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'I quite believe it all,' the old lady calmly replied. 'It is very wonderful; there must be a good strain somewhere in the blood, and struggle and adversity are grand teachers, we are told. It is very interesting, and I am most ready to help them in any way you advise, my dear Eugenia, or that you think would be accepted. But understand me, I would do the same if I had never heard their name till to-day. It is not as relations; Bernard Harper's descendants are neither kith nor kin of mine, and this must be understood.'

Mrs Mildmay seemed about to speak, but hesitated.

'What is it, my dear? Do not be afraid of vexing me: do say what is in your mind,' said the old lady.

'You are so good, dear Lady Myrtle, so good and kind, that it seems impertinence for me to differ from you,' the younger woman replied. 'It was only that your words struck me curiously. Can we decide and alter things in that way? Our relations are our relations; can we, when it suits us, say they are not? Can we throw off the duties and responsibilities of relationship? Of course they vary enormously; sometimes they scarcely exist, and one can lay down no rule. But still, in the present case, it is because the Harpers are your relations, and yet by no fault of their own entirely alienated from you, that I have told you about them. These are solid substantial facts; we cannot undo facts.'

Lady Myrtle was silent. Mrs Mildmay glanced at her anxiously, very anxiously. But there was no sign of irritation in the quiet old face – only of thought, deep thought. And there was a grave softness in the usually keen eyes, as if they were reviewing far distant or far past scenes.

At last, 'Thank you, my dear, for your candour,' she said. 'Well, leave that question alone. I will help this family and at once, because it seems to me a clear duty to do so. Can you not be satisfied with this practical response to your appeal, my dear?'

'I thank you with all my heart,' said Mrs Mildmay earnestly, 'both for your generosity and for your patience with my presumption.'

But she evaded a direct reply to Lady Myrtle's question, and her friend did not press her farther.

The result of this conversation we have seen in the letter with its enclosure which was posted that very evening. The former was not a source of unmitigated satisfaction to Mrs Mildmay. For Lady Myrtle insisted on the insertion of the last few lines.

It would not be honest, she maintained, to withhold the expression of her true sentiments.

So with what she had achieved, Mrs Mildmay was forced to be content, though there were times during the next day or two in which she asked herself if perhaps she had not done more harm than good? And times again, when with the rebound of her naturally buoyant nature, she allowed herself to hope that she had succeeded in inserting the thin edge of the wedge; in 'making,' as she had expressed it to Francie, 'a beginning towards more.'

CHAPTER XV.
LADY MYRTLE'S INTENTIONS

And Francie, during those few days, was her mother's only confidante. Various reasons made Mrs Mildmay decide not as yet to come upon the subject with Jacinth. While still to all intents and purposes so much of a stranger to her daughter, she felt anxious to avoid all sore or fretted ground; all discussion which might lead her prematurely to judge or misjudge Jacinth. To Lady Myrtle, of course, she said nothing of this; but she suspected, as was indeed the case, that the old lady would feel no inclination to talk about the Harpers to her young companion. There were plenty of pleasanter things to talk about during the long drives on which, on most alternate afternoons, Jacinth accompanied their hostess; there were reminiscences of the past, always interesting to the girl, awakened to fresh vividness by Mrs Mildmay's own recollections of her mother and her own childhood; there were, more engrossing still, plans for the future, when 'papa' should return and be skilfully persuaded into renouncing India. And Lady Myrtle was nearly as great at castle-in-the-air building as Jacinth herself, and though too wise to discuss as yet with any one, especially with a girl who was really, notwithstanding her precocity, little more than a child, her still immatured intentions, Jacinth was far too acute, and Lady Myrtle too open and affectionate, for her young favourite not to be well aware how much her own future occupied and interested the old lady. Yet Jacinth was scarcely selfish in the common sense. She was capable, on the contrary, of great self-sacrifice for those she loved; her happy visions for days to come were by no means confined to, even though they might to a great extent revolve around, Jacinth Mildmay.

