST.
Rose found the wheeled chair, to which her aunt gave the preference, was engaged, and shaking her little discreet head at "the shakey chair" and "the stuffy chair," she turned pensively homeward, and was speeding down Mackarel Lane, when she was stayed by the words, "My little girl!" and the grandest and most bearded gentleman she had ever seen, demanded, "Can you tell me if Miss Williams lives here?" "My aunt?" exclaimed Rose, gazing up with her pretty, frightened-fawn look. "Indeed!" he exclaimed, looking eagerly at her, "then you are the child of a very old friend of mine! Did you never hear him speak of his old school-fellow, Colin Keith?" "Papa is away," said Rose, turning back her neck to get a full view of his face from under the brim of her hat. "'Will you run on and ask your aunt if she would like to see me?" he added. Thus it was that Ermine heard the quick patter of the child's steps, followed by the manly tread, and the words sounded in her ears, "Aunt Ermine, there's a gentleman, and he has a great beard, and he says he is papa's old friend! And here he is." Ermine's beaming eyes as absolutely met the new comer as though she had sprung forward. "I thought you would come," she said, in a voice serene with exceeding bliss. "I have found you at last," as their hands clasped; and they gazed into each other's faces in the untroubled repose of the meeting, exclusive of all else. Ermine was the first to break silence. "Oh, Colin, you look worn and altered." "You don't; you have kept your sunbeam face for me with the dear brown glow I never thought to have seen again. Why did they tell me you were an invalid, Ermine?" "Have you not seen Alison?" she asked, supposing he would have known all. "I saw her, but did not hear her name, till just now at luncheon, when our looks met, and I saw it was not another disappointment." "And she knows you are come to me?" "It was not in me to speak to her till I had recovered you! One can forgive, but not forget." "You will do more when you know her, and how she has only lived and worked for me, dear Ailie, and suffered far more than I--" "While I was suffering from being unable to do anything but live for you," he repeated, taking up her words; "but that is ended now--" and as she made a negative motion of her head, "have you not trusted to me?" "I have thought you not living," she said; "the last I know was your letter to dear Lady Alison, written from the hospital at Cape Town, after your wound. She was ill even when it came, and she could only give it to Ailie for me." "Dear good aunt, she got into trouble with all the family for our sake; and when she was gone no one would give me any tidings of you." "It was her last disappointment that you were not sent home on sick leave. Did you get well too fast?" "Not exactly; but my father, or rather, I believe, my brother, intimated that I should be welcome only if I had laid aside a certain foolish fancy, and as lying on my back had not conduced to that end, I could only say I would stay where I was." "And was it worse for you? I am sure, in spite of all that tanned skin, that your health has suffered. Ought you to have come home?" "No, I do not know that London surgeons could have got at the ball," he said, putting his hand on his chest, "and it
"'Calm me, my God, and keep me calm While these hot breezes blow; Be like the night dew's cooling balm Upon earth's fevered brow. Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, Soft resting on Thy breast; Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm, And bid my spirit rest.'"
CHAPTER V
MILITARY SOCIETY.
"My trust Like a good parent did beget of him A falsehood in its contrary as great As my trust was, which had indeed no limit."--TEMPEST.
Rose found the wheeled chair, to which her aunt gave the preference, was engaged, and shaking her little discreet head at "the shakey chair" and "the stuffy chair," she turned pensively homeward, and was speeding down Mackarel Lane, when she was stayed by the words, "My little girl!" and the grandest and most bearded gentleman she had ever seen, demanded, "Can you tell me if Miss Williams lives here?" "My aunt?" exclaimed Rose, gazing up with her pretty, frightened-fawn look. "Indeed!" he exclaimed, looking eagerly at her, "then you are the child of a very old friend of mine! Did you never hear him speak of his old school-fellow, Colin Keith?" "Papa is away," said Rose, turning back her neck to get a full view of his face from under the brim of her hat. "'Will you run on and ask your aunt if she would like to see me?" he added. Thus it was that Ermine heard the quick patter of the child's steps, followed by the manly tread, and the words sounded in her ears, "Aunt Ermine, there's a gentleman, and he has a great beard, and he says he is papa's old friend! And here he is." Ermine's beaming eyes as absolutely met the new comer as though she had sprung forward. "I thought you would come," she said, in a voice serene with exceeding bliss. "I have found you at last," as their hands clasped; and they gazed into each other's faces in the untroubled repose of the meeting, exclusive of all else. Ermine was the first to break silence. "Oh, Colin, you look worn and altered." "You don't; you have kept your sunbeam face for me with the dear brown glow I never thought to have seen again. Why did they tell me you were an invalid, Ermine?" "Have you not seen Alison?" she asked, supposing he would have known all. "I saw her, but did not hear her name, till just now at luncheon, when our looks met, and I saw it was not another disappointment." "And she knows you are come to me?" "It was not in me to speak to her till I had recovered you! One can forgive, but not forget." "You will do more when you know her, and how she has only lived and worked for me, dear Ailie, and suffered far more than I--" "While I was suffering from being unable to do anything but live for you," he repeated, taking up her words; "but that is ended now--" and as she made a negative motion of her head, "have you not trusted to me?" "I have thought you not living," she said; "the last I know was your letter to dear Lady Alison, written from the hospital at Cape Town, after your wound. She was ill even when it came, and she could only give it to Ailie for me." "Dear good aunt, she got into trouble with all the family for our sake; and when she was gone no one would give me any tidings of you." "It was her last disappointment that you were not sent home on sick leave. Did you get well too fast?" "Not exactly; but my father, or rather, I believe, my brother, intimated that I should be welcome only if I had laid aside a certain foolish fancy, and as lying on my back had not conduced to that end, I could only say I would stay where I was." "And was it worse for you? I am sure, in spite of all that tanned skin, that your health has suffered. Ought you to have come home?" "No, I do not know that London surgeons could have got at the ball," he said, putting his hand on his chest, "and it