CHAPTER XL.
WHAT THOSE BITTER WORDS MEANT.
Rejoice, oh, grieving heart! The hours fly fast! With each some sorrow dies. With each some shadow flies, Until at last The red dawn in the East Shows that the night has ceased, And pain is past. Rejoice, then, grieving heart, The hours fly fast. ANONYMOUS.
Net Fleming had passed another sleepless night and anxious day, and then, on the Thursday evening, she received the telegram from her husband announcing that he was detained in London on business, but would leave town on Friday evening and reach Deloraine Station at 7 A. M. on Saturday morning, and would like to have the close carriage sent to meet him.
This was no more than Net had expected; for he had told her in his note of leave-taking that he should be back again on Saturday morning.
Thursday night and Friday morning passed in poignant anxiety, and Friday afternoon brought a letter that threw Net into despair.
It was from Lady Arielle Montjoie, in answer to Net’s letter of Wednesday, and it conveyed the startling intelligence that Mr. Adrian Fleming had arrived at the castle on the Thursday morning and taken the children away during her absence in spending the day with her friend Vivienne at Cloudland.
Lady Arielle told this news without a suspicion that the children had been removed without the knowledge and consent of their little mammam.
She concluded her letter by hoping that the little ones might have a pleasant journey to Deloraine Park, and that Net might find them looking well and happy on their arrival.
“And she thinks that _I_ sent for them, and that Mr. Fleming is bringing them here, when in fact he is taking them off to that Orphan’s Home! ‘_Orphan’s Home!_’ Orphan’s Prison! Orphan’s Purgatory, rather! Oh, my poor babies! I would almost rather have laid you in your little graves! And how can I respect my husband after this? How can I even trust him? Oh, Adrian! Adrian! how you have fallen!” she wailed.
In all her trouble, however, she did not forget to send an order to the stables that the coachman should leave the Park at five o’clock the next morning and go to Deloraine Station to meet his master, who would arrive at seven.
Then she retired to her own room, prayed and went to bed—not to sleep, but to think of the children and the dreary, desolate life they would lead at the misnamed “Home,” to resolve that she would not abandon them to such captivity without a struggle, but that she would expostulate with Adrian Fleming and remind him of his own words in regard to herself and these children, that “none but a brute would desire to separate them from her.”
But Net did not believe that her expostulations would have any effect. She could not comfort herself with any such hope.
She began, as she lay there in her misery, to repeat over to herself the consoling promises of the Holy Word:
“Cast thy burden upon the Lord and He shall sustain thee.”
“Cast all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.”
She tried to do this. She prayed for grace and strength to do it; but, notwithstanding all her efforts she could not get rid of her trouble in that way, and so it was near morning before she fell asleep and slept the profound sleep of mental and bodily exhaustion.
It was nine o’clock in the forenoon when she opened her eyes. She did not know whether she had awakened naturally, or whether she had been aroused by the commotion below, that now seemed to be ascending the stairs and approaching her own room.
There seemed to be many voices and many steps. Wondering what could be the matter, Net arose, thrust her feet into slippers, drew on her dressing-gown, and went and opened the door.
She started back in astonishment, for she found herself confronted with Adrian Fleming, who had just reached the spot, with a child on each shoulder.
Yes! amazing as it seemed, there were her two babies, in their brown fur coats and hats, reminding her of two little rabbits.
“Well, Net! I have stolen a march on you and brought the children home! ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ my Net! And so I thought I would go and fetch the imps myself by way of convincing you that they should be welcome,” he exclaimed in a joyous tone, as he set the children down upon their feet.
“Daddy toot wese to ze cirtus to see ze wile beases,” cried Luke, running to his little mamma.
“And divved wese fizzlin and dancin’ dollies,” added Ella, clasping little mammam’s knees.
Net sat down on the nearest chair and drew the children to her, and embraced and kissed them fondly before she faltered:
“I heard—I thought—I heard you tell the baronet that—that I should never bring the children here, but that—you would put them in the Orphan’s Home!”
“Ha, ha, ha! _You_ heard that? _How_ did you hear that, Net?”
“I—was in my dressing-room, you were in Sir Adrian’s. They join with only a thin partition, and I heard. I did not listen, but I could not help hearing.”
“And you heard me tell Sir Adrian that I never meant to let you bring the children here, but meant to put them in an Orphan’s Home?”
“Yes,” faltered Net, as she caressed her babies.
“Well, you heard aright. I _did_ say that. I never meant that you should bring the children here, for I meant to take all that trouble off your hands and bring them myself. And I meant to put them in an Orphan’s Home, and _this_ is the home for the orphans into which I meant to put them. Ha, ha, ha! Do you understand now, my Net!” he demanded gayly.