As seems often to happen when a looked-for letter, or reply to a letter, is of any peculiar importance, there was some delay in the acknowledgment of Lady Myrtle's communication by Mrs Harper. The old lady herself took it calmly enough. 'It should, as a business letter, have been replied to at once, but perhaps they are not business-like people, and are thinking it over,' was all she said.

Mrs Mildmay, on the contrary, and, so far as she understood it all, Frances, felt uneasy and perplexed. Mrs Mildmay was sorry for the Harpers to lay themselves open to the slightest appearance of disrespect or unpunctuality, and at the same time she had attacks of fear that Lady Myrtle's letter had hurt and wounded her relatives so deeply that they had decided to ignore it. Only, in that case, they would have returned the cheque.

'It is very absurd,' she said one evening to Frances. 'I don't generally "worry" about things at all, and I am quite sure I have never worried about any matter of our own as much. Except, perhaps, that time you all had scarlet fever at Stannesley, and somehow Marmy's letter missed the mail, and we were out of reach of telegraphing. Oh dear, I shall never forget that week!'

'Dear mamma,' said Francie, 'I quite know how you feel. I was so fidgety that time I sent on Camilla Harper's letter to you, though it wasn't anything like as important.'

But the very next morning the mystery was explained, and quite simply.

After breakfast Lady Myrtle sent for Mrs Mildmay to her boudoir, where she always interviewed her steward and transacted her business for the day.

'I have just got this, my dear,' she said, handing a letter to her guest, 'and I knew you would be anxious to see it. The delay, you see, was accidental.'

Her tone of voice somewhat reassured Mrs Mildmay; it was calm and unruffled. Nevertheless it was not without considerable anxiety that she took the sheet of paper from the old lady's hands and began to read it. It was from Mrs Harper – a touching yet dignified letter, and the cheque was not returned. Mrs Harper began by thanking Lady Myrtle warmly for her kindness; the money she had sent seemed indeed a 'godsend' in the real sense of the word, and no secondary considerations could make her think it would be right to refuse what might – what, she trusted and almost believed, would save her husband's life and restore him to health – 'even,' she went on to say, 'if it were possible after this, for us to think of you as an utter stranger, even then I would not dare to refuse this wonderful help. But at the same time you will allow us, I feel sure, to accept it as a loan, even though several years may pass before it is possible for us to repay it. Your agreeing to this will only immeasurably deepen, instead of lessening our inexpressible obligation.' The letter then went on to give a few details of her husband's condition, and the hopes and fears attendant on it. 'I am writing in my lodgings,' Mrs Harper went on, 'before going to him as usual at the hospital. So he does not yet know of this wonderful gift. And I think, as in your kind thoughtfulness you wrote to me, not to him, I am justified in accepting your aid without consulting him, so that I may tell him it is done. Not that in my heart I have any misgiving as to the view he will take of my action.' And lastly came a simple explanation of the delay. Mrs Harper had been for a day or two at Southcliff, as little Margaret was not well, and the rather stupid landlady of her London lodgings had never thought of forwarding the letter, knowing she was so soon to return. This with a few earnest words of repeated thanks made the whole.

Mrs Mildmay looked up eagerly after she had finished it.

'You are pleased, dear Lady Myrtle?' she said. 'At least I mean,' and she grew a little confused, for the old lady remained rather ominously silent, 'you think it is a nice letter, don't you? It seems to me to show peculiarly good feeling and good taste, for it cannot have been an easy letter to write.'

'Oh yes, my dear, I quite agree with you,' said Lady Myrtle with just a faint touch of impatience. 'I don't see how any one could think otherwise of the letter. I am perfectly satisfied that – she,' as if she shrank from naming the old name, 'is an excellent woman; refined and cultivated, and everything she should be. And I have no doubt they are all thoroughly deserving of the high character they bear. I thank you – I really do – for having given me the opportunity of serving people who so clearly deserve help. And these cases of bravely endured, almost unsuspected poverty among the gently born appeal to one almost more than the sufferings of the recognised "poor," though, of course, it is right to help both.'

