CHAPTER XII
HAPPINESS
The tragedy of Mrs. Medhurst's death had wrought many changes. Ellice had been sent away to a boarding-school at Margaret's suggestion, and she herself had gone to live with Mrs. Crane as companion--but, as that lady put it in her letter, "more as a daughter of the house than a dependent, dear--the daughter I have always wanted to take care of us in our old age."
Mr. Medhurst went abroad for a few years, and then something new and unexpected happened which changed the lives of all the inmates of Oaklands.
Under the old oak tree a girl sat, her head buried in her hands in an abandonment of grief: it was Ellice Medhurst, no longer the little child who had in earlier years fled to the woods to soothe her childish griefs, but a tall girl of fifteen, merging into womanhood. Near her stood a young man looking down upon her with rather a puzzled countenance, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.
"I don't see what's the use of making a fuss, Ellice," he remarked.
"Because it won't be anything to you--you will be off to college directly," she answered, "and I shall be left with her. I won't bear it, Bob--I can't. I know I shall hate her--and father will--will never think of me--now," she ended with a sob.
"Look here, Sis," said her brother, after a slight pause, "I think it's mean of you to take up this attitude. Here's father coming home to-day, and because he's chosen to marry again, you are putting yourself out, and making up your mind to be as beastly as you can to her--his wife, I mean. I know you--you can be nasty when you like--at least you used to be," he corrected. "You've been jolly decent lately; now you are going to spoil it all by being mean."
"Mean? I don't understand. In what way am I mean--and to whom?"
"To father, of course," was the emphatic answer--at Ellice's amazed repetition of the words. "You are going to spoil all his happiness by taking up this role of being injured. Dad will, of course, want you to like her--the message in his letter is plain enough, 'I hope you will do your best to give us both a welcome'--and all I can say is, whatever _you_ do, I mean to go home and receive them. Come on, Sis, pull yourself together! It doesn't say much for your love for dad, if you set out to cause him trouble like this, and spoil his happiness. Be nice; very likely she won't be half bad. I expect she dreads seeing us quite as much as we dread seeing her. What's the honour of keeping smiling only when things are pleasant? Come on--get over it. I'm off; it's nearly time they arrived."
There was silence for a moment, and Bob stood fidgeting by his sister, then in half-disgusted tones he said:
"I can't wait any longer for you; if you won't come--you _won't_." And with a quick stride he turned and made his way down the avenue towards home.
For a few minutes longer the struggle for victory went on in Ellice Medhurst's heart, then suddenly she jumped up with the muttered words, "I'll try; Bob must be right." She ran lightly down the path after him, and caught him up at the edge of the wood.
"I'm coming with you," she whispered breathlessly, as she grasped his arm.
"Well done, young 'un!" he answered. "Come on, we must run, or we shall be late."
* * * * *
"Here they come!" shouted Bob, as two figures turned into the drive--a smothered exclamation escaped him as he rushed to the front door.
Ellice did not follow immediately, her knees were shaking, and she felt strung up to such a pitch of mental excitement she hardly felt capable of following Bob at first. Then suddenly she heard her father's voice saying, "Where's Ellice?" The reaction came immediately; she flew to the door, and threw herself blindly into her father's arms with a smothered sob.
"Why, ladybird, what is it?" he said, stroking her hair gently. "Look--have you no word of welcome for my wife?"
"Ellice, dear child," said Margaret's voice gently.
The girl started, raising her head, and looked wonderingly into the sweet face of her old governess. Then the great fact dawned upon her mind--Margaret Woodford, whom she loved, was the new stepmother she had dreaded.
"You?--_You?_" she exclaimed, clasping the hands extended towards her. "Oh, how lovely!"
Tears of joy glistened in Margaret's eyes.
"I think you can see the reward of other years now, can't you?" whispered her husband, and Margaret did see, and was wondrously content.
* * * * *
Two months passed quickly away--two months of unalloyed happiness to Margaret in her new life.
It was her birthday, and she stood looking out upon the frost-clothed lawn glistening in a bath of winter sunshine, waiting for the others to come down to breakfast. It was November--cold, still, and bright.
Presently she felt her husband's hand upon her shoulder, and heard his voice saying:
"Many happy returns! Here is my double present for your wedding and your birthday," and he placed an important looking envelope in her hands.
At first Margaret gazed at the packet uncomprehendingly, then the nature of the gift became clear.
"_The Abbey House!_" she exclaimed. "You have bought the Abbey--House--Gordon?"
"Yes, and I now present it to my wife," he said gaily. "I hope she is pleased?"
"Pleased? I can scarcely believe it--the dear old home--ours?"
"Yes, the late owners are going abroad and wanted to sell, and at last I have got what I have been hoping to have the opportunity of purchasing for some time. We will go there to live, dear, as soon as you like."
"Oh, I don't know how to thank you!--it is beyond my wildest dreams," answered Margaret. "I so loved the place. But, Gordon (the brightness fading a little from her face), how will Ellice like leaving Oaklands? She is just as attached to it as I was to the old home."
"I know," answered Mr. Medhurst; "we will keep it, dear, and come out here in the summer months. Betsy and James can remain in charge."
"That will be splendid, and please us all," she answered quietly, adding, as if to herself, "I sometimes wonder why God has been so bountiful to me."
We leave Margaret Woodford, while yet the ministry of life is unfinished, and her future and that of her loved ones an unwritten page, knowing that for her and all God's servants, the promise remains unshakable--"I will be with thee all the days. When thou passest through the waters, they shall not overflow thee."