“Oh, Adrian, how much misery it would have saved me if I had known this sooner. But did Sir Adrian understand your words as you have explained them to me?” inquired Net, between the caresses she was lavishing on her recovered children.
“No! He understood them as you did. I could not have a row with the governor on account of these little chaps, you know. But, dear Net, if I could have guessed that you had ever heard those words of mine I should have explained them to you before I left the house. I only went in that secret way to prepare a pleasant surprise for you in the arrival of these children.”
“Oh, Adrian, how unjust I have been to you,” said Net.
“I think that is quite likely,” laughed the young man—adding: “I am not half a bad fellow, Net! And if you could only forgive my bad behavior at a time when I was crazy, and could give me another chance, you would find that I am not irreclaimably and unpardonably wicked.”
“Oh, dear Adrian! It is not _you_ whom I cannot pardon, but _myself_! Don’t you understand, dear, that I cannot forgive myself for making that humiliating mistake of accepting from you the offer of marriage that was intended for another woman,” said Net, between laughing and crying, as the tear-drops sparkled through her smiles like rain-drops through the sunshine.
“You accepted an offer of marriage that should have been made to you and you only, for you, and you only, had the right to expect such a one,” gravely replied Adrian.
“MAMMAM!” exclaimed Luke, who was as exacting of attention as ever, “less me down to do and see about Pudence? Pudence is in ze bastet!”
“And dit ze fizzler and dancer to show oo!” added Ella.
Both children were now struggling to get away; so Net released them, and Adrian opened the chamber door, at which stood Nelly the nursemaid ready to take them in charge.
And so, through the children, a full reconciliation was effected between the young married pair.
“But, Adrian, you must never permit those ridiculous children to call you ‘daddy!’” exclaimed happy Net, smiling through her tears.
“Why not, if they like to?” inquired the young man, laughing.
“Because it is _too_ absurd!”
“But they call you ‘mammy,’ or something like it.”
“Oh! but I am used to hearing them do that. They began to do it with their first cry, I do believe. But whatever could have put it into their little noddles to call you ‘daddy’?”
“Because I married their mammy, I suppose.”
“Nonsense, Adrian. What did they know about that?”
“Can’t say. Young England is very knowing.”
“But how came they to do it? Tell me that.”
“Then I suppose it was because I gave them gifts, and no other ‘mens,’ as they say, except their daddy, ever gave them anything.”
“Such an _old_ title! They might as well call you ‘granddad.’”
“They may if they like! What odds? But now, my dear Net, let us at once go seriously into the subject of these children and settle their status with us.”
“What is it that you wish in regard to them, Adrian?” inquired Net, a little doubtfully and fearfully, for a sudden suspicion seized her that she might not have understood him aright, and that he might wish to send the children away, after all.
“What do I wish? I wish, as I suppose you do, to keep the children here under our own eyes, and bring them up as if they were our own little brother and sister, left to our love and care.”
“Oh! Adrian, shall we do that? Oh, you _are_ good! You are _so_ good! No one knows how good you are but myself!” exclaimed Net, catching his hand and caressing it.
“I told you I wasn’t half a bad fellow, didn’t I?” laughed the young man; and then he resumed: “You remember Antoinette spoke of some personal property of her own which she wished to give to these children, and would have given had she been of legal age to make a will?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“And that she left it with you, as heiress, to carry out her wishes in this respect?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Net, we must do so. I have consulted her lawyers. This property consists of money, which has accumulated during her long minority, and is at present lying idle in bank. It amounts to about ten thousand pounds. It must be at once invested in the names of these orphan children, and the interest must be left to accumulate until they shall have reached their majority. You and I, Net, will in the meantime be at the cost of their maintenance and education.”
“Oh, Adrian, how good you are!”
“Not nearly so wicked a fellow as you thought me, when you overheard that conversation between my father and myself, and misunderstood me! Ah! Net, you know the old proverb—‘Listeners never hear any good—’”
“I was not listening willingly, Adrian,” interrupted Net, with a violent blush.
“Do I not know that, Net? But, oh! my dear, if I had thought you had heard and misunderstood that conversation, I should never have gone off and left you to that terrible suspense. I was planning a joyful surprise for you, my dear Net; but if I had known, I should have given you a prosy explanation instead of a pleasant surprise.”
“It has been a pleasant, a joyful, a delightful surprise, Adrian. And now I think we will get ready for our breakfast,” said Net, who all this time had been sitting in her wrapper and slippers.
Adrian laughed and went off to his dressing-room to change his dusty traveling suit.
Nelly Lacy answered Net’s summons and took off the children for the same purpose.
Half an hour after they all met around the breakfast table, to which, for this occasion only, and because it was the day of their arrival at their new home, the two children were allowed to come.