'Yes,' said Mrs Mildmay, 'I often feel it so. And it is very good of you to put things in this way, Lady Myrtle. It takes away my qualms about having interfered,' and she smiled a little.

'But, my dear, I have not done,' Lady Myrtle went on, a trifle testily, 'you must quite understand me. It is not the very least– no, no; quite the other way – not the very least because they are Harpers that I am glad to be of use to them. Neither this letter, nor your own arguments – nothing, my dear, will alter the facts I stated to you the other day.'

'No,' agreed Mrs Mildmay, and she could scarcely repress a little smile; 'that was what I said myself, dear Lady Myrtle; nothing can alter facts.'

'Your facts and mine are scarcely synonymous,' said Lady Myrtle, drily, a little annoyed with herself perhaps, for having unconsciously made use of Mrs Mildmay's own expression. But the annoyance was not deep, for in another moment she added cheerfully, 'We are quite together on one point, however, and that is in rejoicing that this help has come in time, as we may hope, to save a valuable life and much sorrow to those who cherish it. If this prove a fact, I think, my dear Eugenia, we may rest content.'

'Yes, indeed,' replied Mrs Mildmay, touched by her old friend's gentleness, though to herself she added, 'for the present, that is to say.'

And when to eager little Frances she related the upshot of her intervention, she did not retract her former words about having made a beginning.

'I think,' she said, 'I have got in the thin end of the wedge. When honest-minded people are a little shaken in anything, they try hard to persuade themselves by extra vehemence that they are not so.'

'Mamma, dear,' said Frances, 'I am beginning to believe not only that you are the best but the very cleverest woman in the world.'

And Mrs Mildmay laughed the joyous laugh which was one of her charms. The success which had attended this attempt of hers so far, did seem a happy omen with which to begin again her home life.

It would be interesting here to shift the scene and follow the reception of the good news by the three anxious girls at Southcliff. It would – to me at least it would – be so pleasant to tell of the happy faces that looked at each other with questioning eyes, as if the tidings in their mother's letter were almost too good to be true. It would be gratifying to watch the progress made by Captain Harper towards the recovery of greater health and strength than had been his for so many years, but even in telling a story – and the simplest of stories – one cannot always do as one is inclined. The time has not yet come for visiting the Harpers again. I must hurry on with some necessary explanations before leaving Thetford and dear old Robin Redbreast for very different surroundings.

That spring and early summer passed on the whole very happily for Mrs Mildmay and her three children. As far as Frances and her little brother were concerned, there were, I think, no drawbacks, except the fear – not, however, a very great one – that this delightful state of things might not last if papa should be obliged to return to India. But to a great extent their mother was able to reassure them, for in every letter Colonel Mildmay wrote more and more strongly of his earnest desire to settle at home, even though his doing so should lead to some privations falling on his family.

'Everything would be made up for by being together,' said Frances over and over again. 'I wouldn't care if we all had to live in quite a tiny cottage; would you, Jass?'

But Jacinth replied rather coldly that Frances was a silly child who didn't know what she was talking about. And Mrs Mildmay smiled, and endeavoured to prevent any approach to quarrelling, as she assured Frances that at all events they would be able to afford a comfortable house.

'I should rather think so,' said Jacinth in an authoritative and yet mysterious tone. 'I do wish, mamma, you would make Frances leave off speaking as if we were paupers.'

It is scarcely necessary to say that this conversation and others of a similar kind did not take place in Lady Myrtle's presence.

And towards the end of July, sooner than he had hoped for, Colonel Mildmay arrived. They were all still at Robin Redbreast to receive him, for on hearing how much earlier his leave was to begin than had been anticipated, Mrs Mildmay gave in to their kind hostess's earnest wish that they should remain there at least till her husband's coming.

