"Why not, my dear? this is threadbare," her aunt pleaded.
"Aunt Hal, I should not like to give the room a strange look. He may have associations with this old carpet, for anything I know."
"Men do not have 'associations' with things," said Mrs. Eberstein.
"Some men do, and perhaps he is one of them. At any rate, I want the house to look like home to him when he comes. I'll put down the carpet afterwards, if he likes it."
"I am afraid you are going to spoil him, Dolly," said Mrs. Eberstein, shaking her head. "I hope he is worthy of it all. But don't spoil him!"
"He is much more likely to spoil me, Aunt Hal."
"Spoil _you!_" exclaimed her aunt indignantly. "What do you know about it? O Dolly, Dolly! I hope you have got the right man!"
At which, however, Dolly showed all her dimples, and laughed so comically that Mrs. Eberstein, right or wrong, was obliged to laugh with her.
Mr. Copley had once said a true thing about his daughter; that if she married Mr. St. Leger she would be devoted to him. "If"--yes, so she would. And being now married to somebody else, Dolly was a very incarnation of loyalty to her husband. Alas, many another woman has trusted so, on less grounds, and made shipwreck; but Dolly's faith was well founded, and there was no shipwreck in store for her.
So the day came when all was in readiness, and the two ladies took a satisfied review of their work. It was the day when Mr. Shubrick was looked for home. The "Red Chief" had arrived in port; and Sandie had written that by the evening of this day he hoped to be at home.
Everything was in order; fires were lighted; a servant installed below stairs; supper prepared; nothing left to be done anywhere. Dolly had seen to the supper carefully herself; indeed, for a day or two there had been some very thoughtful cooking and baking going on; which Mrs.
Eberstein had watched with great interest, some amusement, and ever so little a bit of jealousy.
"Is Mr. Shubrick a difficult man to please?" she demanded.
"How can I tell?" said Dolly. "I have only seen him in our house, not in his own. He did not scold there; but how do I know what he may do here?"
"Scold!" repeated Mrs. Eberstein. "Dolly, I believe it would rouse all the wickedness there is in me, if anybody should scold _you!_"
Dolly flushed rosily, and then she fairly laughed out.
"I will tell you a secret, Aunt Hal," she said. "I don't mean that in this matter, at least, he shall find any occasion."
So the supper was ready, and the table was set, and fires were bright.
Mrs. Eberstein stayed with Dolly till the evening began to fall, and then went back to the inn; averring that she would not for the universe be found in Mr. Shubrick's house when he came. Dolly stood at the window and watched her aunt's dark figure moving down to the gate, and then still stood at the window watching. It was all snow stillness outside.
There was a faint moonlight, which glistened on the white ground and bare elm branches. A few inches of snow had fallen the day before; the sun had thawed the surface slightly, and then it had frozen in a glittering smooth crust. It was still outside as only leafless winter can be, when there are no wings to flutter, or streams to trickle, or chirrup of insects to break the calm. Not a footfall, not a sleigh bell; not another light in sight, but only the moon. Anybody in the road might have seen another light,--that which came from Dolly's windows. She had been hard to suit about her arrangements; she would not have candles lit, for she did not wish an illumination that might make the interior visible to a chance passer-by; and yet she would not have the shutters shut, for the master of the house coming home must read his welcome from afar in rays of greeting from the windows. So she made up the fires and left the curtains open; and ruddy firelight streamed out upon the snow. It was bright enough to have revealed Dolly herself, only that the house stood back some distance from the road.
Dolly watched and listened a while; then crossed the hall to the room on the other side, from the windows of which a like glow shone out. The fire was in order; the table stood ready. Dolly went back again. It was so still outside, as if Sandie never would come. She listened with her heart beating hard and fast.
For an hour and a half, perhaps; and then she heard the tinkle of sleigh bells. They might be somebody else's. But they came nearer, and very near, and stopped; only Dolly heard a mixed jangle of the bells, as if the horse had thrown his head up and given a confused shake to them all. The next thing was the gate falling to, and a step crunching the crisp snow. Then the house door opened with no preliminary knock; and somebody was throwing off wraps in the hall.
Dolly had made a step or two forward, and stopped; and when Sandie appeared on the threshold, she was standing in the middle of the room, as pretty a picture of shy joy as a man need wish to see in his heart or his house. If Mrs. Eberstein could have been there and watched his greeting of her, the lady's doubts respecting his being "the right man"
would perhaps have been solved.
But after the first hasty word or two, it was very silent.
"Dolly," Mr. Shubrick said at last. And there he stopped; nothing followed.
"What were you going to say?" Dolly whispered.
"So much, that I do not know how to begin. I cannot get hold of the end of anything. Are you not going to let me see your eyes? I do not know where I am, till I get a look into them."
He smiled a moment after; for, although shyly and fleetingly, the brown eyes were lifted for a brief glance to his. What a sweet, tender simpleness was in them, and yet what a womanly, thoughtful brow was above them; and, yes, Sandie read somewhat else that a man likes to read; a fealty of love to him that would never fail. It went to his heart. But he saw too that Dolly's colour had left her cheeks, though at first they were rosy enough; and in the lines of her face generally and the quiver of her lip he could see that the nervous tension was somewhat too much. He must lead off to commoner subjects.
"Who is here with you?"
"Nobody."
"You do not mean that you are _alone_ here, Dolly?"
"No. Oh no. I mean, nobody in the house. Aunt Harry and Uncle Ned are at Baxter's. Aunt Harry only left me an hour or two ago, when it was time to expect you."
"It was very kind of her to leave you!" said Sandie frankly.
"We have been here a fortnight. When I found I could not have mother, I wrote to Aunt Hal; and she came."
"What was the matter with your mother?"
Dolly half unwound herself from the arms that held her, and turned her face away. She was trying to choke something down that threatened to stop her speech.
"Father"----
"What of him?" said Sandie with a grave change of tone.
"I am not sorry," said Dolly. "But, oh! to think that I should not be sorry!" She covered her face.
Sandie was silent, waiting and wondering. It could not be Mr. Copley's death that was in question; but what then could it be? He waited, to let Dolly take her own time. Neither did he have to wait long.
"You remember," she began, still with her face turned away,--"you remember what I told you one day in Brierley Park--about father?"
"Certainly I remember."
"You understood me?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Then you knew that I was--very anxious"--Dolly caught her breath--"about what might come? Oh, it is not treason for me to talk to you about it--now!" cried Dolly.
"It is not treason for you to tell me anything," said Mr. Shubrick, drawing her again closer, though Dolly kept her face bent down out of his sight. "Treason and you have nothing in common. What is it?"
"I told you, I knew there was no safety," she said, making a quick motion of her hand over her eyes. "I hoped things would be better over here, away from those people that led him the wrong way; and they _were_ better; it was like old times; still I knew there was no safety.
And now--he is taken care of," she said with a tremble of her lip which spoke of strong pain, strongly kept down. "He went to see some new fine machinery in somebody's mill. Somehow, by some carelessness, his coat got caught in the machinery; and before the works could be stopped his leg was--fearfully broken." Dolly spoke with difficulty and making great effort to master her agitation. The arms that held her felt how she was quivering all over.
"When, Dolly? When did this happen?"
"Soon after we came home. It is six weeks ago now."
"How is your father now?"
"Doing very well; getting cured slowly. But he will never walk again without--support. Oh, do you see how I am so sorry and glad together?