CHAPTER XXXIII
THE STORY ENDS IN PEACE AND SUNSHINE, AND I TAKE LEAVE OF MY KIND READERS
I will leave you to imagine the joy and thankfulness at Alva when the news of Sir John’s arrival at London reached us, for no words of mine can express it; and when it was known that the pardon was an accomplished fact, and that the good knight was on his way home, the happy excitement rose to the highest pitch.
What joy it was to see my lady’s altered mien, to hear the thrill in her voice and watch the smiles trembling round her mouth! The little boys were wild with delight at the prospect of seeing again their much-loved father; and there was not a neighbour nor a tenant on the place, who did not rejoice in the good news and sympathise with our happiness.
Mr. Patrick Campbell was to accompany Sir John on his journey from London, and his wife came over from Monzie to meet them both. Old Lady Alva was with us, and also Aunt Betty, while at my lady’s invitation my Lord and Lady Wemyss arrived to join in the general welcome. How gay we were, how busy with preparations, how full of thankfulness and relief! Although the year was near November, it seemed to me as if we were bidding good-bye to the darkness of winter and preparing to welcome the summer; and Nature kindly did nothing to discourage me in the thought, for the sun shone warm and bright, and though the trees were casting their leaves they were not yet bare, and the gold and ruddy tints, softened by silver mists and purple shadows, still made the landscape lovely. Nothing was wanting to complete my satisfaction but the presence of my lover, and once or twice, I must own, my heart cried out in the midst of my happiness, “Would that he too were coming!”
According to his agreement it was necessary for Sir John to stop in Edinburgh for an interview with Dr. Brandshagen, whose letters of instruction were that he should wait for the knight to show him his mines himself. By someone’s good management, I suppose, there had been a convenient delay in supplying the German with funds, so that he was obliged to remain where he was till he received them; but Sir John, having expressed his readiness with all courtesy to carry out his part of the bargain at any moment, there was nothing now left for him to do but to hasten homewards, whither his heart, I doubt not, had already flown.
He had been so thoughtful as to send an express to my lady from Edinburgh to prepare her for his arrival, and the next afternoon we were all assembled with beating hearts to listen for the farthest sound of horse’s feet.
“My papa will be here in plenty of time for my birthday,” cried little Hal, as he ceased his jumping about the room and climbed into my lap. “I am a luckier boy than Charles. Does Sir John know that I am grown so big, Cousin Barbe?”
I could scarce listen to the child’s chatter nor answer it, but when Charles put his hand upon my shoulder, and whispered, “How I wish he were bringing Captain Anthony!” I turned and kissed him on the cheek, with a sudden pain in my heart.
At last--at last we heard them coming--the galloping growing nearer and nearer, the shouts of the country-folk assembled along the road becoming louder and more distinct.
“Hurrah! hurrah!” “Long life to Sir John!” “Glad to see ye hame again!” “Welcome, welcome!” we could indeed distinguish the words for we were now standing at the door, my lady with a son in each hand, her mother-in-law beside her, we others pressing round, and the servants just behind. The tears were running down the old lady’s cheeks, and Aunt Betty was sobbing loudly, her kerchief to her eyes; but I looked at my lady’s quiet face, and though it was pale, I was struck by the lovely light that shone there. “Sure,” thought I, “no husband returning home was ever greeted by a sweeter, truer wife!”
And then the cavalcade swept into sight, and we caught our breath, and a low sound that was neither laugh nor cry, but partook of both, broke from the lips of all.
Sir John rode first, his head bared in the sunshine, his face alight with joy, and our eyes were fixed upon him. Almost before he reached the door he checked his horse, and dismounting quickly, turned with hands outstretched. It was as if he saw one face alone in all that crowd, as if he cared for the welcome of but one voice. His mother uttered his name in loving, trembling tones; his boys ran forward gleefully to clasp his knees; but he did not speak nor heed them till, without a word, my lady staggered to his arms and was clasped in a long embrace.
And then, I knew not why, the unbidden tears came to my eyes, and turning away to hide them, I encountered a sudden shock. Was I dreaming? Oh, what did it mean, and how had it happened? Or were my eyes playing me false? I dashed the tears away and looked again. And there close at my side, his face aglow with feeling, his eyes dim with their mighty love, stood my dear Anthony, so tall and brave and strong and full of joy, that, in spite of the publicity, I followed my lady’s example and threw myself into his arms.
I emerged from them to be greeted with sympathetic laughter and a shower of questions. “Where did he come from?” “Did you know, Barbara; were you expecting him?” “Why did you not tell us?” But dazed with my surprise and happiness, I could only look from him to them and back again.
Sir John came to my rescue with a great kind laugh that did me good to hear.
“No, no, I can answer for it. Barbara knew nothing of this. But when I met the young gentleman at York a night or two ago, and he confided to me that he was on his way to my house, I very naturally asked him to join my party and go along with us, thinking I should be none the less welcome here for bringing him in my train.”