'And as much longer as we can persuade him to stay,' Lady Myrtle added. 'He can so easily run up to town from this, as he is sure to have to be there often, about these appointments. And then it will be such a pleasure to his sister to have him near.'

'Oh yes, Thetford is as good a headquarters as we could have at present,' agreed Mrs Mildmay. 'But Thetford, dear Lady Myrtle, need not necessarily mean Robin Redbreast, you know! And it would not be difficult for us to find a nice little house there that would suit us for the time.'

'Well, well, it will be time enough to see to that when your husband is here,' replied the old lady.

And Mrs Mildmay, whose nature was not one to anticipate or dwell upon difficulties or uncertainties in the future which she could not in the present take action about, gratefully accepted her kind friend's hospitality, happy in the knowledge that her doing so really gave happiness to Lady Myrtle in return.

It was very strange to have papa in person, 'as large as life or a little larger,' said Frances. For they had not pictured to themselves quite such a tall, grave, rather awe-inspiring personage as he seemed at first. And they could scarcely understand how their mother could be so entirely at ease with him; how she could even laugh at him, and tease him now and then as if she was not 'the least atom' afraid of him.

But there was plenty of fun and humour hidden in the depths of Colonel Mildmay's dark eyes; it was not altogether wanting even in his sister Alison, though the circumstances of her life had not brought out several of the qualities developed by his wider and larger experiences. And before long his children, the two younger ones especially, got to know this, and to count upon their father's ever-ready sympathy in even the more childish of their interests and amusements. And Jacinth for her part was intensely proud of her father. He suited her in every way; except that now and then a slight suspicion insinuated itself that this very grand and dignified papa of hers, affectionate and even caressing as he could be when he laid his hand on her head and smoothed her soft hair, was laughing at her a little, which did not at all suit Jacinth's princess-like ideas of herself.

Still all was very happy, very happy indeed, the sweet summer days passing only too quickly; and for some two or three weeks nothing was said about 'plans,' though Colonel Mildmay went up to town more than once to visit his doctor and the War Office.

Then came an evening on which he returned from a hot day in London, fagged and rather knocked up, though with a certain expression on his face which told his watchful and observant wife that he had come to a decision, which she quietly waited to hear till he sought a good opportunity for telling it. The opportunity came later, when Lady Myrtle, a little tired by the unusual heat, had gone to her own room earlier than her wont, and the girls and Eugene had also said good-night.

'Come out into the garden, Eugenia. We can talk better there; it seems, even compared with India, such an airless night.'

'But the stars are beautiful, aren't they, Frank? I do love this place so,' said Mrs Mildmay as she seated herself on a rustic chair on the edge of the smooth bowling-green-like old lawn.

'You always find the stars – the bright spots in every sky, I think, dear,' said her husband. 'I confess I am feeling a little gloomy to-night, and yet I am glad it is decided.'

'It is decided, then? I thought so,' said Mrs Mildmay gently.

'Yes. It is quite certain that it would be madness for me ever to think of India again, now or years hence. So I have accepted Barmettle. I send in the formal papers to-morrow,' and he sighed a little.

'I expected it,' she said. 'I am very thankful, Frank, though you know how I sympathise with you about your having to – to – come down at all in position as it were.'

'Doing right can never be really coming down,' he replied. 'And it is right. The other thing in London would have been impossible, on our means, and not work enough either. And there is nothing against Barmettle; the place is healthy and cheap, and good education for Eugene, and no doubt – the two generally go together – good masters and governesses for the girls. Socially speaking, of course, there is not much to recommend the place, though there may be a few nice people there. But the girls are still very young; we must just do our best, and make as happy a home for them as we can.'

'Lady Myrtle is sure often to invite them here,' said Mrs Mildmay, 'Jacinth especially. When shall we have to go there, Frank? Will it be worth while to look out for a temporary house at Thetford, as we had thought of?'

'Scarcely,' said Colonel Mildmay. This was the question – 'When shall we have to go there?' – which he had been the most dreading. He was glad to have it over. 'I fear,' he went on, 'you will be rather upset at finding how soon we have to go. I, at least. You and the children can stay on here awhile if you like, as dear old Lady Myrtle is sure to want you. But I myself must be at Barmettle the end of next month.'

'And you certainly shall not go alone,' said Mrs Mildmay, brightly. 'Do you think I would trust you to choose a house and all the rest of it? If Lady Myrtle will keep Eugene and one of the girls for a week or two, I and the other child will go north with you of course, and get settled before the others join us. There is only one thing I want to ask you, Frank; don't think it is that I have the faintest idea of making you change your intention; I do not even wish it. But you have not actually – officially – accepted the appointment yet?'

'No, not till to-morrow,' he replied.

'Then let me ask you this: Lady Myrtle has been so very, so more than good to us, that I should like to gratify her in every way we can. So before actually accepting this, I think we owe it to her to tell her about it. I know she is dying for you to take the London thing, and I would like her thoroughly to understand the reasons why you don't.'

'They are very simple and unanswerable,' said Colonel Mildmay, curtly.

'Yes, but Frank, though she has never said it actually, I have suspicions that she wants to help us practically – to increase our income,' said Mrs Mildmay with some hesitation.

'My dear child, I could never consent to anything of the kind,' exclaimed Colonel Mildmay, starting up. 'Her hospitality I am most grateful for; she may even do things for the children in the future, for Jacinth, I suppose, especially, as a godmother or a very old friend might. I am not foolishly proud. If she likes to leave you or Jacinth a little remembrance in her will, it would not be unnatural. But beyond that' —

'I know, I know,' interposed his wife, hurriedly. 'Of course I feel the same. But you see, if we talk this over with her, it will both gratify her and put things for always in their proper light.'

'Very well; I will do so, then,' said Colonel Mildmay. And then he turned and looked at his wife, for there was moonlight by this time, very earnestly. 'I don't doubt you, Eugenia,' he said; 'you know I never could. But you agree with me entirely, my dearest, do you not? I could never accept a position of the kind. And above all, when we know that there are others – the Harpers, I mean – who have claims upon her. For, but for the grandfather's misconduct, he would have had a good proportion of what is now Lady Myrtle's.'

'I absolutely agree with you, Frank,' Mrs Mildmay replied. 'And my most earnest hope is that our good old friend may come to see things in the right light with regard to her own family. This very conversation which I am urging may be a means of leading her to do so.'

Mrs Mildmay's courage would perhaps have failed her had she known what the 'conversation' she alluded to so lightly was really to consist of. It began by the most strenuous opposition on the old lady's side to the Barmettle plan. She had set her heart on Colonel Mildmay's accepting the post in London which was, according to her, 'the very thing to be desired for him.'

'You would be so near me,' she said. 'Any or all of you could come down at any time. Robin Redbreast would be your country home.'

Colonel Mildmay smiled gently while he thanked her, and then he reminded her of the overwhelming difference of the two appointments as regarded the 'pay.'

'But that needn't – that would not signify,' Lady Myrtle began, though with evident difficulty in expressing herself, while Mrs Mildmay's heart beat faster as she realised that they were approaching 'the tug of war.' 'I – you must know – it is only natural;' and with other confused expressions about Jacinth being to her 'as her own child,' 'no one of her own kith or kin except the Elvedons,' whose affairs were long ago definitely arranged, and references to her unforgotten devotion to the Jacinth of her youth, the old lady plunged into the thick of things. She had not meant to speak so soon, she said; she had wished her intentions to be faits accomplis before she disclosed them, but all this had upset her and she must explain.

And then she told the whole, and Colonel and Mrs Mildmay, though a little prepared for some announcement of proposed benefit to Jacinth in the future, listened in appalled and almost stunned silence to Lady Myrtle Goodacre's eccentric and, in their eyes, extravagant determination.