You will know then that Barbara’s cup of happiness was full to the brim, and when my dear lady said, out before them all,
“It wanted only this to make the day perfect; none but myself know how good, how brave and patient our Barbara has been. I think she is being rewarded for all her unselfish love to me!”
Well, when she spoke thus, my cup overflowed.
* * * * *
It was indeed a perfect day, an earnest of others as perfect to follow! How strangely pleasant it was at dinner to see Sir John again in his place, his hospitable smile showing us all what pleasure the meeting gave him. How sweet to see my lady’s tremulous happiness, and the almost wistful way she hung upon her husband’s words. Old Lady Alva sat near him and Betty upon the other side; Mr. Campbell and his wife were together, “for,” said he, “we have been so many weeks separate that we are as good as lovers again.” My Anthony sat at my lady’s left hand, (my Lord Wemyss being on her right), and Barbara by his side. The little boys were admitted to the banquet to their vast delight, and even poor Aunt Betty’s face was wreathed in smiles. It would indeed have been difficult to find a happier party in all Scotland.
When dessert was on the table and the servants gone, Sir John brought out of his pocket the immediate cause of our peace and contentment.
You have all seen it--the great document with the portrait of King George in the left-hand corner, and the “broad seal” attached--the Remission, or Pardon, without which we could never have welcomed Sir John to his home, nor indeed enjoyed any real happiness. With what awe and interest we gazed upon it, as we listened to Mr. Campbell’s story of the wonderful part he had played in procuring it. Each point in the narrative was fraught with thrilling meaning to us, who through all those weary months had waited in uncertainty for this happy consummation. How we smiled and sighed as we recalled our hopes and fears, and thanked God in our hearts that all such anxiety was laid to rest at last.
When the conversation had again become general my Anthony turned to me, and whispered,
“I also bear in my pocket a document which means nearly as much to me as that other to Sir John;” and under cover of the table he presently slipped into my lap a letter addressed to me in an unknown hand. I need scarcely tell you that I apprehended its purport as soon as I saw it, and smiled my silent agreement. It was as I surmised, from Mr. Fleming’s parents, welcoming me with warm approval as the future wife of their dear son, and agreeing very kindly to leave all arrangements for our marriage in the hands of my guardians, Sir John and Lady Erskine. My Anthony’s pardon had been easy to arrange, his father having many friends at court. But he was under oath never to take up arms against King George as long as he lived, for which reason, he told me, laughing, it was a mercy that most of his life would be passed away from Britain, so that he was not likely to be tempted in that way again.
I remember telling him how glad I was that my husband was to be a civilian, making his living peacefully by the pen instead of the sword, so that I should not be obliged to go in fear of my life every time there was a war. How little did I then think that after thirty years he should again become a soldier, and win for himself honour and a Title, fighting in the service of the East India Company against Governor Dupliex in the Carnatic. Still stranger would it have been to know that his being wounded and disabled in these same wars should contribute to my peace of mind, but so it was, for the misfortune put an end to his soldiering, and brought us back to England, thus proving itself a blessing in disguise.
* * * * *
And now, my dears, the story I set out to tell you is done. Like all human histories it is a mingling of joy and sorrow, of laughter and tears, and perhaps, looking at the hidden heart of things, the tears predominate. But it were not wise to end a tale like this upon a tragic note. God veils in mercy the future from our eyes, else were it not possible properly to enjoy His many blessings; and so I am glad to leave my dear Lady Erskine at this bright and peaceful season of her life, to see her as I love best to remember her, standing in the sunshine, the haunting fear gone from her eyes, and the sweet light of loving welcome transfiguring her face.
* * * * *
For more than three months I have been living in the past, seeing the friends of my girlhood, and listening to the tones of their voices. At times I have raised my eyes from the paper before me, dazed and bewildered to find myself alone--an old woman with my life behind me, and so many of those dear ones gone. Now the Summer is over, the Autumn days are drawing in; no longer does the mavis sing in the garden, and as I write these lines, a moaning wind arises and whirls the leaves across the darkening lawn. But far overhead in the pale sky the stars are coming out; they speak to my heart of Heavenly Consolation, and as I thank God that I am not left desolate, I hear my dear Sir Anthony’s step outside upon the stair.
And so, my dears, adieu.
THE END
W. JOLLY & SONS, PRINTERS, ABERDEEN
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Transcriber’s Notes
• Italics represented with _underscores_.
• Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.
• Illustrations relocated close to relevant content.
• Obvious typographic errors silently corrected. No corrections made to the quoted letters as the author seems to intend to represent the letter writer’s original with errors intact.
• Variations in hyphenation and spelling have been kept as in the original.
• Footnote numbered and relocated next to relevant paragraph.