Jacinth was to be her heir – all that she had to dispose of, and it was still a great deal, even without that portion of her wealth which, with the knowledge that the old lord would have approved of her doing so, she meant to restore to the title; even shorn of that and of some other property on the Goodacre side which she only liferented, Lady Myrtle was a rich old woman. And all she had to leave, short of legacies to certain hospitals and other benevolent institutions which she had interested herself in, all was to be Jacinth's. The only landed property was Robin Redbreast and the small farm belonging to it, but in money there would be more than enough to keep up three or four places of its size.

Mrs Mildmay's heart sank, as she listened, but so far neither she nor her husband had interrupted the speaker by word or movement. And she, gaining confidence by their silence, at last came to the final announcement.

'So you see, my dear friends, that looking upon Jacinth as I do, it is only consistent – consistent, and I may say necessary– that you consent to my at once arranging for a proper allowance, whatever you like to call it, being arranged for her. And this – of course you will agree with me, that this must be an amount sufficient not only for a thoroughly good education, but for her to be surrounded by everything right and fitting for the position she will be called upon to occupy, perhaps not so very long hence, for I am an old woman. And I do not want to teach or induce any selfishness or self-assertion; I have the very greatest respect for parental authority; I will tell her nothing, or only what you approve of her knowing. But you see how it affects the present position of things, and your present decision, my dear Colonel Mildmay.'

Colonel Mildmay moved uneasily in his chair, but still he did not speak.

'You must see,' Lady Myrtle proceeded, 'that it would be entirely inconsistent in these circumstances for you to bury yourself and Eugenia and the children in a dreadful place like Barmettle. You will, I feel satisfied, agree that in anticipating the future a little, as it were, and allowing me at once to – to place a certain income at your disposal – an income which I am sure Jacinth will continue when things are in her own hands – you are only acting reasonably and – justly, I may say, as well as in a manner really to earn my gratitude.'

The old lady's voice trembled ominously: this strange continued silence was beginning to rouse some apprehension. As she uttered the last word – 'gratitude' – Mrs Mildmay, hitherto entirely quiescent till her husband thought well to speak, could no longer restrain herself. She leant forward and caught Lady Myrtle's hand in hers.

'My dear, most kind friend,' she said, and her own voice was tremulous, 'how can you use such an expression? You grateful to us! Ah, no indeed; as long as we live we shall be at a loss how to show our gratitude to you.'

'Yes indeed,' said Colonel Mildmay. 'I do not know how to express my appreciation of all your goodness. I' —

'Then you consent,' exclaimed Lady Myrtle, her bright eyes sparkling. 'You will be my children; you will let me feel that my lonely life is to have some joy before its close.'

'Indeed, indeed, all we can do, we shall,' said Colonel Mildmay very gently. 'You cannot ask more affection than we are most ready to give. But' – He hesitated, and the look of eager satisfaction faded out of the old lady's face.

'But!' she repeated sharply. 'What "buts" can there be in so simple a matter?'

It was a distressing position. Colonel Mildmay, essentially a kind-hearted man and most averse to giving pain, felt it acutely. But he was not one to temporise. It was a case demanding the plainest speaking.

'My dear Lady Myrtle,' he said, 'if I am blunt or rough, forgive me. It is just this. I cannot agree to what I think wrong, and I could never feel it right to agree to what you propose. I am still young enough and strong enough to work for my family in my profession, and the day I began to lead an idle, or even a comparatively idle life, would see me a miserable man. If you are so good as to continue your interest in my children – Jacinth especially – by asking them to visit you sometimes, we shall be most grateful. If – if you like to leave Jacinth some little sum of money in your will which would help or increase any provision I can make for her, I would be foolish and ungracious in the extreme to object. But more than this – no, my dear friend, no. For – and here I must crave your pardon beforehand for what must seem impertinence and intrusion – not only have we, we Mildmays, no claim upon you, but – there are those who have.'